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Chapter Nineteen
Red
“What are you doing?” Red’s voice was thick as she spoke into her cell phone.
“Trying to figure out how to tie this damned bow tie,” Grey grunted. “It keeps slanting up on the left. Are you getting dressed for the ball we need to leave soon?”
“I just woke up from a nap.”
“You feeling okay?” His voice had the strained sound of exasperation, but she knew that was aimed at the tie, not her.
“I’m off my game. But I can get the job done. I mean, look, I pushed through when I needed to meet Moussa.”
“I hate that you did that, and, man, what a miracle you did. What are you thinking about all that?”
What? So much. Too much.
Moussa was an anvil sitting on her chest. Fine one minute, destroyed by the circumstances the next. He had been sitting at the table ordering lunch for himself and her.
He would wonder how much money was in the black bag. He was probably sitting there planning what he would do with it.
Where would he hide it? Would he tell his wife?
Something made Moussa lunge under the table prior to the bomb.
And there was that guy dodging the donkey cart, the one that she’d somehow recognized and photographed. He had been standing at Moussa’s side. Did Moussa know him? Were they talking when the bomb exploded? It had occurred to Red that Moussa lunged under the table because of the donkey cart guy,the one with the strange design of dark moles around his eye that reminded Red of a star constellation.
She had access to his phone. After the ball, she’d look through it and see if there was anything at all that was interesting to the CIA.
When Grey asked what she thought about all that, it churned up those questions and got the thoughts and images roiling again.
Red tapped her phone onto speaker as she crawled out of bed and walked to her open suitcase. Reaching down, she pulled the stranger’s phone she’d picked up along with Moussa’s melted cell. “Oh, I was thinking I might have some octopus DNA in me somehow.”
Grey chuckled.
“I’m serious, Grey. At the time of the bombing, I was out of my mind with a fever. Like, I kept arriving at places and wondering how I got there.”
“That had to be frightening. But octopus-like? In my mind, I’m picturing blending into the environment. Is that what you’re talking about?”
“I’m holding the phone from a guy I think was talking to Moussa when they died. I had recognized him before he came into the hotel, and, at that time, I took his picture to hand to the targeters.”
“Okay, good.”
“After the bomb, I found his camera and switched the biometrics on that phone to my own.”
“Perfect. But octopus?” Grey asked.
“Each arm of an octopus has its own brain and therefore can function separately from the other arms. And yeah, I know that I was leaning into training and muscle memory throughout that event, but I prefer the idea of being an octopus.”
Grey snort-laughed.
“You sound happier. Did you get the bow tie done?” Red opened the man’s encryption messaging app and scrolled through his recent text exchanges to determine if she had access. She’d work with it later when she had time and focus. That would come after the ball.
“I’ll try the tie again in a second. I’m working on my cuff links.”
“Oh.” Red scowled. “Wow. Isn’t that something?”
“Cuff links?” Grey’s voice was muffled. “No, not really.”