There was nothing left for Julian to do but wait for Mena to arrive from St. Basil. They’d agreed to meet outside the Original Hullabaloo coffee shop at eight in the morning when the first tour buses arrived to sample the Palmchat Islands’ most famous brew. The crowds would provide ample cover and distraction for their meeting. As the dawn broke, Julian had peered inside the window of the post office and saw a wall of small P.O. boxes, none large enough to fit the box Uma had taken inside. But near the back wall was a line of four large mailboxes above the smaller ones. Once he had the replica of Uma’s key, he’d enter the post office and try to figure out which one the key opened.
Julian glanced at his watch. It was half-past nine. Mena should have been here by now. The coffee shop had opened at seven for locals and tourists who came to try flavors that could only be obtained at the original shop. Julian had joined the crowd, ordering a blonde double espresso shot and a Hullabaloo t-shirt to change out of the dirt caked shirt he’d been in all night. He hadn’t slept and felt sluggish. The strong coffee had given him the boost he needed. The clean shirt reduced the likelihood of stares, allowing him to blend in with the other tourists.
An hour later, the tour buses arrived, bringing hoards up the mountains to meet with the tour guides dressed in the signature Turquoise t-shirts emblazoned with the Hullabaloo Coffee logo. Each guide led a group of twenty through pathways in the mountains across the street to see the coffee bushes before returning thirty minutes later for the tasting tour. He’d watched three rounds of tours start and end, and still Mena hadn’t arrived.
Every thirty minutes, he’d changed locations, adjusting the baseball cap in various positions to alter his look. He didn’t want any of the workers to get spooked by seeing him hang around for longer than any of the other tourists. He checked the burner.
No messages from Mena. She hadn’t returned any of his calls or texts.
And she was almost two hours late.
Had she run into some complication? Maybe the printer had jammed, and the key didn’t print?
He never should have let her go alone.
As soon as he knew what the key likely opened, he should have told her to wait in St. Basil for him. He could have gotten the key himself while she was safely at home in their penthouse at Harmony Towers. What was he thinking, putting her in that position? He’d avoided being caught for weeks. What was a couple more days?
Unease snaked along his spine as he bolted from his chair.
He couldn’t wait any longer. He needed to get back to St. Basil and find out what the hell had happened to Mena.
A hand pressed against his back. He smelled the fragrant scent of sandalwood and orange wafting around him. Relief flooded through his body.
“Sorry, I was late. Didn’t mean to worry you,” Mena said.
Julian spun around, grabbing her in a tight embrace. “What happened? Are you okay?”
Mena nodded as she pressed the key in his hand. “Go. I don’t want you to lose anymore time.”
“You sure you’re okay?” Julian searched her face. Mena looked pensive, frazzled, but beautiful as usual. She was right. He didn’t have time to question her about what had held her up. Getting the contents of the mailbox was top priority. He’d get details from her later.
“Julian. Go,” Mena insisted. Her coral sundress blew in the wind.
Julian gave her a quick kiss on the lips, then walked casually toward the St. Felipe Post and Parcel. Fingering the plastic key in his hand, he saw the imprint of the number four.
“Good morning, sir!” a man greeted him as he entered.
“Good morning,” Julian said, as he walked past the counter toward the four oversized mailboxes at the back of the room. A few tourists milled about, picking up post cards and chatting away about mailing souvenirs to their friends.
Staring ahead, each box had a single number stamped in the center. Julian stretched the key toward box 4, pressing it into the keyhole. The plastic was stiff. Julian applied more force, and the key turned, opening the steel door. Reaching a hand inside, he pulled out a series of boxes.
“Hullaballoo Tea,” Julian murmured under his breath as he opened one. Just as he suspected. There was a lot more than tea in the box. The first one contained a thumb drive. Russell said he had evidence on a cell phone that would clear his name. The cell phone had to be in one of these boxes. Opening two more, he found more thumb drives hidden in between the tea bags, but no cell phone until he pulled out the fifth box. A phone was tucked along the long edge, packed in tightly with about twenty tea bags. Slipping it from the box, he pressed the on button, relieved that the battery was still charged.
He tapped the screen and saw only one video file. Pressing the button to lower the volume, he pressed play. Dumay appeared. An almost full body shot as she moved around a dingy holding room at what Julian guessed was Tiverton Prison. From the angle of the camera, he suspected Russell was sitting down in a chair across from her.
“I still don’t understand how you plan to get Julian to attack you. He’s smarter than that,” Russell’s voice was heard.
“That’s what the burner phone is for. Once you get that smuggled into the courthouse, I’ll call Julian and let him know we have something that he is desperate to get back. He won’t be able to resist coming to me, even if it is to see if I’m bluffing. Once he comes to the room, I’ll throw lazirprene in his face. Not too much. Can’t have him paralyzed when the cops come in or it will look like someone attacked both of us.”
“I don’t know. Seems like a long shot to me.”
“I don’t do long-shots. My plan is foolproof. Julian will be on the floor, unable to move. I’ll place the syringe in his hand to get his fingerprints on it and then inject myself.”
“You trust Tubeec Hirad? What if whatever compound he concocted in that vial actually kills you?” Russell asked.
“Then I’ll see you in hell. If I die, you’ll be dead within the hour and you and I both know I can make that happen. That little ticking time bomb I put in your chest will go kaboom,” Dumay said.
“What do you need me to do?” Russell asked.
