CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
On the second retry, Pat picked up. The man was tipsy but not entirely juiced. ‘Steel, what’s up?’ Pat laughed, thoughts of the two men on the same ship bringing all sorts of images. ‘Oh, you didn’t kill the little bastard, did ya?’ he asked, panic in his voice.
‘No, he’s fine. But look, can you do me a favour and go to Graaf’s apartment and speak to Agent Sabine Boese? She’s with INTERPOL. I need to get in contact with her. It’s urgent,’ Steel said, his voice solemn.
‘Graaf’s place, ya say? Oh, sorry, Johnny boy. That place is ashes. That bomber ya after, he just took out Graaf’s apartment. Nice job, too. Could have used the bloke back in the day,’ Pat said, forgetting Steel had been on the other side of the wire at the time. ‘Oh, sorry,’ he apologised, then took a
