In the end, Paloma was much easier to find than he'd feared.

Tommy was still reeling from having his head handed to him earlier in the evening. The pain had passed, but he wasn't accustomed to being rendered helpless, and the encounter conjured painful memories of his past that left him impatient and short tempered.

His irritation wouldn't allow him to endure another 30 minutes on a bus or in a taxi, and it was a dark night, so another short flight thru the Chicago sky seemed worth the risk. He touched down in a dark alleyway at half past 2:00, hiked to an all-night diner he'd noticed earlier, and after sating his hunger yet again, took the five-minute stroll to his destination.

Once there, he swung past the men's room to splash his face and quell his annoyance. No one there remembered him from earlier in the evening—people never did—and the place was thick with the lovely and fresh scent of Paloma. It wafted around him like a cloud, cooling his ire even more. He appealed to whatever petty gods that might be listening that she wasn't too deep in all this.

Alhambra had a second level that, in accordance with some byzantine Chicago city code, had to close by 2:00 am. After sniffing around, Tommy found the young woman counting receipts alone at the second-floor bar. It was as if she were waiting for him.

"For someone who doesn't work here, you spend a lot of time in the joint," he said in his friendliest tone.

She gave a jump and half turned toward him, but when she realized who was there, a smile formed on her face. It was a real smile, if perhaps a sad one.

"You're not supposed to be up here." Her tone was friendly but firm.

Tommy moved up and took a stool next to her. It was only then he noticed the black semiautomatic pistol on the bar in front of her. She made no move toward the weapon. Clearly, though, she'd heard about the fires.

"Paloma, you need to tell me everything about Weliver, Fleener, and the others."

Her body tensed, and she began to shake her head. There were no tears, but her lips were drawn so tight even a blind man could've sensed her pain and fear. Her entire body said "no."

"Are you a cop?" she asked after a few painful seconds. "I thought you might be, except you were just ... so, so nice." The sad smile peeked out again.

"I'm not a cop, but I think you know how truly awful the people you're dealing with are, and what they're capable of." He gave her a few seconds to digest what he'd said. "Every instinct in me tells me you're different. Why don't you start at the beginning?"

This time, her body went from tense to a slight trembling, and her headshaking took on almost a rhythmic quality. It seemed like her lovely lips were drawn so tight they might split.

"I can't ... I can't. You have no idea what they'll do to me ... to Cesar ... to mom. I'm sorry," she whispered almost pathetically, "but I do know what they are capable of ... that's why I can't talk to you."

As the young woman spoke, Tommy could see every inch of her body grow more rigid, until she quivered and shook visibly from her terror. The fear all made sense now, it'd done so since he'd seen the Gifted man earlier in the evening. The fear he'd sensed in her, the heavy security at the bar, her current reluctance to talk to him—it all made sense.

"Why don't you tell me what they're capable of." He lay a gentle hand on her shoulder and waited. After five minutes of silence, Paloma's body slowly began to unwind, and her shaking gently abated. It was some minutes more before she spoke.

"We're good people," she said at last, her husky voice thick with emotion. "I mean ... I'm not always as careful as I should be when I buy auto parts ... you know, about checking where they came from." She paused a moment more to collect herself. "When, um ... when poppy ran the company ... um ... he started moving parts in and out of eastern Europe. Mostly, it was to stick a thumb in the eye of the governments there back in Communist days ... but, um ... he got really good at dodging customs and other border controls ... you know, with the help of cousins and friends who work there."

Long seconds more of raspy and nervous breathing followed as she again steadied herself.

"After he died," she continued, "Cesar and I kept it up." She looked at him hard, the first hint of a tear in her eye. "We weren't hurting anybody. It was just a little extra money. And then ... and then one day, about five years ago, a guy from the government showed up and said he knew everything. And he said he was going to arrest all of us ... unless we helped him with something."

It all started to come clear in Tommy's mind. "They wanted you to move people, didn't they?"

She nodded, a look of shame on her face and perhaps even a hint of relief at shedding her burden.

"It was only once or twice a month at first," she said in a rush. "They said we were helping in the fight against terrorism. The people we moved were almost always unconscious, and they always had medics with them. We thought we were being patriotic. I felt good about it. And, over time, it expanded. Before long, we were moving people from all over the world ... sometimes three, four, or five people a month."

"And when did it change?"

The fear returned to her eyes as she again began to tremble. The young woman sat that way for some time. Tommy slid his hand up and gave her neck a kind squeeze.

"Was it about a year ago?" he asked.

She nodded.

"And they wanted you to start moving groups of women, instead?"

She again nodded. "Mostly, but other things, too," she whispered, a deep shame in her eyes. "Drugs ... guns ... sometimes just sealed containers, big ones ...."

She sat there for a few minutes not talking.

"One of my ... one of my cousins tr ... tried ... he said we weren't going to do it anymore, said it was wrong." She sat, biting her lip and breathing heavily, as if mustering her strength. When she spoke, it was in a single anguished breath. "They killed him ... just tore him apart, right in front of us."

Afterward, she sat shaking and sobbing for a long while more. By that time, the two were holding hands on top of the bar, her clinging and squeezing his as if for dear life.

"You've told me all the hard parts," he said in a soft voice. "Why don't you tell me the rest?"

As he watched, her trembling slowly and finally subsided. She breathed several times and sighed. "Tommy, I can't ... they're ... you won't believe ...."

He suspected some of the toughness was coming back to her. "Try me."

She woofed another heavy sigh.

"The guy who's running things," she said, "the one who killed Slawomir ... he's one of them." It was clear her heart was in her throat when she spoke. "So are, like ... a half dozen others."

"I believe you," he said.

"How could you?" she almost choked. "I didn't believe it myself a year ago ...." There was a hint of humor in her last words.

"I believe you, because I'm one of them, too. But you don't have to worry, because I'm your friend. And I'm not going to let anything happen to you."