Page 18 of No Time Off (Lexi Carmichael Mystery #15)

EIGHTEEN

Lexi

T he 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.”

I quickly got dressed and had just started throwing stuff into our suitcases when Slash spoke. “The airport is closed. Temporarily, supposedly, but we’re not going anywhere soon.”

“So, what are we going to do?” I asked.

A knock at the door jolted us both. Slash and I froze, our eyes locking in a silent, tense exchange. After a long moment, Slash strode to the door, still shirtless, peering through the peephole. He glanced back at me over his shoulder, his expression worried. Without saying a word, he opened the door.

Rangi slipped inside. Slash glanced out, ensuring no one else was around, before closing the door behind him.

“We’ve got a problem,” Rangi said, his voice low and urgent.

“No kidding,” I said. “I just saw the prime minister’s would-be assassin on television, talking to a policeman. He’s not even locked up anymore. What’s going on?”

“We’re in an extremely dangerous situation,” Rangi replied.

“Where’s the prime minister?” Slash asked, his tone steady but eyes sharp.

“Safe…for now. The police aren’t stopping the armed men in the street who appear to be celebrating the resignation of the prime minister and threatening anyone who isn’t agreeing with them. Fortunately, there don’t appear to be many of them, but they have guns when very few of the populace do. It’s suspicious, to say the least.”

“So, the prime minister resigned?” Slash asked.

“Of course not,” Rangi said. “They have forcefully taken over the government and the prime minister has gone into hiding.”

“Who is they , and why aren’t the police protecting the prime minister?” I asked, incredulous. In a country without a military, the police were the last line of defense.

“We’re not sure who they are yet, and the police is not protecting her at the moment,” Rangi said. “Not en masse, anyway. She does have a few trusted police officers, and they’re her security…for now. For how long remains to be seen.”

I looked at Slash, whose expression seemed inscrutable, although I noticed the tightening of his jaw.

“The rebels have hacked into the media and now control the television, radio, and even several official government social media accounts. I fear her house is next. In fact, I’m surprised they haven’t approached her residence yet. They’ve already arrested some of her allies and are rounding up anyone who is protesting her resignation.”

“She shouldn’t stay at her home,” Slash said. “They know where she is, and if her security isn’t sufficient, the rebels will break through in no time.”

“She’s no longer there,” Rangi repeated. “She’s safe, but she needs your help. Desperately.”

Slash stepped over to the bed, pulling on a shirt and buttoning it up. “That’s not possible. We’re just tourists here, Rangi. We have no diplomatic immunity, no official capacity, and no way to help you or your country. I’m not sure we’d be allowed to assist even if we were here in some official capacity. I’m sorry, but this is a sovereign matter. The US typically doesn’t get involved in coups, especially ones where their international security is assured by one of our allies.”

“The prime minister is officially requesting aid from the US,” Rangi pressed on. “Her communications, personal and official, have been cut off, with the rest of us in the government. But yours hasn’t…yet.”

“If they control the media, why haven’t they taken down the internet yet?” I asked. “Slash was just trying to get us a flight out, and that’s how we saw the airport was closed. So, we know it’s still working.”

“This is just my personal speculation, but I believe they want to project an image of normalcy. My sources tell me Liko Maivia, currently the commissioner of police, is somehow involved. I suspect whoever planned this didn’t expect the prime minister to survive or be in any condition to resist after the assassination attempt. They had to quickly move to plan B, and it wasn’t very well thought out. I am sure they didn’t want to project the image of thugs running around with guns and instead, envisioned a quiet takeover of key locations and a calming message of peaceful change. But they had to act quickly. They might have felt taking down the internet would signify something more than just a peaceful exchange of power. Besides, they need the internet to get their false narrative out to the populace that the prime minister has resigned and they are merely stepping forward to ensure continuity of government.”

“Why now?” Slash asked. “Why initiate the coup right now, so soon after the assassination attempt? It seems sloppy.”

“I think you interrupted their plan,” Rangi replied. “If the prime minister had been assassinated or even incapacitated, these coup plotters would have slid in a new and supposedly ‘approved’ interim prime minister, and no outcry would have happened.”

“You messed up their timetable,” I said to Slash. “They had to pivot to stick to their plan. But that doesn’t answer why.”

“I don’t know why,” Rangi said, lifting his hands. “Not yet anyway.”

“This has the Chinese written all over it,” Slash said grimly. “What’s the prime minister doing right now and why is she coming to us? Hasn’t she contacted officials in New Zealand?”

“She has, not directly, but through intermediaries. The problem is her official email account has been used to falsely notify the New Zealand authorities she has resigned and turned the government over to representatives who will be contacting Wellington shortly. When she gets word to those same officials through unofficial channels that she hasn’t resigned, it will put them in a tough spot. For now, they’re just waiting to see how this plays out.”

“So, right now, the internet staying up seems to be the only thing going for you,” Slash said.

“Well, that and you. Again, she’s formally asking for you to make the request to the US on her behalf and relay our side of the story.”

Slash frowned, running his fingers through his damp hair. His frustration was evident. “I already told them what we talked about last night. This coup, Rangi, is something entirely different. It’s way over our heads. Seriously.”

“I understand, and in normal circumstances, I would respect that. But at this time, you’re the only option she’s got. We’re just asking you to reach out to your country and let them know she’s officially requested assistance. Most importantly, she needs the US to confirm the existence of a coup to the Kiwis.”

Slash paused. “Fine. The best I can do is alert the State Department and let them handle it. But as I’ve already said, they’re unlikely to interfere. And even if they wanted to, we don’t have any resources on the ground to help. I’m sure the plotters have taken control of the airports on the islands to prevent outside interference.”

Rangi exhaled a deep breath. “Would it change things for your State Department if I told you the prime minister has hard evidence that China is behind the coup?”

Slash stopped and then sighed. “It might,” he admitted.

“Then—” His sentence was interrupted by loud shouts coming from outside, toward the front of the resort. Rangi cautiously opened the door to the bungalow, leaned out, and swore under his breath. “We must leave. Right now.”

“Why, what’s happening?” I asked in alarm.

“A car with several armed men just pulled up in front of the hotel and ran inside. I recognized one of them—Moe Tataroa, Maivia’s right-hand man. He’s little more than a trained thug.”

I peeked out the window and saw a bald, burly man in a policeman’s uniform standing by the car.

“They’re coming for you,” Rangi said. “There’s no other reason they’d be here right now. You two were seen with the prime minister in the parking lot, and others probably heard her invite you to her house. They’ve probably already searched the immigration records and know you’re Americans. That likely puts you at the top of their friends-of-the-prime-minister list. They’ll want to know what she said to you and might even take extra steps to find out…if you know what I mean.”

We both knew perfectly well what that meant.

“Right now, they’re not sure who you are, or in which bungalow you’re staying, so they’re likely checking with the hotel staff,” Rangi continued. “I’m friends with the resort manager. That’s how I got your bungalow number. He’ll delay them as much as he can. But I suggest you come with me for your own safety. Immediately.”

Alarmed, I looked at Slash. “Should we?”

“It’s not like we have much of a choice,” Slash replied, his expression grim.

Rangi nodded. “Good. I’ll get you out of here safely. Grab your stuff, essentials only, and let’s move out.”

“What’s essential other than the laptop bags?” I asked Slash, grabbing my pajamas and stuffing them into the bag.

“A change of clothes and our toilet kits. Throw them into one of the duffel bags. We’ll leave the rest behind for the time being.”

“I guess this means I’m not taking any of my fancy dresses, right?”

“No fancy anything,” Slash said. “We’re in survival mode now.”

I walked over to the closet, lightly touching one of the dresses hanging there. “Jeez. If I lose those dresses, Basia is going to kill me.”

He shoved his feet into his shoes. “Right now, that’s the least of our problems.”

“I know,” I sighed. “Somehow, it always is.”