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rebels, no doubt, want to repress what’s happening so it doesn’t become an international affair. That would call for the UN to come in and clamp down on them, and I’m quite sure that the government doesn’t want to lose their international aid or turn away tourists.”
“Or maybe the reports are right, and it was just a case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
Maybe.
Paul rotated his neck in a slow circle to try to loosen some of the tension that started at his jawline and made its way down to the small of his back. If he could find a free moment in the next twenty-four hours, he’d take an hour off and go running. But until then, his bottles of Tums and Tylenol would have to ease the ongoing symptoms of stress. “All I know is that it’s getting hard to distinguish fact from fiction. For now, we’ve got to make sure we keep all local wardens and volunteers in the loop in case we have to recommend an evacuation for the rest of the country.”
“Do you think it will come to that?”
“At this point, I don’t think so.” Paul caught the concern in Isaac’s expression and felt for the man and his family. As an American citizen, he could leave before the situation spiraled out of control, but for Isaac and most Dzambizians, there was nowhere for them to go. He cleared his throat and pushed away the guilt freedom often brought with it.
“I hope you are right.” Isaac’s smile had faded. “But we all know how situations like this can turn into an international incident overnight. Three months ago the RD was hailed as a poster child for not only a peaceful election, but as an example to other African nations.”
“And now that has all changed.” Paul picked up his pen and tapped it against his desk. “I want you to get a hold of Digane Olam at the hospital in Kingani. It was his aid workers who were involved in this morning’s incident. I want to hear his version of what happened.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And while you’re on the phone with him, tell him to call me once the convoy makes the refugee camp.”
“A convoy?”
“It left early this morning from here full of medical supplies, food, and equipment, and a dozen aid workers. Tell him I want confirmation the minute it arrives at that camp.”
“I’ll let him know.” Isaac started to the door, then stopped. “Before I forget, how are Maggie and the twins? I promised my wife I would ask.”
“They’re good.” Paul again felt the sting of guilt and wished he could avoid the subject. “She told me how much she hated missing your daughter’s birth. How is she?”
Isaac smiled. “She turned four weeks old yesterday. She is beautiful.”
“I’m sure she is.” Paul steepled his hands in front of him and rested his elbows on his desk. “How long have you been working here?”
“Four and a half years.”
“What does your wife think about the long hours?”
“She has always been supportive. I think right now she is more worried about the rebel attacks in the north where her family lives.”
Paul shook his head. “Don’t lose her, Isaac. I know we come from different cultures and different backgrounds, but this job has a tendency to come between you and everyone you love and pull you apart. You don’t have to let it.”
No one had given him that advice twenty-five years ago. His father had been a workaholic, and he’d followed blindly in the old man’s footsteps. At this point there was no turning back for him. He knew what his choice would be. Maggie knew what his choice would be.
Isaac nodded. “Of course not, boss. I have no intentions to.”
“Good.” Paul cleared his throat. Dumping his personal problems on his employees wasn’t in his job description.
But neither was sacrificing his wife and children. He’d seen how unrest could escalate overnight, and with armed rebels on the move, he was left to try and ensure the safety of the Americans living in the country. Those in the Mponi region had already been ordered to