with Whiskey, Ari had finally found a horse that didn’t look like it would collapse under the big, muscular man’s weight. The large dark brown horse had a white diamond blaze on his forehead. Strong and quick despite his size, Whiskey shifted, ready to go.
“After you,” Ari said, sweeping a hand out.
Janco hopped onto The Madam and retraced the route to the hidden complex. Once the sun set, they’d have to slow down, so he set a fast pace. On horseback, it would take half the time to reach the spot Janco had marked to leave the horses. No doubt there was a magical alarm on the road closer to the facility. He hoped their null shields would prevent them from triggering it.
They set up a base camp deep in the forest. Infiltrating an unfamiliar location took time. While the size of the place was in their favor—an unknown face would not cause alarm—the efficiency with which everyone bustled about was not conducive to blending in. Ari said they would follow the standard three-stage plan.
Stage one—observe. Janco hated this one. For the next twenty-four hours, they took turns watching the facility from different angles, making notes of...well, everything possible. Boring, but necessary. If they planned to go undercover, they’d spend a week or more studying the complex and seeking the perfect place to insert themselves. But for information gathering, this part wasn’t that time-consuming—thank fate.
Stage two—forays. More fun than sitting still for hours. Plus, Janco preened because he’d known Ari wouldn’t be able to resist. Forays involved making short trips into the complex at different times to clarify their observations. For example, the long rectangular building in the southwest corner could be housing for the workers or a canteen or could contain offices. They wanted to avoid people and find information, so they needed to know where the offices were located.
Since Ari’s size tended to draw attention, Janco completed the forays while his partner watched. He strode into buildings as if he belonged there, nosed about the factories, confirming they were indeed producing both Theobroma and Curare, and took a closer look at those huge glass hothouses. Condensation coated the inside of the glass, blurring the contents into an indistinguishable mass of green.
Workers carried long loops of vines from the second hothouse, so Janco headed toward the ones near the end. Checking that no one paid him any attention, Janco ducked into the seventh house and walked into a slice of the jungle. Thick, humid air pressed on his skin with the scent of living green. Insects buzzed around his ears.
A narrow dirt path cut through the plants. He followed it and recognized Curare vines snaked around the trees and hanging from limbs. Underneath the green canopy, pods heavy with beans grew from the trunks of the Theobroma trees. Janco couldn’t identify the other plants, so he broke off a few leaves for Leif and shoved them into his pocket.
Knowing Ari was probably having a fit, Janco headed for the exit. The door opened a few feet before he reached it. A middle-age man with dark skin entered. He carried a long pair of pruning shears.
Startled, the man demanded, “What are you doing in here?”
Janco kept calm. “Just looking around.”
The gardener peered at him. A shock of recognition zipped through Janco. He’d met this man before, but at the moment, he couldn’t recall his name or the place. Bad enough, but if the man recognized him, that would be even worse.
Unaware of Janco’s turmoil, the man said, “You’re not part of the gardening crew or the harvesting crew, so you’re not allowed in here.”
“Sorry, sir.”
“Sorry isn’t good enough. Many of these plants are very delicate.”
“I didn’t touch anything.” Janco stepped to go around him.
The gardener held up his shears, pointing the tips at Janco’s chest. “Not so fast. You look familiar. What’s your name?”
Without hesitating, Janco said, “Yannis Greenblade, sir.”
“You’ll be docked a week’s pay for this little stunt, Yannis. Be glad I don’t fire you.”
Ah, this man was in charge. Janco lowered his gaze as if in contrition. “Thank you, sir.”
“And stay out of my hothouses.”
“Yes, sir.”
The man lowered the shears, and Janco bolted for the door. Holy snow cats, he’d just encountered the Master Gardener. Now if he could only remember the man’s name.
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