Chapter Twelve
AT SOME POINT IN THE PAST, in one of his many previous identities, Fabio had earned the nickname Escape Artist. Because he got out of places and into places where no one thought he would go.
The ceiling duct in the toilet at the second floor residential corridor in the main base was definitely such a place.
Over the next few hours, several groups of people came in, but because Fabio managed to let himself down, clean up the drop of blood and the smear on the wall, no one paid any attention to the ceiling vent.
A few people came to use the showers and once a guy used the toilet cubicle underneath him, reading something on his pad while sitting with his pants around his ankles.
Sadly, also, the space up there—while being big enough to hide—didn’t lead anywhere else. There
