by Ritter Ames
Jack cocked an eyebrow and tilted his head for his “I told you so” look.
I dialed the number for Micelli and tossed the phone to Nico. “Stay hidden, but keep a lookout and report their movements. Tell Micelli our current location as close as you can. Tell him to track Jack’s phone by GPS if necessary.”
The number on caller ID was Jack’s, and I knew Micelli would pick up for that reason alone. The detective barked in English. The conversation switched to Italian when Nico responded.
The place was practically bare to the walls. We moved to the back and foraged for anything to use as a weapon. I spotted a couple of two by fours behind a half wall and motioned for Jack to help me.
As far as defensive measures went, we didn’t have much. It never stopped us before. When we returned to the front and slipped in next to Nico, he finished with the call. I caught myself holding my breath.
The two hoods exited the alley and stopped on the sidewalk, directly across from our hideout. They looked up and down the street. One talked a lot with his hands. The other stood quietly and glared at our window, pointing.
Jack pushed me back against the sidewall and Nico dived for the floor.
“Get ready,” Jack said, moving away from me and hefting his two by four. “I’ll get to the door and try to hit them when they come in. You two stay together, and bash them if they head your way.”
In other words, if they take out Jack.
“Call Micelli back,” I told Nico. “Tell him to get his ass here now!”
Nico had already hit redial.
As Micelli answered, we heard sirens again. The thugs stopped dead center in the road and stared at one another. A truck zipped by. The arm-waver started talking after it passed, but the quiet one punched his shoulder and pointed to the car. Their trajectory shifted and they raced back to the sedan. We could see flashing lights down the street when the pair roared away.
Three police cars tore down the street and blocked traffic in front of our hideout. Jack was the first to move, pitching the timber back near where we’d found it and twisting the lock to get out. I helped Nico hobble out. Jack was in a heated discussion with one of the officers, but another got the message, jumped in his patrol car, hit lights and siren, and tore off in pursuit of the sedan.
I stepped forward and broke up the argument between Jack and the remaining officer. “We would appreciate a ride back to our wrecked vehicle.” Turning to Nico, I added, “Feel free to translate if necessary.”
Fourteen
Rome polizia are pretty good cabbies. Two officers stayed to search the alley and the abandoned building while the third herded us into a patrol car and returned us to the wrecked Fiat. Of course, the truck driver who caused the accident was gone, but several eyewitnesses offered a description to the frustrated police. Of both the guilty driver and of us. When we finally showed up, the law enforcement team’s frustration was colored over with anger. Eventually all the questions were answered and reports completed, and I got my phone from the Fiat—immediately ahead of the tow truck driver set on hauling the vehicle away. We called a cab to get back to the hotel. We might have caught another ride in a patrol car, but Micelli wasn’t particularly happy with us anymore, and neither Jack nor I wanted to risk ending up at the police station again.
When we hit the hotel lobby I sent the guys up to the room and sidetracked to the concierge.
“We had a small traffic accident,” I explained to the kind-eyed man behind the desk. “Does the hotel have a doctor on call who could be sent to our room?”
There wasn’t one on the premises, but the concierge assured me a Dr. Cordova would arrive soon to look at both guys. When I got upstairs, Nico was crashed on the couch, his injured foot propped on the arm. Jack pulled the side chair away from the wall to more easily retrieve my power geek’s amazing cell phone. With no computer paraphernalia scattered across their surfaces, and the left-behind power cords littering the floor, the tables looked bare and forlorn.
I knew the screens were only taken while they scooped up everything in their path, but the kidnappers having the laptop worried me. “You don’t think they can follow up on what you were doing with your computer?” I asked Nico.
“No. Once they closed the cover it went to standby. From this point, they need my thumbprint to access data on it. Any attempt at a hack will trigger a self-destruct program for the hard drive.”
“I’m glad you’re on our side,” Jack said, tossing the device to him.
I gave Jack back his own cell, before pulling out mine and heading for my bedroom to call Cassie. “There should be a doctor here shortly. His name’s Cordova. I don’t suppose I need to tell you to ask for ID before you let him in.”
The next half hour went quickly. My conversation with Cassie was short but informative.
“Do you think the truck was sent to kill you?” she asked after hearing the latest news.
“I honestly don’t know. Everyone here drives so crazy I’m amazed anytime we go anywhere and aren’t killed. At the time, we’d completely kept our attention on the van. Someone could have shadowed our car without us even noticing. However, my money is on a coincidence as far as the car accident goes.”
“Any ideas about who’s behind Nico’s kidnapping?”
“Not sure. The fact Nico was simply tied up and taken with his equipment implies they may not know exactly what they’re looking for. Or it may all be related to his adventure last night.”
One handed, I shifted my carry-on from the luggage stand to the bed. The bulk of my luggage in baggage-handler jail meant I had little to pack, but I needed to get moving. The room received maid service while we were gone. Real maid service. I wondered what she’d thought when she saw the state of the suite’s front room.
“Speaking of which,” I said. “Anything you forgot to mention earlier about the office search, and did you learn anything from Scotland Yard about Nelly?” Hard to believe only twenty-four hours had passed since we’d found the restorer attacked in her flat.
“Whatley said they’re continuing to gather information, but what little he did tell me points to concern she was a smuggler who slipped master works in and out of different countries,” Cassie said. “You have to admit, she had the knowledge to disguise an object as something essentially worthless until it got through customs. Later, reverse the process and deliver it to whomever she worked for. I hate to admit it, but it wouldn’t be hard for someone well-versed in art history and restoration. It would simply take nerve.”
With Cassie’s own background in this level of expertise, I couldn’t resist a poke. “You’re talking pretty confidently. I shouldn’t be worried, should I?”
She laughed. “Remember, I said it would take nerve. I’d be stuttering and begging forgiveness before anyone even caught me.”
“Good. I’d hate to have to be a character witness at your trial,” I said, then mused, “I just find it hard to believe it of Nelly. I wonder if money was the lure or if she was blackmailed. Has she talked to anyone yet?”
“Her condition remains critical. They say it’s touch and go for the next few days.”
“I hope Whatley has a guard posted at the door of her room. Despite the fact it didn’t help Tony B.”
“He does,” she said. “He said Jack already called and briefed him on what happened in Rome.”
Interesting. Jack hadn’t mentioned he’d spoken to Whatley or been given an update on Nelly. For that matter, I wasn’t sure when we’d been separated long enough for him to make contact without my noticing. Maybe before he went to bed last night, or this morning when I was in the bathroom refreshing my makeup ahead of leaving to meet Micelli at police headquarters.
She continued, “Nothing else to report about the break in. No anomalies showed up on the X-rays of the floors or walls. Whatley emailed the images for m
e to review on my own. No hidden caches.”
Another round of dead ends. “Did they at least identify the dead guy who tried to kill Nelly?”
“Not yet. He has no record. They’re working with Interpol to see if his description matches any recent crimes in other parts of Europe.”
Leaving nothing but more questions. Was the hit on Nelly the result of Simon seeing the address on Cassie’s note? Or a hit on Nelly as either a smuggler or forger, as well as an expert restorer? If the answer was the former, it meant someone used valuable time to find the note and assign the injured guy to go to Nelly’s flat. Which implied the break-in was more time intensive than a smash and grab. Time was something they did not have in abundance due to the Metropolitan Police’s response to the office alarm.
“There is more news,” she said. “It’s worrisome. I got a call from the Chelsea warehouse where we have stuff stored. They had a break-in last night.”
“Simon?”
“Probably. The thieves got away, and their faces were covered. Videos can’t help.”
“What did they take?”
“Nothing, luckily. Whatley drove me by to look. The lock was cut off our unit and a couple more around it. The video showed they got the door open about the same time the guard arrived, and the thieves ran off. The guard remained nearby through the night in case they returned.”
“You saw inside?” I asked. “Anything looked disturbed or searched?”
“It looked like the way we left it. The guard spotted the break-in quickly and sounded the alarm for reinforcements before he confronted them. The company had me sign paperwork saying everything looked okay, and they replaced the broken lock with a new one for us. We need to double check those furnishings. Anything unused but salvageable from the office was placed inside. There may be something we didn’t recognize as important.”
I sighed. “I’ll get Max to post a guard until—”
“I put a couple of your loud screamer alarms on the door and several more inside. I’m not sure a guard is the best option. After all, if it was Simon, he found the warehouse rental on his own. Beacham Foundation hadn’t been using the space when he was in charge. If he bribed to get the info, I’m sure he would bribe or blackmail a new guard to get inside again.”
I dropped my head into my hand. “Yeah, you’re right. Any suggestions?”
“The storage company is aware, as is Whatley,” she said. “I can ask for Scotland Yard to assign officers to periodically check until we either all get back to London or Simon is caught.”
“Works short term. Thanks.”
I asked if she’d received her new ticket assignment from Nico and filled her in on the change in plan. A knock on the outer door signaled the arrival of the doctor, and I needed to end the conversation and find out the medical expert’s opinion on the rest of my team. Both guys said they were okay to continue on to whichever next phase we were all headed, but I wanted to hear from the professional to back up their statements.
“We’ll make sure Nico is safely on the plane here in Rome before we leave him,” I said. “You be careful getting to Heathrow tonight, Cass. Call Whatley for an escort if you think you need one.”
“He already offered this morning, and I accepted,” she said. “I’ll call and notify him of the change in flight time.”
“I hate to give you one more thing to do, but if you have the time to pick up the package with the credit card from Max—”
“Already taken care of,” she said. “I called your contact at the Embassy and asked her to notify me when a package addressed to you arrived. She called about an hour ago. I didn’t think it was a good idea to leave it there and run the risk of Max canceling the card and making you have to work him over again to get a new credit line. I put the card in the safe deposit box at the bank. Whichever of us gets back to London first will have the credit handy to use for hiring workmen and material.”
“I knew I was brilliant for hiring you.”
She laughed.
“What’s the limit on the card?” I asked.
The figure she mentioned made me lose my voice for a second. Obviously I’d put some fear into my penny-pinching boss. I needed to remember what I’d said so I could use the technique again in the future.
“And the tapestry?”
“Whatley brought it this morning, and a very happy client is presently rejoicing in its return.”
“Good work,” I said.
“One more thing,” she said.
“What?”
“Dylan called me.”
I couldn’t help grinning. “Did he ask you out?”
“No, but I told him you were out of town and I was flying out tomorrow.”
“Effectively shutting him down before he had the chance to ask.”
“Yes. Probably. Maybe.”
“You want me to go along and chaperone you on a date?” I teased.
“I don’t even know if he planned to ask me out. He said he was calling to say hello because we’d all been busy heading in opposite directions yesterday.”
Yeah, right. “Look, when we get back to London, take Jack somewhere for coffee and pick his brain about Dylan. He knows him and can probably give you enough info to make you feel more confident about what you should say when he calls back.”
“If he does.”
I laughed. “He’ll call, Cassie.”
The mood was lighter as we signed off, but each of us warned the other to stay safe. I returned to the main room, where Nico was re-buttoning his shirt and Jack sat stoically, only wincing slightly while the doctor cleaned his hand.
The conversation between all the men stayed in Italian. I picked up the odd word or phrase as I retrieved items we needed to pack. The gist was both men would be sore in the morning, but were fine to go as long as they took it easy. The doctor seemed to accept the accident story to encompass everything. Before he left, he asked if I needed any medical attention.
“I’m good,” I patted my breast bone. “Buena.” The doctor nodded and repacked his bag.
Jack walked Cordova to the door and paid for his services. “Mille grazie.”
Nico emailed all the data he’d discovered to Jack and me while we packed.
“I’m going to do a workaround to get you seats on the train leaving for Cologne about seven tonight. I’m sending another text to Ralf saying you’re on your way there.” Nico called out to us. His fingers flew over the screen. “I can’t get you berths on the train, but the seats recline.”
“Staying away from berths is probably better,” I said.
“Why?” Jack asked.
“We need to keep our phones on in case Cassie and Nico want to reach us, or if Roberto calls you. This way we can keep each other apprised and rest about as comfortably in reclining chairs in one of the club cars.”
“Okay,” he said. “One stays on watch while the other sleeps.”
“Also you won’t have to worry about someone breaking into your berth, kidnapping you, and shoving you into a laundry cart,” Nico muttered, finishing his keying as he spoke. “There. You’re both set. Check in at one of the ticket booths before seven p.m. I’ve emailed you both ticket information and itinerary.”
There was one more headache ahead of us. I turned to Jack. “Are you going to deal with the rental car company by phone? Or stop by the counter when we go to the airport with Nico?”
“I’m thinking it will be faster by mobile,” Jack said. “If I show up at the airport counter we may never make a train tonight.”
I couldn’t help wondering if they were right about us going by rail. So many more hours and opportunities to be caught en route. There would be more opportunities to get away, and it was safer to jump from a train than a passenger jet. Driving offered the safest option if Jack wasn’t a
lready persona non grata with the rental company, and we weren’t both exhausted. I had a feeling I would be renting our cars as principal driver for a while.
“You’re getting a lot of experience telling rental car companies they aren’t getting their vehicles back,” I said. “You may have a whole new career ahead of you in diplomatic work.”
Jack grimaced. “Don’t remind me. I continue receiving the odd call from the Miami company every few weeks about that damn Mercedes.”
“Another time or two for you to lose a car and you’re going to be on the worldwide ‘do not rent to this driver’ list,” Nico ribbed him, grinning for the first time since we’d found him. “You may already be in the top ten.”
As Jack started on his cell with the car rental place, I called downstairs on the room phone to get our bill prepared and schedule a taxi to the airport. The doctor had bandaged up Nico’s ankle, and he moved much better with the added support. He helped me get the bags to the door. Jack got louder and more impatient, but at least it was all in Italian. I pretended it was white noise.
When we were ready to leave, Jack said something to end the call, and we all headed for the lobby.
“I think the person at the other end was still talking when you hung up,” I said, slipping my purse strap onto my shoulder and grabbing my carry-on bag.
“Undoubtedly. Whenever one person got tired I was passed along to someone else,” he said. “We are staying far away from the car rental counter when we get to the airport in case they’re tracking my mobile.”
“You don’t really think—”
“I was joking, Laurel.” The glare he sent my way told me to keep my questions to a minimum.
“You can drop me at arrivals and take the cab on to the train,” Nico said, thankfully changing the subject. “I’ll ask for a ride from one of the skycaps if the walk is too long with me carrying my bag.”
