‘A couple of days ago,’ he replies.

‘And how have you been?’

He shrugs. Talking, feelings, that was never his thing.

She sits for a long time, watching him. She is so much older than he, yet thinks he has seen and experienced much more than she ever will. People who don’t know him mistake his self-containment for loneliness. ‘Okay. I should know better than to even ask. I’m going to get dressed for dinner at Lauren’s.’ She shrugs mentally. He has always been a mystery. Nothing new there.

She slides a key across. ‘I keep them in the sideboard.’

He opens the sideboard and removes a pair of tablas. These were gifted to him by his guru in Jamaica. Since his first visit to the school, he’d spent hours learning the tabla, the various taals, and had often accompanied his guru in his performances. His guru had been right. He hadn’t found what he was seeking in tabla, but the drums provided an escape.

He takes out a soft cloth and polishes the wooden shell of the sidda and then repeats the polishing on the brass of the dagga. He adjusts the tension ropes on the sides of the drums and cleans them carefully. He takes a basalt stone and polishes the black spots, the syahi, on the drums slowly and rhythmically.

Cass observes from her bedroom. She doesn’t understand his fascination for Indian drums. As a child, he wasn’t musically inclined. Zeb puts away the drums when she emerges ten minutes later, dressed to the nines, and they make their way to the apartment next door.

Rory opens the door with a flourish. ‘Hello, Aunt Cassie, I helped Mom make dinner for us, so I bet you it’ll be good.’

‘You’ve trained me well, Rory. I would never dare say your dinner is bad,’ Cass replies. ‘You have met Zeb, haven’t you?’ she asks with a mirthful glint in her eye.

Rory squirms and shuffles and then sticks his chin out. ‘He shouldn’t have let himself in, Aunt Cassie. I could have called the cops, and then it would have been a bigger scene.’

Lauren comes along with a tall dark-haired man. ‘Rory, shush. We all know how well you watch over Cassie’s apartment. Zeb, this is my husband, Connor. Connor, this is Zeb, Cassie’s brother.’

The man has a firm grip as he shakes Zeb’s hand.

Connor is an award-winning journalist working at the New York Times. He started his career at local newspapers in Kentucky and became noticed nationally when he exposed corruption in southeastern Kentucky politics. His big break came when he was snapped up by the New York Post. He trained his sights on exposing the corrupt practices of New York’s senators, won a George Polk award for that story, and moved to the New York Times, where he took on global features.

He opens a bottle of wine and makes small talk as they sit around the living room. Lauren says she’s expecting Connor’s sister for dinner, as well. She works in an advertising agency and is nearly always late for any occasion.

His sister enters just as Lauren finishes her apologies. Anne Balthazar is as tall as Connor, maybe five eleven, athletic build, and with the same dark hair, blue eyes and healthy complexion.

Rory jumps up with a squeal and flings himself into her arms. He rips at the paper on the gift she has brought him and squeals even louder when he finds a pair of baseball batting gloves in the box.

Connor asks Zeb about his work. Zeb shrugs and says he does investigative work for the army occasionally and some security consulting work for businesses.

Connor has done his own investigating on Cassandra and her family. It has become a force of habit to do a lookup on whoever he meets. He knows from his sources at the agency and at other agencies that Zeb is held in high regard and has worked on several consulting assignments which he knows is agency-speak for covert, deniable assignments.

Over dinner, Rory asks him, ‘Uncle Zeb, have you been in any war?’

‘Just Zeb,’ Zeb replies. ‘A few.’

‘Must have been fun. Did you kill a lot of enemies?’

Anne reprimands him. ‘Wars are never fun, Rory. They’re horrible and cause death and destruction.

‘What?’ she says on seeing Zeb’s slight smile. ‘I guess you don’t agree. Wait, I forgot. You make your living from wars, don’t you?’

Zeb shakes his head. ‘Wars are destructive and horrible. I don’t disagree.’ He says nothing more.

Anne is disappointed that he’s ducking out of a debate, but doesn’t pursue it.

Rory, his Xbox war games instincts aroused, doesn’t give up. ‘Well, Zeb, if you didn’t like war, you’d have quit being a soldier, right? Aunt Cassie says you’re rolling in dough, so it’s not as if you need to work.’

The noise drops, and all eyes swivel to Zeb.

‘War isn’t only about killing or destroying. It can be about protecting and defending, too.’

‘That’s bullshit,’ Anne retorts, and Rory covers his ears and grimaces comically. ‘Sorry, honey. But, Zeb, most countries go to war out of greed and politics. Very few wars have happened because the aggressor country had to defend itself.’

‘You may be right, ma’am. I’m just a paid grunt and follow orders.’

‘Oh, you can do better than that! Maybe you do like war,’ she exclaims.

‘It pays my wages, ma’am,’ replies Zeb, with the slightest trace of a smile.

She’s not sure if he’s genuinely avoiding an argument or pulling her leg. Lauren interrupts their conversation by serving Rory’s favorite dessert, chocolate cake, knocking Rory out of the conversation and into many minutes of ecstatic eating. Later they adjourn to the living room, and over coffee, Connor asks Zeb if he has heard of Senator Rob Hardinger.

Zeb shrugs. ‘Nope, but then I’ve been out of the country and haven’t been tracking politics.’

‘Hardinger is a key party fund-raiser, has proximity to the President because of his fund-raising activities, yet is scum. His family business, Alchemy Holdings, is into mining and minerals trading. It’s an old, established business, held privately, that was started by the Senator’s grandfather. The business has mines in Australia, Central and South America, and Africa. They mine and trade diamonds, aluminum, copper, tin, you name it.’

Zeb keeps silent, not sure where this is going.

Connor takes a long sip of his coffee. ‘I got interested in them when I was looking into corporate lobbying and heard rumors about Alchemy Holdings making party donations to influence government policy. Now lobbying is a standard practice and so is making corporate donations – nothing illegal there. However, the whispers are that Alchemy paid off senators and congressmen directly to change policy and to remove trade restrictions with certain countries on certain items.’

‘I have also been looking into Alchemy’s ethical practices at the mines they own in South America and Africa. I have reason to believe the work practices are exploitative.’

Zeb shrugs. ‘I don’t see what’s so new or earthshaking about this. Big businesses have been lobbying politicians since time and politics began, and business practices in South America and Africa aren’t the same as ours. They’ve always exploited their workers.’

Connor smiles devilishly. ‘Yes, I agree on both counts, but what Alchemy did wasn’t lobbying. It was bribing. And what if I said there was a provable trail that showed Hardinger sanctioned the payoffs and the exploitative practices when he was the Chairman and CEO of Alchemy?’

Anne pipes up, ‘Wouldn’t he have to resign the Senate and face charges, possibly criminal, if this were provable?’

‘That’s what I’m working on currently.’ Connor leans back contentedly. He eyes Zeb and asks, ‘I’m visiting Africa next week to investigate Alchemy’s mines and the mining conditions of Western-owned mines in general. You were in Africa for some time, weren’t you? Did you come across any American-owned mines or hear of the working conditions there?’