A Walk Across the Sun (54 page)

While Romero checked his notes, Thomas suppressed his annoyance. At times the interview had felt like an interrogation, and his patience had long since worn thin. But he owed it to Porter to be compliant. It was the price he paid for being included in the raid.

“Tell me again why you went to Paris,” Romero said. “Your wife was in Mumbai. Your work was in Mumbai. What compelled you to leave Mumbai to search for a girl who could have been anywhere by then?”

“Haven't we been over this already?”

“Maybe we have, but I'm still troubled by it.”

“The best I can say is that I did what I felt I should do. I made Ahalya a promise, and I took a shot in the dark. Somehow it worked out.”

Romero shook his head and scanned his notes again. He traded a look with Special Agent Cynthia Douglas, a hawkish brunette who had asked all of the personal questions Thomas hadn't really wanted to answer. Douglas shook her head.

“Okay, we're through for the moment,” Romero said. “But I'm sure we'll have more for you as the investigation proceeds. Keep us informed of your whereabouts, and let us know if any of your contact information changes.”

“Don't worry,” Thomas said with a hint of sarcasm. “I'll keep you posted.”

“You have anything else?” Romero asked Porter.

Porter nodded. “But it's personal. I'd rather talk in private.”

“No problem,” Romero said. He ushered Douglas out of the room.

Thomas closed his eyes and massaged his temples. “I was starting to think he was never going to shut up.”

Porter chuckled. “His persistence was impressive, if a bit overzealous.” He leaned forward. “I have two pieces of good news and one of bad news. How do you want them?”

Thomas opened his eyes again and read his friend's face. Porter was grave.

“Bad news first.” Thomas braced himself.

Porter sat back in his chair. “I just heard from Deputy Morgan in Fayetteville. He and his squad took down the mobile home park near Fort Bragg yesterday. They expected to find eight kids. Three were missing. Abby was one of them.” He paused. “They found her this morning.”

Thomas saw what was coming.

“She was buried in a shallow grave in a stand of trees not far from the trailer park,” Porter said. “She'd been in the ground for no more than a week.”

Thomas held his breath and then let it out. “Why would they do that?”

“I don't know. Her story was all over the news. Maybe they found out how close we were and got scared. Maybe she tried to escape and they didn't want to deal with her. People like that are capable of anything.”

Thomas thought of the girl's mother and felt hollow inside. Her worst fears had been realized. She was alone in the world.

“What about the other missing girls?” he asked.

Porter shook his head. “They were from Mexico. We think they were sold again.”

“So the story goes on,” Thomas said. “It's never going to end, is it?”

Porter shrugged. “Not in our lifetimes, I'm afraid.”

“So, what's the good news?”

Porter perked up a bit. “Apart from DeFoe's death, the operation against the Klein ring was a huge success. Sixty-one victims rescued in eight cities, thirty-five of them underage. Forty perpetrators behind bars. Kandyland shut down and its computers seized. Perverts around the world in our sights. Twenty million dollars in offshore accounts to boost the Treasury. It's a massive public relations coup. Everyone in Washington is giddy.”

“Good for them,” Thomas said. He didn't mean to be glib, but Abby's death haunted him. For the hundredth time, he wished he had moved faster and tracked down the black SUV before it disappeared and took the girl to her grave.

“And the second thing?” he asked.

Porter noticed his friend's mood and held out his hands in a gesture of apology.

“I think we're going to get Sita home before the Holi holiday. The deputy director has taken an interest in her case, as has the Indian ambassador in Washington. We're moving heaven and earth with the bureaucrats, and I'm cautiously optimistic that things are going to work out.”

Thomas nodded. “How's she holding up?”

Porter grinned. “The girl's been a human billiard ball in the past three days. She's been back and forth from the safe house to the Fulton County Juvenile Court to a conference room upstairs, and no one's heard her complain. The Bureau assigned her a victim specialist—Agent Dodd. She's a child psychologist and has a gentle touch. From what I've heard, they've bonded well. I have to tell you: Sita's a treasure trove of information. We've gotten information out of her that is going to put quite a few of the Kandyland conspirators behind bars.”

“When can I see her again?” Thomas asked. On the night of the raid, Sita had been whisked away from the Klein property in a squad car, and for security reasons Agent Pritchett had denied his repeated requests to visit her.

“Probably not before the flight back,” Porter said. “I'm sorry about that.”

“In that case, there are some things I need to take care of. Is Romero going to bite my head off if I leave town for a few days?”

Porter laughed. “I'll keep him on a leash. Just make sure you're back by the twenty-third. If we're lucky, you and Sita will be on a flight to Mumbai the next day.”

Thomas raised his eyebrows. “Courtesy of the federal government?”

Porter nodded. “Our tax dollars at work.”

“So now that you're done with me, can I make the phone call?”

Porter stood from the table. “Freedom of speech is a constitutional right. How you use it when you walk out of this office is up to you.” He paused. “Now do yourself a favor and get out of here before Romero remembers all the questions he forgot to ask you.”

At nine o'clock that evening, Thomas dialed the international exchange on his BlackBerry. It was seven thirty in the morning in Bombay. Jeff Greer answered on the second ring. Thomas gave him a sketch of the events of the past week, culminating in Sita's rescue, and then asked him for a piece of information and a favor. When Greer recovered from his shock, he searched his desk while he listened to Thomas's idea.

“Here it is,” he said, shuffling some paperwork. He passed along the phone number and then promised to make the necessary arrangements.

“I can't believe you did it,” he said. “I confess I never thought you had a chance.”

After Greer hung up, Thomas dialed the Andheri exchange. He waited while the phone rang and rang. When he was about to end the call, he heard a garbled word: “Hello?” The connection was poor, but he was almost certain that the voice was Sister Ruth's. Speaking slowly, he delivered the news. When he finished, the nun was silent for so long that he thought the line had been disconnected. Then he heard a mumble—a bare echo across the continents—that sounded like a prayer.

“Sister Ruth?” Thomas said. “Will you pass along the message?”

“Yes,” he heard her say. The line hissed and crackled, but he pieced together her words. “I do not … know how … to thank you.”

“Tell her to be patient,” he said. “The process may take a while.”

With that, Thomas hung up and drove to the airport.

On the far side of the night, Ahalya awoke in a feverish state. Her brow was moist, her nightshirt was stained with sweat, and her mind held the fading glimmers of the dream. She looked around the small bedroom she shared with three other girls. No one stirred. All was quiet in the house. She shifted her eyes to the window. The sky was gray-blue in anticipation of the dawn. She took a deep breath and tried to calm her heart. The vision had been so achingly real that she couldn't believe it was a mirage.

She stole across the floor to the common area. It was a Saturday and no one was about. Sister Ruth was awake, Ahalya was sure, but the nun slept elsewhere and didn't usually make an appearance at the house until half past seven. Ahalya moved quietly, tiptoeing around weak spots in the floor. Technically, she was not allowed to leave the house without the sisters' permission, but the rule was only enforced when a girl showed an interest in escape.

She went down the front steps and entered the forest of tall trees. A few cicadas were singing in the branches, and once in a while she heard a bird call. The path before her was empty and shrouded in shadow. She glanced around, worried that one of the sisters would spot her and scold her back to the house, but she saw no one.

As she neared the pond, she slowed, replaying the dream in her mind. Sita had been here. She had been sitting on the bench, admiring something in the water. She had looked up when Ahalya neared, her face a picture of delight. She had stood and urged Ahalya to hurry. Ahalya had taken her sister's hand and gazed down at the pond, following her sister's eyes. She had seen a lotus bud between the lily pads, a flower soon to bloom.

Ahalya approached the pond with tentative steps. The surface of the pool was a sheet of glass in the windless morning. She knelt down at the edge of the pool, the ache inside her growing by the second. She didn't see it. She looked closer. Perhaps it was smaller than it had been in the dream.

Perhaps …

Suddenly, she felt a wave of vertigo. She steadied herself on a rock beside the pool. The pregnancy was something she didn't want to think about right now. Her desire was simple and, in its simplicity, pure. She wanted nothing more than to find a bud.

She scoured the lily pads for any sign of a protrusion, but she saw nothing. The dream had been an illusion, a tantalizing lie. Sita wasn't at the ashram, and the lotus had yet to flower. The sun was rising upon a future she didn't really want. Lakshmi had forgotten her. Rama had deserted her. She was a stone person, just like Ahalya of the Ramayana.

She cried, hardly aware of the birdsong around her, the sounds of the waking ashram, or the distant noises from the street beyond the fence. At some point she gathered herself and struggled to her feet, steeling her heart against the thought of another weekend without Sita.

She started up the path and then paused. Before her eyes was a peculiar sight. She blinked and stared, worrying that the dream had stolen her senses. But the vision persisted.

Sister Ruth was running toward her down the path.

The nun's sari was flowing out behind her like a cape, and her eyes were shining like a child's. The nun slowed when she reached Ahalya's side. She panted and caught her breath.

“I'm sorry,” Ahalya said, feeling guilty about the curfew. “I needed to take a walk.”

Sister Ruth shook her head, her round frame shaking with each labored breath.

“No, no,” she said, struggling to get the words out. “Sita …”

Ahalya stared at her, transfixed. Confusion overwhelmed her, hope vying with terror.

At last the nun collected herself enough to deliver Thomas's message.

For the second time that morning, Ahalya fell to her knees, but this time her eyes didn't fill with tears. Instead, she gazed toward the east and the rising sun. She turned her face upward and felt its light burrow into her like a seed in the soil. The light spread through her, and her skin began to tingle. She started to laugh and remembered at once how good it felt. Her laughter echoed across the yard, filling the forest and silencing the birds.

The dream was true. Sita was alive.

And she was coming home.