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“Is he here?”
“Look behind you.” And sure enough, there he is in a mid-sized SUV just one car behind ours. The tall man looks cramped behind the wheel, his posture stiff and aware, but more importantly, he is here for Giannis. In case anything goes wrong.
Why am I so jealous of that? Why didn’t I just speak up when I had the chance?
I’m quiet and lost inside my head for the rest of the ride. I know my friend means well, that his attempts at pointing out landmarks and the beauty around us is an attempt at distracting me, but nothing works. The closer to the house we get, the gloomier I become.
My mood stinks. My body language is one of sulking.
And when we pull into the huge private beachfront property and Giannis parks, getting out to grab our bags and open the front door, I can’t help but shed a tear. Then another. I’m quick to wipe them away, but the evidence is there for anyone who looks my way.
I shouldn’t be here to steal an artifact for my father. I shouldn’t be here and possibly go to jail if anything goes wrong.
But more importantly, Giannis isn’t who I want with me if things get rough.
He’s not who I trust blindly.
He’s not Callum.
He’s not the man I’ve fallen in love with.
The next day, I feel like a zombie. I’m going through the motions while the world around me moves—it shifts and carries on. Giannis tried to talk to me a few times, to get me out of this funk, but nothing works and after a while, he too gives up until it’s time to go.
Which brings me to the present…
The outside of this building is intimidating and highly secured. There are guards everywhere: walking, posted, and a few snipers on the south end with their eyes on the main entrance. Their job is to not let anyone in or out, much less lose one of the pieces inside.
The official who runs this department is smart; the secretary of state or equivalent of, and his job is to keep certain items under lock and key. This could destroy the country’s wealth, and the hold the government has over its citizens.
What my father’s client wants with the artifact, I don’t know, but its black-market price is exuberant. I’ve done my own research. I’m half tempted to run away with it and make a new life for myself, far from all I know.
No family. No restrictions.
What about Callum? “Focus,” I grit out from between clenching teeth and Giannis looks over, nose scrunched up in question. “We need to focus. No mistakes.”
“Got it.”
The plans provided showed me three possible entry points, and I chose the heavily guarded one. Why? Because no one thinks you’ll attempt a crime under the heavy watch of national police. Where the danger lies. A mistake many make, but I’ve learned over the years that the best way to hide is in plain sight while drawing innocent attention.
That’s why I’m stumbling, giggling while walking by the back entrance with my sandals dangling from a finger and phone in the other hand. They see me but think nothing of the gringa taking pictures—selfies with an exaggerated pout and low-cut top.
Then, there’s the man beside me in full military gear.
Their colors. Their medals on the breast pocket.
Some salute and he returns the gesture, giving two a nod before bending to lay a kiss below my ear. My giggles turn louder, I smack his chest, and I hear the chuckle from the guard closest to us.
To them, I’m just another tourist, drunk and out for a good time.
Like so many, we’re curious and looking to live a little dangerously. Like so many, I’m letting my hair down, and they enjoy the show.
We walk past them after a few more pictures, him dragging me away with an arm tight around my waist until their attention goes back to the front. Straight ahead, where we left a present earlier.
The first small explosive goes off after ten minutes, and the heavy footfalls of soldiers are heard. They shout orders in Portuguese, and the snipers change positions, their scopes looking for the slightest movement in the general vicinity of the first bomb.
Not a real one, but the sound is loud and one I hate from every 4th of July celebration my father makes us attend. It doesn’t have rays of colors light up the sky or the blinking of twinkling starburst. No, this one sounds like a machine gun, but ten times as loud.
The second goes off and someone shoots, a man on the ground talking through a walkie-talkie and demanding to know if those on the roof see anything.
