She quietly unfolded it.
It was a note. In English.
Home concerned about timeline. Increase speed as much as possible. When ready to leave, request new dress. Until then, no more fights.
The only person it could be from was Traz, the inside contact, who apparently worked in the administration building. That made sense, given that Traz was supposed to help her get out.
But who was it?
Request new dress. Someone who worked in the storage room? The female guard? Or it could have been any of the medical staff — the nurse who’d taken her bloodied dress away, the one who’d brought her a new one, hell, even the doctor.
The only thing she knew for sure was that it had been someone who had gotten a few minutes alone with the garment before it was brought to her. Unfortunately, she wasn’t in the position to conduct a full-scale investigation.
She read the note again. She had a pretty good idea why McElroy would want her to speed up the schedule — that bastard judge back in Simferopol. He’d already fleeced them for more cash once, and chances were good he’d try again, threatening to expose her as a “foreign agent.” So McElroy would want her done and gone before anything else blew up.
Whether or not this was his reasoning, she was completely in agreement. Prison life was not suiting her at all, and the sooner she was out, the better.
Of course the question she couldn’t answer was how the hell to make that happen.
Chapter Seventeen
“Nice job on Kalyna.”
Alex looked over her shoulder. The dusty-blonde woman who had just fallen in behind her in the dinner line was lean and tall and, surprisingly, in possession of an accent very similar to Alex’s.
“Sorry. Don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Really? Apparently every else does, because they’re all talking about it. And I was a witness. Saw the whole damn thing. Not the first time you’ve ever been in a fight, is it?”
Alex shrugged. “I’d rather not get into it.”
The line moved forward, allowing both women to set their trays on the counter.
“Sure, I get it,” the blonde said. She held out her hand. “I’m Rachel. Rachel Norman.”
Alex hesitated, then shook her hand. “Maureen Powell.”
“You know, when I got here a few days ago, I thought I was gonna be the only one from the States. Can’t tell you how good it is to meet someone from home.”
“You’re still the only one,” Alex said. “I’m Canadian.”
“Oh.” Rachel appeared to be momentarily caught off guard, then she smiled. “Close enough, I guess. At least we both know how to string a couple sentences together without tying our tongues in a knot. I’m getting pretty tired of trying to decipher every other word that’s thrown in my direction.”
While it was nice to hear a voice from home, Alex had neither the desire nor the time to make friends. She’d already gotten too close to doing that with Frida.
“So…where?” Rachel asked.
Alex realized she’d missed something the blonde had said. “I’m sorry?”
“Where in Canada? I’ve been to Toronto once. And Vancouver when I was a kid.”
“Winnipeg.”
“Where the hell’s that?”
“Right in the middle.”
“Sounds cold. Me, I’m from San Diego. You ever been?”
Alex had, but she shook her head, and moved forward with the line.
“Pacific Beach, Mission Beach…oh, and the Gaslamp district. Man, I miss it.”
Alex glanced at her and was about to grunt, “Uh-huh,” when she noticed a large woman wearing a hijab enter the room.
Alex recognized her height and body shape. No question, it was one of the women who’d been with El-Hashim in her cell. Which was weird; this wasn’t her building. She seemed to be searching for someone, because her eyes suddenly locked on to something, and she headed quickly across the room, disappearing into the kitchen.
As Alex lay in her bunk prior to dinner, she had formulated an action plan for the evening. After she finished eating and before everyone was locked up for the night, she would pay El-Hashim’s cellblock another visit. At worst she might be able to gain some more intel, and at best, she might find herself in a position to make contact.
Having one fewer member of El-Hashim’s entourage in play might facilitate that very situation.
“So what did they put you in here for?” Rachel asked. “They popped me as an accessory for a stolen car. The guy I was hanging out with took it, and I didn’t even know—”
“I’m sorry,” Alex said, stepping out of line. “I forgot something. It was nice meeting you.”
Returning her tray and dish to the stack at the head of the line, she exited the cafeteria as quickly as possible.
The sun was still an hour from setting as she stepped into the near-empty prison yard. Painfully aware of how visible she was, she stayed close to the buildings, in hopes they would mask her presence. It seemed to have worked, as she was able to slip into Building Two without raising any alarms.
There, she took the stairs down to the cafeteria. Though McElroy’s information indicated El-Hashim seldom left her room, seldom was not never, so the woman could be downstairs for dinner.
Alex paused just outside the doorway so as not to be seen, and scanned the dining room. Neither El-Hashim nor her protection detail was there.
Alex went back to the stairs and took them to the second floor. The first block was completely empty, but as she entered the second, she could hear noise coming from cell 259—at least two voices, talking low. She hugged the wall, moved all the way to the cell doors on the right. Keeping just as tight to them, she made her way toward the voices and stopped just short of El-Hashim’s cell.
There had been no interruption in the conversation, no indication they’d heard Alex’s approach. This close, she could clearly hear what they were saying, and surprisingly, could even understand them for the most part, as they were speaking French.
“…for the best, I think,” one of them was saying.
“Not sitting in this pit would be for the best,” another replied, not sounding happy. “I need to leave this place.”
“Yes, but that isn’t an option right now. A few more days, a week at most, and you should be out again. But until then—”
“Until then, Marie, we have this to deal with, too!”
There was no question in Alex’s mind the unhappy one was El-Hashim. What was interesting was that it seemed something more than just sitting in prison was upsetting her.
Perhaps this wasn’t the best time to make an approach, Alex realized.
As she turned to retreat to the block entrance, a new voice spoke up in the cell.
A male voice.
What the hell?
“I know this news is distressing,” he said in halting French. “But it is better to know than not.”
His tone was familiar, but the French was throwing Alex off, so she was having a hard time placing it.
“You tell me that my life is in danger, but you don’t tell me from whom,” El-Hashim said. “It would be better if you had a name!”
“If I knew,” he told her, “the problem would be removed.”
“Is it a prisoner? A guard? Someone else on staff? Do you know that much, at least?”
Silence.
“Whoever it is,” Marie said, “there’s no reason for you sit in this cell and wait to be attacked. I think we should take him up on his offer.”
There was another moment of silence before El-Hashim spoke. “All right. Fine. We’ll do as you suggest.”