The sound of Ali's vehicle pulling into the compound broke the silence that had settled over the conference room like dust. Bishop and Marius rose simultaneously, their movements synchronized by years of and solidarity and shared purpose, and made their way to meet him.
Ali was wheeling Marcel through the entrance when they arrived, the cook looking significantly more put-together than he had in the wine cellar—cleaned up, dressed in fresh clothes, his bruises artfully concealed with makeup that someone on Ali's team must have applied. He looked almost normal, almost like a man going to meet someone for innocent reasons rather than serving as bait in a trap that could easily kill him.
Marcel's eyes were hollow with fear, but at least he was upright and functional. That would have to be e
