Their watertight identities, however, did nothing to disguise Lauren’s terror of flying. Prior to boarding, both Lauren and Kenzi stood on a scale with their luggage to ensure that the plane—which looked only slightly bigger than a Mini-Cooper—could be balanced properly in flight. Knowing this did nothing for Lauren’s confidence, and even though the flight lasted less than an hour, it had been an eternity for her; and longer still, for Kenzi, who held Lauren’s hair as she emptied the entire contents of her stomach on the beach when they landed. They packed the bare essentials: medical supplies, camping equipment, and a satellite radio. Anything outside of that, Lauren and Kenzi had to improvise or hope to salvage upon arrival. They were to catalog and assess the damage, the scope of medical and construction requirements to facilitate reopening of the site, and recommend improvements that would keep the station up and running again.

Kenzi propped herself on one of the military-style duffel bags they had brought with them and that were still scattered upon the sand. ”How you feelin’ there Linda Blair?”

”Like I’m carrying the demon seed.” Lauren dabbed at her neck with a handkerchief she’d soaked in the cool water of the tide.

Kenzi stood up with her back to the sea and surveyed the buildings on the beach: a handful of small, bamboo-framed huts, a larger barracks with a thatched roof and which was likely a multi-purpose common space, and heavy equipment which might have served some important purpose years ago, but looked more like bleached industrial carcasses, like the animal heads one finds in a white desert, familiar in form but far from alive.

Tek came bounding out of the largest of the huts, waving at the two women. ”Good news! Most everything is in still in place. I’ll radio the nearest village. We should have food and fresh water by nightfall. If you please, Dr. Jamie and Miss Alexandra, I think you may be most comfortable sharing the cabin on the end. It still has a roof!” Then, he turned and rushed back into the barracks.

”Dear God please let there be a bed,” Lauren, exhaled in relief now that her stomach cramps had subsided. She’d managed to sit up on her knees and rolled her eyes at Kenzi, pitiful and emptied of anything close to bravado.

”Please God, let there be vodka. Lots and lots,” Kenzi groaned while leaning her head into the cradle of her palms she held at the back of her neck. ”This is a shit hole. A tropical shit hole but a shit hole.”

She helped Lauren to her feet and together they digested the collection of stilted huts barely able to stand on their own. Laughing, they joked about how much this little village of forgotten lean-to’s reminded them of the clubhouse, its draftiness, the absence of walls, and the sense that the whole place could come crashing down simply by sneezing the wrong way.

Lauren wrapped an arm around Kenzi, and pecked her on the cheek. ”Welcome home.”

Singapore

Tamsin shook Dyson’s sleeping body next to hers.

”Wake up, Dy. I’m going to rock your world.”

”It’s two-dark thirty in the morning,” he grunted, face down in the center of their king-sized bed. ”Please let me make love to these sheets for a few more hours. Eyes closed. In fact, no talking. No moving.”

Tamsin elbowed him until he groggily sat up against the head board, scratching his beard. ”Stop punching me. I come in peace.”

Tamsin laughed. ”I wouldn’t say that.” She brought the laptop to his chest, pointing to a document so badly scanned that the letters were barely legible. ”Read it, there.”

Dyson squinted. ”International Red Cross Station, Tonlé Sap Lake, Cambodia.”

”Wait,” Tamsin instructed and scrolled the page. ”Read that, then scroll.”

”International Medical Team Advisor, JM Barrie, MD.” As Dyson scrolled, the top of the doctor’s head inched higher and higher until the wrinkled, black and white passport picture came into view: the light hair, the angular jaw, the graceful neck and the tight smile punctuated by dimples. ”Lauren! Wait, how old is this document?”

”Dated four weeks ago. I also checked with immigration. There’s no record of them leaving…yet.”

Dyson sent the laptop tumbling to the floor as he threw his arms around Tamsin, smothering her with kisses.

”Who’s your Daddy?” she smiled into his mouth. ”Do you think we could order room service one more time before we wake Bo?”