No matter how much Ilse immersed herself in work, she couldn’t get her mind off the man in the SS dungeon. She’d gone home with icy shivers running down her spine a warm shower hadn’t alleviated. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Drako spread-eagled against the wall, his haunting yellow eyes drilling into hers. “If I don’t get back to my pod, I’m as good as dead,” he’d said.

Was she losing her mind? It would’ve helped if she could talk to Caitlin who she considered a good friend, but there was no mistaking Pete’s warning. Talking could get her killed, run over, or something else that would look like an accident, not to mention putting Caitlin at risk. Already, she’d been looking over her shoulder all the way to work.

When her shift ended at four, she’d worked herself to near collapsing, but still her mind lingered on Drako. How was he coping? What were they doing to him? Where had they found him? She both prayed Agent Pillay would come back for her and that he wouldn’t. She simultaneously dreaded returning to that dungeon and not going back. In the slim chance they’d fetch her to check on Drako, she put in an order for painkillers and antibiotics at the medicine depot.

She was changing out of her uniform when Caitlin rapped on the change room door.

“Hey,” Ilse said in greeting.

“What’s this?” Caitlin held up the order. “Depot asked me to sign it off.”

“It’s for the prisoner, you know, the one the agent took me to see yesterday.”

“Mm-mm.” Caitlin leaned her hip against the doorframe. “I wanted to ask about that, but today I didn’t have five minutes to pee. How did it go?”

Ilse brushed her hair and redid the braid. “Fine.”

“You haven’t been yourself all day. You’re as jumpy as a Mexican bean.”

She forced a smile. “Just tired.”

“Told you to get more sleep.”

“That’s exactly what I’m planning on doing after running some errands.”

Caitlin signed the form on her clipboard and handed it to Ilse. “Here you go.”

“I’ll swing by the depot, and then I’m off. Call me if you need an extra hand on the midnight shift.” She picked up her bag.

“Uh-uh.” Caitlin pointed a finger at her. “Sleep.”

“Yes, boss.”

“That’s better. I don’t want to worry my ass off about you.”

Ilse waved over her shoulder. “You worry too much.”

While she waited for the order at the medicine depot, she eyed the staff on duty until she spotted the new pharmacist graduate.

“Annemarie, right?”

The girl approached the counter. “Have we met?”

“I’m Ilse. Welcome to the team. How are you enjoying the job so far?”

“It’s all right, I guess.”

Ilse glanced around to check that no one was within earshot. “I meant to ask you something.”

The girl looked uncomfortable. “I don’t fabricate drugs for recreational purposes.”

“No, nothing like that. I’ve heard that you know about a black market for medicine.”

Annemarie’s cheeks blanched. “Who said that?”

“Rumors. You know how the staff talks in the canteen.”

“Sorry to disappoint you, but I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Look, we’re out of Rifampin. Our new batch was stolen, and there’s this old lady who missed out on her monthly dose. I promised I’d get her some.”

Her voice rose in panic. “You’re planning on buying it from the black market?”

“Check the inventory. A new batch isn’t due until next month.”

“You’re serious?”

“I promised. She came all the way from Alexandra only to be sent away empty-handed.”

The girl bit her lip. “Look, I’ve only heard some rumors.”

“I’ll take my chances.”

“You didn’t hear it from me.”

“My lips are sealed.”

Annemarie leaned over the counter, lowering her voice to a whisper. “There’s a shop called Amina’s Fabrics at the Oriental Plaza. Ask for red silk from India.”

“Thanks.”

Annemarie opened her mouth, but before she could say something, the pharmacist on duty returned with Ilse’s order.

Annemarie gave Ilse a resigned look. “Be careful.”

“It was good to meet you.”

She signed for the medicine and made her way to the parking lot. The Plaza closed at five. If she didn’t get stuck in traffic, she could make it there in under an hour. Knowing the back roads through Brixton, it took her less then thirty-five minutes to pull up at the Plaza. The traffic was already heavy with the office workers who started at seven and knocked off at four. Peak-hour would erupt at five. She didn’t look forward to getting stuck in the traffic in town, but there was no helping it.

Making her way through the arched entrance of the open-air market, she stopped to get her bearings. She hadn’t been here since shopping with her mother as a child. The area had gone backward in the last few years, becoming too risky for carefree shopping. The place was exactly as she remembered. The food stalls were near the entrance. The fragrance of fried samosas and curry hung in the air.

“Cheap watches,” a vendor called from a jewelry stand. “A Rolex for the pretty lady.”

She made her way through the stalls of homeware, clothes, and spices toward the closed area where the textiles were sold.

“Ten percent discount. Today only!”

“Pretty dresses. Touch them. See? Real chiffon.”

“Tandoori spices. Ready mixed. No wedding ring, I see. The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. Here, take a sample.”

At last, the escalators came into sight. She hurried to the first floor that ran in a square around the ground level market. Anima’s Fabrics was located in one of the farthest corners, next to a pet shop.

“Hello,” a parrot cried from his cage in front of the pet shop when she entered Amina’s store.

A bell chimed over the door. The fragrance of incense and fabric greeted her. A fan stirred hot air around the room. A friendly-looking woman wearing a sari approached her with a smile. Her gray hair was twisted into a bun at the nape of her neck.

“Good day. What can I do for you? We have beautiful wedding dress silk on sale. Or maybe some blue for an evening gown?” The woman took a roll of fabric from a shelf and held it in front of Ilse. “Look at that, how it brings out your eyes. Yes, look. Come.” She turned her toward a mirror fitted on the wall.

“Actually,” Ilse cleared her throat, “I’m looking for some red silk from India.”

The women’s hands stilled a moment before she returned the fabric to the shelf. Her eyes turned hard as she called to the back. “Ismael, here’s a customer for you.”

A young man with a pimply face exited from behind a curtain. He held the curtain aside. “Through here.” With a smile, he waved her into a small, windowless room.

The woman mumbled an insult under her breath and turned her back on them.

“Sorry about that,” he said once she was inside. “My mother doesn’t like that I run my business from the back.”

You bet.

He pushed a pair of gold-framed spectacles onto his nose and sat down behind a desk the size of an apple box. “What do you need?”

“Rifampin.”

“Ah. You’re in luck. I got in a new batch. How much do you need?”

“How much does it cost?”

“For you, a special price. One thousand five hundred rand for thirty capsules.”

She nearly choked. “What? That’s three times the retail price.”

“Yeah, but the demand warrants the price. I guarantee you won’t find it elsewhere. I’m the sole stocker. Go try the hospitals and see for yourself.”

“Don’t I know,” she gritted out.

It took all her self-control not to call him a thief who robbed poor, sick people of their health. If she thought it would make a difference, she’d report him, but the police were often involved, taking kickbacks from the black market dealers.

Grudgingly, she dug the money from her purse. “I only have enough for one box.”

“No worries.” He flashed her a gold-toothed smile. “You can always come back when you have more cash. I give a ten percent discount to my loyal customers.”

After stashing the money in his back pocket, he took a key from the other pocket and unlocked a cabinet. He removed the Rifampin and sealed it in a brown bag.

Pushing it over the desk, he said, “It’ll be five rand for the bag.”

She stared at him incredulously. About to say something insulting, she swallowed it back. The faster she could get out of here, the better. She took the coin from her purse and left it on the desk. She left without a greeting.

“Thanks for your business,” he called after her in a cheerful voice.

The woman looked up from behind the counter. “Junkie,” she mumbled as Ilse exited the shop.

Only outside did she breathe easier. She kept on looking over her shoulder, not knowing if she expected to see an SS agent or police officer. If a police officer arrested her for illegal black market dealings, she’d have to buy her way out, and although she wasn’t suffering financially, she didn’t have a lot of money in her savings account. She only relaxed once she was safely locked in her car. It was too late to drive to Alexandra. It would have to wait until tomorrow.

As expected, she hit the peak-hour traffic, getting stuck in a bottleneck outside the Plaza. Instead of heading back to Brixton, she decided to go via Newtown. With the city center mostly being a ghost town, the traffic should be lighter. She turned the radio to a classical station to soothe her nerves. Every part of her body was clenched tight. She couldn’t shake the feeling of pending doom. Her tension only got worse as she looked up and spotted the Nelson Mandela Bridge that connected Braamfontein with downtown. She stared at it for a long time, the time it took for the traffic light to change three times, to be exact. Agent Pillay had driven for no more than ten to fifteen minutes after he’d made her put on the blindfold on that bridge, which meant the building where the SS kept Drako couldn’t be far. Several shivers ran in succession down her spine. Her gaze darted around the skyscrapers, many of which were deserted. When crime had moved in, businesses had moved out. She followed the road from the bridge with her eyes to where it circled before the mine dumps and continued east, and then she spotted it––a black SS helicopter parked on a rooftop. For a moment, she forgot to breathe. The building was the old, abandoned police headquarters where political prisoners had allegedly been tortured. It was supposed to be deserted, only it wasn’t.