Medae breathed out slowly as order unravelled around her. If there was one rule in her line of work, it was to stay calm. And if there was a second, it was to know which rules to break, and which to respect. She had never broken her first rule and she wasn’t about to now.

Confused travellers pressed in on the desk as the clerk, now wide awake, was ushered away. Time to move, take stock, plan.

She extricated herself from the crowd, which was one ill-word away from a mob, and walked to the far side of the concourse. She was aware of tightness in her shoulders, in her stomach, and turned her mind to the fear lurking in her body. She breathed in through her nose, out slowly through her mouth, monitoring her pounding heart and the surging adrenaline. She knew these physiological markers well, but they were not her master.

Once her body calmed, she considered her immediate options. She could try to retrieve the case now, or simply flee. Moving now was tempting, but she knew fear made it attractive. Fear told her to get it back at all costs, then run. Before the sedative wore off. Before Manfred suspected something amiss and woke JJ. Before JJ realised she’d stolen from him and sent his people after her.

She twitched at each glance in her direction. Was her dilemma on display? No. She remembered the third rule: Don’t assume it’s all about you.

She learnt that rule on her first-ever assignment: she’d thought a man who approached her for a light was looking for an opportunity to apprehend her. When she handed him the lighter and he asked if she’d been in the city for long, she assumed he was checking her movements against the timeframe of the crime. It wasn’t until he thanked her and walked back to his wife she realised he’d only seen a cold woman alone on a street corner who might help him get his nicotine fix, not a thief with a prize hidden under her coat.

She reminded herself everyone here was thinking of themselves, and everyone related to her journey out of the airport was worrying about their job. Nobody would suspect there was a stolen painting in her suitcase. With that framed clearly in her mind, she decided to find a place to wait it out and make her decision. She had invested too much to run before a solution had a chance to reveal itself.

[ [ [

She managed to buy coffee and bottled water and find a seat in the cafe before the herds arrived; they were still confused about what was happening. Now she’d made her first choice, she had to identify the risks involved in waiting along with everyone else.

The most pressing risk being JJ raising the alarm. He may not involve the police, but she didn’t doubt for a moment he’d send his security people, if not come himself.

She checked that thought. Why would he come here? He could assume having stolen the masterpiece she would leave the country straight away, by any means at her disposal. It didn’t have to be the airport, but she had to plan for the eventuality his people would come here.

She reminded herself he would be looking for Keely. Medae had different clothes, hair colour and passport. He would be able to pick her out, but only with close scrutiny. His people would have trouble if they were working from just a description or an old photo. She checked her watch. In three hours she would contact her employer—no need to wake them now—and advise them of the unavoidable delay. They might even send help.

Once that had been tidied away, she remembered the diary in her backpack and pulled it out. She was glad she had taken that too; it saved her from buying the chick-lit schlock at the airport shop.

What did she expect?

A list of business contacts, or private details of his father’s shady operations?

She opened the first page and found a handwritten journal entry dated a month after she had started to work for him.

Christ. Gone and got a therapist. Not only that, bought a journal and I’m writing in it. What next? Listening to emo and relating, fifteen years late?

Got to do something though. L had to see a doctor. Got too rough. Doc’s on the payroll so there’s no worries there, but couldn’t sleep afterwards. Don’t care about her, just don’t understand what happened.

Why do I do this?

Do I even want to know?