Page 100 of No Time Off

“Oh, it’s more than necessary,” Petra said. “I’ll also send an official letter of thanks to your president to express our grateful appreciation for your bravery and courage in face of great danger. And there will be a fancy ceremony in a couple of months.”

“A…ceremony?” Lexi repeated, a horrified expression on her face. The parrot squawked as if upset by her reaction.

Petra smiled, and I could see she was teasing. “Although I figure you’ll be back home by then and won’t be able to attend. So, unless you tell me otherwise, we’ll have the medals sent to you, along with a couple of cases of our famous banana wine from the Koteka Winery.” She smiled knowingly at Manny. “I heard from a little birdie that you quite enjoyed it.”

Lexi’s eyes lit up. “Are you serious? That was the best wine I’ve ever tasted.”

“It’s a personal favorite of mine, too,” Petra assured her. She lifted her mug and took a sip of coffee. “So, what’s next for you two?”

“Well,” I replied, “we intended to spend the second week of our honeymoon on your remote island of Aitutaki, but we’re not sure if we’ve still got a reservation there after the delay or even if flights are operating again.”

Rangi grinned. “No need to worry about that. I’ll take care of all the arrangements. Furthermore, your new flight, your villa, food, and any outings—it’s all on the house.”

They wouldn’t listen to our protests, so we accepted with the caveat that no parrots would be present to welcome us. Everyone grinned—and that seemed to conclude the meeting—so we stood and chatted a bit while waiting for our driver.

At some point, Lexi and I pulled Manny aside, thanking him for his help. Manny deflected the praise, modestly attributing it to our own resourcefulness and skill.

“We’d love for you to visit us in the States sometime,” I offered. “We’ll take you around and show you the sights.”

“I’ve never been, so I might just take you up on that as long as I can get a tour of the CIA. You can arrange that, right, mate?” He gave me a wink, his smile genuine.

I smiled back. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Just then, the prime minister’s daughter, Lani, walked into the room, holding her phone. “Can I take a picture of you two with my mom?” she asked us shyly. “I want to add it to my collection of photos of famous people.”

Lexi glanced over at me. When I shrugged, she said, “Well, we’re hardly famous, but we’re happy to take a picture with your mom. She’s the real hero here. Would you mind sending me a copy? I’d like it as a honeymoon memento.”

“Sure,” Lani said. “I’ll send you the photos.”

Lexi gave Lani her phone number so she could text it to her. We posed for a couple of snaps, and Lani immediately sent the photos, blushing and thanking us profusely before dashing out of the room.

“I think she has a crush on you,” Lexi said, pulling the photos up on her phone.

I rolled my eyes but glanced over her shoulder at the photos. While we all looked exceptionally tired, we also looked…content.

As we said our final goodbyes, Petra clasped my hands in hers. “Remember, you’ve not only earned our gratitude, but you’ve also earned our respect. Enjoy the rest of your honeymoon. And remember, the Cook Islands will always welcome you back.”

With that, we left the prime minister’s residence, knowing we’d helped a country find its footing again. It was a good feeling—a momentous one.

But all I could think about as we drove away were the quiet days ahead with Lexi and the gentle, unhurried pace of a quiet, remote island.

FORTY-EIGHT

Mick Watson

Mick sat in his car with his camera propped loosely against the open windowsill and pointed toward a luxury brownstone condo in an exclusive neighborhood in Bethesda. He was about to take a picture he could sell for a tidy sum to the highest bidder.

Tom Senstrom, the young billionaire biotech CEO, had it all. Good looks, acclaim, a trophy wife, two kids, and lots and lots of money. He also had a company that hadn’t turned a profit in three years. None of it made sense to Mick, but he hoped a little of that money might rub off on him this afternoon.

Senstrom also had a date tonight with a certain Olivia Messandaro, a rising young supermodel who was in Washington, DC, to promote a new European fashion line with a photo shoot at the Lincoln Memorial. How they had hooked up, he didn’t know. But his source was impeccably accurate, and he had been well positioned for a few nice covert dinner shots.

He already had all the photos he really needed, but he’d learned that getting the perfect exposé photo with a shocked expression could triple the value versus an ordinary one. Scandal paid well in his line of work. Senstrom and the model had entered the condo building almost two hours ago. He knew Senstrom had about three hours until his planned departure on a private flight out of Dulles back to the West Coast. So, he would be exiting the condo soon.

The waiting was the worst part of his job. He loved the planning and the chase, but those minutes of excitement barely punctuated the boredom of hours of waiting. Still, it paid the bills, and these photos could bring him a tidy little sum. Scandal paid well. Almost as much as mystery, which was why bad Bigfoot images still had a market.

He sighed. Still no sight of either one of them. His camera was ready, but he hoped they hurried it up. He had hockey playoff tickets tonight and wanted the luxury of getting to the arena early enough to watch the teams warm up. At least he had his favorite tabloids to pass the time. He never read any of the articles. They were as believable as an IRS auditor saying he was there to help you.

Instead, he flipped through the tabloids looking at the pictures. What were the hot topics? Who was in the news? What made the first page? He thought of it as business intelligence. He might be old-school, but he knew that tastes and interests moved quickly these days, and he needed to keep up. After flipping through several of the lesser rags, he picked up theGlobal Enquirer, one of the heavy hitters in terms of paying for photos.

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