Fadi certainly looked relaxed. Sitting in the library carrel with his feet up on the chair beside him, reading the paper. He had a pile of books on the table in front of him, but wasn’t paying them any attention.
I had a couple of history books under my arm, just for show. I needed a reason to sit at the table next to him.
I walked over nervously, but as I arrived at the carrels, he just glanced at me and dropped his feet to the floor. That was it, not a sign of recognition. He went back to his paper, so I pulled a notebook out of my bag and started doing homework. At least I’d get something out of this.
About forty minutes later, Fadi’s cell phone rang. As he talked, he packed up his stuff and disappeared between the stacks. Striving to look casual, I pulled the paper over and thumbed through it. Stuck in by the comics was a note from Fadi.
It said to go to the men’s room on the third floor; the package was tucked into the toilet tank of the third stall. I was both thrilled and frightened, I felt like I was in a movie. Carefully checking to see that no-one was watching me, I got up and headed for the third floor. Then I went back, stuffed my books into my backpack and left again.
The bathroom was, th...