EPILOGUEThe evening was quiet. Talya sat in one of the lounge chairs and looked at the shadows of the trees in the park. They were the giants of her thoughts; each was a memory of too many deaths, too many conflicts, too many power figures who were trying to rule the lives of millions of people with evil as the maestro of this unbridled and obscene orchestra of drug addiction.
Many questions that needed answers were dancing in front of her thoughts like a hundred question marks at the end of each of the paragraphs of her life. One of these question marks, which was perhaps a running winner to the finish-line of her answers, was, “Why wasn’t Slimane in Miami?” Everything had pointed to him being in that city for the past two years at least. She had deduced that he was back in West Africa b
