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Before she turns twenty-one, Amina Mir intends to have one of her stories published on the front page of the Chronicle. So when she gets an internship there, she’s thrilled, even if it means a summer making coffee and writing human-interest stories. Then she interviews Ivor McMorris. A veteran of the war in Sinnostan, Ivor is convinced that someone interfered with his memories while he was there—but if he does anything about it, the watchers will make him disappear.
At first, Amina is skeptical. As the daughter of a major in the Royal Marines, she knows that veterans often suffer from posttraumatic stress disorder. But when she meets Chi Sandwith, a conspiracy investigator who has spoken to dozens of soldiers like Ivor, Amina realizes that she may have stumbled upon the biggest and most terrifying government cover-up ever. Now if only she can break the story before disappearing herself.
class, if I were you. I don’t think they approve of that kind of face paint in the army. What would your dad say?” “He’d say you’re right; the army’s got too many poofs already,” Tariq replied. “But then he is a marine.” Ms. Maijani burst out laughing and he made his escape before she could pull him up for his homophobic language. Amina was exhausted by the time she got home, so she was in no mood for one of Tariq’s explosions of adolescent enthusiasm. “But you should see it, it’s brilliant!” he
over the last two years,” he told them, opening his laptop case and booting up the computer. “Particularly ones who’ve been vocal against the war, or who’ve been reported to be suffering post-traumatic stress.” “How would you find that out?” Ivor asked. “We don’t go round wearing labels.” “Eh . . . actually you do—in a manner of speaking.” Chi gave a hesitant chuckle. “It’s in your medical records.” “Jesus, you hack into our medical records?” Ivor exclaimed. “That’s as personal as it gets, man.
the free stuff any more either. Ever looked up inside a tap? I mean, I’m sure it’s safe enough, but . . .” He had a wide smile with a hint of sadness about it. Amina imagined him to be one of those guys who was more popular with the girls than he realized. She had to remind herself that she was the one in control of this interview. “Do you mind if I record this?” she asked, taking her recorder from her bag. He shook his head as he poured two glasses of water from a bottle in the fridge. She sat
compromisethe operation, and we can discredit him if he tries to talk afterwards. The package has been shipped?” “It’s on its way,” ■■■■ told them. “Due in eight days. It’s aboard a Dutch-registered freighter with no ties to Britain. There are two minders, but no one in the crew knows what they’re carrying.” “Good,” ■■■■■■■ -■■■■■ muttered. “I have to admit, I’ll be glad when it’s secured again. The risk of it being hijacked—” “—Is well worth it,” ■■■■ assured him. “The nation is losing faith in
she’d treated herself to a nice breakfast and an hour or two of lounging on the sofa with a good book. She didn’t spot the envelope until she was opening the bedroom door. It was a plain white square, leaning against the base of the lamp on her bedside table. Her parents were usually up before her, but they left any post for her on the kitchen counter. One of them must have left it in here while she was asleep. She wasn’t mad about the idea that her parents were still sneaking into her room;