Читать книгу Bestselling Conspiracy Thriller Trilogy: Sanctus, The Key, The Tower - Simon Toyne, Simon Toyne - Страница 95

The ringing tone kicked in as Liv passed a street stall selling freshly made flat breads. The thick, hot smell of roasted spices and onions reminded her how long it had been since she’d had anything substantial to eat. The sun beat down on the bone-coloured flagstones and buildings that all looked like churches.

‘Where the hell have you been?’ the familiar voice yelled. Rawls Baker, owner and editor of the New Jersey Inquirer, was not one of life’s whisperers. ‘You’d better be calling to file copy on that birth story; I got a hole in the lifestyle section you could drive a truck through.’

‘Listen Rawls, I –’

‘Don’t give me excuses. Just give me that story.’

‘Rawls, I haven’t written it.’

There was a moment’s pause. ‘Well, you’d better start writing it right this –’

‘What’s the story on the front page of the Inquirer this morning?’ she asked, before he could launch into a full-blown roasting.

‘What the hell’s that got to do with anything?’

‘Just answer the question.’

‘The monk. Same as every other paper.’

‘He was my brother.’

The phone went silent.

‘You’re shitting me!’

‘I’m in Ruin now; I flew in this morning. There’s something strange going on here. I don’t know what it is, but it’s something big. I’m in the middle of it and I need your help.’

The silence flooded back. She could picture him in his office, staring out at the river, calculating how much an exclusive might be worth. Her phone beeped loudly in her ear and for a moment she thought she’d been disconnected. Then Rawls’s voice rumbled back through the ether. ‘What do you need?’

‘I’m heading towards the offices of a local newspaper called Itaat Eden Kimse. I want you to call ahead and get them to kit me out with some petty cash, a notebook and some pens. Maybe the loan of a desk for a few hours.’

‘No problem.’ She heard the scratch of Rawls’s pen. ‘Just don’t go sharing anything valuable with them. Remember who’s signing your paycheque. Tell them you’re writing a travel piece or something.’

‘OK,’ she said. The low-battery signal beeped in her ear again. ‘My cell’s about to die. Can you see if they can hook me up with a charger as well?’ She gave him the make and model, but there was only silence at his end of the line.

The screen was blank. She slipped it back into her pocket. Looked back up the road. Saw a vehicle approaching.