Olen Steinhauer - The Tourist

Upon retiring, he bought an Austin bicycle shop fallen on hard times. He expanded the store, rebranded it, and took out ads in the Chronicle for what was critically referred to by locals as "the Wal-Mart of cycle stores." There was irony all over his new business venture, and Tina sometimes asked how many local stores he'd put out of business.

"Christ, Tina. I thought you'd be happy I was helping the environment."

Despite his business ethics, Tina adored her father. Nearing sixty, he was broad and dark-skinned and from certain angles looked like a Mexican wrestler. When he was with Stephanie, though, all the business went out of him, and he wanted nothing more than to stay on the floor at her level, discussing whatever the girl directed the conversation toward.

That morning, he'd insisted on taking Stephanie to see the store, but by the time they got back at two they'd also visited Chuck E. Cheese's and gotten some Baskin-Robbins for dessert, which had spread a dark stain on Stephanie's lime overalls. Hanna stripped them off and went to work on the stain while Stephanie searched for some replacement clothes. Miguel also disappeared briefly, taking the day's mail to his office, then wandered back into the living room, one of the envelopes stuck in his pocket. Unconsciously, he flipped on their widescreen television. CNN informed them of stock prices.

"How was she, Dad?"

"She can charm anyone, that kid. I should use her for my negotiations."

"Didn't feed her too much, did you?"

Her father ignored that, but sat up on the couch, glancing at the empty doorway. He took the padded envelope from his pocket and tossed it onto the space between them. "Take a look at that."

She lifted it and quickly read the scrawled address-her parents'-on the cover. She knew that handwriting. No return address. Inside were two crisp passports and a slip of spiral paper asking her parents to please hold the passports for T and S, Tina and Stephanie.

"My God," she muttered as she looked at her own photograph beside the name Laura Dolan. And there was Stephanie, but now named Kelley.

When her mother walked in, she stuffed the passports back into the envelope, as if this were a secret between her and her father, which perhaps it was, but her mother was only walking through to the bathroom for extra detergent.

"What do you think?" Miguel asked once his wife was gone again.

"I don't know what to think.”

“An escape plan, maybe?”

“Maybe."

Miguel switched to MSNBC's financial news as Hanna blew back through the room, saying, "I hope you didn't ruin her appetite, Mig."

"Just the ice cream, hon. We played games at Chuck E.'s."

She answered with a doubtful hmm and was gone.

He sighed. "I don't know what all's going on, Tina, but if he's looking to pack you and my granddaughter off to some other country, then he's going to get some serious shit from me. I'll not have it."

"He wouldn't do that."

"Then why the passports, Tina?" When she didn't answer, he started to channel-surf, muttering, "Some serious shit, indeed."

Because of its historical aloofness, Switzerland had never joined the European Union, but in a June 2005 vote its citizens chose to become part of the Schengen Agreement, opening its borders to the larger passport-free European zone. This made the trip in the Renault Clio hatchback Einner had picked up south of Paris that much easier, and they reached Switzerland in four and a half hours, Milo taking over the wheel after the third dark hour.

While still in the passenger seat, Milo continued going through Angela's papers, using Einner's penlight. Much of it was peripheral-Rahman Garang's credit card records, articles on Ugritech's installation of computer systems in the Democratic Republic of Congo, Kenya, and Sudan, and, for no apparent reason, a daily summary from the United Nations Web site:

HIGHLIGHTS OF THE NOON BRIEFING

U.N. Headquarters, New York

Wednesday, June 20, 2001

U.N. Mission in Sudan Discusses Ways to Further Assistance

to the Implementation of Peace Agreement

• The UN Mission in Sudan, in today's briefing, notes that, over the weekend, the acting Special Representative for Sudan, Taye Brook Zerihoun, met with the State Minister to the Presidency, Idris Abdel Gadir.

• Their discussion focused on a proposal to hold high-level consultations between the UN Mission in Sudan and the Government of National Unity to make the Mission 's assistance to the implementation of the Comprehensive Peace Agreement more focused and effective.

• Meanwhile, the UN Mission reported that yesterday, an international NGO-hired vehicle traveling in South Darfur was shot at by an unknown armed man.

• On that same day in West Darfur, an international NGO convoy of two vehicles with five staff members was stopped by two unknown armed men, and the staff was robbed of personal effects and communication equipment.

Following this was an article from, of all things, the Chinese People’s Daily, dated September 25, 2004: Sudanese government foils coup plot.

Sudan foiled a plot by Islamists to overthrow the government on Friday afternoon, the Interior Ministry said in a statement.

Elements of the Popular Congress (PC) headed by jailed Islamist leader Hassan al-Turabi planned to carry out the plot in Khartoum at 2 p.m. (1100 GMT) right after the Friday prayers, said the statement…

That was three years ago; now, with the murder of Mullah Salih Ahmad, the rebellion was in the streets.

It was hard to concentrate. The rumble of the transmission gave him an ache in his lower spine. He was still sore from his acrobatics and short on sleep. He wanted to call Tina, to hear her voice and Stephanie's. He wanted to know exactly where they were.

Later, as he drove, Milo rubbed his face, staring into the midnight highway darkness. His mind wandered. He thought that in spy films or television shows, there was always a clear objective. A tape of a conversation that proved some important fact. A man who had the answers to a specific question. These stories were enjoyable for their very simplicity. The truth was that intelligence work seldom, if ever, ran in straight lines. Facts accumulated, many of them useless, some connecting and then disconnecting. It took a patient, trained eye to figure out which to hold on to and which to lay aside. Angela had had that kind of eye. He didn't know if he had it.

"Whoa!" said Einner, rising from sleep.

Milo blinked, then swerved the car back onto the highway.

"You suicidal or something?"

"Sorry."

"Let me take over." Einner sat up; he licked his teeth. "Where are we?"

"Just crossed over. Here." Ahead was a sign:

EXIT 1

GENEVE-CENTRE

LA PRAILLE

CAROUGE

PERLY

They argued over which hotel to check into. Milo wanted something small and inconspicuous, like De Geneve. "That flea pit?" said Einner. "Jesus, Milo. You want to kill us before we've had a chance to fight?" De Geneve was not a flea pit, but Einner had made it a habit on his unlimited Tourism expense accounts to stay in the finest lodgings a city had to offer. In Geneva, this meant the Hotel Beau-Rivage, overlooking Lake Geneva 's harbor full of yachts.

"They track this car," said Milo, "and that's the first place they'll look."

"But they won't find the car. You really do worry too much."

"That's because I'm on the run."

"Come on. Trust me."

As he steered down Rue de la Servette, which led directly to the water, Milo almost laughed at that. Part of it was the fatigue, but more, it was a basic truth of Tourism that you trusted no one. Yet if you had to trust anyone, it had better not be another Tourist.

They left the car behind the hotel. It was nearly one in the morning, but the harbor was alive with music and people. The activity seemed to wake Einner, who snapped his fingers to the rhythm of a samba emanating from a party boat in the middle of the lake.