Page 32 of Ground Truth

“Hi, Michael. I’m Hanna Campbell. Thank you for agreeing to help me.” Her voice was quiet but strong and firm at the same time.

Flint glanced toward the young woman, who looked nothing like he’d expected. She was petite. Short wavy brown hair. Enormous brown eyes.

She was a few years younger than Drake, so maybe thirty, give or take a couple of years either way. Wearing a sleeveless blue dress that landed just above her knees and canvas flats.

In the dim lighting he couldn’t see her complexion well, but she looked pale even from across the room. Her gait was unsteady, and she clasped her hands together as if they might wander away when she released her grip.

“Have a seat, Hanna. I’m not antisocial, but I’ve got a wicked headache. Drake’s videoconference will start here in a minute. He’ll get you a drink if you’d like,” Flint said, closing his eyes against the pulsing glare of the oversize television mounted on the wall.

“Just water, please,” she said. “And I can get it myself.”

Drake pointed her toward the kitchen. She returned a few minutes later with three water bottles and passed them out. Flint’s was room temperature.

“Cold water bothers me when I have a headache,” she said as she handed the bottle to him.

He took the bottle and thanked her. “Drake tells me you’ve had a hard time since you left college. Everything okay now?”

“Pretty much, I guess. I had TB, but they say it’s cured. Then they say it could come back, too. I don’t know.” She shrugged and picked at the label on her water bottle until she peeled it off in one piece.

“TB? We’ve pretty much conquered that one in the US. But Drake said you’d been traveling. You must have seen some exotic places to catch TB,” Flint said, making an effort to put her at ease even though he felt like he was staring straight into a strobe light every time he opened his eyes.

“Not so exotic, I’m afraid.” Hanna lowered her gaze and spoke softly. “I was in prison in North Korea for five years. I got TB right away. They treated it with drugs, but I became drug-resistant after a while. So they finally released me because they were worried that I’d die and they’d be blamed for killing me.”

“Yeah,” Flint said. “It’s happened before. Not that they need much of a reason, but why did they arrest you?”

“She defaced government property. Ripped a poster off a wall,” Drake said angrily.

“Stupid kid does stupid thing and gets caught. Pretty common story,” Hanna replied with a shrug and no excuses.

“Sounds rough.” Flint appreciated people who stood up and owned their behavior.

“In my case, the punishment was way worse than the crime. But at least I didn’t die there,” Hanna said, opening her water bottle and sipping. “One of my friends did die. Many times I thought I would.”

The videoconference startup image came on the screen. Flint’s setup was exceptionally secure, but the security level on Gaspar’s end was better than the Pentagon or the development division at any major business in the country.

Gaspar behaved as if he were being watched twenty-four seven. Maybe he was. He’d been involved in black ops at the FBI. Flint never heard the particulars.

After a moment, Gaspar’s weary image filled the screen.

“Flint, you look like hell,” Gaspar teased, as if his own appearance were a lot better. “Weren’t you lying around on a yacht in the Med a couple of days ago? Where’s your tan?”

“Yeah, well, you know how these things go. Duty calls,” Flint replied.

“Nice of you to agree to help Hanna find her sister. Don’t let it get around that you’re doing pro bono work,” Gaspar jabbed him again.

“Find her sister? You mean find her body?” Flint missed the humor because he’d lost his focus. “She was lost at sea, right? How exactly do you plan to find her body after all this time?”

Gaspar glanced at Drake and Hanna. “You didn’t tell him that you believe Greta is alive? That’s the whole point of this exercise, isn’t it?”

Drake grimaced. “We didn’t get that far yet. You’ve been looking into the situation. Why don’t you bring us all up to speed.”

“Right. Okay. Let’s start with the players.” Gaspar moved his image off the screen and displayed a few photos of Greta Campbell Reed and her husband, Dr. Phillip Stephen Reed. “This is Hanna’s sister and her second husband on the day they married. Here’s a few headshots we dug up from the databases. Passport photos, driver’s licenses, work ID images. Even a few articles published in newspapers, magazines. Next are candid shots from online websites and social media.”

The images of her sister revealed a slightly older version of Hanna. Greta was blond instead of brunette. But the same big brown eyes. Same waifish build. Flint guessed Greta’s age at about five years older than Hanna.

Gaspar moved on. “This is Sarah Campbell, the mother. Forty-five when she was hit in a crosswalk in the middle of a bright, sunny day by a drunk driver. Here’s the scene of the accident. She died at the scene.”

“Where were you when this happened, Hanna?” Flint asked, eyes closed for a break from the throbbing glare.

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