20
Lima, Peru.
Morgan looked up at the Spanish baroque towers of the San Francisco Basilica as the warm sun of the morning blessed her skin. The air was cooler here, sweeping onto the Peruvian coastal plain from the Pacific and she felt dislocated, as if her soul were still back in the Philippines while her body was here, thousands of miles away.
Martin had managed to get them on a military transfer, not the comfiest of rides but certainly the fastest. She had snatched some sleep, aided by a handful of painkillers, fresh bandages and industrial earplugs. The roar of the engines still filled her ears, now overtaken by the capital city waking up. Cars on the highway, the c***k of coffee cups and scrape of chairs from nearby cafés, the shouts of street vendors. She could understand them, t
