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“Should I excuse myself?” Wren asked with a smirk similar to Ares’.
“No!”
She laughed and held up both hands. “No news on my end,” she said, sobering.
“Nothing here either. I was just getting Ares caught up on the most recent developments. He’s asked where he can be of most help.”
“Determine where the container holding the Syrian and Iraqi victims originated from. Help us figure out who Mithras is. Let’s see, what else—”
“Mithras?” he interrupted.
“Yes. Does the name mean anything to you?”
24
ARES
Mithras.No, the name didn’t mean anything to me, and that was the problem. It had been scrawled in the dirt inside one of the containers we’d liberated. Not just once either. Several times.
Rather than try to explain, I pulled out my cell and sent the photos I’d taken to Nem and Wren. “Take a look,” I told them, setting my phone on the table.
“Bloody hell,” Nem mumbled.
Wren looked up, and our eyes met. “This is from Felixstowe?” she asked.
“That’s right.”
“Were you able to determine who wrote it?” Nem asked.
“We were not. No one in that particular container would admit to it.”
“Was this in the same container where you found Luisa Reeve?”
“It was.”
Nem drummed her fingers on the table in front of her. “Do you think it could’ve been Luisa who wrote it?”
“I didn’t interact with her that much, but no. From what I saw and heard, if it had been her, she would’ve said so.”
“It’s Z,” Wren said when her cell rang.
“Go ahead,” said Nem, motioning with her arm.
“Hey, Z. I’ve got Nem and Ares here. I’m going to put you on speaker.”
“Hello, everyone. I have news,” he began. “I have been able to make contact with Oleander. However, she’s only willing to meet with you in person.”
“Done,” said Nem. “Tell me where and when.”
“Egypt, and as soon as you can get there.”
“Understood. I’ll be on the soonest flight out.”
“Good. I’ll let her know, and you’ll receive further instructions.”
“Z, one more question.”
“Go ahead.”
