“The coast is clear,” Andrew said and walked out. I shadowed him.
I pressed my palms to my chest, inhaling deeply.
“Oh, my god. That wasnotfun.” I wrapped my hands around my middle and bent, breathing in and out. “That was something I don’t ever want to repeat.”
Frankly, it was a lie. I wouldn’t mind being crammed into a small space with Andrew again.
Andrew pressed his ear to the room door, unlocked it, and cracked it ajar. He peeked out, then slid into the hallway, beckoning for me to follow him.
“How are we going to lock the door?” I shimmied out.
“We aren’t.” He took my hand.
Pulling me after him, Andrew stepped into a darker connecting corridor, a red sign with the words “Salida de incendios” was above a door. To the right was another door. Without hesitation, Andrew opened it. He fumbled with his hand on a wall and turned on a light.
Well, my wish came true.
It was the housekeeper’s storage area. The hotel had apparently boarded the window to make an extra room with storage space. Shelves lined all three walls, full of linen and towels, and plastic bins filled with hotel toiletries, paper products, and amenities supplies. In the corner was a vacuum cleaner, a mop, and a bucket. Andrew and I jam-packed into the limited space, and he closed the door. A lowtick tick ticksound counted down minutes to automatic light shut off. The room had no air conditioning, and sweat quickly coated my skin, or maybe it was again the proximity to Andrew’s body.
“I just realized that being stuck with you in tight places is becoming my new norm,” I said, unable to hide my tiny grin. This situation, today and over the entirety of the past four days, was so bizarre, but I was enjoying it.
“Is that a complaint?” Andrew glanced at me with a twinkle in his eyes.
No.
“The jury’s still out.”
Andrew gave me a teasing smile before crouching on the floor and studying the tiles. I lowered onto the floor too, my bum bumping his as I checked under the selves, moving boxes out of the way. Tiles in this space were faded and tarnished, some worse than others, making it hard to make out what symbols they had. The light above our heads went off, leaving us in total darkness. I was about to get up and turn it on again.
“Don’t bother. I’ll use my phone,” Andrew said, and a second later his phone gave out dim light, illuminating his face. He turned on the flashlight app. I did the same. We shone both phones on the floor and continued to explore.
“What do you think about this one?” Andrew traced a finger over the discolored outline of what could have been two birds facing each. He pulled the pencil out of his notebook and traced faded lines, giving them more definition. It was remarkable to watch him expertly revitalize the old artwork.
I moved sideways so I could see it from his angle. My hip pressed against Andrew’s leg and my body’s temperature skyrocketed. I was confident we were looking at the correct birds. “We can’t break it. Can we?”
Andrew set the pencil aside, handed me his phone, and produced a pocketknife. He dug the blade into the grout around the tile and scraped it. The dust particles danced in the light as Andrew continued his work.
“How did you find Octavian Global?”
“Saw a job ad in a newspaper.” Andrew flashed me a quick smile, sweat glinting on his face, then returned his attention to his task. He fell quiet. Maybe he wasn’t allowed to share that information? But after a minute, he finally said, “One doesn’t find them. They find you. They recruited me when I was in my first year at uni. At that time, being part of an exclusive and honorable society was fascinating and exciting, and they paid well.”
“If money is good, why do you work at the university?”
“It’s not MI6.” He wiped his forehead with his sleeve. “They only reach out when they need my expertise, maybe once a year. On rare occasions twice a year. I needed a day job, and I enjoy teaching my classes more than doing this.”
“Are you the only one from Cambridge that works with them?”
“Octavian Global doesn't organize Christmas parties yearly for everyone involved to meet. Dr. Evans, a professor at the University of Oxford, is the other person I know who is with them. Well, Richard was too, but he left.”
“What about Dr. Garcia?”
“No, he’s just an old and loyal family friend. This is his first time being so involved with my assignment.”
I wiped off the sweat above my top lip. “How did Brandon end up working with Richard?”
“My guess is money. Richard hired him a few years ago. Brandon is a pleasant and intelligent man, but a museum curator’s salary doesn’t allow for a lavish lifestyle. And money can easily change people and their principles.”
We again fell into silence, the blade’s scratch on the grout filling the small closet.
