Blocking the stabbing wounds and setting her mind to the task, Stella quickly phoned for a taxi to collect her at the gate, then stepped out of her drill uniform and pulled on the first things that came to hand—an old grey tee shirt, black yoga pants. She stuffed her feet into thin, flat-soled trainers. And she added a sweatshirt, because despite the early autumn heat she was freezing.
She left the clothing she’d removed in a neat folded pile on the end of her bed. Then she hoisted her duffel onto her back and walked past Security.
In and out in less than eight minutes. Not that her father was ever going to be impressed by anything she did. No matter how hard she tried.
‘San Felipe airport, please,’ she instructed the taxi driver, and slumped back against the seat.
A mere twenty minutes later she was inside the light, airy terminal. Stella ignored the award-winning architecture and walked straight to the nearest airline desk, requesting a ticket on the next plane out.
The airline attendant smiled and helpfully started typing, but only moments later confusion—and caution—lit her eyes. She kept on staring at her computer screen and tightened her grip on the passport Stella had handed to her.
‘I’m sorry...’ she said, then her voice trailed off.
Stella stiffened, casting a careful check about her. There were two uniformed soldiers in the corner. And another one heading her way. The Captain who’d been in her father’s office.
‘I need you to come with me, Ms Zambrano.’ He reached out and took her passport from the airline attendant’s hand.
Stella didn’t move.
‘Ms Zambrano?’ he repeated quietly. ‘This way.’
Not ‘Lieutenant’. Not any more. Already she’d been stripped of the title that had taken her six years to earn.
She’d been rejected by the San Felipe army initially so she’d gone to New Zealand—her mother’s birth country. As she held dual citizenship she’d been able to train there. She’d worked so hard, risen through the ranks, until she’d been able to return to San Felipe with a record that not even her father could ignore. She was too good. She’d transferred, determined to maintain the rapid ascent of her career.
Now she studied her superior officer. Only he no longer had that role, because she was a civilian. He had no authority over her. And she could take him down and run. She’d had excellent training and she’d felled taller, bigger men.
‘You don’t want to cause a scene here,’ he said, accurately reading her flash of rebellion.
Didn’t she?
‘I will carry your bag.’ The Captain already had it.
She felt like snatching it back, screaming in defiance and stamping her foot. But it would get her nowhere. And the Captain was right—she didn’t want to make a scene. She wanted to quickly skulk away and sort out her life in obscurity.
The airline attendant’s brittle smile widened into an almost comical expression of relief as Stella silently fell into step with the soldier.
‘You were at the palace,’ she said, as they walked swiftly. ‘At my f—’ She checked herself. ‘At the General’s office. Why are you here now?’
‘I’m following orders.’
‘Whose orders?’
He kept his eyes front and didn’t answer.
‘Whose orders, Captain?’ she asked again.
‘This way, Ms Zambrano.’
It couldn’t have been her father who’d sent him after her—he’d have said something back in his office. He’d made it clear he’d washed his hands of her. Which meant it was someone else making the call. Someone even more highly ranked.
If she’d felt cold before, she was hypothermic now. Under-dressed and vulnerable, she missed the weight and strength of her boots.
The Captain whisked her through several security doors and along a back corridor. The last door opened out onto the airport tarmac.
‘Where are we going?’ she asked, her apprehension growing as she saw the waiting helicopter.
‘Somewhere you will be safe.’
Because she was under some kind of threat? ‘Why wouldn’t I be safe in San Felipe?’
‘You were not planning to stay in San Felipe.’
No. She hadn’t been. Another chilly finger pressed on her spine. ‘So where are you taking me?’
But it seemed he’d used up his word allowance for the day.
The helicopter’s engine was already running, the rotor blades whirring. Automatically she ran in low, and refused the offer of assistance from another soldier waiting inside. She knew how to strap in safely—she’d done it thousands of times.
Her bag was thrown in and the Captain pulled himself up into the seat alongside her, so she was boxed in by uniformed men—as if she were about to make a break for her escape.
Or as if she needed bodyguards.
She looked past the Captain to watch out of the window as the helicopter lifted into the air, her fingers curled tight into her palms. Didn’t she have the right to know where she was being taken?
The men said nothing, but simply by watching out of the window she had the answer in less than twenty minutes.
Initially, from the air, the island looked imposing and inhospitable. It seemed little more than an oversized rock; nothing but sheer cliffs with jagged edges—a rival for Alcatraz. But as they flew closer she saw a rocky outcrop along the left side. It created a lagoon that harboured the smallest, most private of beaches. On the edge of that rocky outcrop was a tall fortress—a defence tower built centuries ago, to prevent intruders from entering the beautiful lagoon and disturbing those on the beach.
Looking back to the main chunk of the island, she could now see a large stone building. Before she’d only seen it in pictures, but she knew exactly where she was headed. This was the most private place in San Felipe. Access was forbidden unless you had a royal invitation. Because this was the island upon which the royal family vacationed in seclusion, escaping the exhaustion of their daily demands.
But this was no relaxed, simple holiday home. This was a palace, ornate and ancient, one of the many jewels in the crown of an island principality that had been celebrated for centuries.
The helicopter circled, giving Stella a perfect view of stone columns, stained glass, statues. The gardens surrounding the main building were large, formal and immaculate. Miles of hedging grew in intricate Renaissance patterns, swirling around rose beds and ponds. She caught a glimpse of a deeper blue beneath a stone archway—a pool. Another glimpse of something white. Her eyes were so wide they hurt, and there was a constriction in her throat that made breathing painful.
Most people would be thrilled to get a bird’s eye view of this utterly exclusive island—and be beyond excited at the thought of setting foot on the place. Stella wasn’t most people. Stella felt sick.
As the helicopter began its descent to a small helipad on the farthest reaches of the garden a loud drumming thundered in her ears. She couldn’t tell if the noise was her heart or the helicopter, but it was growing louder, and her breaths came shorter. Her vision blurred.
Control yourself.
She tensed her muscles and mentally issued the order. She couldn’t afford to be weak now. She had to be stronger than ever. She had to be the soldier she was and be ready to fight.
‘If you would follow me, please?’ The Captain exited the helicopter, hefting her bag onto his shoulder.
Well,