“The Young Freedom Fighters, for example?” says Alex.
Nia purses her lips. “I don’t know. Damon’s given some speeches in group meetings and at a couple of equal-rights protests, speaking truth to power. But I wouldn’t call him inflammatory or anything.”
“Could there have been someone who heard him speak who didn’t like what he was saying?” asks Bree.
“I guess,” says Nia. “There are a lot of crazies out there these days. We’ve got a bunch of ’em on campus.”
Alex looks around the table, from one face to the next. “So none of you can think of any reason why Damon would disappear for three days?”
Nia is playing with her napkin again. Carter and Roger are looking down at the table.
Finally, Melissa looks around at her friends. “We need to tell them,” she says.
“We don’t know anything for sure,” says Roger curtly.
“Tell us about what?” asks Alex.
“Professor Darius Lucas and Amy Tyne,” says Melissa.
“Who are they?” asks Bree.
Melissa leans forward. “Professor Lucas teaches social psychology. We’re all in one of his grad seminars. Damon too. Amy Tyne is Professor Lucas’s TA for his undergrad classes. She and I were in orientation together.”
Nia looks up, ready to add to the story. “A week ago, neither one showed up for class. No warning. No announcement beforehand.”
“We went to the department head, Dr. Chase, and he told us that Professor Lucas and Amy were off doing some kind of research project,” adds Carter.
“What kind of research?” asks Alex.
“Dr. Chase wouldn’t tell us,” says Melissa. “He said it was confidential. But one of the other TAs said she heard they were looking into a recently discovered enslaved people’s burial site in Tennessee.”
“Sounds like a worthwhile effort,” says Bree.
“Except that it’s not true,” says Roger.
Nia speaks up again. “Damon and I made some phone calls, talked to bloggers and history junkies all over Tennessee. The story was fake, debunked six months ago. The site was a cemetery for a white family that was plowed under in the 1800s.”
“We think the trip was a cover story,” says Carter.
“So where do you think they really went?” asks Alex.
“No clue,” says Nia. “They just … disappeared. Like Damon.”
Suddenly, the front window shatters. As patrons scream and duck, a brick lands with a thud on the wood floor.
CHAPTER 23
Sampson
NED MAHONEY AND I pull up outside the ATF National Laboratory Center in Beltsville, Maryland. It’s already dark out. I’m starting to lose track of the hours as we continue to push the case along, knowing that time is not on our side.
As we head for the forensics lab, Ned gets a text. He gives it a quick read and puts his phone down. “Well,” he says, “one theory is out the window.” He looks over at me as we walk. “That Middle East political action committee you mentioned?”
“FIP-PAC?”
“That’s the one,” says Mahoney. “They’ve been defunct for about a year.”
“Damn it!”
