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from a few days to a few months working directly with the project to see what’s working and what isn’t. Then I make a recommendation as to whether the project should be funded—at least by our foundation. And if so, how much. Or alternatively, what steps can be taken to salvage the project if its value merits the effort.”
     
    “It certainly sounds like an interesting line of work,” Lynn said. “If you don’t mind my asking—why you? Not that I’m questioning your competence, but I have to say you don’t look much older than the children you work with.”
     
     “Yeah, and where can we sign up for one of those grants?” Dieter put in loudly. An emptied pitcher of sangria stood at his elbow. “I’ll take a million, two even.”
     
    “I’m twenty-five,” Vicki said stiffly. She looked over at the German activist. “And I’m sorry, but we don’t do environmental projects. The name is Children at Risk. As to why me—” Vicki shrugged as she turned back to Lynn—“I guess I just kind of grew into it. I did my doctoral thesis on the Colombian refugee camps. My original idea was to study childhood development in a refugee setting, but I ended up putting together a scathing—and accurate—analysis correlating international aid and corruption in the camp administration. It earned me a PhD and a commendation from USAID’. That’s where I first ran into Children at Risk, which had considerable money in that project. After they read my final report, they asked me to come on board to check out some of their own projects that were raising red flags.”
     
    Vicki hesitated, but seeing genuine interest around the table, she went on, “My last assignment in Mexico City is a good example. Children at Risk had been pouring considerable funds into a partnership with the local Department of Families to provide housing and medical care to children living in the municipal dump there. So they couldn’t figure out why there never seemed to be any funds for food or medicine.”
     
    Vicki didn’t even like remembering the horrific conditions she’d found in that so-called children’s home. “After a few weeks I discovered that the department administrators had just paid cash for a brand-new mansion in the nicest neighborhood of the city.”
     
    “That’s terrible.” Kathy looked appalled. “You mean, they’d been siphoning off the kids’ funds? And you’re saying Casa de Esperanza . . . ? Why, that’s one of the best-known children’s projects in the city. I can’t believe they’d be—”
     
    “Oh no, not at all,” Vicki cut in. “On the contrary, we’ve heard nothing but good about Casa de Esperanza. So much so that we’re exploring the advantages of partnering with some of these faith-based NGOs instead of the usual local authorities.”
     
    “If any.” Dieter interrupted again. “Personally, I think too much money is going into these groups already. After all, it’s Guatemala’s environment that’s at risk, not its juvenile population count.”
     
    Vicki didn’t know what incensed her more: Dieter’s attitude or the murmur of agreement around the table. She gritted back a hot retort.
     
    Lynn changed the subject. “Speaking of Mayans, have any of you seen the news? What the army came across yesterday?"
     
     “You mean that massacre up in the mountains?” Kathy shuddered. “I thought they’d put an end to all that.”
     
    “Oh, let’s not talk about it,” Holly pleaded. “I had nightmares last night.”
     
    Her plea effected silence just long enough for the waiters to refill glasses all around.
     
    Then Dieter, recovering his aplomb in another glass of sangria, demanded, “So who do they think did it—the right or the left?”
     
    “If they know, they’re not saying,” Roger said. “Of course, the army’s denying any involvement.”
     
    “And the embassy?” Lynn lowered her voice as she glanced at the suit-and-tie table. “Do you think they had advance