Page 32 of No Time Off

I patted her shoulder. “Oh, I assure you, we’regoingto enjoy our honeymoon,cara. There’s nothing else we can do here—this is a deeply complex and strategic issue that does not fall within our expertise. This kind of issue is left to State Department diplomats, CIA analysts, and long-term strategic planners. Obviously, I can, and will, report what the prime minister told us and, honestly, I think that’s all she wanted. But otherwise, this situation is not ours to worry about, for a change.”

She looked up at me. “Promise?”

“Promise.” I cupped her chin with my hand and kissed her softly on the mouth. “Now, let’s finish our moonlit walk and banish any thought of politics and the Chinese from our minds. From here on out, it’s all about us and relaxation.”

“That works for me,” she said, slipping her hand into mine.

In that moment, as we strolled down the beach with the warm water lapping our feet and the stars glistening in the sky, I truly believed what I’d said.

Unfortunately, the universe had other plans for us.

EIGHTEEN

Lexi

The next morning dawned with the promise of another perfect beach day. Sunlight streamed in through the balcony doors as we finally got out of bed.

My mood had significantly improved last night after Slash had conducted a sweep of our hotel room, meticulously checking every corner, lamp, light, and surface for bugs or listening devices. Even though we’d spotted two Chinese police officers in the lobby, they hadn’t bothered us, and Slash’s trained eye hadn’t spotted anything suspicious.

“No bugs, but we have to remain cautious,” he’d murmured, pulling me into a hug. “At least while we’re in here.”

He’d then pulled out his laptop and sent an encrypted message to one of his coworkers telling him what the prime minister had told us. Closing his laptop, he considered our work done, and I felt like I could finally breathe easy. The rest was up to the State Department or the CIA. We could go back to enjoying our honeymoon.

It hadn’t exactly set the mood for a romantic evening, but we were exhausted from our busy day anyway, so we quickly fell asleep nestled in each other’s arms.

Today was a new day, a restart of what had started out as a magnificent honeymoon. I stretched and walked over to the doors, opening them to the salty, tropical air. I stepped out on the balcony, still in my pajamas, and let the sun warm my cheeks and hair.

A few early beachgoers were already camped out on the sand. But when I looked away from the beach toward the resort, the scene was not as normal. I could see several members of the resort staff and a few guests running around looking panicked. One couple threw their suitcases quickly into the trunk of a car and raced out of the parking lot. Someone ran after them shouting.

That was weird for a place where nothing ever happens.

While Slash was shaving in the bathroom, I picked up my phone to check the weather. Instead, I froze as I saw the news alerts. I tossed my phone on the bed and ran to the television, clicking it on. On the screen, instead of the cheerful weather forecast I expected, I saw scenes of chaos. The television showed several small groups of two to three men herding people off the streets near the government buildings where we’d just been yesterday. A few people were screaming and running in fear while others chanted protests. Oddly, in the middle of it all stood a single policeman, who appeared to be just watching, not interfering in any way.

But what I saw next chilled me to the bone. A man with long, dark hair in a knot at the back of his head and a large fish tattoo with spines stood next to the cop, arms crossed against his chest, a smile on his face as he chatted with the policeman.

Abruptly, the camera pivoted toward the floor, and the broadcast went dead.

“Slash, you’d better get in here quick,” I called out.

Slash hurried out of the bathroom with a towel around his waist and patting his cheeks with another just as the television feed resumed. “What’s wrong?”

“Something’s going on. I just saw the guy who tried to assassinate the prime minister on television. He’s not in jail and was talking to a policeman. People are running around in total chaos.”

Slash perched on the edge of the bed just as the television feed came back up and the camera zoomed in on a female news anchor, visibly shaken, who looked over her shoulder several times before reading from a script in her hand.

“Ah, we are receiving reports that…um, Prime Minister Petra Askari has resigned,” she said. “We urge everyone to remain calm until a new prime minister is installed.” She looked as shocked and dazed as we felt.

I ran to the bed and grabbed my phone, checking social media and then the Cook Islands government webpage. “This can’t be right,” I exclaimed. “The government webpage is down, but the social media posts are offering a confused and conflicting perspective. There’s no way she resigned after what she told us last night.”

“She didn’t,” Slash said. “This is a coup.”

“A coup?” I repeated. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” I stared at him in shock. “How did we end up in the middle of a freaking coup on our honeymoon?”

“Ask your little black cloud later. We need to get out of here now.” He tossed his towel on the bed and pulled on underwear and pants before grabbing his laptop bag and yanking out his computer. He opened it and started tapping on the keyboard.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“Looking for the next flight out. At the least the internet is still up. Get us packed.”

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