again.
Riley tried a different angle, oddly using the present tense. “Have you ever discussed with Peter the nature of his work?”
“Not often.”
“But sometimes?”
“Even Peter had need of a wife’s counsel every now and then. Do you not?”
“I don’t have a wife. Did Peter ever tell you about his work in France?”
“Not that I can recall. You have no wife?”
“I wouldn’t have the time for a wife, even if I knew of one I wanted,” Riley answered, not unkindly. “What about a man named Lukas Kral?”
The name earned a sharp choke from Abigail. She hoped they’d dismiss it as a squirrel’s bark. But she was shocked—she knew of Lukas Kral from her work in the national security section of the DC judicial system’s criminal division. Kral was a notoriously slippery heavy-weapons smuggler based in France but born in the Czech Republic, back when it was still Soviet-controlled Czechoslovakia. He was suspected of selling arms to anyone with the required cash, including embargoed dictators, terrorist militias, and both sides of civil wars, but so far, no nation was willing to attempt the prosecution of his crimes. For only Lukas Kral had the ability to deliver tanks to freedom-fighting armies in the heart of war-torn Central Africa. Only Lukas Kral could send helicopters into an Amazonian jungle to drop assault rifles into the hands of tribes battling fascist regimes. Because of the extensive shipping network he maintained, Kral could intervene where no sovereign nation dared, and for that, he was protected.And if he began to feel pressure to halt his less savory activities, he was only too happy to contribute to the reelection campaigns of that nation’s leaders.
Her mother walked to a hutch that Abigail knew held assorted snacks for guests. “What about who?” her mother asked as she opened a cupboard.
Riley watched Fei load crackers onto a plate. “Has Peter ever mentioned Lukas Kral?”
“Has this person something to do with Peter’s disappearance?”
“Would you be concerned if he did?”
Fei returned to the bench with a small platter of food. “I would be concerned to hear that any one person had detained my husband.”
“You’d rather hear he was detained by a group?”
“You look for meaning between my words.” Fei’s eyes narrowed. “But I will answer. It seems to me that a group would be motivated by politics or money, but an individual would seek something more personal. That which is personal is more painful to lose than any amount of money.”
“From what I know of Peter Mason, he doesn’t have much of a personal life to lose, does he?”
“Everyone has a personal life, even if they keep it to themselves. That is what makes it personal.”
“Like you? Are you a part of his personal life?”
“I will always be a part of him, and he of me.”
“I know.” Riley chewed and swallowed before continuing. “I know he visits you.”
Abigail’s breath caught in her throat. Was it true? Or was it a trick, something Riley had said to startle her mother into a confession?
Fei stared at her garden, unfocused, a small smile frozen on her pale, ageless face. “Yes, of course you would know that. He does not visit very often, though. Just often enough to keep the memories alive. Sometimes I wish he would not.”
Anger scorched Abigail’s senses, burning her ears, searing her nose, lighting her very tongue on fire. Suddenly sweating, she struggled to keep herself from throwing the gate open and charging into her mother’s sanctuary to demand answers. As far as she’d known, her mother hadn’t spoken to her father since they’d left Taiwan. Why had she lied? And if he’d been in touch with her mother, then why hadn’t her father seen fit to contact his own daughter?
“There is very little that we don’t know about you, I’m afraid. But you know him better than we do. You know that he’s in danger. You can help us find him,” Riley urged.
Fei smiled at the
Riley tried a different angle, oddly using the present tense. “Have you ever discussed with Peter the nature of his work?”
“Not often.”
“But sometimes?”
“Even Peter had need of a wife’s counsel every now and then. Do you not?”
“I don’t have a wife. Did Peter ever tell you about his work in France?”
“Not that I can recall. You have no wife?”
“I wouldn’t have the time for a wife, even if I knew of one I wanted,” Riley answered, not unkindly. “What about a man named Lukas Kral?”
The name earned a sharp choke from Abigail. She hoped they’d dismiss it as a squirrel’s bark. But she was shocked—she knew of Lukas Kral from her work in the national security section of the DC judicial system’s criminal division. Kral was a notoriously slippery heavy-weapons smuggler based in France but born in the Czech Republic, back when it was still Soviet-controlled Czechoslovakia. He was suspected of selling arms to anyone with the required cash, including embargoed dictators, terrorist militias, and both sides of civil wars, but so far, no nation was willing to attempt the prosecution of his crimes. For only Lukas Kral had the ability to deliver tanks to freedom-fighting armies in the heart of war-torn Central Africa. Only Lukas Kral could send helicopters into an Amazonian jungle to drop assault rifles into the hands of tribes battling fascist regimes. Because of the extensive shipping network he maintained, Kral could intervene where no sovereign nation dared, and for that, he was protected.And if he began to feel pressure to halt his less savory activities, he was only too happy to contribute to the reelection campaigns of that nation’s leaders.
Her mother walked to a hutch that Abigail knew held assorted snacks for guests. “What about who?” her mother asked as she opened a cupboard.
Riley watched Fei load crackers onto a plate. “Has Peter ever mentioned Lukas Kral?”
“Has this person something to do with Peter’s disappearance?”
“Would you be concerned if he did?”
Fei returned to the bench with a small platter of food. “I would be concerned to hear that any one person had detained my husband.”
“You’d rather hear he was detained by a group?”
“You look for meaning between my words.” Fei’s eyes narrowed. “But I will answer. It seems to me that a group would be motivated by politics or money, but an individual would seek something more personal. That which is personal is more painful to lose than any amount of money.”
“From what I know of Peter Mason, he doesn’t have much of a personal life to lose, does he?”
“Everyone has a personal life, even if they keep it to themselves. That is what makes it personal.”
“Like you? Are you a part of his personal life?”
“I will always be a part of him, and he of me.”
“I know.” Riley chewed and swallowed before continuing. “I know he visits you.”
Abigail’s breath caught in her throat. Was it true? Or was it a trick, something Riley had said to startle her mother into a confession?
Fei stared at her garden, unfocused, a small smile frozen on her pale, ageless face. “Yes, of course you would know that. He does not visit very often, though. Just often enough to keep the memories alive. Sometimes I wish he would not.”
Anger scorched Abigail’s senses, burning her ears, searing her nose, lighting her very tongue on fire. Suddenly sweating, she struggled to keep herself from throwing the gate open and charging into her mother’s sanctuary to demand answers. As far as she’d known, her mother hadn’t spoken to her father since they’d left Taiwan. Why had she lied? And if he’d been in touch with her mother, then why hadn’t her father seen fit to contact his own daughter?
“There is very little that we don’t know about you, I’m afraid. But you know him better than we do. You know that he’s in danger. You can help us find him,” Riley urged.
Fei smiled at the
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