"Good," Mujeeb sad. "Because I've got your next Khaniman story."

Abdi leaned back in his chair, crossing his legs and tutting at the sand that had somehow penetrated his Nikes and coated his socks. He had come expecting something like this. He would have pottered around in Turkey for a while longer, waiting for something meatier. But he knew Mujeeb had something for him. "Lunch first, right?"

"Right you are, habibi," Mujeeb said, slipping his phone into his pocket.

"I thought so," Abdi muttered, resigned. He got up and followed the much larger man through the newsroom and past the pretty receptionist who was now tapping away into her phone. He thought he could see technicoloured rows of jellies and sweets reflected on her thick-framed glasses.

They got into the elevator and rode it down, walking through the unchanged throng in the lobby and out into the blinding sunlight. Abdi put his glasses on again and followed Mujeeb down the little flight of stairs and towards the TGIF's down the street. He did not share Mujeeb's taste for pseudo-American grease but this trip to Friday's had almost become a ritual for them. Abdi was often reminded of the Sandman comic where Morpheus would arrange a meeting with an immortal man once every hundred years. Change the time around a little and this was pretty similar. Meet once every six months and discuss the changing world. And then go and make him some more money.

Firday's was thankfully still the same. The same Filipino waitress who served them last time was at the door to greet them. Ironically, her name was Ruby. Abdi wondered this time, as he did the last time, why she hadn't tried to get a job at the Ruby Teusday's a few blocks east. She led them to their corner table, the weight of replica-Americana hanging above them as they gazed at each other.

"God, you look way too old for twenty-two," Mujeeb said, finally.

Abdi waited for Ruby to place two menus in front of them before disappearing in a puff of efficiency. "Must be the lack of sleep. Jetlag or whatever."

"Do you want to have the settle down conversation?"

"Do you think I want to have the settle down conversation? How's the pasta here?"

Mujeeb shook his head. "Disappointing. Try the ribs."

"I did ribs twenty-fifteen."

"You probably forgot what they taste like, then. Do ribs,"

Abdul Rahman nodded. "Okay, ribs."

Mujeeb leaned back and watched him for a while. "What if I made you Senior Editor for Politics or something? There's a vacancy here."

"There's always a vacancy, here, Mujeeb. I don't need it, though. Honestly. This isn't hard for me at all. This is the reason I'm a journalist."

Ruby returned and Abdi let Mujeeb order for him. He turned back to him after she left.

"So, what's the story?" Abdi asked.

Mujeeb was slowly and methodically pouring water into both their glasses. "I'm not sure yet. There could be something pretty big, though."

"Jazeera big?"

"CNN-big, habibi. BBC-big," Mujeeb replied, stretching his hands out wide.

"You know, that has very unsavoury connotations in some circles."

Mujeeb smiled. "Don't be dirty. Now, let me tell you. Remember, after Khaniman when everyone from around here wanted a piece of us? We started getting more letters than we knew what to do with. Most of them were from conspiracy nuts. One of them was interesting."

"So, that one wasn't by a nut?"

"Oh, he's a nut alright. We've got a couple of letters from him before. He's obsessed with the CIA. Anyway, this one consisted of something a little different from usual for him. He actually had sources."

Abdi saw Ruby pattering towards them in his peripheral vision. She placed his ribs in front of him, some obscene salad in front of Mujeeb and a painfully expensive looking bottle of Fiji water between them. She disappeared.

"Sources?" Abdi asked, cutting into his steak.

"Hmm." Mujeeb bit down on a whole cherry tomato and Abdi could hear it exploding and sloshing around in his mouth. "Sources, yeah. A couple of newspaper clippings from Cyprus and Syria."

Cyprus and Syria. Abdul Rahman knew what this was about. He loaded his fork with mushrooms and mashed potato and chewed methodically, counting till thirty. "Good steak."

"Didn't I tell you?" Mujeeb smiled wide, revealing lettuce strands dangling between his incisors and molars. "Anyway, guess what the reports were about."

"Drones," Abdo said and poured as little water as palatable into the glass next to him. The bottle was little and Mujeeb couldn't afford another one from here.

"You knew about this, then?" Mujeeb asked, the usual outrage spilling across his face.

"There was gossip about that in Turkey, for sure." Abdul Rahman had been in the lounge of the Izmir Holiday Inn Express when he first heard about the sudden return of every local's worst nightmare. A couple of taxi drivers waiting for their suntan-greased tourist patrons to emerge from breakfast were talking about it, passing around pictures that looked like grimy UFO sightings on their phones.

"Why didn't you send me something about it?" Mujeeb's voice had diminished into a whisper. "Doesn't seem important to you?"

"Not particularly, no." Abdi shrugged. "A bit piece about the effect of computer warfare and its effect on the whole big picture, US-Russia thing, maybe. But no sense rushing that out now. People need time to get outraged."

"Wait, what are you talking about?"

"Aleppo. Duh." Abdi sipped delicately from his glass of Fiji water. It didn't taste particularly special to him.

A slow smile spread on Mujeeb's face and he began shaking his head. "You still haven't put two and two together, have you?"

Thank you so much for reading! If you enjoyed that part, I'd be overjoyed if you leave a comment down below telling me what you think. I'd relish it as much as Mujeeb relished that salad :p