“There’s a good girl…”

“Be brave now…”

“Just a bit more…”

Denise’s right leg and foot are extended into the woman’s skirted lap, and there’s an open leather case on the other bed. The woman doctor has gently washed and wiped Denise’s foot, and now she tapes on a small bandage.

“There you go, princess,” she says in a soft, accented voice. “The wound isn’t that bad. It just looked bad, lots of blood. Try to stay off it as much as you can during the next few days. All right?”

Denise nods.

“Does it feel better now?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Good girl.”

The woman gathers up her medical gear and supplies, zips the case shut, and then stands up. She says a phrase in Pashto that Tom recognizes—“Good-bye, little girl”—and turns to leave.

Tom catches her eye. He hopes there’s sympathy, or worry, or friendship in that doctor’s face, but no.

There’s just contempt.

That’s all.

Tom knows why. It’s the contempt of a woman seeing a man who can’t take care of his little girl.

The doctor leaves and Pelayo Abboud steps in, with two other men, one older, one younger. The two men who had earlier dropped off their breakfast.

Tom squeezes Denise’s hand.

Pelayo steps forward with Tonton and the young Afghan man, named Hamid. That’s right. The American writer is tired, his face is sagging, and Pelayo knows he’s been broken. To be within a few meters of freedom and escape, carrying his little girl in his arms, his writer’s mind already composing the successful end of their escape…and Pelayo stepped in, destroying the story, destroying his hopes.

Tom Cornwall says, “Yes?”

Pelayo gently sits down on the opposite bunk, holding a crisp small brown paper bag in his hand. He says, “I’m sorry, perhaps I didn’t make myself clear the last time we spoke. I’m in the middle of a delicate negotiation involving very high stakes, and your wife is a vital part of that dealing, which includes you and your daughter. You did understand that, did you not?”

A heavy breath. “I did.”

“I also told you that having you here is a…guarantee of this transaction successfully taking place. I also told you that if my cousin Miguel were here…the situation wouldn’t be so civilized. Even though he pretends to be a religious man.”

“Look, I did what any dad would do, I was scared—”

Pelayo opens the top of the paper bag. “I also offered you some additional refreshments. One of the items you requested was chewing gum. It was a moistened piece of chewing gum, placed in that door behind me, that allowed you and your lovely little girl to escape. Correct?”

Tom just nods.

“So my gracious response to your request was a betrayal, then, wasn’t it? A piece of gum that I thought would go to you and your daughter, to perhaps provide a means of relaxation and calm, was used to help your escape.”

Tom’s voice is quiet and dull. “I understand what you say, but what kind of father would just sit here without trying to escape?”