CHAPTER 33
THE ASSISTANT
Everyone knew what we’d done on the plane; I was certain of it. My legs had been as bendy as an IV tube when Brax helped me down the steps in Porto, the nearest airport to Fundão with a runway long enough to accommodate the jet. Apparently it could land closer, but it couldn’t take off again.
But nobody said anything as a customs official gave our baggage a cursory glance, wished us a pleasant vacation, and headed back to the terminal. Four vehicles were waiting for us, sleek SUVs, two black, two white. There was a brief delay as we strapped surfboards to the roofs, but soon we set off on the three-hour journey to Fundão.
And I was terrified. Terrified by what we might find, or that we’d find nothing at all.
I checked my phone again, praying for a message from
