“Skill,” she tosses over her shoulder, making me grin.
Fifteen minutes later, I’m buried under a mound of scratchy palm fronds, crouched at the bottom of a trash bin that reeks of rotten-food juice, and not in the mood to smile about anything.
But I’m not on high alert, either. I trust Zan to take only acceptable risks and to abort this mission if it gets too dangerous.
The bin rolls to a stop. I hold my breath, but then I hear a soft beeping and a metallic click. A moment later, the bin is in motion again.
We’re through the gate. One hurdle cleared.
The wheels vibrate beneath me for what feels like an age, and then the bin starts up an incline. I hear Zan’s breath grow labored, and then she whispers, “You’re heavier than you look, Dimples,” and I’m grinning again.
Only this woman could make me grin while my nose is full of garbage stink.
I hear another door open and close, and then cooler air seeps into the bin.
“Long hallway, no windows, and cameras in the ceiling, I think,” she whispers softly, turning the bin to the right. “Keeping my head down.”
The bin is vibrating less now, making me think we must be on a tiled surface. Zan is definitely having less trouble with my weight as she maneuvers through several doors and around another corner.
So when her breath rushes out a few minutes later, I figure pushing me around isn’t the reason.
I tense, ready to back her up if she’s run into trouble, but then she whispers, “Peek over the edge to your left, just a few inches. I’ll block you from the cameras.”
I do as I’m told, peering over the top of the bin to find we’re in a small office. A large window overlooks a warehouse full of contraband.
But these aren’t “guns.” They’re full-on anti-aircraft missiles.
“Guess he decided to go big or go home?” I whisper.
Zan places a small bag of trash on one side of the bin but keeps her torso blocking me from the room’s camera. “I bet he already has buyers lined up. He wouldn’t make this kind of investment without knowing he could move the product. And I can’t see him screening his clients for responsible surface-to-air missile intentions. I already have pics and video, by the way.”
“Good. Let’s get out of here. It’s a safe bet the other buildings are filled with more of the same, and we need to report this to Neville and Blaire ASAP.”
“I’ll go back the way I came, get some more trash on the way out to make it look good in case I’m being watched,” she says as I duck back down inside the bin.
An eternity of nervous sweating beneath an increasingly heavy mound of trash later, we’re back outside, down the ramp, and through the gate to the resort proper.
As Zan pushes the bin down the walkway, she says, “I had a thought. About Stefano and Bea.”
“What’s that?” I whisper from my hiding place, past ready to get out of the trash, but trusting Zan will let me know when it’s safe.
“Who’s allowed to sell arms, or just possess them, really, without attracting the notice a private citizen would? World leaders, right? Say, a president or a prime minister or…a king.”
I curse beneath my breath, already tracking and knowing exactly where she’s headed. “He kills Jonah, and Beatrice becomes first in line to inherit the throne. The future Queen of Nimway.”
“And if Stefano marries her, he’ll be the king,” Zan adds. “And suddenly, he has an air of legitimacy, and people stop asking questions about where he gets his money or how he wields his power. As long as the people aren’t rising up against them, politicians and royalty can get away with being criminals.”
“We get extra security assigned to Jonah immediately,” I say. “And his parents.”
“But carefully. Stefano might already have someone on the inside. He’s already poked his tentacles into so many parts of Bea’s life.”
“Agreed.” I sigh.
Settling in at Bea’s estate makes sense now.
Stefano’s not worried about the Nimwinian authorities raiding his new home because he intends to take control of the royal army. And I can’t imagine that will be all that difficult. Beatrice is beloved by her people, but in the way people adore clumsy children and awkward baby animals. If Jonah, her much more serious older brother, is dead, the people and military of Nimway will be hungry for a strong leader to fill his shoes.
The average citizen won’t know that Stefano’s been a person of interest to Union Ten for years. And many who do won’t care. A decent number of people involved in European government don’t care for Union Ten. They believe we’re controlled by billionaires looking to destroy democracy and set up some kind of nefarious shadow government.
Rumors can carry the same weight as facts these days, which give liars like Stefano the undeserved benefit of the doubt.