The policeman, wearing a black ski mask over his face to hide his identity, waved the platoon through. If his identity were known, he and his family—even his extended family—might be threatened or even killed. War had forced the man to hide in his own country.
Passing through the checkpoint, each vehicle sounded off on the radio.
“Two’s out.”
“Three’s out.”
“Four’s out.”
Out on the open road, they picked up speed again, maintaining intervals of about 50 meters.
Moments later they arrived at the location Wynn had chosen.
By the time the census teams had finished a dozen houses, a burning, orange sun stood stark and indomitable in the sky. Though it was still early, heat already swathed the land and the men in what felt like hot, sticky syrup. The soldiers continued from house to hous
