Page 20 of Player

Cork

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This slip of paper not only changed the course of my investigation but listed the name and address of a woman who was irrefutably involved in the illegal trade of uranium. It was exactly the forward push I needed after the wasted time spent with that barbarian.

I went to Tepoztlán and gained temporary employment at the señora’s hacienda, tipped off the CIA using the phone number El Chula had given me, then waited for the CIA to make their bust. Witnessed true evil—the señora killing her husband then burying him in her garden. Three weeks of terror then ...boom.

No bust.

No paper trail on the uranium.

Just my videos and commentary.

I roll out of bed and grab my phone, thumbing through the videos I recorded until I find the one I’m searching for. Sitting down, I hit play. I wince as I relive the nightmare of what happened at Tepoztlán. Señora del Leon’s hacienda blowing up into smoke. My screams, my terror as real as it’d been back in Aleppo. My phone falls to the ground yet is still recording. Capturing me cowering and covering my head, unsure if my hiding place in the bushes in the front yard will protect me.

It’s hard to watch.

It’s even harder to explain what happened.

Did someone intentionally dynamite the horrible woman’s home? Killing her and any chances I had of using her as a lead?

You’re lucky to have been in the front bushes when it happened instead of buried beneath the rubble or along with the poor soul in her garden.

With a sigh, I take a minute to upload all my videos to my cloud file, something I have a bad habit of forgetting to do. Backup in case my phone mysteriously blows up or more insanity interrupts my work. Once finished, I toss my cell onto the table, take a deep drink of water then crawl back into bed.

“Whatever it takes, Christiana,” I whisper my promise into the night air, the last words I say each night. Words that keep me grounded. Words that remind me what I’m about.

Whatever it takes.

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