29
“Cien. No lemperias. American dollars.” The man outside Art’s window smacked his palm.
Anna extended a wad of cash across the bench seat, and the farmer grinned, waving them on to his property. They bounced down an uneven path carved into the hillside. Anna tipped sideways in her seat and grabbed the WAG handle, one hand on the laptop, eyes glued to Taylor’s display as it delivered her package. The truck pulled onto a quasi-level spot, blooming coffee plants filling the cab with the scent of jasmine, and she glanced to the back seat. “You’ve got the coordinates?”
“Locked and loaded.” Estrella’s thumb tapped a button on the remote, and the display appeared on Anna’s screen. Coffee crops flashed on her monitor in a blur, and the drone dipped into the canopy of banana trees. Estrella
