Burn (Story of CI #3) by Rachel Moschell Page B

mud into a glassy sphere. Alejo's dark lashes were lowered as he squinted at the mud, rubbing it compulsively with a silky blue rag.
    This was Alejo's new hobby. Rupert made them all pick something, since their job stress levels were pretty high. Rupert cooked, Cail baked bread, Lalo played computer games. Wara had her guitar.
    When Wara met Alejo, he had exactly zero hobbies. Alejo had been a very, very serious guy.
    Well now, Alejo had dorodango. The Japanese art of making shiny mud balls. Apparently you could use all different colors of mud. It took hours to polish the thing into a perfectly round, glossy sphere.
    "Awesome," Alejo finally said. He frowned, leaning forward and honing in on some imaginary imperfection on his mud creation. Alejo wadded the rag in his palm and swiped it in miniscule circles across the coppery surface. "Rupert talked with the guy he knows at the Malian consulate, so everything should be ready for us to pick up tomorrow early."
    “Nice. Looks like our flight’s at 3 pm tomorrow. Fez-Bamako.”
    Wara started to reach towards the screen to enter her information for one Malian tourist visa, but her hands faltered, really not wanting to go there. She dragged her gaze in a wide circle around the Café Casablanca, where Cail had said goodbye to Wara minutes before and stalked off in a rotten mood to her lunch with old friend Jonah. The café was dingy with shamrock green vinyl upholstery. Dark wooden tables hosted Moroccan guys with fat cigars and fedora hats. The air swirled with espresso and aftershave and smoke that smelled like cloves.
    They could have filmed Casablanca here.
    "This is gonna work." Alejo peered at her from over the mud ball.
    "Yeah, I know that." Wara winced, wishing she hadn't snapped. It's just that the idea of filling out the visa application was freaking her out. There was a reason she was sitting here with Alejo, pulling apart a flaky croissant while he chugged down black coffee. The internet at Rupert's house was totally secure, hard for anyone to hack in and discover Wara Cadogan's travel plans: a Malian tourist visa, then a flight to Bamako and on to Timbuktu. But here…anyone could find out what Wara Cadogan was up to.
    And that was the idea.
    She was supposed to be leaving a trail, little fresh bread crumbs so Lázaro Marquez could figure out she was still alive and follow her to Mali, then Timbuktu. Where Alejo, Cail, Caspian, and Lalo would be waiting.
    Wara fought off a shiver, grimaced and grabbed Alejo's glass mug of coffee. The obsequious waiter had just been by with a refill from a steaming silver carafe. Yeah, it was sad, but she and Alejo were both pretty cheap. Why order two coffees when you could have free refills and just drink from the same mug? Wara threw back a large swallow of coffee, dark and deeply bitter.
    "Eewww," she shuddered at Alejo, clinking his mug back in front of him. "Would it kill you to consume some sugar?"
    Alejo kind of froze, then grinned at her, lopsided, eyes wary. “What can I say? I’m just not a sweet guy."
    Wara grinned. "So true." She took a deep breath and pointed towards the dorodango ball with her chin. "Where did you get that mud from?"
    Alejo lifted his eyes to her in surprise. As if this was unprecedented that she was interested in his mud hobby. "The banks of the Niger River," he said. "I got it close to Timbuktu."
    "Ok. Cool." She flashed a smile at him, liking the spark in Alejo's eyes. Wara unhooked her turquoise hippy purse from the back of the chair. "Here. Can you read me my passport number? Let's get this over with."
    Much too quickly, Wara found herself confirming the credit card transactions for the visa fee, then an airline ticket.
    The email from Air France was already sitting in her inbox. Thanks to Rupert's guy who knew a guy, the visa was supposed to be ready tomorrow.
    All of Alejo's team in Timbuktu were in Mali on tourist visas. CI was officially an educational NGO, and the guys were supposedly there as