Chapter Thirty-Four
In real life, Celia Braddock was shorter than she looked in the media, and slightly dumpy. I imagined her to be in her fifties, with her hair cut short just below the ears, and peppered through with grey.
Far from being alarmed to see me appear in her car, she seemed bemused.
“I take it you’re Mr Wilson?” she said.
Well, how was that? She knew and had been informed that this was going to happen. Likely, her inner circle of security knew. Thank the heavens for Sheydu’s machinations.
“I am. Nice to meet you.”
“It’s an interesting way to meet up. I was always a fan of old spy movies.”
She extended her hand, and I shook it, an old-fashioned gesture most people in the rest of the world had given up long ago. I’d read that some areas of the world had never shared that
