“The tribe wanted them to stay. So the government agreed, stipulating that Sam and Emily cease all contact with the outside world. That was the last anyone heard from them.”

“How long ago was that?”

“It was 2052, the year I graduated from Swarthmore.”

Hutch leaned back in his chair. “So this Abby was born there.”

“Right. They had a young boy when they went in. The family…we just assumed they died at some point since so many years passed.”

He drank some of his espresso and set his cup down. “What do you know about her religious beliefs?”

“I think we have to assume she believes as her parents did.”

“I agree.” Hutch stared into his cup. “Her arrival isn’t the best news we’ve had.”

“No, hardly.”

“What’s the plan at this point?”

“I’m having her fly in to Dulles.”

He gave her a hard look.

“What was I going to do, refuse to bring her over?”

He shook his head. “No.”

“She’ll stay at our place.”

“And then?”

“I don’t know.” She looked anxiously at him. “Any suggestions?”

He took a bite of his croissant and had another sip of espresso. “I suggest we get her out of here as soon as possible. The media will find her, and she’ll be painted as a Christian missionary. You’ll either have to defend Christian proselytizing or distance yourself from a hapless, homeless family member. Either way, you lose.”

Lauren sighed. “Agreed.”

He leaned forward. “Lauren, voters will forgive many things, but being tied to a religious zealot—you’ll lose a point or two on that one. Your margin in this Senate race is razor thin. Get her back on a plane to the jungle before she torpedoes everything you’ve worked for.”

Several days of investigation had brought me face to face with the tap I loathed making. I had tried every other route of identifying Ray4306. Alistair had scanned my father’s messages for anything from the two other recipients of Ray4306’s message and had found nothing. He had checked for any Raymonds on the University of Illinois faculty. He had scanned the faculties of every neurology department in the world. Of three Raymonds, none knew my father.

As a next-to-last resort, I contacted Gwen, my father’s last life partner. Their relationship had ended seventeen years before. Although we had always been on good terms, I hadn’t spoken to her since. She was sorry to hear that my father had died. No, she didn’t recall any Ray he had known.

I sat at my home desk and placed my last tap. I would have preferred audio only, but that seemed too impersonal. I descended into VR. I stood next to a table at a bistro in Paris. Sitting at the table was a woman in her eighties with gray hair and a wide smile.

“Hello, Creighton. How long has it been—ten years?”