Chapter Two

Twelve years later. 

The U.S. Embassy, Colombo, Sri Lanka.

“Taylor, what time is it?” Ignoring the burning pain radiating down her left arm, Ambassador Connie Durant sped up as they entered the quiet passage. Her assistant battled to keep up. 

“Eight-thirty in the evening.”

“And my daughter decided to go straight to Martin.” Although Connie trusted Martin Roberts with her life, it annoyed the hell out of her that Chantal hadn’t come to her mother first. Why would she? Their strained relationship lacked the affection they’d once shared.

“He is the RSO.”

Which was why Connie should feel gratitude. In the past, she’d worked with Martin in DC—established a friendship—and when he’d landed the job at her embassy as the Regional Security Officer a year ago, Connie had breathed a sigh of relief. With twenty-two years on the job, Martin was a seasoned agent with a stellar reputation within diplomatic security, who now protected her and her embassy and American personnel from possible threats. He headed up the RSO section, which was responsible for running day to day security. The Regional Security Officer worked under constant pressure as the principle security attaché and security advisor to an ambassador—ensuring that all mandated security programs were carried out.  

Connie needed good people on her team so that as an official envoy, she could get on with the business of diplomatic troubleshooting. She wasn’t leaving Sri Lanka without making a difference. There were two ways to be an American ambassador. Through wealth—hefty donations to the U.S. presidency led to comfortable rewards and serving ambassadorships in top-notch embassies like Paris, Madrid, or London. That wasn’t Connie’s way—she chose the hard road. Although she was an extremely wealthy woman, she’d risen through the ranks of the State Department with driven ambition. 

Dedicating her life to foreign service had always been her goal, and she was now in the running for Regional Director. She’d made enemies along the way. Striving for patience in every aspect of her job wasn’t always easy. She’d worked hard on that aspect of her personality her whole life—more so, when fighting the daily pain. Her body rarely stopped screaming. Connie had lived with the relentless waves of agony for twelve years. And the torment blocked out any niceties she once had—a constant reminder to accommodate others when all she wanted was to curl up in a dark space and whimper. But Connie was a rising star in the Foreign Service and refused to be taken down by a damaged body.

“Confirmation—Rajin Bandara’s ex-wife is in Martin’s office, with my daughter.” 

“Yes—Pearl—Pearl Bandara.” Taylor scurried ahead and swiped her card to open a door as they neared Martin’s office.

“And her life’s become a sudden crap-storm?”

“Seems that way. She has her daughter with her—the girl looks to be around four years of age.”

Connie smiled. “I’m sure Martin will have a full rundown on Pearl’s background by morning.” 

Finally, they entered the RSO block, which lay quiet—aside from the soft light coming from under Martin’s door. Taylor knocked before opening the door and placing additional files on Martin’s desk. She exited and departed down the passage. Connie stepped into the RSO’s office, and her dear friend offered her a warm smile. She didn’t respond, ignoring the handsome older man. Martin was the only individual on the planet who could ruffle her composure. She hated how her palms grew clammy in his presence and how she ached to walk into those burly arms. She’d avoided the urge for years and would continue to resist the temptation. 

Connie focused on her daughter’s friend. She’d once met Pearl at the Marine Ball and remembered her as a statuesque stunner on the arm of an ambitious husband. Connie remembered her sparkling personality. The woman before her looked like a paler, thinner version. Bare-faced with her hair pulled up in a messy bun; Pearl clung to the child in her lap. Connie turned her attention to her own beautiful daughter, sitting with a perfect posture in a leather chair beside the pair. Chantal had inherited her good looks and effortless elegance from her father’s French side of the family. She even wore her hair in a striking bob haircut, highlighting her large brown eyes and classic bone structure. Unlike her mother, Chantal had little need for heavy make-up.

Connie needed a lip-liner for her thinner lips and heavy concealer for a tired face. A decade of pain had turned her hair gray and added premature age lines. Connie covered the gray with blonde highlights but wasn’t vain enough to consider surgery for a face that wasn’t pretty to begin with—at least in her eyes. 

Ankles crossed elegantly, Chantal rested her hands in her lap and smiled at her formidable mother. 

“Don’t smile at me. Where did you go in the middle of the night and why did you rush back like your hair was on fire?”

“Seven o’clock isn’t the middle of the night, Mom. I’m twenty-eight years old. I’ll come and go as I please.”

“And yet, here you sit. After pulling in diplomats in a flurry of dramatics.”

“You know this is important,” Chantal shot back.

“I don’t know anything except what Martin has told me in his brief summons. Your friend is in trouble?”

“I am… Madam Ambassador.” Pearl stood, lowering her child to her side, who watched Connie with huge eyes—a sweet girl with golden skin and dark hair. Looking sleepy while clutching at a stuffed teddy, she wore pink pajamas.

“What’s your name, angel?” Connie directed her question at the kid. 

The girl looked up at her mom, who smiled down reassuringly. 

“Aysha… and this is Shreddy.” She dangled the raggedy bear in the air.

“Nice to meet you both. Do you like hot chocolate?”

Aysha nodded enthusiastically. 

“Chantal will make you some—with marshmallows.” Connie wanted to talk to Pearl without distraction—aside from Martin’s broad form, which now took up space near the small window.

Chantal rose. “Are you going to be okay?” She directed her question at Pearl. 

“I’ll be fine. Don’t give Aysha too much hot chocolate. I don’t want her wetting the bed when we eventually find a place to sleep.”

“Can I have ten marshmallows?” Aysha asked Chantal eagerly.

“Oh Lordy—the impending sugar rush.” Pearl rolled her eyes and called out to the kid. “Hey, Ladybug! Half a cup and a couple of marshmallows.”

“Five!” Aysha splayed out her tiny fingers. “And I’m not a bug!”

“Three and you’re my love bug.”

Chantal nodded and led the now excited little girl from the room.

“Everything is a negotiation with that child.” Pearl smiled tiredly.

As soon as the door closed, Connie got straight to the point. “What have you got my daughter involved in?”

“Madam Ambassador—”

“Sit.”

“Ma’am—”

“I said, sit.” Connie wasn’t usually this short when it came to guests at the embassy, but she always trusted her instincts and Pearl’s fear felt palpable. The prickling at the back of Connie’s neck had her rounding Martin’s table and taking a seat opposite the dark blonde. 

“You’re recently divorced.” Connie didn’t need a dossier on Pearl’s public separation. It was common knowledge in Sri Lanka, thanks to the media and Pearl Bandara’s former husband, a popular presidential candidate in the upcoming elections. Rajin Bandara—the Minister of Law and Order—was the people’s favorite. However, the local media had vilified his American ex-wife despite her tireless work with Sri Lankan charities. 

“From what I gather, this late-night meeting involves intel on your ex-husband? Don’t drag my embassy into a marital war.”

“That’s not why I’m here.” Pearl rubbed her palms on her jeans. “I’m seeking protection.”

“From Rajin Bandara?”

“Yes. Contrary to what the media says, we’ve had an amicable split, and secretly separated a long time ago but still lived together for the sake of Aysha. I only recently moved out.”

“Why did you separate?”

“Rajin has a wandering eye and had many illicit affairs throughout our marriage.”

“And you’re still on friendly terms?” Connie raised her brows.

Pearl fidgeted—rubbing a now ringless finger. “We are—were. He makes a better friend than husband. And my perspective has changed in the last week.”

Pounding pain in her left arm intensified, and Connie shifted to get comfortable before waving her other hand. “Go on.”

Pearl swallowed before continuing. “Rajin gets Aysha on the weekends. We worked out an informal custody agreement. He loves her dearly, and I wanted her to spend time with her father. Two weeks ago, I picked her up on a Sunday, and later that evening, when I walked into Aysha’s room, her backpack sat open beside her, and she played with an odd object. I bent to take a closer look and spotted a camcorder cassette. Aysha had jammed one of her Lego pieces into the spool. When I asked her where she got it from, she said, ‘daddy’s office.’ From what I’d understood, she was playing hide and seek with the au pair, ran to his study, and hid under his desk. That’s when Aysha found a hidden drawer.”

“At his residence?”

“Yes.”

“Where was Rajin?”

“When I asked, Aysha said that daddy went out. At first, I wasn’t concerned. I told her that she couldn’t bring daddy’s things home to mommy and I brushed it off, intending to return the cassette. But I got to thinking about why he’d hide it away. I assumed it was a taped sex act with one of his lovers. He likes to tape himself.” Pearl shifted uncomfortably. 

“Would you like some water?” Martin opened up his bar fridge and when Pearl nodded, he handed her a bottle. They waited for her to take a sip and continue.

“I have an old camcorder in storage—in the spare room. One morning, in the early hours, I dug it out and watched the tape. The video is horrifying—I couldn’t watch to the end.”

Martin pulled up a chair beside Connie and spoke. “It’s a tape from 2012. Rajin Bandara participated in the torture and murder of three victims. There’s an hour’s worth of footage. I’ve skimmed over the contents.”

Connie rubbed her forehead and tried not to think of the victims or the impending shit-storm. “This was three years after the war ended?”

“Yes, ma’am—Madam Ambassador.” Pearl’s pale complexion spoke of the horrors on that tape.

Sri Lanka’s 26-year-long civil war ended in 2009 and still cast a dark shadow over the diverse ethnic communities. Forty thousand civilians, were killed during the war, bringing the death toll to more than a hundred thousand from a population of around twenty million. And even though the civil war ended in 2009, not only did grievances remain unaddressed, but the covert torture of ethnic minorities had been an ongoing issue. Civilians dragged off the streets and shoved into unmarked vans were never seen again. Some that survived had escaped to India or the UK. A presidential candidate torturing prisoners would stir up old tensions and new conflicts. 

Pearl continued with her story, and Connie hung on her next words. 

“I needed to know if that was the only footage. It haunted me for days. This evening, I turned up at Rajin’s home to drop off Aysha, but I’d left her at home with a friend. I told him that she felt ill and was in bed but that I’d like to chat about joint custody and our future if he became president. I brought along Rajin’s favorite wine, and he invited me in for dinner.” Pearl glanced nervously between Martin and Connie. 

“Go ahead. Tell the ambassador what you told me.”

“I drugged him.”

Connie raised her brows. 

“It wasn’t a large amount—a sleeping tablet slipped into the wine.”

“Drinking even one alcoholic beverage in combination with sleeping pills can be dangerous.”

“I know. It was foolish, and I checked Rajin’s breathing. I couldn’t risk getting caught—not after seeing what he did to those poor men.”

Rubbing her eyes, Connie encouraged Pearl to continue.

“When his staff had retired for the night, and he’d nodded off, I searched his office and found the drawer.” 

Martin pointed to a ziplock bag filled with cassettes on his desk. “She found the motherload.”

“Have you checked any of them?” Connie twisted to face Martin. 

“Yes. We need to sift through the footage, but from what I’ve seen so far, it’s brutal.”

For Martin—a seasoned soldier—to use that descriptor… 

“Show me.”

“Connie.” He switched to an informal address, which indicated his concern. 

“I need to know what we’re dealing with.” She picked up a cassette noting a more recent date from three years back, taped to the device.

“They’re all dated, which makes our job easier.” Martin opened his hand, and she placed it in his palm, ignoring his warm touch. He placed it in a camcorder and fiddled with an RCA audio cable before pressing play.

Connie watched the video roll with growing horror and disbelief. Two men hung upside down—naked from a ceiling as three plain-clothed men beat them with batons. Finally, when they stopped, a fourth man stepped into the frame. Rajin carried a gasoline container. Kneeling, he poured the liquid into plastic shopping bags, stood, and tied a bag around one of the victim’s heads. Rage had Connie wanting to reach through the screen and stop the sick bastard; instead, she sat helplessly and watched. 

“Wait a sec.” Martin paused the footage and zoomed in on the second victim. “Do you recognize him?”

Connie blinked before sitting back in her chair. “Jeewana Cooray—the junior diplomat that went missing. He was from…”

“Mumbai.” Martin leaned in. “The Indian diplomat walked out of a UN General Assembly meeting after challenging Sri Lankan policy on further disenfranchisement among minority Tamil groups.”

Although his later disappearance had made global news, Connie hadn’t been assigned to Sri Lanka at the time and hadn’t followed the story as closely as she should have. 

“Did they ever find his body?” Martin swung to his laptop. 

“I’m not sure.” Connie shook her head in disbelief. “Your ex-husband is a monster.”

Pearl nodded. “I didn’t know what to do and contacted Chantal because of her U.S. diplomatic connections; she’s the only friend I can trust. But when he discovers what I’ve done. I have to protect my daughter.”

Connie considered her options. “You’ll be handled by ACS—American Citizen Services. We’ll get you back to the States, which is where I assume you’d like to be?”

“I haven’t been home in so long. I met Rajin six years ago while on vacation. We married that same month. Rajin will want Aysha; he’ll search for her. Oh, my God!” Pearl stood and paced. “He has both her American and Sri Lankan passports.”

“ACS will sort out her travel documents,” Martin volunteered.

“And then what? Rajin was the Inspector General of Police before he became the Minister of Law and Order. He has connections! With this evidence, his presidential aspirations are dead in the water. What I’ve done—in his eyes—is unforgivable. He will find us, and if he doesn’t kill me, he’ll take Aysha, and I’ll never see her again.”

“I can’t assign a protection detail.” It wasn’t standard protocol for non-diplomats, and Connie could land in hot water. Especially with the upcoming fight on her hands.

“But I can.” Martin acknowledged Connie’s confusion with a reassuring smile. “Not in a formal capacity. Agent Torres is returning to the States tonight.” Martin smiled reassuringly at Pearl. “He’s a Diplomatic Security—DS—agent who’s finished with TDY. He’s highly trained in security and combat and also Former Special Forces.”

Pearl frowned. “What’s TDY?”

“Temporary duty. Agent Torres flew over to fill in for a colleague on emergency leave.” Let me talk with him and see if he’s willing to accompany you back to the States. He’s heading to DC in a few days—perhaps we can shift up his flight.”

“Martin, we do not involve our people.” Connie stood and flexed her aching fingers.

“Agent Torres won’t be on company time. Mrs. Bandara and Aysha will be exfiled out of the country as soon as possible. Rajin doesn’t know where she is, and hopefully, he’s still unaware of the deception.”

“This stays between us—and carefully selected members of our team.” Connie didn’t want Pearl’s blood on her hands. And Chantal was now involved. The thought of her daughter getting hurt had Connie tensing, causing her to wince. Her damn shoulder.

“Connie, are you okay?” Martin stepped forward. 

Cursing her rare display of weakness, she nodded and turned for the door. Striking out, she re-established boundaries. “Watch your address, Agent Roberts.”

“My apologies, Madam Ambassador.”

Ignoring his resigned tone, she opened the door and turned to Pearl. “Good luck. We’ll get you to safety.” And Connie would be left to deal with the fallout. Because she refused to let a psychopathic brute like Rajin Bandara rule the fragile country she’d grown to love. He’d pay for his veiled murdering sprees—she’d see this to the end.