Jeffrey was scratching away at the walls of his carry case, trying to tunnel for freedom with the fury of an inmate at Colditz Castle. “Shhh, little Boxcat,” Blake said in hushed tones, “we’re just going on a short trip.” Blake switched on his phone’s hands-free mode. “I presume this is Cavallo?” a thick Appalachian voice said. “Confirmed,” Blake said, swerving between traffic lanes and turning onto the Sheikh Zayed road. “You’re in Abu Dhabi?” “Dubai.” A sharp intake of breath. “Our nearest debrief is called Ron Casabian, he’ll be...” “In the Cassiopeia hotel bar from 19:00,” Blake cut the man off mid-sentence. “I know Ron well, it’s his nightly hang out.” Blake accelerated his car up to the speed limit.
