AllFreeNovel
Share Us
The same voice says, “Marlow, you copy?”
Shit, there is Marlow on the same wave.
But there is silence again.
Good.
That’s when a beep comes from the bar counter—Archer’s phone.
I dart toward it, pick it up, and swipe the screen.
The realization almost makes me laugh. Well, well, Mr. Chancellor. So meticulous about everything, anal about security, but no screen lock.
The message is exactly the same as the one that just came from the walkie talkie.
The two from the Eastside are heading toward town on ATVs. What do you want us to do?
Smiling maliciously, I type,Leave them. It’s sorted,and stare at the screen, waiting for the reply.
For how long?
Until further notice,I type, and my heart does a cartwheel.
Then I erase the last messages, turn the phone off, and stick it under the couch pillow.
It’s obvious this villa is accessible to about anyone, including the escorts—I don’t see any personal items, no books, no pictures. A voice-activated AI assistant controls everything. Alright, clever.
I walk to the desk, but the drawers are locked. There is a fingertip scan panel, but it’s a no-brainer—there is always a spare. Especially with high technology. We learned during the Change that satellite and radio-dependent technologies fail in the worst times.
I glide my hands along the underside of the top, then the back, the sides, then lift the desk, which isn’t heavy, and glide my hand along the bottom—bingo!—a plastic key card that I slide into a slot under the fingertip scanner, and a green light blinks, followed by a soft pneumatic sigh.
The first drawer has two guns and boxes of ammo. Of course, everyone has guns on this island. Archer probably has them in every room.
The second drawer has some notebooks with diagrams I don’t understand. Must be some general work stuff for quick access if it’s here. Marlow said Archer has an office in this villa where he self-isolates for days at times.
There are numerous sets of keys in this drawer as well as several phones and radios.
Yawn.
The next one—
Oh.
It’s several bottles with pills without labels. There is a little baggie of white powder. I’m pretty sure I know what it is. Naughty-naughty. And something else that makes me uncomfortable despite years on the streets of Bangkok.
A syringe.
Tsk.
I study it for a moment, then go through the vials and baggies. Nothing is marked. I can only guess. But this is not diabetes stuff, no. It’s the good old street remedy. Who would have known that perfect Mr. Chancellor has a dark habit?
My cheerfulness vanishes as I close that drawer. Lack of sleep, boozing morning until night, and drugs will turn any brilliant mind into a psychotic mess.
Tsk, it’s a shame, Mr. Chancellor.
I open the last drawer.
There is nothing but a few pictures, and I pick them up.
