‘Oh, that part was true,’ Gary said proudly. ‘I was a schoolteacher with a conscience, one of the very few in my school who resisted the brainwashing of the teachers’ unions and all the little special-interest groups who wanted to teach the latest fad. Oh, they were so smug and arrogant, thought they had everything under their thumb. They made jokes about me, you know. About having done better teaching in caves during the Stone Age. Teaching about a woman’s proper place in the home. About America’s proper place in the world. All that old-fashioned stuff. So when Manhattan was bombed and the balloon strikes happened and the power went out and outsiders started stripping our supermarkets and Wal-Marts, guess who stopped laughing? Guess who came to me and others and asked for help? So nice to be a liberal softy when you’ve got three squares a day. But when you and your kids get hungry you want help, even if you do drive a Volvo. You want your neighbors with guns to do something. So we did. Where’s the crime in that?’
‘And the cover story about your fiancée? That was true?’
Gary’s face was no longer so merry. ‘No, part of that was true,’ he said. ‘But her name wasn’t Carol Ramirez. Like I’d go out with a spic. Nope, her name was Carol Rockford. A beautiful white Christian woman. She was in a convoy all right, just like I said. She was helping take care of some foster children from some of our county agencies. Not from away. They were our own. Like we’d try to help those refugees, just like those people streaming out after Katrina. Some misguided idiots were trying to save a bunch of thieves and druggies and welfare cheats then. Why? We looked after our own, that’s what we did, and we took care of them.’
‘Took care of them, or escorted them to be dumped at the Canadian border?’
It was like he didn’t hear me. ‘So there she was, traveling at night. Some militia units—not with our county, that’s for sure—were escorting them, to make sure they could go through any state-police roadblocks without problem, when the bombing started. So that part is true.’
‘I’m not sure if I can believe you about anything, Gary,’ I said. ‘I don’t even think you butchers are ready for an armistice.’
The woman militia member called over to him, and he waved a hand back in acknowledgement. ‘Who says anything about us being ready? The Europeans and such, they’re starting to scream about the cost in money, the cost in seeing coffins come home with UN flags draped across them. They’re looking for any excuse to declare victory and go home. Because they know we’d never give up, not ever. Here’s a little secret that you can take back to your masters in Geneva or wherever.’
I moved to step back but Gary was quicker, grabbing my upper arm, leaning forward to whisper harshly in my ear. ‘The secret is, it’s nobody business what we do behind our borders. Understand? Killing niggers or fags or liberals or city people, it’s our business, and always will be. No matter the body count. No matter what you folks think or do. No matter how long and hard you look for your mysterious Site A.’
I broke free of his grasp. ‘Asshole.’
‘Sorry, Samuel,’ he said. ‘Time for us to declare victory. Site A? Here’s another secret, young one. I was there, right from the beginning.’
I said not a word.
Gary’s voice got low, dreamy. ‘It was a wonderful thing -a beautiful thing. All those people, trucked in, scared, angry, not knowing what was going on. So many loud voices, so many opinions, so many voices demanding that we let them go, threatening to sue us, threatening to call whatever cops might still be out there. What a laugh… and the shooting started, and we shot them, and we shot them, we lined them up and we shot them…and after a while if was just so quiet and clean… It was wonderful, Samuel, the most wonderful thing I have ever seen…’
I tried to keep my voice even. ‘You’re so fucking proud of yourself, why don’t you tell me where it is?’
That seemed to snap Gary out of his happy memory, and he smiled. ‘Hah. Maybe if you’d spent a couple more days out in the woods instead of being in camp you would have fallen into it. See ya. Maybe I’ll come look you up in Toronto when this is all over.’
‘I doubt it,’ I said. ‘You’ll be arrested.’
He winked at me. ‘In a few short hours, me and everybody else here will be given a worldwide blanket amnesty. Not to mention our POWs over there at The Hague. Just you see.’
Gary turned and walked away and I felt this insane rage just roil through me as I remembered the burned buildings, the dead Australians, Sanjay lying there cold on the ground, the German air-force pilot dangling from a tree, the UN soldiers being shot, one by one, and dumped into a pit…
A hole. A pit.
Gary looked at me again and waved. I think I surprised him, for I waved back just as enthusiastically. Then I walked past the armed Poles, back into the crowd.
I was looking for Miriam, I was looking for Peter, and I couldn’t find either of them. There were more aid workers and off-duty soldiers and hospital folks around me, some talking in small groups, others lifting themselves up on tiptoe to see the dreary action taking place over by the tents, where the militia representatives were being escorted in for the armistice negotiations. I looked around, frantic now. Time was slipping away, and I thought about the militia generals, over there in The Hague, getting prepped to go home. Thought about Peter looking for the body of his Grace, looking for the truth about what had happened here, truth that might still be hidden for years to come. I moved around in a circle, looking for Peter’s tall build, for Miriam’s blonde hair. I bumped into people, moved again, heard the strange mix of languages, from Dutch to Polish to—
A flash of yellow. Over there. Hillside.
I went through the crowd again, using my elbows and whatever else to clear my way, and praise the Lord and pass the good fortune, there was Miriam, talking intently to Peter, standing a little ways up the hill. I ran on the grass and she smiled at me and any other time I would have just stood there for a second and enjoyed the sensation. But not now.
‘Peter!’ I yelled. ‘Where’s the general?’
Peter turned in mid-conversation. ‘Oh, there you are. Who in God’s name was—’
‘Shut up, please, just shut up,’ I said, trying to catching my breath, trembling with excitement. ‘The general. Hale. The one we talked to yesterday. Can you get hold of him?’
I think anyone else would have started asking lots of questions, would have tried to dissuade me from doing what I was doing. But for once in our brief relationship Peter managed not to disappoint me.
‘Is it important?’
‘Yes,’ I said.
Miriam said, ‘I’m sorry, who’s this general? And how come the two of you know him?’
I held up a hand. ‘Just a sec, Miriam. Please. Just a sec.’
Peter said, ‘Important. Just how important?’
I took a deep breath. A gamble, but what the hell. What could anybody do? Send me back home? Assign me to the UN to investigate war crimes?
‘Site A,’ I said.
Miriam stood stock-still. Peter stared at me, his eyes ablaze.
‘What about it?’ he asked.
‘I think I— Hell, scratch that,’ I said. ‘I know where it is. Peter, I know where Site A is.’
‘OK,’ he said. ‘I guess that’s important enough.’
Peter worked his intelligence-agency magic while I was put in the very uncomfortable position of trying to explain to Miriam who Peter really was and why I hadn’t told her before. I also had to touch on the question of what kind of relationship we were going to have if I kept secrets, and I was fortunate enough not to have to answer it right away because I was still keeping secret the story of the diskettes. Soon we were escorted into a mildewy-smelling canvas tent housing General Hale and two other UNFORUS officers. Hale looked very irritated, almost like my father on one of his better days, and I started right off.