I pictured Blomstein in the chopper. Knowing him, he’d insisted on joining a mission. Intelligence officers don’t usually go boots down, but Blomstein liked to, whenever he had the chance, which was not often enough for him. The guy looked like a GI Joe action figure, six-five and racked, with cropped blond hair and high cheekbones. He’d chosen to go intel officer because it interested him. Before transitioning into that he’d done a long stint enlisted with Delta.

I didn’t know if we were on the scenic route, or the non-scenic route, but the route was flat, with a heavy dose of yellow rapeseed fields. The oil-bearing flowers were a golden carpet, until Nazari directed me off the highway and the round grassy island of a traffic circle loomed ahead. Like the last time with Miriam and Father Bousquet, we took the second exit, and the rapeseed fields disappeared, replaced by low green crops.

We hit the departmental road until it entered the piney forest, with sandy soil peeping out from under bushes and scrub. I had the windows rolled down and the smell of pine was clear and pleasant, as was the fresh warm breeze. I looked over at Nazari and saw that she too had her face in the wind, enjoying it, letting her hair whip around. She glanced back to me, and it was like I’d caught her in an unguarded moment, but that wasn’t a problem. She liked it. She grinned at me and I felt an enormous surge of good feeling and power. Whatever we were facing, bring it on. I grinned back and let out a loud and sustained whoop. She joined me and we howled like wolves, speeding through the pine forest.

Then we started seeing people walking along the road and sobered up. They looked dispossessed, carrying precious items like plastic water containers and wash tubs in primary colors that would have been insignificant, or easily replaceable for most citizens with the right documents. We started seeing tents and then more tents, clustered together in little groups.

“Here we are.” She was scanning through the window.

I spotted the wood-framed cabin headquarters of the Fondation D’Accueil. I slowed the Peugeot down as we approached. The cabin was closed, with a padlocked door. The fresh water tank was open for business however, a dozen camp dwellers made an orderly line to fill their containers. I said, “Let me just see up ahead.”

I was looking for a left turn off the main path, into the forest. I wanted to find the group of tents belonging to those migrants brought here by the Les Brosses crew. After a couple hundred yards I gave up and pulled the Peugeot to the side. Nazari looked at me. I switched off the ignition. We got out of the car and locked it up. “C’mon.”