CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Farez lives on Dolphin Street about a five-minute walk to the beach in a two-storey black and white concrete apartment. Impregnable is the impression. A black security gate for the car and pedestrian access. Travis pushes the intercom, waits. A few seconds go by then ten seconds, twenty seconds. Travis reaches to push it again, but a voice says, ‘Travis Whyte?’
‘Yes.’
‘Push the gate now.’ A buzzing noise goes off, and Travis pushes the gate open, walks up the white stairs to the black front door. As he reaches it, the door is pulled open, and a big guy, like a bodybuilder type but short in stature, opens the door.
Travis says, ‘Farez?’
‘No, I’m Dima. Come in, follow me,’ the big guys says and leads him down a hallway to an open door. Travis looks into the room, Di
