The moment passed and Dagan shrugged off her arm. He walked to one of the smoldering huts, head hung in defeat. She watched him in silence, and her chest tightened as he tossed his well-worn Bible into the ashes where she imagined a family had once been gathered around a hearth.

“I told the survivors that God couldn’t have done this because God is not here,” Dagan said, turning back to her and then looking up into the bright-blue sky. “Evil, yes . . . but not God.”

With that, the young missionary shuffled past her and down the gentle slope to where the helicopter sat parked beside the drop-off, a sheer cliff on the side of the mountain. For a moment, the horrible thought that the devastated young man would walk past the helicopter and fling himself off the cliff gripped her. She even took a first step to sprint after him but stopped when he vectored toward the Huey. After climbing in, Dagan took a seat on the canvas bench and began to weep.

Gayle turned to say something to Campos, but he’d already wandered off in the direction of the others. She started after him but then stopped, taking advantage of the fact she was alone to check in with her boss. Pulling out her compact, encrypted satphone, she dialed the number from memory.

“Go,” said a male voice, all business.

“Steve, it’s Gayle,” she said, aware of the tremor in her voice.

“I know,” the voice on the other end replied, annoyed perhaps.

Of course he knows. He doesn’t need me to use my name, either.

“Are you okay?” he asked, a simple question but one crammed with subtext.

She closed her eyes and gave a soft snort. “I don’t know,” she said. “I mean, yes—operationally, I’m fine. But it’s just . . .”

Just what?

When she failed to complete the thought, he said, “Is the Sierra Seven team there with you?”

“Yes,” she said, glancing at the task force investigators the Sierra Seven code referred to.

“And what do they have to say?”

“They’re still investigating, but it’s obvious that whatever did this was not a conventional weapon. Not a missile or an IED, that’s for sure.”

“So the initial reporting was accurate?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, take lots of pictures, grab a sample, and keep a close eye on the Sierra Seven folks,” he said. “And, Gayle . . .”

“Yes?”

“When they leave Cuzco, I want you to book a flight back to CONUS. Out of an abundance of caution, I’m pulling you out of there temporarily until we know what we’re dealing with.”

“Understood,” she said, and the line went dead.

She pocketed the satphone.