“Very well,” Canaan replied. “Let us go over here by this Poster Arts store so as not to attract attention. What does this chip we’re following do?”
“Once connected to any computer port, it can instantly hack into the system,” Nabih replied. “The only drawback Fahid said is that it must be done manually at the target computer. Fahid thinks she heard him explaining it to our potential buyers. After fucking the whore, he noticed the chip was missing when they came back on deck. He should have simply taken the purse from Aldirin or injected her, and brought them both on deck.”
“He is drunk… much like we are.” Canaan shrugged. “He didn’t think. He reacted to her claims of not having stolen it. Instead of using the tablet to prove she had it, he injected the bitch. I should have went with him. At least I would have made certain to get the purse.”
The three men moved to the Poster Arts store, pretending to peruse what could be seen through the window. After five minutes, Zainy spoke.
“Perhaps she left her purse there. I have been scanning the peoples’ faces going by since she stopped. I have not seen her, but it could be a possibility.”
“Let us go slowly now toward her. Watch as Nabih advises, and look closely at each of the faces we pass. We do not want her slipping by us.”
“We know her address,” Abbar said. “If we must, we can settle with her later. It is the purse that is important. We can take the chip back, and leave the purse with a lost and found here. Then Aldirin would have nothing she could say. Who would believe a story of her getting thrown off the Shalimar? We will be gone anyway.”
“True, but it will be wise to get her now,” Zainy stated.
The men rounded the concourse area, where the walkway and railing along the water were deserted. Very little light made the walkway like a darkened tunnel. The nearly ever present fog along the shore crept over rocks from below to spread its tendrils, beginning to obscure the wooden walkway. So absorbed in the task at hand, the three men jogged forward to where two concrete benches, and trash bins, were arranged near an observation spot at a railing corner.
Nabih Zainy cursed, looking down into the opening of a cylindrical trash receptacle. “The bitch threw it in this concrete trash bin. I do not have a flashlight. Can you hold your phone over the opening Rami? I-”
Nabih heard the arcing sound of a powerful electrical discharge. He turned in time to see first Canaan drop across one of the concrete benches, and then Rami. Nabih reached for the silenced Glock under his coat, but the hooded man lunged forward, stunning him, the bluish white arc eliciting a terrified grunt of pain, and then blackness. Nabih sprawled into the corner railing before sagging down against it like a string-less marionette.
*