As soon as Bob had seen the two getting off the plane in New Delhi, he had spotted the attractive Indian woman watching them. Sure enough, she had followed them into the bar and taken a seat at another table across the room. The fact that she did not have a bag with her had alerted Bob’s instincts, but he was even more unsettled by her unnaturally black eyes. Whenever he glanced over they were on Neal and Madeline.

Bob assumed she was with the Indian government. He did not mention it to his wards, no need to worry them, but nor did he want them to start talking shop with a set of ears near them.

If a certain six-year-old girl in Kodikkarai had seen the woman, she would have told anyone that would listen that she was the woman who had swum ashore from Sri Lanka. But the six-year-old in question had still barely been allowed to leave her room since she had ruined her birthday sari.

* * *

Neal and Madeline were now five hours into their long flight home. Their VIP status and newfound friend Bob had gotten them into business class on the Air India flight to JFK, and they now sat in their large leather seats at 33,000 feet, semi-sober, the last few days seeming like an out-of-body experience.

They had scrupulously avoided discussing the incident since leaving Kodikkarai, their conversation coming in fits and starts as they tried to ignore the proverbial four-hundred-pound gorilla in the room.

Finishing his third Bloody Mary, Neal finally broke the silence, leaning close as he said quietly, “What are we going to do?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean … what are we going to do with the pictures, the probe’s findings? What are we going to do with what we know?”

Madeline in turn polished the last gulps of her own bloody mary, and said, staring into her empty glass, “I am going to do nothing, just like James said. I’m going to hand it over to people more powerful and more knowledgeable than me, and I’m going home.”

Neal paused, he did not want to push her, but this would not wait for another time, “Madeline, I don’t think it is going to be that easy.”

She looked at him.

“We’re involved, like it or not. This is … well … no longer something we can walk away from.”

“Why not?” she said, pressing her call button to order another drink.

Neal looked at her. He was about to speak again when the flight attendant arrived. She had been very friendly since they had come on board, and had kept the alcohol flowing. Years of dealing with every imaginable walk of life had told the seasoned stewardess that the two of them were returning from something bad, and she had instinctively given them a little bit more space and a readier supply of beverages than their fellow business class passengers.