CHAPTER 39THE OTHER WOMAN
When we got to Sinkor, it was strangely quiet. Gray-black smoke was rising from the city center, but there were no sirens or blaring horns. There were signs of looting—debris was scattered throughout the streets. But other than that, the place was devoid of human activity.
We found the address given to me by Honorable Williams. It was a modest but tasteful apartment in the upscale neighborhood. As I reached for the highly polished brass door knocker, I was surprised to see my disheveled appearance in its reflection. A small, middle-aged Liberian woman answered the door. At first she only cracked the door open wide enough so that I could just see one of her eyes, searching. Then she opened the door wider, still keeping the opening at the width of her body and man
