Page 148 of Player
It’s the gleam in his eyes that tells me that somehow, someway, he’s found then hacked into the drive.
“Please don’t delete it. Allow me to have something to pitch this story with. I won’t expose you ... or Finn. Most of what was filmed features O’Brien and his men. There’s a few short clips of you negotiating pricing and then marching off together. Due to my position in the warehouse, I filmed you with your back to me. Distort your voice and you could be anyone.”
“See. It’s of little risk. Let her keep them.”
The man locks eyes with Finn. “I could kill you. Then there’d be no risk involved.”
“You’d be down a man and possibly injured in the process.”
I gasp. Holy shit. Did Finn just threaten his boss?
“Doubtful.”
“I’ve more to lose than you do.”
They glower at each until I can’t stand it anymore. “Please. This story means more than you’ll ever know.”
I have the man’s attention now. But before I can say more, Finn jumps in.
“She carried a wee tyke for seventy-five miles through the desert after the bombing of Aleppo.”
“Finn, no,” I croak.
Finn leans toward me. “He needs to understand you the way I do.”
“Christiana,” his boss murmurs.
“Yes.” Finn nods. “The little girl died in her arms. A journalist filmed it and was planning to sell the story. But Clarissa wasn’t going to allow anyone to benefit from this tragedy. She paid the journalist off and bought the rights to the video. Now ask yerself, what does she do next?”
“Finn.” Tears race down my cheeks, but it doesn’t stop him.
“Exploit little Christiana’s death? Use a very real tragedy to advance her career? Sell her soul in order to make money? No feckin’ way. That’s not who my beour is.”
His beour.
His girl.
I force myself to speak. “I want Christiana’s story told. What happened to the innocent people in Aleppo acknowledged. Just, in an honorable, respectful way. This investigation will open doors and then I can move forward with more meaningful work.”
His boss remains silent for a long time. It’s unnerving, terrifying.
“A do-gooder.”
“Yes.”
“You remind me of someone. Like you, she’d move heaven and earth to get her way.” He hands back my camcorder and I stare down at it in shock.
“We’re nearly CIA. Isn’t that right, Finn?”
“If you say so.”
“Which is why, when we return home, you’ll spend a few weeks in Hell Camp.”
“Feckin’ grand,” Finn mutters.
His boss takes out his wallet, removes a wad of hundreds, and hands them to me. “Airfare home. We’ll drop you near the airport.”
We.My eyes swing toward a somber Finn.
He offers me a quick, fleeting grin that doesn’t reach his eyes.
I’m free to return home.
I’m free to scrape together this story.
I’m free to pursue my dreams, my life.
Without Finn.
