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body. “I don’t suppose you’d be interested in anything I might find in my pockets?” Georgie giggled again and held out his hand.
    â€œYou spoil my son.”
    Cassidy patted her pockets, pretending to have lost something. “It’s one of the greatest moments of my day.” She finally dug her hand into her jeans and retrieved a handful of wrapped bubble gum. “Want these?”
    Georgie yelped with joy and threw his arms around Cassidy’s neck. She accepted the sweet and innocent embrace, blinking back a startling blur of tears. “I need to finish my report. I’ll see you in the morning, Anna.” Cassidy sniffed and focused on the tip of her shoes to hide the tears. Shaking her head, she turned and walked toward her tent. The familiar noise of camp slipped beneath her skin. Its rhythm, once soothing, drove stakes of guilt into her heart.

    The suffocating humidity of her tent surrounded Cassidy. It was near midnight, and she’d closed all her flaps against the preternatural light created by the gas flares. Stripping off her pants and shirt, she padded barefoot to her desk. Settling in the chair, she inhaled the dank air and snorted at her attire. Tank top and bikini pants were a far cry from the flannel pajamas and fuzzy slippers her mother raised her in. Wyoming’s climate certainly was the polar opposite of West Africa’s.
    Yellowstone National Park. The playground of her youth.
    Tapping a pencil against her lips, Cassidy stared at a picture positioned precariously on top of a stack of scientific journals. Her parents, vibrant and alive, smiled at her from behind the smudged and dirty glass of the frame. Behind them the peaks of the Tetons cut a jagged edge into the horizon.
    It was late. She stretched her arms to the ceiling of the tent and yawned. One more item on the agenda. Moving her shoulders to shake out some of the stiffness, Cassidy reached for a small manila envelope. Slitting the edge, she removed a tiny flash drive and inserted it into her computer.
    Clicking on the appropriate icon, she opened the geological survey prepared by Charles. A detailed sketch of the earth’s layers beneath the surface of the Niger Delta flickered on the screen. Cassidy glanced at it briefly and scrolled down to find the fine points on Port Harcourt. Nigerian scientists reported several years ago their concern for the city, and she’d wanted to confirm the theories and potentially gain more positive interest from President Nuna.
    Before reaching the section on Port Harcourt, Cassidy paused and began reading a blurb about the Jurassic period and its impact on the Niger Delta. She reread the same paragraph four times before finally giving up. Sleep called. There was something in the text that sparked her curiosity, but her brain lay in a fog of exhaustion and refused to fire off the neurons that would puzzle out her questions.
    Pushing away from the desk, Cassidy moved to sit on the edge of her cot. She refused to dwell on everything that had happened that day, instead turning her mind to pleasant thoughts and preparing for sleep. Flipping off the small halogen lamp on the edge of her desk, she lay down. No covers tonight. Fatigue quickly shut down her consciousness as she slipped into the comforting embrace of oblivion.
    Cassidy shivered.
    Trying not to rise too far out of her sleep stupor, she turned and snuggled deeper into the warmth of her pillow. A gentle kiss of air fanned her face.
    She blinked her eyes, rubbed her cheek, and mumbled incoherently, intent on finding the comfort of sleep again.
    A swish of fabric, barely audible, echoed within the tight confines of her tent. Her breath caught and she froze, alarm signals jangling across every inch of her body, firing up nerves and muscles. Her senses were on full alert.
    She wasn’t alone.

    Nick Fowler crouched beyond a thin line of mangroves. A distant gas flare cast a faint orange glow to the camp, shadows