Return (Matt Turner Series Book 3) (25 page)

“Sure,” Joss said. “I love personal questions.”

“You two got anything going on? Any kind of hanky panky?”

Joss snorted. “Hahah, no. No ‘hanky panky’ for us, but I appreciate the reminder of my grandparents. Trust me, no
mousing around
or
carrying on
here. It’s all work.”

“Okay. Call you back.”

Fifteen minutes later, Iris had an archaeologist for Joss.

“Her name is Jo Shelsher,” Iris said. “You might’ve read about her in the news a couple years ago? American lady that identified thirteen previously undiscovered sites in Egypt via Google Earth—pyramids and everything.”

“Yeah, I think I read about that.” She hadn’t read anything about it.

“Well, she won some grants and has been out there off and on for the past ten months.” Iris gave her Mrs. Shelsher’s address, cell number, and e-mail. “And I just spoke with her. She’s heard of Matt, of course, and is free for a couple days, waiting on techs for one of her digs. Sounds eager to help with whatever he needs.”

“Perfect. I’ll wait for him to get back and we’ll give her a call.”

Iris hung up.

Joss flipped the page back to the newest to-do list.

Next … Paul Kleindorf.

Call and give list on next page…

She tapped in the phone number.

A deep voice answered. “Admissions.”

Joss glanced at the number she’d dialed. “Sorry … I was trying to reach Paul Kleindorf?”

The man replied with an aloof, “Who’s this?”

“Joss Lynn Leland. I work with … Matt?”

“You sure? That sounded like a question.”

“Yeah, I−”

“A joke. You must be Californian. Inflections at the end of statements.”

She laughed. “I’m from Jersey, actually. Born and … bred?”

“Right. This is Paul. What can I do for you?”

Joss grabbed Matt’s long list of numbers and banks. “I have some numbers to give you—I assume they’re account numbers—and bank names.”

“Well then it’s great to meet you, Joss Lynn Leland. How many we talking about?”

“I don’t know … five, ten, fifteen … a little more than thirty. It’s a full page.”

“Sounds delicious. So you know, as soon as you provide this info, we’re going to use it. Matt’s down with that, I presume?”

“He said to call and give it to you, and no note or anything saying to have you wait, so … yes?”

“Fire away.”

A few hours later, Matt was still out, and Joss had completed or delegated each line item except for one. The second-to-last task—the one she’d dreaded all day—remained on the pad, unstricken by her pencil:
Call Cameron…

After the weird initial tone and brief delay of international calls, a single ring sounded before Cam picked up.

“Hello?” He was outside somewhere. Wind static and a passing car.

“Hey, Cam,” she said cheerily.

“Who’s th—wait,
Joss?
” The background noise lessened as he stepped inside somewhere.

“Yeah, how’s it going?”

He grunted. “Well … if I’m honest−”

“Ever been to Egypt?”

Nairobi, Kenya – Presidential Palace – Present day

Happy birthday to me
.

Tuni blew the dollop of soap bubbles from her palm, and rinsed off the remaining suds.

Thirty-seven years.

She stepped out of the shower, shut off the tap, and grabbed a towel.

How many were good ones? Twenty-four? Combine the wasted and/or miserable, and that’s what, thirteen years? No, can’t say that.

She had Alexander. The past five years had been the trade-off for such a gift. If she should truly find freedom today, as she still believed, then there’d be no more lost years. Her
average
, as it were, would only improve with each passing day.

“Bubu,” she called. “You still okay in there?”

She’d left Alexander coloring at the secretary desk in the bedroom.

“Yes, Mama,” he replied. “Come see. I’m making all the Autobots have purple eyes.”

“I’ll be out in a minute. If anyone knocks, you ask them to wait, yes? I’ll be right out.”

“I know. You said that already.”

Getting Alexander away from his father would eliminate more than the man’s foulest evils. Her little angel had grown increasingly rude in recent months. During “family time” every other night, Jivu enjoyed undermining her and planting terrible ideas in his son’s head.

Tuni would try correcting Alexander when smashing his toys out of frustration. Jivu would say,
“He’s a perfectionist. He can smash whatever he finds too convoluted to build, or if he’s dissatisfied with his own work. There’s no fault in strict standards.”
Or when Alexander would yell at her,
“This shirt is ugly, Mama! I don’t want to wear this one!”
She’d warn him not to speak to Mama this way, followed by Jivu’s interjection,
“It’s his choice, Mama. He may be small, but he’s still a man, and we all know it’s men who rule the world.”
And then he’d kneel down to Alexander’s level, look him in the eye, and say something like,
“You don’t
ever
have to listen to a woman, understand? You are polite, respectful, and you do what you know you’re supposed to do—schoolwork and such. But
no
woman is above you, not even Mama.”

Well, no more of that rubbish. Fortunately, he was only four, so the damage could likely be corrected before truly engrained.

Tuni buttoned her khaki slacks—one of only two pairs of pants in her entire wardrobe—and brushed her hair back into a ponytail.

The internal-only phone on the wall rang.

“Yes?” Tuni answered.

It was Masil, Jivu’s Chief of Staff. “Good morning, Mrs. Absko. The protestors have bypassed the cordons at the bottom of the drive and are gathering outside the front gate. There’s no danger of a breach into the property, but I ask you to stay indoors.”

Protesters?

She’d spent the past week sleeping next door with Alexander, in his room. Though the days had passed excruciatingly slow, she’d seen little of Jivu, nor heard much of the upheaval converging on his administration. With his attention on damage control, flying to neighboring countries to garner support and conduct press conferences with “unsullied” journalists, he’d had no time to terrorize his First Lady.

“I understand,” Tuni replied to Masil. “Thank you. Did the President make it off the property safely?”

She knew he was on his way to Mombasa to “survey” a collapsed apartment building. They’d stick some work gloves and a hard hat on him, and he’d probably pull a wounded child or puppy from the debris. Cameras would flash.

“Not just yet, but there’s no need for concern. The heli will arrive soon and fly direct. It’s a much faster method anyhow.”

“Very well. That mob can’t make it around back there?”

Masil chuckled. “Mob … this is no mob, Mrs. Absko. Just a small group of picketers. But no, there’s no access to the pad or private road. And we have forces stationed, if you still worry.”

“Got it. We’ll stay indoors. Thanks again.”

“Including the courtyard,” Masil added. “In case anything is thrown over, you know? Again, nothing to worry about.”

A faint knock from the bedroom.

“Whatever you say, Masil.” Tuni hung up. “Just a moment,” she called, though doubted anyone would hear from around two corners and through the door. She opened the drawer and grabbed a metal nail file and the small, pointed scissors, stuffing one into each back pocket.

Exiting the bathroom, her script repeated in her head.
Alexander had a rough night last night and I’m keeping him home today. No, no, he’s not sick. Just some night terrors…

No, not terrors. Night
mares
would be better. She didn’t want some nurse or shrink or anyone else to be called in.

Yes,
she’d say,
he should be just fine tomorrow morning, and ready for school.

The chair at the secretary was empty. Alexander’s crayons lay strewn across his coloring book and the desk. She hurried to the antechamber, turned the corner, and halted. Beside Alexander stood a smiling Danya, the new nursery maid, swinging shut the entry door behind her. She wore her hair short, relaxed, and brushed forward and across her forehead like a too-tight helmet. Even thinner than her predecessor, Ngina, Danya’s arms were tight, sinewy branches, with knobby muscles from hefting rich people’s thick babies.

Through the shrinking doorway, Tuni caught a glimpse of Thabiti, gawking from his stool outside the suite, and two of the additional security personnel assigned to the suite today. She believed there were at least five out there besides Thabiti. Jivu had certainly not forgotten Matthew’s note.

“Oh, hello, Danya,” Tuni said as Alexander bounded past her, back into the bedroom. “I meant to call you. I’m keeping Alexander home today for his nightmares. He’s not sick.”

Not sick? Real smooth, Tuni!

Only four days into replacing Ngina (with whom, apparently, she traded spots at a private nursery school), Danya hopefully wouldn’t be alarmed by Tuni’s uncharacteristic garb and hair.

“Sure, my Lady,” Danya replied, an inquisitive knit to her brow. “May we …” She motioned to the bedroom.

Tuni huffed. “Well, no. We may
not
. He’ll be ready for school again tomorrow morning. If there’s anything you or Kim wish to discuss, we’ll pick it up then.” Tuni brushed past her and reached for the door handle to see her out.

“Miss, please,” the nursery maid said in English, and blocked Tuni’s path.

Had Jivu sent Danya? Had he thought of Alexander today, ensuring the two would be separated?

Tuni’s eyes flashed. She was still the bloody First Lady. She replied in English, “Danya, I know you’re new, but−”

“Mrs. Absko,” Danya interrupted, a commanding hand thrown between them, while a pearly white smile shone from her mocha face. “I’m here to
help
you. And there’s a camera pointed at the door and
us
right now, so if you could make a good show of embarrassment and good cheer, put your hand on my back, and show me into the bedroom, perhaps security will return their attention to the rumpus outside the walls.”

“You’re…”

Danya’s dark eyes widened with her smile as she nodded
yes, you’re getting it now, dear.

“Of course!” Tuni slapped her forehead. “I can’t believe I forgot! Come, please, let me show you.” She curled her arm around Danya’s shoulders and guided her out of the antechamber, laughing.

Just through the wide, columned archway, Danya stepped out of Tuni’s grasp and faced her. “This is far enough.” She regarded Tuni, from bare feet, up to her head. “You don’t normally look like this, do you?”

“Well, no,” Tuni began. “Just a moment, though. Who do you work for? Please don’t say ‘Interpol.’”

“No, I’m with the National Unity Party.” She caught Tuni’s stunned flinch. The NUP were Jivu’s loudest opposition, and known for violent attacks. “And no, despite what you’ve apparently heard, we’re not the terrorists blowing up factories and abducting people. That’s your husband’s doing, killing two birds with one bullet, as they say. Now, you’ll need to fix this.” She nodded to Tuni’s outfit. “What do you need for the boy? Critical items only.”

“Where are we going, Mama?” Alexander asked, and tugged on her pant leg. “You look silly like this. Why you’re dressed like a man?”

Tuni leaned over and pinched his chin. “We’re going on a short trip, bubu. Are you ready to go have some fun?” Alexander nodded wildly, his mouth an O. “Can you pick out one small toy to bring, and fetch Rafiki from your room?” He sprang away, running off to his room. Tuni observed Danya’s skeptical look. “He’s a blanket.
It’s
a blanket. Now, then, tell me what interest your party has in
me
. When I leave this place, I’m leaving the bloody continent. I’m not going to become some sort of political−”

Danya swatted this away. “No, certainly not. The truth is they—
we
—have no interest whatsoever. We’re working with an American agency. You’re one of
their
interests, not ours. Now, I’ve been here a bit too long. I suggest you change into something more your usual style. You’ll pass many people on your way out, and our protest in front is a good distraction, but no one’s been blinded.” With this last line, she flit her fingers toward Tuni’s makeup-less face. “And I wish you two the best of luck.” She turned to go.

“Wait, that’s it? Where do we go? What’re we supposed to do?”

Danya paused in the archway and shrugged. “I don’t know. Whatever you had planned. We assumed you’d make your way out through the employee gate in back.” She glanced at her watch. “You’ve got just under an hour before our protest
gets out of hand
. I’d suggest you make your final run at that time. The additional security staff outside the suite and those remaining on the back walls will probably be diverted to the front at that point.”

Tuni darted after her. “Final run? Hold on! If you came here to help me, I don’t understand why you’re suddenly leaving now. How is this helping? ‘Do what you’re gonna do. Best of luck.’ What sort of rubbish is that?”

Danya set her hand on the door handle, smiling politely. “We’re doing all in our power, Miss. I expect you’ll have more help from the Americans once the President’s heli takes off, but they haven’t shared their plans with us. Good day.” She opened the door and stepped out.

“I need a bag, Mama.”

Tuni spun to see Alexander, his arms overflowing with toys.

“Oh, bubu, no. I said one toy.
One
toy, bubu. Put all of these back and choose your favorite.”

“I can’t take just one. I need all of ‘em.”

Tuni sighed. Now she was sweating. “Listen, angel. I’ll make a deal with you. This time—
only
this time—I’ll let you bring three instead of only one. But they have to be small, okay? You have to fit in your pockets. No bag.”

He dropped the entire heap of toys on the floor and stomped back to his room.

She called after him. “And fetch some socks and trainers, too.”

Back in her closet, she rolled her khakis up to her knees, and slid into a long, opaque sun dress. Her pants made the dress puff out around the hips and rear, but it’d have to do. She found some passable shoes she could probably run in, and went to the bathroom to fix her apparently grotesque face.