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grabbed her and lifted her out of her seat.
    “What are you
do
ing? Get your hands off me, you . . . you freak,” she squawked as he pushed her out the door.
    George was out there, by Laronda’s desk, waiting to flag him down, cell phone to his ear. “Her body’s in Hamburg,” he told Jules.
    “Thanks. Fill Peggy in,” Jules tossed the order past the woman and shut the door in her angry face.
    But then he wondered if he himself weren’t on the wrong side of that door. God, but he couldn’t bring himself to turn around and look at Max.
    Who was stone-cold dead silent.
    It would have been better if he were shouting and breaking things. Punching a hole in the wall. Max rarely lost his temper, rarely lost control, but when he did, it was an earthshaking event.
    “Can I help you, sir?” Jules whispered, still facing the door.
    “Has her family been contacted yet?” Max asked, sounding remarkably normal, as if he were inquiring about nothing more troublesome than the usual morning traffic on the Capital Beltway.
    “I don’t know, sir.” He slowly turned around.
    Max was sitting behind his desk. Just sitting. Jules could read nothing on his face, nothing in his eyes. It was as if Max had shut himself down, made his heart stop beating.
    “But I’ll find out,” Jules continued. “We’re also making inquiries as to why Gina was in Hamburg, why she left Kenya, what she was doing, where she was staying . . . I’ll get you that information as soon as I have it. George just told me that her body is . . .”
    His voice broke. He couldn’t help it. Her body. Gina’s
body.
God.
    “Still in Hamburg,” Jules forced the words out.
    “Have Laronda get me a seat on the next flight to Germany,” Max said, still so evenly, so calmly. But then he realized what he’d said, and for a moment, Jules caught the briefest flash of the emotion the man was hiding. “
Fuck
!” But Max just as quickly caught himself and was back to calm. Smooth. “Laronda’s not coming in today.”
    “I’ll do it, sir.” Jesus, what a day for this. Max’s assistant Laronda would know exactly what to do, what to say . . . Such as,
Sir, are you going to Hamburg to identify Gina’s body and bring her home, or to locate and decimate the terrorist cell responsible for that bombing? Because that second thing might not be such a good idea unless you’re looking to end your career.
    Jules cleared his throat. “Although, maybe you shouldn’t go there by yourself—”
    “Get me Walter Frisk,” Max ordered. “And find Gina’s parents’ phone number. Laronda’s got it somewhere on her computer.”
    Still Jules hesitated, his hand on the doorknob. “Max, God, I’m so,
so
sorry for your loss.” His voice broke again. “Our loss. The whole world’s loss.”
    Max looked up, and it was eerie to be stared at with such soulless, empty eyes. “I want that plane reservation on my desk in two minutes.”
    “Yes, sir.” Jules closed the door behind him and got to work.

C HAPTER T WO
    K ENYA , A FRICA
F EBRUARY 18, 2005
F OUR M ONTHS A GO
    Where,” Gina asked, “are we going to put them?”
    “The tents?” Molly replied as she dipped the first of the bedpans into the pot of boiling water.
    “Mol, you’re not listening.” Gina did the same with the next one, careful not to burn her fingers as she took it out. “There are no tents. The tents won’t arrive until
after
the busload of volunteers.”
    Molly stopped, pushing her unruly reddish hair from her damp face with the ungloved part of her arm. “We’re getting a
busload
of volunteers? That’s wonderful!”
    “Most of them will only be here for a few days. Only two are permanent,” Gina told her. Again. She loved Molly Anderson dearly, but when her tentmate’s attention was focused on something important, it could be difficult to pull her away from the task.
    And in this case, Molly’s attention was focused on four thirteen-year-old girls who had been brought to their camp