“Oh? What was her name?”
I take a breath. “Anju Yvette Masika.”
My words are met with silence, and I look around to see spoons hovering en route to mouths, eyes widening. One of the nuns discreetly makes the sign of the cross over her chest. My stomach drops. Then, just as suddenly, the moment is over and everyone is back to eating, like nothing happened. But I see Sister Dorothy exchange a look with the older nun before returning to her food.
“Do you know her?” Michael asks, subtle as ever, when no one responds. I want to kick him under the table, but I’m afraid of hitting a nun.
A few heads shake no. No one else offers up any explanation for their reaction, and the priest clears his throat and asks for seconds. There is a flurry to accommodate him, after which the talk turns to the dwindling pharmaceutical inventory, and whether anyone should be sent to Goma for supplies, and if the malaria season will be bad this year. I glance at Boyboy, and he raises an eyebrow. Someone here knows something.
TWENTY-SEVEN
I want to catch Sister Dorothy and talk to her privately after dinner, but a young woman who works in the hospital gets to her first, tugging her arm before Sister Dorothy has even stood up from the table. The other nuns vanish in twos and threes like ghosts, and there’s no opening for me to ask about my mother. We’re given oil lanterns, and I’m left to trail after Boyboy and Michael, a mix of exhaustion and uneasiness settling into my bones.
The rooms we unlock are damp and feel neglected. Geckos scatter in the lamplight, barking in alarm. There are no beds, but the caretaker has found a couple of chairs and some cots that remind me of the one I slept on in the Greyhills’ dungeon.
I half expect Michael to make a fuss about the conditions, but he just slings his bag onto his cot and says, “Home sweet home.”
Boyboy flicks a switch on the wall experimentally in Michael’s room, but nothing happens. “My laptop’s not going to last long with no electricity,” he says.
“I hope your brain doesn’t dry up without screen time.”
He makes a face. “I’ve got brainpower for miles, sweetie, don’t you worry. It’s my computer I’m worried about. I’ll charge it up tomorrow. I brought a solar panel. I just won’t be able to do much work until then.”
“What was that all about at dinner?” Michael asks.
“I have no idea. But they obviously knew Mama.” I chew my fingernail pensively.
“It’s not a big town. Maybe everyone knows everyone.”
“They were acting weird,” Boyboy says. He pulls out his computer and turns it on.
“So what’s the plan for tomorrow?” Michael asks. “Mwika was last seen in Walikale Town, which is still a few hours up the road. Are we going there or staying here for a while to look around?”
“Boyboy, can you use that contact phone number from Mr. G’s files to try and track him?” I ask. “I don’t want to leave here if we don’t have a solid bead on him.” I ignore the scowl that Michael gives me at the mention of his dad’s stolen data.
“I’ll try. I take it First Solutions is not the sort of outfit to have a storefront?”
Michael shakes his head. “If only it were that easy. I don’t even know where they’re based. They seem to just send people out to different locations. I’ve been trying to contact them for days but no one ever answers the phone. I’ve left a dozen messages. Maybe whatever contact number you have is better.”
“What did you dangle?” Boyboy asks, looking over his screen.
“Dangle?”
Boyboy rolls his eyes. “Did you tell them who you are?”
“Of course not!”
Boyboy looks unimpressed. “Give me what you’ve got on them and I’ll see what I can do to lure someone out. Someone must know where to send Mwika’s pay.”
Michael looks back at me. “And while he’s on that, what should you and I do?”
“How far away is Extracta’s mine? Can we go there and poke around?”
Michael shifts. “You want to go there? Shouldn’t we stay close, in case Boyboy finds Mwika?”
“We came all this way. You want to just sit here and do nothing?”
“We’re here to find Mwika, right?” Michael asks. “I mean, what else do we need?”
I stand up. “I want to find out what Mama knew about your dad that she was going to tell Donatien.”
From the corner of my eye I see Michael’s shoulders tense. He doesn’t say anything.
“What about the hidden file thing from your mom’s photo?” Boyboy asks. “Anything you two can do to make sense of it? It’s got to be important somehow.”
“What hidden file?” Michael asks.
I give Boyboy a pointed stare.
Boyboy blinks. “Uh. Never mind. Nothing.” He ducks behind his screen.
“What file?” Michael asks again, turning on me.
“I . . . It’s from your dad’s data. I didn’t think you needed to know. Yet. I mean, it might have nothing to do with Mama.”
“Show me,” Michael demands.