In the dim light I could make out her smile. ‘It would mean a severe pay cut, you understand.’
‘So?’
She laughed and rolled over on top of me, and I hugged her close. ‘Yes, dear one,’ she said, kissing me again and again. ‘I am sure they can use you.’
‘Wonderful,’ I said, holding her tight, not wanting to let her move, not an inch. ‘Wonderful.’
The sounds of the shower and Miriam singing in her native Dutch woke me up. I was considering getting up to join her when she finished, coming out wrapped in two towels, one around her head, the other around her slick torso. She leaned over and kissed me. ‘Did I keep you awake last night?’
‘Not at all,’ I said. ‘Why would you?’
She laughed. ‘My younger sisters, they always said I snored so loud that they were afraid the local dike would be breached. The washroom is free, if you wish.’
I got up and headed to the bathroom, and then looked back at her. She was toweling her hair and said, ‘Is something wrong?’
‘No, everything is right. It’s just that…’
‘What?’
‘Well, you have both towels.’
‘Oh, you,’ Miriam said, tossing me the towel that she had been using to dry her hair.
I caught the damp fabric and said, ‘I might get awfully wet, you know, and I might need that second one…’
She came over to me, making shooing motions with her hands. ‘You get in there, and right now. I don’t want to miss breakfast.’
I kissed her. ‘A deal.’
Out in the corridor Miriam pointed to a scuff mark on the far wall. ‘Look. Isn’t that where Jean-Paul struck his head?’
‘We can only hope,’ I said.
She linked an arm through mine. ‘It was so strange yesterday, seeing Peter asking all those questions.’
‘Why?’
She tugged at my arm. ‘Because, that’s why. He seemed very knowledgeable, very inquisitive. Like he knew the answers to his questions before he asked them.’
Secrets, I thought. And a promise. I said, ‘You know Peter. Not very friendly, and an ex-cop to boot. Always suspicious of somebody or something. Or he wouldn’t have been a cop.’
‘Still…’ We got to the bank of elevators and I punched the down button. Miriam said, ‘How did this all come about? Why was Peter in your room?’
‘We talked some yesterday,’ I said. ‘Peter came to me with some suspicions of who might have been betraying our unit. He asked me if anything odd had occurred concerning Jean-Paul. And the only thing I had were the missing photo receipts. If Jean-Paul had really sent those in, like he said he did, then they would have appeared on my machine.’
‘All that, just to protect the identities of some local militiamen?’
I looked at her. She was wearing slightly wrinkled clothing from yesterday, and was still so very desirable. ‘More than just that,’ I said. ‘Peter thought—and I found it hard to disagree with him—that there was a timely reason for Jean-Paul not to have sent along those photos.’
‘Why would it have been timely?’
The elevator door finally dinged. ‘Because if we were all killed that day or the next, then Geneva would have had a pretty fair idea of who might have done it, based on those photos. No photos, no direct leads. And Jean-Paul would have been the sole survivor, with a bloody tale of how he alone had managed to stay alive.’
Miriam started saying something in Dutch which I guessed was probably obscene when the elevator door slid open. In front of us were three soldiers in fatigues who immediately stopped talking when they saw us there. They were about my age, muscled and hard-edged, and as well as the UNFORUS brassard that they all wore tiny Union Jacks were sewn on their sleeves. The British, back in their old colonial stomping grounds, almost two and a half centuries later.
They made room for us and I saw that we were all heading to the basement. I said, ‘Is the British Army making us breakfast today?’
There were smiles and one soldier said, ‘Dunno, mate -why do you ask?’
‘I thought that’s why the British Army conquered the world,’ I said. ‘They were looking for a good meal.’
They laughed at that. Then the door slid open, and out we went.
There was a line snaking out into the corridor, and I talked with Miriam as we slowly made our way in. I found out about the desperate hours after the shooting that had left Sanjay dead and me missing, and how Charlie had gone back with a few of his comrades to retrieve the body and look for me. I guess that little mission had ticked off the higher-ups in Albany, because with the armistice breakdown all UN-assigned forces were supposed to withdraw to the compounds and refugee camps, to await the outcome of negotiations.
According to Miriam those negotiations were still going on. Not much had happened in the country since I had caught the beautiful tones of the CBC on Stewart Carr’s radio, telling listeners about the armistice still not being back in place in Michigan, New York, Vermont, New Hampshire and other states as well.
As we finally got into the cafeteria, into the large room with the cooking smells and the sounds of about a half-dozen languages bouncing off the low tile ceiling, Miriam said, ‘And so it goes. The men with guns try to keep on killing and stealing, while the rest of us struggle to find some kind of peace.’
I was about to reply when I noticed, sitting by himself at a tiny two-person table, an older man who was sipping a cup of tea and looking over at us. His white hair was in a crew cut and he had a thick handlebar mustache. He wore fatigues and black boots, but with no insignia. He looked at me and I looked at him, and I squeezed Miriam’s hand.
‘Will you excuse me for a moment?’
Her expression was troubled. ‘Is something wrong?’
‘You could say that,’ I said. ‘I have to go see that old man over there.’
Miriam spotted him and said, ‘Why? Do you know him?’
‘No, I’ve never really known him all that well,’ I said. ‘But I am related to him.’
‘Really?’ she asked. ‘Who is he?’
I moved out of the line. ‘He’s my father.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
I went over and my father looked up at me. ‘Samuel, so good to see you. Have a seat.’
I remained standing. ‘Gee, how nice of you to come see me in my room.’
He slurped at his teacup. ‘Don’t get your panties in a twist, Samuel. I knew you were up in your room. I knew you were safe. And this is the only place around here that serves breakfast, swillish as it might taste. So I knew you’d be coming along. Just have a seat, all right?’
I pulled a chair out, sat down. Still standing in line was Miriam, who was looking over in our direction. Father noticed and said, ‘Who’s she? A local, perhaps?’
‘Miriam van der Pol,’ I said. ‘One of the UN investigators I was working with.’
‘Aahh,’ he said. ‘Very sweet-looking thing. A girlfriend, perhaps?’
‘None of your business, perhaps,’ I said. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘Well, so much for father-and-son greetings, eh?’ he said, putting the cup down on the dirty table. ‘I’ve been here in this miserable country for three days, ever since I got word that you’d been reported missing. I tried using some of my old contacts, some of my old friends, to see what I could find out.’
‘I’m surprised anyone would be seen talking to you,’ I said.
There was a bright spark of anger in my father’s eyes that immediately transferred itself to the rest of his face, where the skin reddened. ‘That was some time ago,’ he said. ‘And I don’t need you or anyone else reminding me about it. Don’t you think I’ll always remember my time in Somalia, and the trial that followed? Don’t you?’