THIRTY-ONE
ON THE OTHER SIDE WAS only a fifteen-foot drop onto a dusty stretch of hard dirt that eventually merged with a white, almost edgeless concrete street. The street, which ran parallel to the road above, provided access to the warehouses and other storage spaces in the area.
As I leaned over the thick concrete slab, I met Sultan’s eyes just as he let go to drop down. He landed hard, but ran back and down under the overpass. I lost sight of him.
I followed by, easily popping over then lowering myself with the gun tucked in the jacket again. He came into view, limping away from me on the dusty, deserted street that went under the highway we just came off. He’d evidently hurt his ankle.
“Sultan!” I trained the pistol at him as I approached—reaching a set of pillars that supported
