Open Pit by Marguerite Pigeon Page A

found confusing and, she believes, also led to confusion among the guerrillas. She sees their faces. Chepe, the young messenger she befriended, was also Enano, because he was so short. Gabi, one of the cooks, was La Gallina for being such a gossip. Freckle-faced Renaldo was Pecoso. Danielle herself was La Rojita, for her red hair, and sometimes Delgadita, for how thin she got when she had stomach bugs, which was often. Then she adds Sosa, her friend the priest.
    Eventually Danielle has to decide what to do about Adrian. It seems conspicuous, somehow, to put him last. He was the most “important” person she knew. She squeezes his name into the middle of the list, a decision she immediately regrets. Why protect him? She remembers Adrian telling her that, at his rank, names could change depending on the importance of the mission. Sometimes the insurgency didn’t even want members of a particular guerrilla unit to know the true identity of the person assigned to lead them. Secrecy was paramount. But Danielle can’t recollect whether Adrian ever told her what his other name was. He was Adrian to her, so that’s what she writes, followed by his occupation: commando, Special Forces.
    Pepe holds out his hand. “Homework for later,” he says, folding the paper back into his pocket. “Now. Something else.”
    Danielle feels the blood drain from her face: he’s going to abuse her, rape her in this muddy place.
    But Pepe makes no sudden moves. “If you are a journalist, you write well.”
    â€œI am not one.” Danielle’s hands remain in tight fists. “I work as an editor — by myself. Freelance.”
    â€œ Bien, ” says Pepe, not conceding the difference. “You can write something for me. With you, I can document episodes of my life. So the people understand my motives.”
    â€œBut who will read —?”
    Another of Pepe’s withering looks stops Danielle mid-question. “Go!” he says, standing behind her, waiting for her to move out.

    3:00 PM . Canadian embassy, San Salvador
    Mitch pauses at Catharine Keil’s door, reminding himself to be nice. But Keil does not return the smile he offers when he walks in, or even bother getting up from her desk.
    â€œPlease,” she says, indicating a chair facing hers.
    Mitch sits, sinking lower into the seat than he expected. He lifts a foot over the opposite knee, trying to compensate. “I didn’t know you guys were in this building,” he says, still failing to get any height. “I actually ran into an acquaintance at the elevators — exploration guy. Small world!”
    â€œI’m sure,” says Catharine Keil, tucking a section of hair behind her ear. It’s greyer than last time Mitch saw her in person, evenly silver. Has she dyed it that way, he wonders? She’s not even that old.
    â€œDo you need clarification on something in particular, Mr. Wall?”
    â€œOkay. Let me first say that no one could’ve anticipated these demands.” Out of the corner of his eye Mitch can still see Keil’s assistant, who showed him in from reception. Mitch assumed he would leave before the meeting began, but the man has taken up a spot by the window. Mitch tries to ignore him while appealing to the ambassador’s reason. “We’ve been blindsided — as you have.”
    Keil picks up her pen, stands it on her desk, then lays it down again. “These things happen. We have policies. Your insurers have probably briefed you before.”
    â€œAbout employee abductions? Oh, sure. But that’s completely different. These tourists weren’t my employees!” Mitch starts to laugh, looking towards the assistant, who is stony-faced.
    â€œOne interesting thing about those cases is that companies regularly pay a ransom rather than risking people’s lives unnecessarily,” says Keil.
    Mitch remembers this smug attitude from last time he