26 CONNOR
I watched Sam get dressed in her usual baggy clothes—the kind meant to help her blend into the street. She always wore flowing shirts and loose pants, and she was rarely seen without her combat boots.
She definitely didn't look anything like the women I used to go out with back when I still let myself have some fun between shifts.
Samantha's constant presence seemed to cloud my thoughts while filling me with a clarity I'd never experienced before. As if the demons in my mind went quiet around her, pausing to listen to her voice.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” she asked, pulling her hair up into a high ponytail.
“Sorry, I was spacing out,” I deflected. “I need the computer to get in touch with someone.”
“Someone, huh?”
“A friend,” I replied, catching her veiled jab. “An old contact from my Marine days.”
“Oh, right,” she blushed, handing me the laptop. “I'm heading to the antique shop to see if Mr. Omar left anything hidden that might help us.”
I opened the laptop and typed an address into the browser—one I hadn't accessed in a long time. The URL was a complex numerical sequence that led to a black screen with nothing on it. Just a blinking cursor. I typed the message.
Sakshi. I need a coffee.
I waited a few minutes for a response. Suddenly Sam's phone vibrated on the nightstand. The caller ID showed no number.
“Still pulling the ghost call trick?” I said as soon as I answered.
“Couldn't believe it when your ping hit my screen. Thought you only ran with the good guys now.” The voice on the other end was familiar, though it sounded older.
“Good to talk to you again, Ravi,” I said, smiling.
“You're pretty far from home, from what I can see. Cairo, huh? Got tired of the gray city?”
“I'm here on a case,” I said, keeping it brief. “I need your magic.”
“Of course you do.”
“I'm going to send you some names. I need everything you've got on them.”
“My friend… you know, since Tecla ended I've been kind of limited. Information's getting more expensive around here.”
“I don't mind paying.”
“I'm not talking about money,” Ravi continued.
“I'll owe you one,” I said, knowing that could mean anything from a stolen case file to a solid alibi. Or worse.
“You know what that means, right?”
“Yeah. That I'm making a deal with the Devil.”
“Hey, hey,” Ravi laughed. “It's not quite like that. I'm just securing the children's future.”
“You can't even have kids, Ravi.”
“Not for lack of trying,” he laughed.
As soon as I sent BMC's name, Ravi uploaded the files to the page, along with the police reports on what Bob had found in the storage unit. I downloaded everything before Ravi took down the site.
I carefully examined each document. The storage unit had contained some irrelevant items—a pile of books, documents, and antiques—along with the trunk where Ammit's bloodstained vestments had been found.
Unfortunately, the storage conditions and time had compromised any DNA traces.
There were also some old car parts with decent market value, probably illegally imported for restorations.
The BMC file was small. Smaller than I'd expected. On paper, BMC was a clean company—operating in logistics but with branches in construction, and a major supporter of social projects. Nothing seemed out of place.
The employee list included ten names. Some were listed with initials only. On the board of directors, there was only one name: Bradan M. Cohen.
“Cohen,” I whispered to myself, a flicker of unease passing through me.
Some familiar names were identified as suppliers. M. Raafat. Omar Hirab. Youssef Azur. And many others. It was a long list. But the names at the end caught my attention.
Sam knocked twice. “Can I come in?”
“Come here.” I pushed the laptop aside and pulled her toward me as she approached. “I need you to see something.”
“What?” She stared at the names on the screen. “What are my parents' names doing there?”
“This is a list of BMC employees and suppliers, and your parents are listed as partners.”