Page 184 of Secrets Beneath the Waves
“What is it?” Graham asks.
“Looks like tickets to a cocktail party at the Louvre. ‘Innovation and Security,’” I read.
“What exactly is that?” Graham asks.
“I don’t know.” I hand him the book, then pull out my phone and quickly drop the question into Google. I immediately have an answer. “It looks like it’s being hosted by an elite recruiting firm. A cocktail party blending—and I quote—‘security, art, and networking into an unforgettable evening.’”
“Those events are pretty exclusive.” Graham taps the book on the palm of his hand. “Did he ever talk about changing jobs or looking for something different?”
“I know that eventually he wanted to take Mariam and leave all this behind. Disappear where no one could ever find them.”
“Maybe he’s trying to do that now?”
I look up at Graham. “I keep thinking I missed something. What if he planted this, knowing I would find it, because he was afraid something was going to happen?”
“Why not just call you?”
“I don’t know.”
Graham sets the book on the desk. “What else does it say about the party?”
I scroll down on my phone. “Looks like the attendees are in the tech and cybersecurity industry. Top engineers, cybersecurity specialists, venture capitalists, and even government liaisons.”
“That seems a bit outside Oumar’s wheelhouse, from what I know.”
“Agreed.” I flip over the tickets and notice the name written on the back of one of them. “He wrote the name Elijah Rourke on one of these.”
“Who’s that? A person? A company?”
“Whatever it is, it seems to me he knew something was wrong.”
“Again, he could’ve just called you.”
“Maybe,” I say, searching for an answer. “What if he thought he was being followed or monitored somehow?”
That makes the most sense. If he believed he was being watched, he would’ve been worried that somebody might find out what he was doing and who he was working for. That could explain why he didn’t contact me.
He also might have assumed that if something happened to him, I would have come to check out his apartment. And knowing our conversations and how my brain works, this was his way of reaching out to me.
Or maybe I was simply overthinking things.
I hear a clicking sound at the door and shove the envelope into my back pocket. Someone is here.
CHAPTER
NINE
[Ransom Countdown: 28 Hours, 29 Minutes remaining]
Graham holds up his hand,motioning for me to be quiet. I hear a faint metallic click again, coming from the front door of the apartment. My first thought is that it could be Oumar, somehow back from wherever he’s been. I take a slow step forward as the door creaks open, prepared for anything. Because while we might be here in an attempt to help Oumar, something tells me that whoever’s about to walk into the apartment, isn’t on Oumar’s side.
The intruder steps into the apartment wearing a hoodie and gloves. It takes him a moment to realize he’s not alone in the room—until he catches my gaze. Our eyes hold for a split second and then he turns, yanks the mirror off the wall next to him and slams it onto the ground between us. Glass shatters as he runs back out the door, but not before I recognize him.
It’s not Oumar. It’s the man from the church.
The shards of glass slow us down, but only for a moment. Graham runs a few steps ahead of me as I jump over the glass and follow him out of the apartment. I take the stairs behind them, maneuvering quickly down the narrow staircase to theground floor. A moment later, we’re on the street and running after him. The rain has stopped, but there are still puddles of water on the slick cobblestone. I manage to keep the man in my sights, but I don’t know this part of the city as well as I know myownquartier. This area is full of narrow alleys, a maze of streets lined with apartment buildings and shops where it’s easy to slip into the shadows and disappear. I wonder if that is one of the reasons Oumar chose to live here. A place where it’s not only possible to blend in, but quickly disappear if needed.
Why didn’t you tell me what was going on, Oumar?
