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said.
    “Yeah? If I do, what’ll happen?” Viv demanded.
    “The building will explode.”
    “I don’t believe you.”
    The voice became silent.
    “You’re lying!” Viv shouted.
    The silence deepened.
    “Yeah, why don’t we go into the dining room?” Ray suggested.
    Viv kept glaring toward the ceiling.
    Derrick went over and touched her shoulder. Her glare softened only a little. “It won’t hurt to let him tell us what this is about,” he said. “If we think we don’t have an alternative, we can always pry open the door later.”
    The voice broke its silence. “Oh, I guarantee you’ll have an alternative.”
    5
    Wary, they entered the dining room and sat at the table, glancing nervously at each other and then at the ceiling.
    Ray took a Zippo lighter from a pocket. He fidgeted, opening and closing its chrome lid. “Anybody got a cigarette?”
    Amanda and the others shook their heads.
    “Too much to hope for.”
    “Let me tell you about Raymond Morgan,” the voice said.
    Ray stopped snapping the lighter’s cap.
    “Former lieutenant. United States Marine Corps aviator. Raymond is a hero.”
    “No,” Ray said.
    “His story was widely reported in the media,” the voice continued. “He was flying a reconnaissance mission when a shoulder-launched missile struck his aircraft. This took place in a mountainous area of Iraq with a strong insurgent presence.”
    Again, the reference to Iraq made Amanda think of Frank. Where was he? What happened to him? She prayed he wasn’t dead.
    “The missile strike occurred at dusk. In fading light, Raymond parachuted to the ground. This was both good and bad. Dusk prevented the insurgents from aiming at a clear target. But the poor light made it difficult for Raymond to see where he landed. He struck a rocky slope and rolled, severely bruising himself and spraining his left ankle. Regardless of his pain, he hobbled all night to escape the insurgents. Just before dawn, he covered himself with rocks. Throughout the day, he remained motionless under their weight while the heat of the sun scorched him. Judging from sounds, he estimated that the insurgents came within fifty feet of him. As long as they hunted him, Raymond didn’t dare activate a homing device that would have brought rescue helicopters. After all, the signal would have lured the rescuers to the insurgents. Thus began an ordeal of hide-and-hunt in which Raymond hobbled from ridge to ridge each night and buried himself each day. He made the rations in his emergency kit last as long as possible. After that, he ate bugs. When his canteen was emptied, he drank water from stagnant pools. These made him feverish, but he never gave up. Through determination and ingenuity, discipline and self-reliance, he persisted for ten days until he finally outmaneuvered his hunters. U.S. intelligence sources later determined that the insurgents decided he was dead because no one could possibly have survived as long as he did. Only after he reached territory that wasn’t dangerous to the rescue helicopters did he activate his location transmitter. He lost thirty pounds and received a Silver Star. That was three years ago. Raymond is now a pilot for a regional air service in Missouri.”
    Ray stared down at his lighter and snapped it shut. “Not a hero,” he said bitterly. “Friends of mine got shot down and killed. They were heroes.”
    6
    “Bethany Lane,” the voice said.
    Bethany squirmed.
    “Your story was widely reported, too. Bethany sells luxury sailboats. She’s based in Newport Beach, where some of her clients are also her friends. A year ago, she was invited to accompany a group sailing to Bali. Her ex-husband encouraged her to enjoy an overdue vacation. Four days into the voyage, a storm capsized the vessel. Bethany and a twelve-year-old girl were the only survivors. Buoyed by life jackets, they managed to cling to a rubber lifeboat until the water calmed enough for them to crawl in. They had a compass and