31
Hampstead, London. 11.32am
Morgan walked down the leafy suburban street looking at blue plaques on the walls of the grand houses, marking the noted names of history who had once lived there. London was dotted with such markers, centuries of intellect layering the city in memory, and this area in particular was full of them.
In the last few hours, while the doctors patched her up and dosed her with drugs, Morgan had worked with Martin to delve further into Natasha’s past, using ARKANE’s access to secret records. Martin had even hacked into the database of the SSI, the Egyptian State Security Investigations Service, for information on several generations of El-Beherys. One thing had emerged with startling clarity.
They had found a reference to Natasha’s grandfather, Daoud El-Behery, a
