11
WE HAD JUST ABOUT eaten all the chips and Ayshada was picking the last crumbs out of the fish basket when a middle-aged man entered the cafe.
He sat down at a table behind me. The waitress came to bring him water and take his order. I glanced at him over my shoulder. I had spoken to Conrad Martens on a vid link a few times and didn’t think that this was what he looked like. I’d have thought he was older than this man, but maybe this was an agent. Or maybe they were playing a game with us and this was just a member of the public.
In the window in front of me—behind which the sky darkened ominously, and in which I could see the reflection of the interior of the cafe—I spotted him picking up a reader and flicking through a few pages before looking at something in more detail.
Thay’? Is
