Page 6 of The Fallen
“No.”
“Any ideas why she speaks Arabic?”
“She what?”
“Her computer is coded in it.” He puts his pen down and leans back, narrowing his stare at me. “Also, you need to let me know if you know anyone else like me.”
“I know plenty of people like you, but you’re the only one I converse with on a regular basis.”
“She used a fake passport.”
“A fake passport?” I nod.
“And smashed up her phone. You won’t be able to get hold of her on that.”
“Where did she get a fake passport from?”
“Not me, but good question. If I knew, I could scout it out. Might be more info with whoever it was.”
“Right.” For once in his privileged existence, he looks confused. It’s a good look to see and one that makes me chuckle quietly. The sound clearly doesn’t go down well because he glares back up at me, less than fucking pleased that I’m finding this shit funny. Don’t care about that either. He can take his stuck-up arse and shove it. If I want to find it comical that he’s out of control, I will. Doesn’t mean I’m not going to help sort it out, but damn, it’s nice to see for once.
I stand and wander around his office while he thinks things through, waiting for anything he might have of use. Pretentious art on the walls. Shields and awards splashed around the shelves, all of them signalling Broderick Media’s muscle and influence. Wouldn’t be surprised if he gets a call from Buckingham Palace soon so they can add him to the honorary members list, knight him or some shit. Daddy’s dead now. One Sir gone, but Sir Landon Broderick’s got a nice ring to it, I guess, even if I don’t give a fuck for the thought.
“When’s your flight booked?” he asks.
“Tomorrow afternoon.”
“And you’ll be able to find her?”
I swing back to look at him, taking in the crisp suit, the manicured hands, the eyes of a fucking shark that could make my brother’s life hell if he feels like it. At least he’s safe where he is while I do this. Not free, but safe. “Might. Depends on how good she is at hiding.”
“Do you need anything from me?”
“No.”
He sighs and picks his pen up again, as if that’s all. “I suppose you better go then. I’ll leave it with you. Call me when you find her.”
“Alright.”
I leave at that, nothing else to say. As long as my brother stays where he is, and as long as he's safe, I'll keep doing what I’m doing whenever Landon Broderick wants something done off the books. Good job I enjoy it.
Chapter Four
NEVE
By the time the flight lands, it’s the middle of the night.Being sat down and confined, even for a few hours, was close to unbearable. I couldn’t relax and was sure everybody on the plane was watching me – that they could see the guilt in my eyes.
My rational and logical brain seemed to have deserted me when I needed it the most. After clearing customs, I exchange some of my money for dirham - although I could get by with dollars and pounds to start with - and head for the exit.
It’s a forty-five-minute journey to my apartment, and the taxis are lined up ready to pick off the tourists, so I wrap my scarf over my head and wait in line. I greet the driver as he looks at me. The startled expression is one I’ve encountered before, considering I speak Arabic, but I give him the address and climb in. While working in this area I’m sure he’ll know English, conversing in Arabic makes it a lot easier for me.
As we leave the airport, I can't help but give a few cautionary glances out the back window. There’s little I can see, considering it’s the middle of the night, but the suspicion that riddles my body doesn’t switch off because of the darkness.
We pull up to the small complex, and I pay the driver in dirham, including a tip, and watch as he disappears. I look up at the white-washed exterior of the apartment block. The moonlight casts a shadow on the wall through the arched and ornate windows. I check around a final time before opening the gate to the small garden area and walk the path into the central area.
The complex has six apartments off of the central courtyard. The owners have one on the ground floor, and all of the others, except mine, are rented out for tourists. The layout is based on a traditional Riad, with lush foliage, mosaics and a small pool in the centre. There are candles in wrought-iron lanterns illuminating the area, but I’m too tired to appreciate the beauty right now.
Stone steps lead up to the second floor and my apartment. I drag my body up and walk along the balcony to the arched wooden door. Two locks keep it protected, along with a small payment to the apartment owners to keep it clean and safe each month.
