Chapter 202: Makima Concern’s About Sean Health
"A colleague," said Sean.
"She’s identified three specific regulatory gaps that allowed the hospital data pipeline to exist without detection," said Reyes. "I’d like to know if she’d be willing to speak to the relevant oversight body after this concludes."
Sean thought about Amara in her cousin’s apartment with her research materials and her fourteen-item list and her public health policy plans.
"I’ll ask her," he said.
"One more thing," said Reyes. "Marcus Hargreave. He’s the thread that connects this operation to the Lockhart property scheme Elena Voss has been working. When we move on him we move on both simultaneously. Everything he’s built across forty years comes down in the same moment."
"That’s what he deserves," said Sean.
A brief pause. "Yes," said Reyes. "It is." Her voice was direct and without performance. "Mr. Miller. This kind of documentation doesn’t come from nowhere. You built something that took a federal investigation two years to approach from the outside. I’m not going to ask how."
"I appreciate that," said Sean.
"I’m going to ask one thing," she said.
"Okay," said Sean.
"Stay available for the next forty-eight hours," she said. "If something in the package needs clarification, I need to reach you quickly."
"I’ll be available," said Sean.
The call ended.
Sean sat with his phone in his hand and looked at the Friday morning city outside and let the specific feeling of something enormous being set in motion settle through him without making anything dramatic of it.
He texted Max first.
Federal contact received everything. Moving in forty-eight hours. She wants to speak with you. I’m sending her your secure contact now.
Max responded immediately. Understood. Amara is asking if the seventeen pages were useful.
Federal contact wants to talk to her specifically, Sean replied. Tell her yes.
A longer pause than usual. Then: She’s been sitting with that notebook since Tuesday waiting to find out. She just made a sound I haven’t heard from her in about two years.
What kind of sound, Sean typed.
The kind that means she was right about something, said Max. She’s insufferable when she’s right.
She’s always right, Sean replied.
I know, said Max. It’s exhausting and wonderful in equal proportion.
Sean put his phone down and called Mia.
She picked up before the first ring finished.
"It’s moving," said Sean.
The line was quiet for a moment.
"How soon," she said.
"Forty-eight hours," said Sean. "Federal level. All four cities simultaneously. The girls come out first before anything else happens."
Another silence.
"Soo-Jin," she said.
"First on the list," said Sean. "I made sure the contact understood."
He heard Mia’s breath change on the other end of the call. Not crying. Something quieter than that. The specific exhale of someone who has been holding something rigid inside themselves for long enough that the beginning of the end of holding it produced a physical response they couldn’t entirely manage.
"Okay," she said.
"Stay at the hotel," said Sean. "The contact may need your direct testimony at some point. I’ll let you know when."
"I’ll be here," she said.
She paused.
"Sean," she said.
"Yeah."
"The fifteen year old on the list," she said. "She’s been there three months. She told me once that she hadn’t told her parents because she was afraid of what they’d think of her for signing the contract."
"She didn’t do anything wrong," said Sean.
"I know that," said Mia. "She knows that rationally. But the shame is there anyway. It’s part of what the operation does. It makes you feel like the situation is your fault so you don’t reach for help." She paused. "When they get her out. Someone needs to tell her specifically that it wasn’t her fault."
"I’ll make sure Reyes understands that," said Sean.
"Thank you," said Mia.
She hung up.
Sean looked at the window.
He thought about a fifteen year old who hadn’t told her parents. About an operation that was specifically designed to produce that silence. About a woman named Diana Osei who had said warmly to a girl that her debt was looking better, knowing the debt would never actually look better unless someone from outside dismantled the entire machine it lived inside.
He stood up and went to see Makima.
—--------------------
She was in the building office when he knocked, the paperwork of running a thirty-year-old building spread across her desk in the organized way she managed everything.
She looked up.
Something in his expression told her before he said a word.
"It’s moving," she said.
"Forty-eight hours," said Sean.
She looked at him for a moment. Then she stood and came around the desk and hugged him, which she did sometimes when something had been carried for long enough and was now close enough to done that the specific relief of it required something physical.
He held on.
"The girls," she said against his shoulder.
"First," he said. "Before anything else."
She pulled back and looked at him.
"Good," she said.
He sat in the chair across from her desk and she went back to her side of it and for a while they just sat in the quiet of the office together, the building doing its Friday morning things around them.
"Amara," said Makima eventually.
"The federal contact wants to talk to her about her policy analysis," said Sean. "The seventeen pages."
Makima’s expression did the thing it did when something landed exactly as it should. "She’s been waiting for someone to ask."
"She has notes," said Sean.
"She always has notes," said Makima. "That’s not an obstacle. That’s her superpower." She paused. "Sean."
"Yeah."
"You should sleep tonight," she said. "Properly. The forty-eight hours is in someone else’s hands now."
"I know," he said.
"Do you," she said. "Because you’ve been running since Sunday and before that you were in Paris and before that you were at the hospital " She looked at him with the specific directness she reserved for things she meant completely. "Sleep. The girls will still be okay while you sleep."