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Time Elapsed from Initial Collapse: 13 Hours

“Martina. He’ll be all right.”

Dorion preempted the conversation immediately with that sentence. No niceties, no greetings. Just take care of the reassurance first, the instant the woman answered.

“What, Dor?” Martina Alonzo, Eduardo Gutiérrez’s wife, had a low voice. Normally calm, the special-needs teacher was understandably alarmed.

“We’re in California. On a job.”

“But, the conference…”

“This was unexpected. Now. Ed was shot.”

“Mio Dio!”

She and Han Tolifson sat in the waiting room of the Olechu County Medical Center, ten miles southwest of Hinowah. A typical such room in a rural county. The only decorations were an eye exam chart and a My Pony poster, in a corner where undersized furniture sat.

She said, “It’s his leg. Not life threatening. He’s in surgery. I’ve sent you credit card information. I know you’re planning to get here tomorrow. But you’ll want to come now. Get a flight, first class to Fresno. I’ll have a car pick you up and bring you here.”

“What happened, Dor? Was it, what? Cartels? Gangs?”

“We don’t know. There’s some sabotage on a levee. We’ve been investigating it. My brother’s here, and it may have been mistaken identity. The suspect might have thought he was shooting at Colter.”

“My God…” Now panic gave way to consideration. “All right. I’ll take the boys to my mother and get the first flight I can.”

“And, Martina. There’s a highway patrol officer here. He’s keeping guard. There’s absolutely no reason for Ed to be in any more danger, but I’ve made sure he’ll have somebody here around the clock.”

“Gracias…”

They disconnected.

She texted her brother again. He hadn’t replied earlier and he didn’t reply now. She was growing concerned.

But only moderately. If anyone knew how to stay alive it was him.

She asked the mayor firmly, “There some underground shit going on here that you’re not sharing? Meth operation? Gunrunning? Human trafficking?”

“No! I swear!”

Dorion didn’t know whether to believe him or not. Her disaster response took her to many different locales. Big cities, small towns, military bases, corporate campuses, swamps, deserts, forests, ports…And in every one of them there’d been politics at work. Sometimes about who got FEMA aid. Sometimes about who wanted to point fingers at lack of disaster preparedness.

Sometimes about nothing to do with the disaster. The hurricane or earthquake or fire had simply laid bare shenanigans that certain individuals had hoped would stay hidden…

But never had any of her employees been targeted.

She looked at his mortified face.

And decided that, no, he didn’tknowof any such activities.

But largely, she assessed, because he suffered from the sniffles of oblivion.

A doctor emerged with an update. The woman, in blue scrubs, reported that Ed Gutiérrez was in good condition…and lucky. The bone had not been touched. There would be rehab and a long time of healing but he would regain most use of the leg.

She said gravely, “It was a large hunting rifle round. But this wasn’t a hunting accident, was it?”

“No.”

The doctor’s head, crowned by an Afro tucked into a bonnet, nodded slowly. She asked Tolifson, “You have anyone in custody?”