6
Shanti held it together on the drive back to the hotel, grateful that Connor hadn’t asked her why she’d been crying or how she was doing. She would’ve had to say she was fine when, in truth, she felt sick to the depths of her soul.
You won’t be any good to them as a prosecutor if you let your emotions take over.
He sat beside her, still in his rain gear, rifle in his hands, his gaze focused once more on the world outside. He’d taken her hand to keep her from falling, but the contact had been a lifeline, helping her to get control of her emotions again. She would never be able to tell him that, but it was true.
When they got back to the hotel, she went straight to her room, took off her muddy boots and socks, and went to work uploading the raw video and digital sound files via secured internet to the ICC’s cloud site. She wanted the files safely in Bram’s hands as soon as possible. That way, if anything happened to her or her equipment, Bram would already have the women’s statements.
Each of the three women had identified Naing as being present and in charge when their villages were destroyed.
Take that, you murdering bastard.
While the first file uploaded, Shanti wrote her report and emailed it to Bram, highlighting for him the fact that some soldiers had recorded these atrocities on cell phones. Maybe there was footage out there somewhere that could prove Naing had ordered his soldiers to rape and kill.
She set the second file to upload and took a shower, tried to wash away mud and the lingering stench of cruelty. And still, the women’s words, voiced by Noor, echoed through her mind.
A soldier slit her husband’s throat and shot her children then raped and shot her. She pretended to be dead.
He took her baby and threw it into the fire. He and five other soldiers raped her while her baby burned.
I recognized my sister’s voice. They were burning alive.
How could anyone be so vicious, so cruel?
Shanti turned off the water, leaned her forehead against the tile, helplessness and rage welling up inside her.
Don’t do this.
She wasn’t helpless. She was one of the few people in this world who could do something about these atrocities. She’d come to bring justice, to make sure that the man in charge of these crimes was punished.
She stepped out of the shower, toweled her hair dry, then put on a white top and a blue cotton sari, the one she wore on weekends at home.
The second file was still uploading, so Shanti sent a text to Connor asking forcha.
Do you want something to eat?
She couldn’t even think about food right now.
No, thanks.
Ten minutes later, a knock came at her door.
She opened it to find Connor with a cart that held not onlychabut a tray loaded with Bengali sweets—sandesh,amriti, andchomchom. Her mouth watered.
Maybe she was a little hungry after all.
He had changed out of his wet clothes and wore shorts, a black T-shirt, and flip flops, looking like a guy on his way to the beach if you ignored his shoulder holster and pistol. He pushed the cart into her room and closed the door behind him. “I ordered traditional tea, and they sent this up.”
“I used to eat these as a child. I lovesandesh.”
“If you’ve got a few minutes, I have some news.”
Shanti wasn’t up for human contact tonight, but she remembered how reassuring it had felt to hold his hand. She willed herself to smile. “Join me.”
She sat across from him and poured the tea, instinctively turning to light topics of conversation. “I hear more rain is forecast for tomorrow but not until late afternoon.”
“Thanks.” Connor accepted his cup of tea. “You don’t have to play hostess for me, Shanti. I know you’ve had a hard day.”