Nosuma hoped this worked. She and Kwena were dressed in khaki digs, Nosuma"s tool satchel over Kwena"s shoulder.
“You"re going to do what?” Kwena said when Nosuma told her what she had in mind.
“Just walk in as if nothing"s happened. Look, if I haven"t really been fired—and no one"s actually told me that I have—then it"s what they"ll be expecting.”
They walked toward the Zimbabwe at Danamombe, the five-hundred acre complex sprawled across the point overlooking the ocean. The cool sea breeze was laden with hints of brine and seaweed, and gulls circled over the great house of stone. Inside the satchel were all three statuettes, so heavy that Nosuma couldn"t carry it for long. But the burly Kwena could.
Yesterday, they"d parked the Institute hover at the local office and had left it there
