“Spain and Luxembourg. I’m going to Germany,” Mary answers.
I turn to Constance with my eyebrows raised.
“America,” she answers in a husky voice.
My eyes go to Mamie questioningly. Constance slowly shakes her head. Mamie quietly chews her food as she stares intently at Spider-Man and Mary Jane kissing while he hangs upside down.
“I have not seen this one before,” Mamie says softly. “Must be nice.”
She looks at me with the slightest flicker of hope dancing in her eyes. “To be kissed like that?”
I cannot hold her gaze. Her look is one that will haunt me.
We watch the movie with a heaviness upon us. We are thinking the same thought but cannot bring ourselves to say it aloud.
If Mamie does not fetch a price, Spider-Man will be the very last movie she watches.
27
AFTER
Miami was in the midst of one of its pop-up tropical rain showers. Nena nestled in a swinging chaise longue beneath the security of her gazebo so she could enjoy the shower without getting wet.
She was soothed by the mundane neighborhood sounds—kids playing ball at the park, cheers from a Little League football game, the occasional bump and rattle of some car’s bass. She could pick out the banter between Keigel’s soldiers as they walked their rounds, making sure all was well in their little piece of the world. People would complain the neighborhood was never quiet, but Nena loved that it reminded her of the bustle of N’nkakuwe. Twi and Ewe were replaced with English, but the motions were still the same. Children playing, adults adulting, life moving on as it should.
The high fence walls surrounding the stucco cottage provided ample privacy and seclusion in her backyard oasis. Exotic trees, elephant-ear plants, and vibrant flowers fit for botanical gardens grew lush under her care when she was home and were well tended by the sprinkler system when she was on a job. Her serenity fountain with its gentle gurgles as water wound between white and brown rocks, dappled light, and bright-orange koi offered a peace Nena could never find beyond those walls. Here was where she could be most at ease.
Successive beeps alerted her to an incoming call on the secured laptop, and she slipped in the earpiece.
“Good evening,” she said. Her body automatically straightened at the video image of her longtime mentor and trainer.
“Evening.” The many years training and working Dispatch had kept Witt lean and fit. Only the increasing gray of his speckled goatee indicated he was older. Nena was never quite sure just how old—younger than Dad, maybe by ten years? Or less? They didn’t ask those types of questions.
She waited for him to begin, had been waiting for his initial contact since her botched job, but he’d bided his time, likely waiting to see what the Council would decree he should do with her.
When she couldn’t stand his speculative observation any longer, she blurted, “Say it.” Witt was the only one who could beat Nena at the waiting game. With him, she was always the sixteen-year-old trainee.
“This is the second time you detoured from the plan. Now I’m tasked with ensuring you’re still an asset to the team.”
“Sir, I absolutely am. The ‘detour’ you refer to—”
Anger flashed in his eyes. “Was not sanctioned. There were no directives to dispatch Smith.”
She watched her team lead rub his eyes. She hated disappointing him. Her respect for him was second only to her respect for Noble.
“Do you trust me?” Witt asked. “Are you still a member of Dispatch?”
“Without question.” None of what she’d done was about Witt or the team or the Tribe.
“Then tell me what is going on. The thing with the Cuban and the girl in his room . . . I get it, okay? The Council gave it a pass. But Dennis Smith was not the mark, yet he’s the one dead.”
She’d already heard this all before, from Dad, from Elin. She didn’t need to hear it again. What she needed was Witt’s help.
“Your parents are due to visit you and your sister in the next few days. There is a video conference scheduled for the Council members where they will be discussing you. Your father will need to assuage their discontent with your work, justify your actions.”
His thick eyebrows furrowed as he leaned in close, his bald head shining just a bit against his dark background. Was he home? She’d never been there. Maybe in an office at Network’s headquarters in London. She’d never been there either. Only Dispatch’s team lead got to go there.
“I can speak for myself.”