Priced to Move

He rounds up the rest of our crew, gets them into the van.

That’s when I make my decision. Miss Mona or no Miss Mona. I ask, “Do you have your king’s ransom with you?”

She pats her tote bag. “I’d never leave it at the hotel.”

“Good.” I lean forward to speak to the driver.

The translator turns sideways in the front seat and gives me a leery look.

I don’t let him see me sweat. “Get us out of here,” I tell the man at the wheel. “Now. And take us straight to the airport. We’re leaving.”

Just to give you an idea how bad this scene is, neither Miss Mona nor Max say a word about luggage, the hotel, or the hassle of changing flight reservations.

And I’m thankful. I meant it when I said we had to go. Something really bad’s going down here. I don’t want us caught up in whatever it might be.

Oh yeah. We’re out of there so fast that natives can track us by the trail of dust we leave behind.

Lord? Why does this really weird stuff follow me around like one of those evil cartoon shadows? Can you do me one favor? If it wouldn’t be too much to ask. Can you take that shadow and retire it? I am so outta Myanmar as soon as we can get standby seats to fly back home. Help us, okay?

“Hurry!” I urge the driver. I’m sure he understands. Fear and urgency don’t really come in different language flavors. At least, I don’t think they do.

He gives me a nod. The translator speaks Burmese. The secret service guy grunts.

“Please,” I say. “We need to get to Yangon. I don’t like what’s going on here.”

And I don’t. But I really, really hate what happens next.

That’s because bullets begin to fly.

12⁰⁰

Six tense hours later, we hurry into the airport, check with the airlines, beg for help, and then stake out S.T.U.D.-world. At any other time we would’ve been guilty of a human-body version of urban sprawl, but today we glom together, needing all the togetherness we can get.

You know what? I’m scared. But if you tell anyone, I’ll deny it all the way. I’ve never been so scared in my life, not even of Max and how he makes me feel. Here I am in Myanmar, at the Mandalay airport, running from crazed locals with guns. Wouldn’t you be scared too?

It’s so not a good thing.

The next flight out of this rathole isn’t until tomorrow morning. And who knows if there’ll be room for all of us. We decide, though, that we’re all about a Three Musketeers deal—all for one, and one for all. None of this three on this flight, three on the other, and the last poor schmuck’s left behind to bite her nails and freak out while she waits. Since I’m responsible for this whole fiasco, and since I can’t see the

S.T.U.D.’s stud hanging around here in a burst of chivalry, guess who’d be that poor schmuck?

Now that we’re at the airport, one would think we’re off the hook, right? Think again.

As we huddle, a braided and medaled, official-looking guy comes up to us, a stamped and sealed paper in hand. Not exactly Big Bird lovable.

Goody.

“Miss Mona Latimer?” he asks. “Miss Andrea Adams?”

We look at each other, squeeze hands—oh, didn’t I mention I need that much reassurance? Really? I didn’t? Oh, well. Trust me. I do.

“How can we help you?” Miss Mona asks.

In a British-accented voice, he says, “We must do body checks. You’ve come from Mogok, we know you’ve been at a mine site, and in the past we’ve lost too much national treasure to greedy foreigners. There will be a woman to examine the ladies, and the gentlemen will come with me.”

Hey! Remember me? The one with the personal thundercloud overhead? It just got darker.

I put on my very best puppy-dog look. “Is this really necessary, sir?”

His eyes narrow and his jaw morphs into granite. “Yes, it is, Miss Adams. Allow me to mention a theft we suffered two and a half years ago. Tourists and gem tradespeople went into the Mogok Valley for two weeks. By the end of that time, Myanmar had lost a parcel of top-gem quality rubies valued at many millions of your dollars. I’m sure you will agree we have every reason to check visitors to Mogok before they leave our country.”

Sounds familiar. What are the chances of two identical heists in Mogok?

Miss Mona picks up her tote bag. “I have bought myself a large inventory of gemstones here in Myanmar, sir. But I’ll have you know I do have my bills of sale for each and every last one of them. Besides, you can check with that perfectly nice officer over there”—she points to the customs counter— “who’ll tell you that when we first got here about an hour ago, I filled out a declaration form for all the gems I bought.”

“You do realize you must pay a 20 percent royalty to the government on any gemstones you buy in Myanmar, right?”

What a bargain.

“I’m afraid no one told me a thing about that special fee of yours, but I can pay,” Miss Mona answers. “Who do