ON HUMAN FEET, I WALKED uphill between scrub trees until two rocky hillsides V’ed together. Flags and pits dotted the landscape. I called this a dig, but it wasn’t really. Just test holes placed at random intervals. Not on a grid. Wherever my belly told me to look.
The site was funded—surprisingly enough—by the Bearclaw people. Justine had never reappeared, but her money trail had been easy to follow for an astute digital tracker. And now that he no longer worked for the President, Harry saw no reason not to skim off cash that had been stolen once before.
We donated all of it to Sam, to help his relatives. He, in turn, invested the lump sum, channeled most of the interest toward boosting his people’s standard of living, then donated some back to me.
“To look into the past,” he explained
