Chapter 13

• The following days were a blur of frantic activity. Rowan, ever the pragmatist, had already secured a small, unmarked aircraft – a private charter, discreet and unregistered. The arrangements had been made through a network of contacts he’d cultivated over years, a carefully woven web of favors and allegiances. He'd chosen a remote airstrip, miles away from any major airport, a place shrouded in the quiet solitude of the countryside. Getting there would be a challenge, a carefully orchestrated dance around Julian's watchful eyes and the ever-present threat of his surveillance team.
• Their first meeting was in a dimly lit café, tucked away in a quiet neighborhood known for its antique shops and discreet cafes. Cleo, despite her initial fear, felt a surge of adrenaline, a thrilling mix of dread and anticipation. Rowan handed her a small, sealed envelope, its contents a meticulously forged passport and a hefty sum of cash, enough for their initial expenses. It was a testament to the lengths he was willing to go to ensure their success. He had thought of everything.
• The next step was far more dangerous: accessing Julian's financial accounts. Rowan explained that it wouldn't be straightforward. He’d needed access to a secure server – a risky endeavor, requiring a deft hand and an intimate knowledge of computer security protocols, knowledge Rowan possessed in abundance. Their rendezvous point was an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of town, a place shrouded in shadows and the whispers of forgotten industry. The air hung heavy with the smell of damp concrete and rusting metal, the echoes of their footsteps adding to the unsettling silence.