Page 30 of Brix

“All wonderful questions,” he said. “I wish I could answer them. I’ve told you how we met once before. Your mother was waiting outside the gates of Oxford one Friday morning. I ran into her, and she said she was waiting for a friend. I asked her to coffee, and we spoke as if we’d known one another for ages. We had the same interests, same goals, or so it seemed.”

“Same interests? Like what?” asked Brix.

“Well, she said she was interested in cricket, which turned out to be a stretch. She didn’t care for it at all. She claimed she had an interest in art, but not really. Only to the point of buying mounds of it. Come to think of it, I wasn’t very smart, was I?”

“Sir, where was your wife from?” asked Tiger.

“Ghana. She told me that her parents were dead, and she was living with an aunt in Ghana. She’d come to England for holiday with some friends.”

“Did she return to Ghana?” asked Brix.

“No. In fact, she got an apartment with another young woman, and within six months, I proposed to her.”

“So, she never told you about her family, if she had siblings or not. Nothing.”

“No,” he said quietly. “I must appear pretty stupid to you all. I was in love with her. Deirdre was quite beautiful when she was young. She still is, I suppose. Although the horrible things she’s done have diminished her beauty in my eyes considerably.”

“It will do that,” said Zulu. “I assume you had a rather plush wedding. Did no one from her family come?”

“No. She told my mother that some of them had died and that those remaining in her family were suffering from some illness, but they encouraged her to proceed with the wedding. They would all celebrate later, but we never did.”

“Sir, what was your wife’s maiden name?” asked Major.

“Yeboah. Deirdre Yeboah.”

“Shit,” muttered Zulu. “Shit, shit, shit.”

“What? What’s wrong?” asked Daphne.

“Asante Yeboah was a terrorist rebel leader who killed thousands if not millions. His goal was to exterminate anyone who didn’t side with his beliefs. He was responsible for the kidnapping, rape, mutilation, and murder of twelve young girls that my team was sent to rescue.”

“Dear God,” muttered Daphne.

“AJ? Pigsty? Does anyone hear me?” asked Zulu.

“We’ve got you, Zulu, and we heard. I’m sending the information to Ghost and the other members of your team to see what they remember about what happened to him and his family. I’ll start my research now and see if he had a daughter. I know he was killed not long after you all left the service.”

“Yep. Because we killed him,” said Zulu. He turned and stared at his granddaughter-in-law. “I’m sorry, honey. But our team killed him.”

“It’s okay. It sounds like he wasn’t meant to live. I wonder if terrorism can be inherited.”

“I don’t think terrorism can, but hate and evil certainly could be,” said Zulu. “If your mother was indeed his daughter, she may have mental issues that we will never understand.”

“It would explain her eliminating my sister.”

“Your sister?” asked Francois.

“They adopted two little girls. Cassandra and me. She became sick, and Deirdre refused to allow treatment for her, saying it only prolonged the inevitable, and she could never be married.”

“Cassandra? Was she younger than you?” asked Mary Elizabeth.

“Yes, by a year or two.”

“I wonder,” whispered her mother. She stood and went to a desk, pulling out a stack of photos. She spread them across the top of the desk and then picked up a photo. “Here. This one. Is that the girl?”

“That’s her! That’s Cassandra,” smiled Daphne.

“No. That’s Caliope. She was the daughter of our dear friends, Ingmar and Sborn Neudstrom of Norway. He was ridiculously wealthy from salmon fishing or something.”

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