“But hopefully it’s just for tonight,” he said. “If we can find that transmitter tomorrow, and go public with it, you should be home free.”

“Why should that stop them?”

“All right, it may not stop Thomas—he’ll still think he deserves a share, and every shyster in the world will be banging on his door saying they can get him a piece of the broadcast power pie. But as for Kemel… it’s game over. His whole mission here was to suppress this invention, to keep the world from even guessing it exists. But once the word is out, he’s done for. My guess is he’ll wind up swinging by his neck from a Saudi oil rig. And that’s probably all those rigs’ll be good for by then.”

He picked up the Staples bag and put it on the low ornately carved table between them.

“Are you finally going to tell me what’s in there?” Alicia said.

He’d been so secretive about it on the way here, saying, “Later… I’ll show you later,” every time she’d asked him.

“I found the safety deposit box that key fits,” he said, looking down into the bag as if he’d suddenly found something very interesting inside.

“And?”

“All it contained were these.”

Still not looking at her, he reached into the bag and began pulling out manila envelopes—half a dozen or so—and laying them on the table.

“Anything in them?”

Finally he looked at her. The words came out just above a whisper.

“Photos.”

All color and texture drained from the room, and Alicia found herself in a chair, feeling weak, feeling sick.

“You okay?” Jack said, coming around the table and moving toward her.

Alicia held up a shaky hand—she didn’t say yes or no, didn’t nod or shake her head. Couldn’t. Just wanted him to stop where he was, didn’t want him closer, not near her, nobody near her.

He stopped, staring.

And then she was breathing again, deep gasps to help keep down the bile that threatened to spew all over the room, telling herself to keep calm, keep calm…

But how could she keep calm with those… those… pictures in the same room and knowing that Jack must have seen them, had to have seen them, else why the skittering eyes and that stricken look on his face? He knew, oh, God, he knew!

And worse, now she could see them. If she wanted to… if she dared to…

She’d never seen them, never dared try to imagine what they could be like because that would mean resurrecting the memories of those hours and days and months on the bed or the couch in the cellar with Daddy making her do things to Thomas and making her let Thomas do things to her, things that hurt her sometimes, just so Daddy could take pictures, so many pictures…