The helicopters set down nearly a kilometer from Claudia's Palace.
Amaru had refused to place aircraft any closer until the outer grounds were cleared, not because he expected conventional anti-air defenses from a private palace, but because everyone involved had learned what happened when Claudia's people were allowed to redefine the word conventional.
The ridge rose ahead of them beneath a washed-grey afternoon sky, the palace built into the stone in layers of pale limestone, dark glass, and much newer reinforced structures that disappeared partly underground. From a distance, it might have passed for an extravagant royal estate.
Arion knew better.
Snake Island had looked harmless too.
The moment his boots touched the ground, he wanted the operation finished.
Not because the palace unsettled him.
Because Dean was three countries away, pregnant, furious, and almost certainly considering creative uses for the remaining ducks.
