Esteban turned the document holder over, hummed thoughtfully for a moment, and then shared his conclusion.
“They’ve been taken abroad.”
“Excuse me?” Ludmilla squeaked.
“The good news is, they’ll probably come out of this unharmed.”
Esteban moved around Ludmilla’s house as if it were his own. While talking on the phone, he opened a kitchen cupboard—hitting the right one on the first try, the one where Ludmilla kept the glasses. He grabbed one and filled it with tap water.
At the sound of the doorbell, Ludmilla suddenly had no idea how to react. Ever since she had moved into the complex at Calle la Rosa 22, the doorbell had hardly ever rung. Anyone who came to see her always arrived via the terrace and knocked on the glass door.
Ted paced restlessly around his living room. Awful heat waves tormented him, sweat beaded on his forehead, and his stomach churned.
Noud winced as the soles of his feet touched the hot, black sand.
“I told you to bring water shoes.”
“You did, and I forgot,” he grumbled.
"I'm sorry for what happened, Majo," Carlos said, his eyes cast down. "And for that hellishly long journey still ahead of us."
María José waved it off.
"Have I just landed in the middle of a mafia showdown?" María José asked in a deadpan voice.
With a slight grimace, she stirred the machine-made coffee in her flimsy plastic cup with a thin wooden stick.
“Carlos?” María José’s voice was tired and uncertain. “Where did you bring me?”
She seemed less surprised than him to wake up next to Carlos in an unfamiliar place.
The morning sunlight burned Carlos’s nose more harshly than usual. He turned to his other side, still not ready to open his eyes. But as he shifted, the silky fabric brushing against his face caught him off guard. What kind of bedding had the housekeeper put on?
The first thing Bernard did was check the cameras. He hadn’t wanted to do it in front of Timothy because, quite frankly, he was embarrassed that a few pensioners were making a fool of him. Even if their main target wasn’t Carlos, but Ted.