By the timeI get home, I’m running on fumes. When I’m on a story, I work non-stop and usually end up so exhausted, I feel like I could sleep for a week. Yet, every night when I collapse into bed, sleep comes only in fits and starts.
My quick trip to Boston took six hours, and tomorrow, I have three hours scheduled at my doctor’s office getting the required vaccines for Venezuela—typhoid, malaria, hepatitis A, and diphtheria—then another several hours at work handing off my other assignments to the pool reporters, assuring Lincoln that I’ll be safe with Trevor with me, and transferring all of my critical information to multiple flash drives. Anytime I travel, I carry at least six of them—some out in the open, some in hidden compartments of my suitcase, my toiletry kit, and, if I’m going somewhere extremely dangerous, my shoe.
One thing you learn when you report from volatile countries? Always keep multiple backup copies of the information you most desperately need.
A little after nine, I place my large duffel bag on top of my dresser. We don’t leave for almost thirty hours, but no one haseveraccused me of being unprepared. Yet, I can’t muster the energy to start digging through my drawers.
Not when my thoughts constantly return to Trevor.
He’s the last person I want coming with me. I didn’t lie. I don’t blame him for Gil’s death. If Trevor hadn’t killed my brother, Gil would be lost to a place where no one could ever find him, his life a nightmare. Or, he would have done something even worse than torturing Austin within an inch of his life. Like killing him. Or many others.
My phone rings, and Austin’s name flashes on the screen. “Did you get to Prague all right?” I ask.
“If by ‘all right’ you mean ‘at 2:00 a.m. after the bumpiest flight ever recorded,’ then yes.”
He sounds tired, and I sink down onto my bed and pull a blanket up over my legs. “How long do you have to stay?”
“Four days. Then on to Berlin. I need to crash soon, squirt. But did you get in touch with Trevor?”
“I hopped a quick flight to Boston this morning. He’ll go with me. But Austin, I couldn’t admit who Luis Rojas…isto me. Please don’t tell him, okay?”
“Shit, Dani. Why not? He can’t protect you if he doesn’t know everything.”
The judgement in my brother’s voice shouldn’t frustrate me, but it does.Heshould be going with me. Not Trevor. But his job helps make the world a safer place, and it’s selfish to ask him to put me ahead of his work.
“Because I don’t want anyone to know. Hell, I didn’t want to tell you either, but Dad didn’t give me a choice,” I snap. “If anyone in the Farías government finds out…it’ll put both Luisandme in a lot more danger.”
“Don’t you think I know that?” A growl rumbles over the long distance connection. “You shouldn’t even beattemptingthis.”
“I have to!” A deeper sense of anger replaces my frustration. Anger at Gil. At the one person who should have always been there for me. Who should have put his sister above some misplaced loyalty to a father he’d only just met. A father who hated me, who hated everything America stands for.
“Why? Mom and Dad love you. I love you. Why isn’t our family enough for you now?”
My eyes start to burn, but I squeeze them shut to stop the mere possibility of tears. “That’s a shitty thing to say, Austin. Our family means everything to me. I’m not going to meet Luis because I want a new family. I’m going because…he’s part of who I am. And he’s making a difference in a country that needs it. Desperately. Maybe if I tell his story, I can make a difference too.”
Austin’s voice softens. “You make a difference every damn day, squirt. Just by being you. All the stories you’ve covered? Corruption in Darfur? Embezzlement by private contractors in Afghanistan? The water crisis in Cambodia? People are talking about those issues because of you.”
“It’s not enough. It’s never enough,” I whisper.
Neither of us speaks for several seconds, long enough I fear the call has dropped. But then Austin sighs. “Dani? Talk to me. There’s more to this than needing to find your roots. Than making a difference. What is it?”
He always could see right through my bullshit.
“Guess all that spy training did you some good.” I curl onto my side with the phone tucked against my ear so I can stare out my bedroom window. I live on the top floor of a six-story building, and so I reap the benefits of cathedral ceilings and tall windows. From my bed, I can see almost to the Potomac.
“Good? I’m stuck in Prague on a publicity tour no one believes is actually going to make a fucking difference. Being abadspy would be a lot more convenient right now.” The hint of laughter in his voice is tinged with exhaustion, and I snuggle deeper under the blanket.
“Yeah, but you’re there because you’re the best. Because the President trusts you. I’m proud of you.”
“You’re evading the question.”
If Austin were in front of me right now, I’d throw a pillow at him. Those are my words. The ones I use time and time again when I’m working a story. But I learned them from Austin. When Gil started pulling away from me after we were adopted, Austin was there. Teaching me how to trust. How to be the woman I am now. The one who never gives up.
“Why did Gil send me that flash drive? Why couldn’t he just tell me in person? I emailed him every month, begging him to call me, to come visit, to just reach out. He never did. Why cut me out of his life completely only to contact me right before he died? Shit, Austin. He mailed itafterhe’d started in on you.”
“There’s my little sis.” His voice softens, and I hate that I brought up those terrible days he spent in Venezuela. “Hang on a sec, Dani.” Muttered words carry over the line. After a moment, a door shuts, and when he speaks again, regret tinges his tone. “I don’t know why he did any of it. But I do know Gil was in pain. Those final days, he never left me alone for more than an hour or so. I spent a lot of time with him.” He huffs what might be a laugh. “Not by choice, obviously.”
“Austin, you don’t have to—“
