After her frustrating review of the CCTV footage, Ellie read Redmond’s briefing, and after that litany of horrors, her dreams were even worse than usual, filled with images of dead bodies, old and new. She slept through her alarm and three phone calls from Tenby.
She arrived at the Under Secretary’s office an hour late. His personal assistant looked like a flight attendant, ushering Ellie into the back of the small, crowded conference room.
Staff from various government departments were on one side of the table, with Dilshan Perera in the middle. The American aid delegates were seated on the other side: idealists and logistics experts who always looked like they’d just come in from the field, tempered by the accountants in freshly laundered suits.
Ellie recognised many faces on both sides of the table. Some of them bristled when they saw her; some of them smiled.
Dilshan looked up when she took her seat next to Tenby. ‘Good to see you again, Dr Harper. I’m so glad you could join us. Have you found our country much changed since you were last here?’
Everyone in the room turned to her. She answered diplomatically for Tenby’s sake. ‘It’s as beautiful and full of potential as ever.’
Tenby exhaled quietly and turned back to continue the discussion. From his brief, Ellie knew that the Sri Lankans wanted a long list of projects funded in the south of the country: irrigation schemes, investment in industries and hotels. She let the negotiation meander for as long as she could bear.
‘What about the north?’ she interrupted finally, images from the country briefing still vivid in her mind. Men who looked like her uncles and cousins. Children who looked like the ones she had encountered on her first mission here.
‘Excuse me, Dr Harper?’ Dilshan asked.
‘The north,’ she repeated. ‘This is a critical time for Sri Lanka. Our satellite reports indicate you’re making the final push in the north and the east.’
‘Yes,’ Dilshan replied. ‘US satellites have been an important part of our successful military strategy. You are our primary eyes in the sky.’
‘We are your only eyes in the sky. I’m keen to hear your plans for the north when the war ends and reconstruction begins,’ she said. If the government didn’t invest aid into the conflict zone, generations of Tamils displaced by war would be disempowered by poverty.
‘You’re here on behalf of your government, Dr Harper. Your country analysis is hardly objective.’ Dilshan’s tone suggested no further response was needed.
‘We’re in the middle of something here, Ellie. Let’s cross that bridge when we get to it.’ Tenby raised his eyebrows meaningfully at her.
‘Let’s build that bridge, while we’re here,’ she replied. Tenby was a good operator, but the Sri Lankan government was a completely different adversary. They felt entitled to hurt their own people—both Tamil and Sinhalese—and would not comprehend the assertion that their acts were criminal.
He dropped his voice. ‘We’re working through an agenda. You can’t come out swinging, Ellie.’ He smiled apologetically at Dilshan and his colleagues.
She had read the minutes of the previous negotiations. Tenby’s approach of give-and-take diplomacy wasn’t working here, with China making fast, bold offers they couldn’t compete with. The deals were being done before Tenby even got in the room. The rising superpower had already secured the larger reconstruction contracts. Even the Australians had somehow negotiated a role for their navy, helpfully ‘patrolling’ local waters to catch people smugglers. The US was left to throw aid money at the Sri Lankans without asking for enough in return.
‘I think swinging hard for the sucker punch is all we’ve got left, Tenby,’ she whispered. She was about to say more to him but changed her mind. ‘If you’d excuse us for a moment, Minister,’ she said, standing up and tapping Tenby’s shoulder for him to do the same.
‘Please,’ Dilshan replied. ‘Take more of our time.’
She took Tenby down the empty corridor outside the conference room but kept her voice low, for his hearing only. ‘If they want help from us in the south, then let’s at least make them agree to basic principles before we give them aid or trade.’
‘Like what?’ he asked.
She sighed. ‘Like: “We will invest in a desalination plant in the south, if your soldiers stop raping women in the north”.’
‘I can’t say that.’ Tenby looked around nervously.
‘We’re supposed to say that. That’s why we’re here. Read the list I sent you last night—ask for the human rights protections they’ll never agree to, then concede to a softer option you’re still comfortable with.’
He shook his head and made his way back to the meeting. Ellie had no choice but to follow him in and take her seat. Everyone was staring at them.
‘Dr Harper, would you like to share something?’ Dilshan’s voice cut across the room.
‘Yes, of course, sorry. I was just telling Tenby here that aid experts usually have more degrees than balls. But Tenby’s got balls, sir. He was just about to say that we’ll fund a desalination plant in the south, if your soldiers stop raping women in the north. What do you think?’
‘I think our soldiers don’t rape women.’
‘Then you should have no trouble putting that condition in the agreement,’ she said.
‘Perhaps we can leave the delegates to talk, and you and I can have that briefing?’
‘Of course.’
Dilshan led her out of the conference room. They were greeted by his PA, who accompanied them to his office. It was resplendent with enlarged photographs of him and the President, as well as other world leaders.
‘You can’t manipulate me with your fancy lawyering, Dr Harper,’ Dilshan said as he took his seat, gesturing her to another. ‘We are entitled to protect ourselves.’
‘I don’t question that, sir. I’m here to ensure that Sri Lanka is given the aid it needs, and that it complies with the Conventions that govern it.’ She turned at the sound of the door opening.
‘Remarkable, isn’t she?’ Tenby entered the room. ‘Ellie is a true believer, one of our last. It’s one of the reasons we love her so much.’ He sat next to her and nudged her foot. Hard. She moved it away. She hated it when he did that.
‘I even believe in the doctrine of universal jurisdiction,’ she said. ‘For the International Criminal Court.’ There were many who thought the Sri Lankan president should be tried at the ICC, including her family.
‘Open your eyes, Dr Harper,’ Dilshan retorted. ‘These are not the universal laws of international human rights in operation. These are the eternal laws of survival and commerce. For example, you need oil and you need someone to do business with to get it. As soon as Saddam stopped being that person, you ignored the laws of territorial integrity, invaded Iraq, and replaced him with someone else.’
‘I think it was more complicated than that,’ she replied.
‘Yes, fabricating the existence of weapons of mass destruction and coercing sovereign countries to invade another sovereign country for no reason is very complicated indeed.’
Tenby paled but Ellie burst out laughing. ‘I’m sorry, sir. That’s the kind of thing I get in trouble for saying.’
‘I hope you won’t get into trouble while you’re here, Dr Harper. Help us finalise the aid agreement, and then go to one of our many beach resorts with the rest of the diplomatic corps. My treat.’
‘Thank you, sir. But that’s not necessary.’
‘Of course, it is. We’re keen to build long-term partnerships with our allies, including the United States.’
‘I know, we are too, sir,’ she replied, on message again. Hopefully Tenby would report back selectively to Solomon. ‘Which is why I wanted to apologise for my intrusion into The Lanka Herald office and my behaviour with your men. My curiosity and reflexes got the better of the respect I have for your country.’
Redmond always said offence was the best defence, including a pre-emptive and fulsome—and completely disingenuous—apology. Dilshan knew she had been to the journalist’s office. He knew she wasn’t here for just the aid negotiations. She had given him that. Solomon was right, she had fucked up.
‘Ah yes, Ameena Fernando’s death,’ Dilshan responded. ‘That was such a tragedy. She was an accomplished journalist. Misguided at times, but accomplished. If you believe everything you read about her, she was a veritable saint. A paragon of integrity and … fidelity.’
Ellie waited for him to continue.
‘Her husband will tell you there was much more to her than her public persona. What kind of woman leaves her family for her job? Have you asked yourself that?’
‘I haven’t had enough time to look into it, sir,’ she deflected.
‘The President and I knew Ameena well. She was a far more complex person than she seemed.’
In Ellie’s experience, this was true of everyone.
‘We’d like you to discontinue your investigation into her death,’ Dilshan said.
‘There is no investigation,’ Tenby replied. A pointless lie. Half-truths were always better.
‘There is an investigation,’ Ellie contradicted him. She felt Tenby tense. ‘Her family demands it. But I can make my investigation into Ameena’s death disappear.’ Half a truth, half a lie.
She hated these people. She hated herself. She hated how strong her old instincts were, despite four years of pretending they did not exist.
‘Solomon will talk terms with you,’ she continued. ‘There are contracts I’m sure he’ll want you to reconsider.’
Dilshan nodded, suspicious but intrigued.
She felt last night’s canapes rise from her gut. She could make the investigation disappear, like the missing CCTV footage. Disappear, like the children in the jungle. Disappear, like Ameena Fernando. She could, but she wouldn’t.
•
Dilshan Perera’s office overlooked Viharamahadevi Park. Ellie scanned the parked cars and, most importantly, the motorcycles. She didn’t recognise any of them, but she wasn’t sure what she was looking for yet.
She waited for a gap in the traffic, linked arms with Tenby and crossed the road. They took a seat on a wrought iron bench under the largest frangipani tree she had ever seen. It was the lone and rebellious native in a sea of Norfolk pines.
Tenby wiped the sweat from his face and neck with a handkerchief. ‘That could have been worse, I suppose,’ he said. ‘I thought I was going to have a heart attack when you told him about the investigation.’
She put her arm around him. His benign plumpness was reassuring. ‘Oh Tenby, you need to relax. Try Wing-Chun, my psychiatrist got me on to it. It’s relaxing and aggressive at the same time.’
‘Wing-Chun?’ he repeated. ‘I need Valium and a whisky chaser.’
‘I don’t think you’re allowed to safeguard US diplomatic interests or operate heavy machinery after consuming psychoactive drugs. And benzos don’t play well with others, so skip the whisky.’
‘Shut up.’ Tenby laughed reluctantly.
‘I think that went really well,’ she said, picking up a flower. A sunset of colours radiated from the centre to its creamy white, curled edges. She breathed in its perfume, imagining its sweetness cleansing her body.
Tenby shook his head. ‘Ellie, people disregard advice from Dilshan Perera at their own peril.’
‘Advice? First, he wanted me to look into Ameena’s personal life, then he instructed me to end the investigation. It’s classic misdirection, followed by a warning.’
‘Then listen to the warning at least. You’ve created an opportunity for Solomon out of yesterday’s colossal cock-up,’ he said.
‘Lemons, lemonade, something like that,’ she quipped. Lime juice actually. She needed lime juice to stem the nausea.
Tenby sighed. ‘I worry about you, Ellie.’ He shoved the handkerchief back into his pocket.
‘As long as you don’t pray for me, Tenby.’
‘I’m serious. We almost lost you last time.’ He reached out and squeezed her hand. Four years ago, when she returned to DC after her last mission, Tenby had called her every week for months, checking on her under the pretext of needing her expertise on Colombo politics.
She smiled at him. ‘I want you to help me instead of trying to protect me. I know where you’re coming from and I adore you for it.’ She put her arm around his shoulders again and presented him with the flower. ‘Meet me later for the finest whisky the Taj Samudra has to offer. But no Valium.’ She kissed him on the cheek and left for her next appointment.
•
Arjuna took her to the crime scene. It had been four days since the assassination and Beira Road was still closed and guarded. Small crowds of people gathered at the barricades, some leaving flowers and memorials, many weeping.
As soon as news of her death hit the wires, the Coalition to Protect Journalists had sent a large delegation from their offices in Bangkok and Beirut to set up camp at the crime scene. They televised reports and would continue to do so until the Sri Lankan government worked out how to quietly deport them.
Behind the crime scene, parked to the side, was a white van. Its front passenger window was halfway down, and from time to time, Ellie caught the twinkle of the sun glinting off a camera lens—or a sniper lens—trained on them.
‘We have company,’ she remarked to Arjuna.
‘You’ve only just noticed? This investigation doesn’t stand a chance.’
‘Okay, when did you notice them?’ She had also observed a green sedan following them from the hotel to the crime scene.
‘At the hotel. Five cars behind the green sedan. The sedan, by the way, has been with us from the airport. How do you think the soldiers knew you were at the office?’ He shook his head and looked disappointed.
‘I’m more concerned about the motorcycle,’ she said.
‘I’ve seen him too,’ Arjuna responded. ‘He’s much better at his job than the others.’
Ellie continued to inspect Ameena’s shattered car, her eyes resolutely not straying from it, but her mind was pulled in the direction of their stalkers. ‘It’s a white van,’ she observed.
‘It is. We’ll make a detective out of you yet.’ Arjuna smiled. He too didn’t look back at the vehicle.
‘Death squads?’ she asked. People who were abducted by those vans never survived.
‘I don’t think they call themselves that. You know what to do if you see one coming towards you.’
‘I drop to the ground and let you draw your weapon?’
He laughed. ‘You run. And yes, I’ll draw my weapon.’
Ellie retraced the road Ameena Fernando had taken from the cashew vendor to this point. She walked the route repeatedly, spotting the twelve cameras that must have seen the journalist’s final drive, yet conveniently not recorded it.
She stood on the driver’s side of the silver car, its body riddled with bullets. The glass crunched underneath her feet. Eventually this street would be reopened. Cars, tuk-tuks, buses and trucks would trample over the shards of glass, grinding them into the pores of the road. But for now, the Coalition to Protect Journalists had preserved the crime scene without even intending to. It was impossible for the police to evict the foreign protestors and remove evidence without sparking an international incident.
The windscreen had splintered onto the dash, but the seat had been protected from the spray of glass by a body. Ellie peered through the driver’s window to the passenger seat. It was also clean. Glass was wedged between the backrest and the base. More on the floor, like diamonds. Something had been on the passenger seat. Something large, like a briefcase or a file. She checked the inventory of the crime scene that Tenby had given her; there was nothing appropriate on the list.
She looked at the place where Ameena had died. Bloodstains all over the seat, its back and base, the mist of arterial spray and then the deluge from chest wounds. There were bloodied handprints sliding down the dashboard. Ameena had reached over and placed her hand on a small image of the Buddha, Blu-Tacked there for protection.
Ellie re-positioned herself as though she were the killer, holding her hand out, fingers curled into the shape of a gun. The final bullet would have been delivered through the shattered window. It had penetrated Ameena’s body and burrowed into the seat. She could extract it with her P&N set.
‘Don’t even think about it,’ Arjuna warned her as she leaned in. ‘That’s called tampering with evidence.’
‘We have no evidence.’ There was another bloodstain on the side of the car, a clear right-hand print, but partial only. Rust-coloured and dried against the silver surface like an autumn leaf, its fingers pointed down to the earth. She hovered her right over the blood, her living hand casting a shadow over the dead one.
She pulled back and took photos.
‘The assassin’s?’ Arjuna suggested.
‘I’ve never been that lucky.’
He circled the car, aiming his laser pointer at the holes and following the path of the bullets where they tore through metal and flesh. ‘What does the crime scene report say?’
‘Nothing. This was efficient and economical. Bullets were obviously extracted from the body but not from the car yet. It will be towed this week according to a CID email.’
‘You’re reading CID emails now?’ he asked. The Criminal Investigation Department was Sri Lanka’s FBI with the modus operandi of a CIA off-the-books unit.
‘The CID doesn’t believe in inter-agency cooperation.’
‘No agency believes in inter-agency cooperation. That’s just something they put on the marketing literature. What else do the emails say?’
‘That the investigation is ongoing.’
‘Ongoing or not going?’ He bent down with the laser and his torch, checking under the vehicle from each side. ‘Nothing—no casings.’
‘According to the crime scene report, the preliminary ballistics on the body and car indicate Beretta M9s with silencers. That’s an expensive weapon, not one for petty criminals. No casings and no CCTV footage.’
‘No footage at all?’
‘Well, there’s footage, but it doesn’t show anything. Either it’s been replaced with dummy footage, or Ameena Fernando had an invisible car that was attacked by invisible hit men.’
Arjuna looked around and asked the question that had plagued her all night. ‘Who has access to erase and replace CCTV footage from that many cameras? The Sri Lankan government?’ he suggested, his eyes lingering on the white van.
‘And others,’ she replied. ‘I’ve asked Scottie and Tenby to look into it. Let’s get back to the hotel. I need a drink.’
•
Ellie and Arjuna entered the hotel bar, its marbled walls and mirrored ceiling rising like an incongruous cathedral around them. Tenby was waiting for them, an empty glass in his hand. ‘Shirani Dennis,’ he said by way of a greeting.
‘What?’ Ellie signalled to the waiter.
‘You asked me about the newspaper staff, if any of them might have a motive. Shirani Dennis has been with Ameena from the beginning. She was her best friend, deputy editor and second-in-command. She also had marital problems a few years ago. The rumour at the Ceylon Cricket Club was that Ameena was involved.’ Tenby raised his eyebrows knowingly.
‘Are we treating the CCC as a legitimate source of intel these days?’ Arjuna asked, ordering a mineral water.
‘As soon as news of the shooting came out, Shirani went to the office, not the hospital, Arjuna,’ Tenby said. ‘She put the obituary online immediately—and if that’s not suspicious, she’s also booked a long family holiday. I think it’s worth exploring. Widen the search before you narrow it, isn’t that what they say?’ Tenby checked his watch.
‘Thank you, Tenby,’ Ellie replied. ‘Do you have time for another?’
‘No, I’m going to catch a late mass.’
‘Christ, you do still pray excessively.’ She pinched his cheek.
He swatted her hand away. ‘It helps me be a better person. You should try it some time. After that, I’ve got to get back and review the draft agreement. The Sri Lankans conceded to some of your inclusions, by the way. Make sure you come to these meetings, Ellie. You’re good at your job when you choose to be—and I need you.’
‘I’ll be there,’ she replied.
She didn’t ask if Dilshan had called Solomon yet. She had offered the Under Secretary something—an end to her investigation—in exchange for what? That would be up to Solomon and Dilshan to negotiate.
He gave her a quick buss on the cheek and left.
Arjuna cleared his throat. ‘You’ve been here twenty-four hours, and you haven’t visited him yet.’
Ellie swerved. ‘Romantic advice, Arjuna? You’ve been spending too much time with your sister.’ Tomorrow. Tomorrow she would see Sathyan.
‘I live with my sister. It was inevitable I’d start to sound like an auntie. I’ll try to marry you off soon. I know a lovely thirty-six-year-old dental surgeon, by the way.’
She laughed.
Arjuna shook his head, speaking into his iced water. ‘Check out the guys who just walked in. Chinos and chambray shirts. They need to learn to dress differently.’ He leaned back in his seat. ‘Indian secret service.’
‘Are they still involved in Sri Lankan politics?’ she asked. ‘After Rajiv Gandhi?’
‘No. Once assassinated, twice shy. They try to keep an eye on things, though, given China’s soft colonialism. India’s a dark and edgy horse.’
‘A dark and edgy horse with nuclear weapons.’
‘You still think you should be the only ones allowed to have nuclear weapons, Ellie? The Nuclear Non-Proliferation Treaty was racist,’ Arjuna said matter-of-factly. ‘“America and our Allies can have something lethal but you brown countries can’t.” The treaty wasn’t just about protecting the world from nuclear weapons, it was about entrenching existing hierarchies.’
She nodded. ‘Sorry. Old patriotisms die hard.’ She scanned the room casually, taking in everyone, including the two Indians in chinos. She spotted the Australians in the corner, who she had missed on her first assessment of the bar. They were more likely to help than hurt her, but she still needed to pay attention.
‘Old patriotisms, old racisms.’ He shrugged. ‘India is a rising economic power, with not-so-secret aspirations to be a regional superpower. They should be taken more seriously.’
‘I’d take those guys seriously. Especially the one on the left with the strong jawline.’
‘You should, Ellie. They’re armed and not afraid to show it.’
‘Like you, then,’ she teased. ‘Do you miss your old life?’
‘Do you?’ he countered, wiping the droplets of condensation from his glass. They puddled in a perfect ring at the base, drifting onto the marble benchtop.
She noticed the sacred pendant he was wearing around his wrist again. The silver amulet was tied in place with a black string. She touched the aged silver gently, remembering another pendant from four years ago, then reached for his hand, still a comforting hand to hold. ‘I don’t know how I feel. I thought four years would be enough to work it out. I thought staying away might help. Then I thought coming back might help.’
‘Has it?’ He stared at her hand.
‘No.’ She blinked back sudden tears. ‘What am I going to say to him? I’m sorry?’
‘It’s the best and hardest place to start.’ He squeezed her hand once and then pulled away. ‘I think I’m ready for a whisky now, please. Top shelf.’
She called the bartender over and ordered a twenty-year-old Yamazaki. He nodded appreciatively and placed it in front of her with a bowl of caramels. She pushed the whisky towards Arjuna.
Something had been troubling her since she had seen the map of the No Fire Zone. ‘Human rights lawyers are saying the Sri Lanka Army is bombing the NFZ, and they’re hitting more than the Tigers. They’re saying the Army intends to bomb the Tamil civilians. It isn’t just collateral damage.’
‘You’re a human rights lawyer. What do you say?’
‘I’d say the government’s present strategy solves the post-colonial and post-conflict land-sharing problem that started all of this in the first place.’
‘Too wordy for a t-shirt,’ Arjuna replied.
‘How about: We’re all collateral damage.’
‘Better. You worked for the Agency. You understand the moral compromises of war. Rights versus security.’
‘It was always someone else’s rights sacrificed for our security. That’s why I left.’ She wanted a sip of his whisky.
‘That’s not exactly why you left. And you haven’t properly answered the question.’
She swallowed hard against the tightening around her throat. ‘I think it doesn’t matter. Those civilians are dead anyway. Just like Ameena Fernando. Hers is the cleanest kill I’ve ever seen, right down to the cashew vendor who’s disappeared. Four bullets from a distance, to stop the car. Two bullets in the body, to stop her. And then one more, up very close and personal, to kill her. They gave her a moment to think about her life.’
‘How do you know that?’ he asked.
She reached over and took a caramel from the bowl. It was soft between her fingers, its amber colour and sticky texture familiar. ‘I’ve seen enough executions.’ They both had. She took a sip of his whisky and slid off the bar stool. She kissed him gently on his right cheek and then on the scarred left. Once again, she felt him tense then relax.