Free Obsession (Year of Fire) by Florencia Bonelli

me!” the flight attendant called, just as light flooded the plane and passengers started to stretch and mumble.
    Al-Saud had to move aside, and the woman went through with her little cart for the breakfast service. Matilde followed her and sat down next to Juana.
    “What’s going on, Mat?”
    “Don’t ask. I’m staying here.”
    “ Okay , it’s none of my business.”
    Matilde forced herself to swallow the food the flight attendant brought her. Juana was right, they wouldn’t find anything to eat in her aunt Enriqueta’s apartment and, since it was the first of January, it wouldn’t be easy to find an open grocer or supermarket.
    “Maybe Ezequiel has bought us supplies,” Juana wondered.
    “Maybe.”
    Eliah listened to Juana as she spoke, but he couldn’t hear Matilde’s whispered answers. Who was Ezequiel? Jealousy, combined with annoyance and lack of sleep, formed an explosive mix that he was only able to master thanks to fifteen years of training in the philosophy of Shorinji Kempo . The breathing techniques helped him to relax his muscles and reach a state of deep meditation. When the plane landed, Al-Saud opened his eyes and made sure he had restored his internal equilibrium. However, he had nonetheless been unable to cast Matilde out of his thoughts. She can lead me to Blahetter , he reminded himself. He helped to lift her shika down from the overhead compartment.
    “Put on a coat. It’ll be very cold outside.”
    Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her wrap herself in a black poncho with a red lining and pull matching gloves over her hands.
    “Eliah,” Juana said, “it was a pleasure to meet you. I hope we meet in the streets of Paris!” She kissed him on the cheek and strode off toward the front of the plane.
    Matilde made as if to follow her, but he planted himself in the middle of the aisle. He stuck out his hand and gave her a personal business card.
    “If you need anything in Paris, absolutely anything,” he remarked, “you can reach me at these numbers.”
    Matilde lifted her face. He’s so tall , she thought and, summoning her courage, looked him in his severe eyes rimmed in shadow. Her hands were shaking and she was afraid her voice would come out distorted and insecure.
    “Thank you, Eliah.”
    He leaned toward her and kissed her in the same place as he had done before, just below the left corner of her mouth. Matilde inhaled his fragrance, half-rancid after hours in flight, and allowed herself to enjoy the feeling of his rough cheek rubbing against hers. She lingered there, waiting for him to take his face away.
    “Good-bye, Eliah.”
    He didn’t answer. Moments later, as soon as he got into the airport, he was met by his friend Edmé de Florian, an agent from the Direction de la Surveillance du Territoire, the French domestic intelligence service. Al-Saud had called him from Ezeiza and, in code because they hadn’t been speaking on a secure line, asked him to escort him through customs and immigration. The Sig Sauer nine millimeter was still strapped under his jacket.
    They greeted each other with a warm handshake. Edmé appreciated opportunities to help Eliah Al-Saud, although he knew that he would never be able to repay his old colleague from L’Agence, who had saved his life in Mogadishu. Edmé had been hit in his chest by a bullet while his commando group, led by Eliah, was attempting to escape an ambush; they had been betrayed. Edmé de Florian was not a small man: he was six feet tall and weighed two hundred pounds. Still, Al-Saud had thrown him across his back and run for over an hour with him slung across his shoulders in addition to sixty-five pounds of equipment.
    “What are you doing in De Gaulle? You always land your planes at Le Bourget.” Edmé referred to the airport seven miles north of Paris, reserved for general aviation, which meant private planes, aerial taxis, ultralights and cargo planes with irregular itineraries. Al-Saud explainedthe circumstances of