Chapter 25
Over the next four months, I attempt to pick up the pieces of my life.
After another day in the Bangkok hospital, I’m deemed healthy enough to travel, and I go home, back to Illinois with my parents. We have two FBI escorts on our trip home—Agents Wilson and Bosovsky—who use the twenty-hour flight to ask me even more questions. Both of them seem frustrated because, according to their databases, Julian Esguerra simply doesn’t exist.
“There are no other aliases you’ve heard him use?” Agent Bosovsky asks me for the third time, after their Interpol query comes back without any results.
“No,” I say patiently. “I only knew him as Julian. The terrorists called him Esguerra.”
Beth’s guess about the identities of the men who stole us from Julian’s clinic turned out to be correct. Th
