The Maltese Parrot: A Patricia Fisher Mystery (A Humorous Cruise Ship Cozy Mystery Book 9) by Steve Higgs

Author:Steve Higgs [higgs, steve]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2020-01-09T16:00:00+00:00

Catacombs

When I looked around to see how far back Emily was, there was no sign of her at all. I paused, caught myself doing it, and hurried on, my pace quicker now because I wanted to get it over with and because arriving late yesterday, the contact in Club Rhumbla was dead. I would have found him dead even if I had been on time yesterday but nevertheless, I wanted to be punctual today.

The south side was easy to find; my phone had a compass function on it, so I only walked by the emergency exit I needed once. I found the door had been propped open with a small rock to prevent it from clicking shut again. I slipped my fingernails around the edge, pulled it open just enough to squeeze through, and slipped inside.

It was dark inside. Of course, it was dark inside. I told myself off for being silly, ducked my head as I went down the steps and put my sunglasses in my handbag. With my hand already inside, I rooted about to find the thumb drive and found two because I had bought a new one. It was a trick from a spy film I must have watched years ago which meant I now had a dummy device I could give someone if they demanded it. Buying it, I had wondered if it might be Emily who was going to turn out to be a double agent or a foreign government spy but thus far she hadn’t tried to get the device from me at any point.

I took both devices out of the bag so I could make sure I was handing over the right one, but now I was staring at them and cursing myself. I couldn’t tell which was which. They were both brand new, shiny black mass data storage devices. They were different, but the differences were subtle, and I didn’t remember which one was the original. There was a dummy here alright and it was me.

A footfall echoed in the dark, the suddenness of the sound made me want to run away. Delivering the device was my only task though – my country would owe me a debt of gratitude. They could keep it. I just wanted this business done and Alistair back.

Convincing my feet to take me around the next corner, I found a man in a suit waiting for me. In his hand he held a squat black box, like the hardened cases people carry expensive or delicate electronic hardware around in. This had to be Justin’s contact, Wyatt Westridge.

Nervously, I delivered my line, ‘The stones are always coolest this time of the year.’

A smile flickered across his face. ‘But only those safely tucked underground.’ I had been holding my breath, I realised as I exhaled and drew a gulp of badly needed air. He also seemed to relax, crouching down to place the box he carried on the ground. The catacombs were carved from the bedrock beneath the town.

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