That briefcase was damn expensive.
6
October 11, 6:28 A.M.
Fiumicino, Italy
Where was she?
Gray crossed out of the terminal of Rome’s main airport and headed toward the taxi queue. Horns blared and tour buses rumbled. Even this early in the morning, the airport was snarled with traffic and congested with travelers coming and going.
Gray kept his phone pressed to his ear as he hustled through the crowds. His way was made easier by the lumbering giant who forged a path ahead of him, like a water buffalo fording a flooded river. Gray followed behind in his bodyguard’s wake. Joe Kowalski was not a happy traveler. The former seaman clearly preferred the high seas to commercial air travel. He continued to grouse as they headed toward the taxi line.
“Could those seats have been any tighter?” The hulking man cracked his neck and wore a sour expression. “My knees were practically rubbing my ears. Like that airline wanted to perform a damn prostate exam on me. And I wouldn’t have minded that if we’d had one woman stewardess.” Kowalski glanced back at Gray. “And that gal with a mustache doesn’t count.”
“You didn’t have to volunteer to come,” Gray answered as he waited on hold on the phone.
“Volunteer?” Kowalski scowled. “At time-and-a-half pay? That was like putting a gun against my back. I’ve got a girlfriend to support.”
Gray still failed to understand the relationship between the former seaman and the university professor, but at least she had him showering more frequently. Even the black stubble atop Kowalski’s head was trimmed into cleaner lines.
Gray waved an arm to keep them moving. He remained on hold with the office of the Comando Carabinieri Tutela del Patrimonio Culturale, where Rachel worked. Before leaving Washington, the plan had been to rendezvous with her outside the international terminal, but she was not anywhere among the throngs of travelers. He had tried calling her apartment and her cell phone, but there was no answer. Thinking she was stuck in traffic, Gray had waited in the terminal for an extra half hour.
During that delay, he had used the time to check in with Sigma. It was a little past midnight back home. The director had filled him in on the details of the operation that had blown up in New Jersey. Monk had been involved in a firefight. It all involved a possible ecoterrorist group, but details were still sketchy.
Hearing that, Gray had an urge to hop on the plane and head back home, but Painter insisted that they had matters locked down for the moment. A key person-of-interest had been secured and was being questioned. Gray was ordered to maintain his current status.
Finally a woman’s stern voice spoke in Gray’s ear, speaking rapidly in Italian. After dating Rachel for over a year, Gray had acquired some fluency with the language.
“Lieutenant Verona is not in the TCP today. According to the roster, she’s on leave. Perhaps another officer might assist you—”
“No, thank you. Grazie.”
Gray hung up and pocketed his phone. He knew Rachel had been planning to take time off, but he’d hoped she was at the station for some reason. He grew worried. Where could she be?
Kowalski hailed a taxi, and they climbed inside.
His partner glanced at him. “How about that hospital?” he said. “The one where her uncle is being treated?”
“Right.” Gray nodded. He should’ve thought of that. Maybe her uncle had taken a turn for the worse. Such an emergency would’ve pulled Rachel away. Distraught, she could easily have forgotten about the time.
Gray dialed information and got connected to the hospital operator. An attempt to reach Vigor’s room failed. He did reach a floor nurse.
“Monsignor Verona remains in intensive care,” the woman informed him. “Any further inquiries must be made through his family or through the polizia.”
“I just wanted to know if his niece might be there visiting. Lieutenant Rachel Verona.”
The woman’s voice warmed up. “Ah, his nipote Rachel. Bellissima ragazza. She spent many hours here. But she left last night and has not come in this morning.”
“If she does show up, can you let her know I called?” Gray left his number.
Pocketing his cell phone, he sagged in his seat. He stared at the passing scenery as the taxi sped along the interstate toward downtown Rome. Rachel had arranged a room at a small Italian bed-and-breakfast. Gray had stayed there before. Back when they were dating.
He struggled to think of any other reason why Rachel would not have shown up. Where could she be? Worry edged toward panic. He willed the taxi to go faster.
He would check for any messages at the hotel, then head directly over to her apartment. It was only a handful of blocks from the hotel.
Still, it would take time to get there.
Too much time.
With each passing mile, his heart pounded harder, his left hand tightened on his knee. As they finally passed through one of the ancient city gates and headed into central Rome, the taxi’s passage became a crawl. The streets grew narrower and narrower. Pedestrians scooted sideways; a bicycle zigzagged between the cars.
At last the taxi pulled into a side street and came to a stop in front of the small hostelry. Gray hopped out, grabbed his bag, and left Kowalski to pay the driver.
The hotel appeared nondescript from the street. A small brass plaque on a wall, no larger than Gray’s palm, read Casa di Cartina. The hotel had been converted out of three adjoining buildings, all dating from the eighteenth century. A half flight of stairs led down to a small lobby.
Gray headed below. The reason for the hotel’s name became apparent as soon as the brush of the hanging bell announced Gray’s entrance. All four walls of the room were covered with ancient maps and bits of cartography. The hostelry’s owners came from a long line of world travelers and mariners, stretching back to before Christopher Columbus.
A wizened old man in a buttoned vest met Gray behind a small wooden front desk. His face cracked into a warm smile. “It has been a long time, Signor Pierce,” the proprietor said warmly in English, recognizing Gray.
“It has, Franco.”
Gray exchanged a few pleasantries, long enough for Kowalski to come striding into the space. The larger man’s eyes swept the walls. With a background in the navy, he nodded his approval at the choice of decor.
“Franco, I was wondering if you had heard any word from Rachel.” Gray forced his voice not to sound strained. “I was hoping she’d left a message.”
The man’s face crinkled in confusion. “A message?”