Page 92 of Player
If trust had a color, it’d be yellow because it’s neutral. Mix it with red and it’s orange. Mix it with blue and it turns a pretty shade of green.
Just don’t mix it with black.
“Yes.”
He nods. “How about we find that warehouse Eddie told us about?”
I gasp. “Is that what we’re doing?”
“Together.”
“Finn.” My saying his name causes him to pause. “Aren’t you going to ask me if you can trust me?”
“I already do.” I stare at him, mouth agape, as he takes off.
We set off on a brisk run and I allow my thoughts to wander. Rolling green hills dotted with white sheep surround the northern neighborhood. Small, winding one-lane dirt roads break up the vista. It’s your quintessential Irish countryside. Beautiful in its remoteness. Also, an odd place for a warehouse.
Maybe we’re wrong.
Maybe this isn’t where the uranium will be housed.
We sprint into an intersection with a sign that has five arrows: Cork City is behind us; Dublin ahead to the right; Limerick straight ahead; Tralee to the left; and everything in between.
Finn nods toward it. “Been down that road a time or two.”
I laugh.
But I’m not laughing when he races to the top of the steepest hill yet then chuckles at me as I struggle to keep a steady jog. I’m not only going to have an amazing story about uranium trafficking but a tight, toned physique. “Don’t say anything,” I manage when I finally reach him.
“The view is worth it,” he says, ignoring me. He hands me a bottle of water from the backpack he’s carrying. “Rehydrate.”
I close my eyes and drink deeply.
When I open them, I almost drop the water bottle.
There. It. Is. The warehouse.
Two buildings sit within a pasture. A long, modern, one-story warehouse running the length of a football field and a small, whitewashed farmhouse a few yards to the right. An unlikely combination of old and modern, of peaceful countryside and the future home of life-threatening materials.
“Thanks to you, I might have a job unloading the uranium once it’s transported from Kinsale.”
“If this is the place Eddie mentioned. If our assumptions aren’t completely wrong.” Despite my doubts, I take my cell phone out of my knapsack.
Finn glances at it then looks away.
I position myself where there’s a perfect view of the warehouse then hit record. “This is Clarissa Steele reporting from the rolling green hills of Cork ...”
