NINETY-THREE

NINETY-THREE

FIFTEEN MINUTES LATER, I get into the rental car, a blue Dodge SUV. I feel instant relief, now inside a car and dressed differently. I search on David's phone for an internet café, expecting several in a campus town. The nearest one is only two miles away, a place called Screens in the middle, the coffee bar; and to my right, rows of computers available for rental by the hour.

A ponytailed cashier who does not seem to be enthusiastic about his job takes my credit card and assigns me to a spot in the "connect" room, as he calls it.

Nobody pays me any attention as I walk in, their eyes all glued to the screens in front of them, just like my kids when they're on their phones.

My kids. I have to do this fast and get back to them.

I sit down and start up the computer. I reach into my purse and remove the thumb drive David left for me in the safe-deposit box.

The computer recognizes the thumb drive. The menu pops up. I'm expecting documents, maybe photographs. Instead, a single icon appears, one I don't recognize.

An audio file, best I can tell. An audio recording.

I double-click on the file. A long rectangular box appears, in the middle of which is a small triangle, a Play icon. I click on the icon, and the sound comes on.

Static at first, and very loud, loud enough to elicit a reaction from the man sitting next to me. I quickly adjust the volume in the corner of the screen. I wish I had earbuds or headphones, but I don't. I put my ear up close to the speaker at the top of the screen so I can listen with the volume down.

Still static, nothing but white noise.

And then a voice. A man's voice I recognize.

Bent over my computer station, my ear up to the speaker, looking like a crazy person, I listen to the whole thing.

Then I replay it, take one more listen to the whole recording.

I sit back in the chair. Okay. Now I know.

Now I have a plan.