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heat. Mitch leads the way to his office.
    â€œI’m seeing them tonight, by the way,” says Carlos. “That Committee for the Environment.”
    Mitch stops, the air suddenly icy.
    Carlos just laughs at Mitch’s discomfort, coming alongside him and wrapping a warm palm around the base of Mitch’s neck, a Latin move Mitch would normally find too intimate. Somehow, Carlos pulls it off.
    â€œDon’t worry,” Carlos adds. “You need all the information you can get.”

    2:00 PM . Wooded area, Morazán
    â€œFirst say your name.”
    â€œTina Chiblow.”
    Danielle looks down at the handwritten note: “Now repeat: ‘I am a member of the Partners for Justice in the Americas delegation to the municipality of Los Pampanos, El Salvador.’ ”
    Tina says the words quietly, looking straight into the camera, the chords in her long neck clearly defined, her cheeks shining with tears or sweat. Probably both.
    Danielle consults her paper again. “ ‘I urge the government to do whatever is necessary to secure our release by Monday, April 11 th, 2005 . Otherwise, these people will take our lives one by one.’ ”
    Tina pauses then lets the same words fall from her mouth like lead weights.
    Danielle looks over at the kidnapper who calls himself Pepe. He pulls his attention away from the small viewing screen and nods her on. Danielle is struck all over again by the oddness of interacting with someone wearing a ski mask. “Now you have a minute to say something to your family,” she says, looking away. She hates that steady pressure Pepe applies with his eyes.
    Tina is on a low stump about five feet off, her hiking boots planted in a scatter of dry leaves, her kneecaps forced up near her chest. She looks momentarily horrified at the idea of addressing her family. Danielle wants to say that she understands; this is not exactly a cozy setting. Stuck out on an ant-eaten tree trunk in dirty clothes, underslept, hot, traumatized, strangers ogling you — four of them wearing balaclavas and carrying rifles. But Tina’s eyes also seem angry, maybe at Danielle for overseeing the translation of the videotaping. And so Danielle also has the urge to defend herself. She can’t exactly go off script here. Pepe’s gun hangs with nauseating heft from the strap on his shoulder. So she nods at Tina as empathetically as she can and silently begs her to get on with it.
    The young woman pulls nervously on the tip of her ponytail and looks back into the camera. “Um. Okay. Well. What can I say? Mom, I’m fine. I’m not hurt. I don’t want you to worry.”
    This Tina is much more hesitant than the one Danielle spent a half day with in the capital city. The cool, knowing tone is gone. Tina continues ad-libbing what she seems to understand can’t sound like the last message she’ll ever send her family. “Uncle Ralph, we’ll have to wait a while on that presentation I promised you. . . . John, looks like we’re in the same boat now. At least you have a lawyer.” She nearly smiles, touching her hair again, tilting her head.
    So this is what full-time yoga does for you. Tina’s shapely face (only slightly swollen with bug bites) and her body are simultaneously soft and firm. Danielle wishes she could put up a barrier so that all the men — not just the kidnappers, but the other members of their group — couldn’t gawk so blatantly. Danielle scans the faces of her fellow Canadians. Pierre is checking Tina out with a blend of judgment and boredom. Beside him Antoine has a worried, questioning expression, like he’s silently asking her to please tell him when he can go back to peaceful, self-contained Quebec City. A few feet away Martin shifts his rump and stares at Tina with open, hopeless attraction.
    â€œI miss you lots, John. Call Mum. She hates it when you don’t call.”
    Tina’s done. Pepe must