She took a good look at the image. “I’ll see what I can do.”
CHAPTER25
ONCE HE’D FINISHED his beer, Amr Badawi suggested I follow him to my new accommodation. We moved through the rough nighttime streets of Ostia, but weren’t troubled by any of the gangs, sex workers, or drug addicts we passed. A few nodded greetings to Amr, and I got the impression he was at least respected if not feared in the neighborhood.
He told me how he’d immigrated to Italy with his family as a child; how he’d always dreamt of returning to Cairo but had been kept in Rome by circumstance and opportunity.
“The people in my home country are very similar to people here,” Amr said. “Friendly, expressive, and family always comes first.”
I nodded but couldn’t comment. My knowledge of Egypt was limited to the due diligence I had done when considering whether to set up a Middle East regional head office there. The people I’ddealt with had certainly been friendly and helpful, but I’d decided not to proceed and had parked the idea for now.
“That’s your place,” Amr said, gesturing at an apartment above a brightly lit, gaudy cell-phone store on the corner of Via della Paranzella and Via Orazio dello Sbirro.
His business stood opposite an open square dotted with vacant market stalls. It wasn’t a branded dealership and sold new and reconditioned phones, which might explain why Amr was known to so many of the people we’d passed. Old or stolen phones could be traded for cash in this man’s shop, and I wondered how many questions he or his staff asked about provenance. Signs in English, Italian and Arabic proclaimed the store also did repairs and offered an array of accessories, vapes, shisha pipes, and electronic paraphernalia. Products seemed to spill from the entrance like an overflowing laundry basket, and racks and displays clung to the walls and windows of the storefront.
“This way,” Amr said, walking me to an archway two stores beyond his place.
The arch led to an alleyway that ran between two terraces. We walked in heavy shadow to a long yard behind the buildings. We climbed exterior metal stairs that took us to a wooden door. He opened both locks and handed me the keys.
“Don’t lose them,” he instructed. “And don’t leave anything of value inside. There’s no alarm, and the neighborhood is… well, let’s just say, private property is a shades-of-gray concept around here.”
“Got it,” I replied, following him inside.
We entered a small hallway and he switched on the light.
“Kitchen, sitting room, two bedrooms and a bathroom,” Amr told me. “It needs remodeling, but that will have to wait.”
Everything was worn but looked perfectly usable and the place was better than I could have hoped for at such short notice.
“The shop is open twenty-four-seven, so just ask them to call me if you need anything.”
I could hear the vague thump of dance music rising from below. Amr’s store sounded like a lively place.
“Thank you,” I said. “I owe you.”
“This is a business transaction, Mr. Morgan. There is no need for thanks,” he replied. “If you’re all set here, I’m going back to my beer.”
“I’m good,” I assured him, and he shook my hand and left.
I closed the door after him and pulled my phone from my pocket.
Justine answered after a single ring. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” I assured her. “I’ve got a new place thanks to Mo-bot’s hacker friend.”
“I hate it when you’re away like this. I feel so helpless.”
“I’m okay.”
“This isn’t about you,” she told me in a tone I recognized. It was meant to remind me she was an expert profiler. “This is about me needing to be there for you. I’m not and I can’t be. Not all the time. I just have to accept that.”
“I’m sorry,” I responded. “I can understand—”
I was cut off by the hum of an incoming call and checked my phone to see who it was.
“It’s Mo-bot. Let me patch her in.”
“Sure,” Justine replied.
