Roderick Munn replied, "She's gone. She's rented a farmhouse to live in. She said she wanted to be by herself."
Nikolai Petrovich, the Russian from Gorizont 22, said, "We would all like to be by ourselves. So we are not good enough for her?"
There was a general feeling of disapproval.
The following afternoon, another large care package arrived for Dana.
Nikolai Petrovich said, "Since she is not here, we might as well enjoy it, eh?"
The hotel clerk said, "I'm sorry. Miss Evans is having it picked up."
A few minutes later, Kemal arrived. The reporters watched him take the package and leave.
"She doesn't even share with us anymore," Juan Santos grumbled. "I think her publicity has gone to her head."
During the next week, Dana filed her stories, but she did not appear at the hotel again. The resentment against her was growing.
Dana and her ego were becoming the main topic of conversation. A few days later, when another huge care package was delivered to the hotel, Nikolai Petrovich went to the hotel clerk. "Is Miss Evans having this package picked up?"
"Yes, sir."
The Russian hurried back into the dining room. "There is another package," he said. "Someone is going to pick it up. Why don't we follow him and tell Miss Evans our opinion of reporters who think they're too good for everyone else?"
There was a chorus of approval.
When Kemal arrived to pick up the package, Nikolai said to him, "Are you taking that to Miss Evans?"
Kemal nodded.
"She asked to see us. We'll go along with you."
Kemal looked at him a moment, then shrugged.
"We'll take you in one of our cars," Nikolai Petrovich said. "You tell us where to go."
Ten minutes later, a caravan of cars was making its way along deserted side streets. On the outskirts of the city, Kemal pointed to an old bombed-out farmhouse. The cars came to a stop.
"You go ahead and bring her the package," Nikolai said. "We're going to surprise her."
They watched Kemal walk into the farmhouse. They waited a moment, then moved toward the farmhouse and burst in through the front door. They stopped, in shock. The room was filled with children of all ages, sizes, and colors. Most of them were crippled. A dozen army cots had been set up along the walls. Dana was parceling out the contents of the care package to the children when the door flew open. She looked up in astonishment as the group charged in.
"What - what are you doing here?"
Roderick Munn looked around, embarrassed. "I'm sorry, Dana. We made a - a mistake. We thought - "
Dana turned to face the group. "I see. They're orphans. They have nowhere to go and no one to take care of them. Most of them were in a hospital when it was bombed. If the police find them, they'll be put in what passes for an orphanage, and they'll die there. If they stay here, they'll die. I've been trying to figure out a way to get them out of the country, but so far, nothing has worked." She looked at the group pleadingly. "Do you have any ideas?"
Roderick Munn said slowly, "I think I have. There's a Red Cross plane leaving for Paris tonight. The pilot is a friend of mine."
Dana asked hopefully, "Would you talk to him?"
Munn nodded. "Yes."
Nikolai Petrovich said, "Wait! We can't get involved in anything like that They'll throw us all out of the country."
"You don't have to be involved," Munn told him. "We'll handle it."
"I'm against it," Nikolai said stubbornly. "It will place us all in danger."
"What about the children?" Dana asked. "We're talking about their lives."
Late in the afternoon, Roderick Munn came to see Dana. "I talked to my friend. He said he would be happy to take the children to Paris, where they'll be safe. He has two boys of his own."
Dana was thrilled. "That's wonderful. Thank you so much."
Munn looked at her. "It is we who should thank you."
At eight o'clock that evening, a van with the Red Cross insignia on its sides pulled up in front of the farmhouse. The driver blinked the lights, and under the cover of darkness, Dana and the children hurried into the van.
Fifteen minutes later, it was rolling toward Butmir Airport. The airport had been temporarily closed except to the Red Cross planes that delivered supplies and took away the seriously wounded. The drive was the longest ride of Dana's life. It seemed to take forever. When she saw the lights of the airport ahead, she said to the children, "We're almost there." Kemal was squeezing her hand.
"You'll be fine," Dana assured him. "All of you will be taken care of." And she thought, I'm going to miss you.
At the airport, a guard waved the van through, and it drove up to a waiting cargo plane with the Red Cross markings painted on the fuselage. The pilot was standing next to the plane.
He hurried up to Dana. "For God's sake, you're late! Get them aboard, fast. We were due to take off twenty minutes ago."
Dana herded the children up the ramp into the plane. Kemal was the last.
He turned to Dana, his lips trembling. "Will I see you again?"
"You bet you will," Dana said. She hugged him and held him close for a moment, saying a silent prayer. "Get aboard now."
Moments later, the door closed. There was a roar of the engines, and the plane began to taxi down the runway.
Dana and Munn stood there, watching. At the end of the runway, the plane soared into the air and speared into the eastern sky, banking north toward Paris.
"That was a wonderful thing you did," the driver said. "I want you to know - "