by Gayle Lynds
But again Preston turned, and he checked the older couple in their body-covering trench coats. Finally he settled on Judd. Judd made no eye contact; it was a sure way to attract interest. Expression unchanged, Preston peered behind him, and with relief Judd stepped onto the escalator.
The station was as glossy and modern as the one at the Acropolis stop. It, too, was a museum, with ancient urns, perfume bottles, and bells on display in lighted glass cases. Judd hurried past them, following Eva and the boy up two more escalators and out into the city’s cooling night.
At the curb, Eva looked back at Judd through the crowd. Glancing carefully around, he nodded. She spoke again to the youth and then took the duffel bag from him. He walked away.
Watching a moment to make certain the boy was all right, Judd joined her at the taxi stand, and she handed over the bag.
“My God.” She beamed. “That was exhilarating.”
Her blue eyes were bright, and she chuckled. She looked very alive, as if she had hit the winning home run in the World Series. He suddenly realized how well she had handled events tonight, sliding unasked into the shadow of the marble block across from the Theater of Dionysus, not inflaming Robin further by admitting he had been the one who had shot Charles, and coming up with the idea to ask the Greek boy to help her onto the Metro train with the duffel with the excuse her back ached.
But then Eva had spent two years in a pickpocket gang. She knew what it was to set up and act in a movie, and what it was like to be under the constant threat of discovery. The two years in prison had taught her more—how to go deep inside herself to survive and, despite the circumstances, to take risks. Now she’d had her crisis of conscience and committed herself to the mission. He was not sure he liked what he saw now.
“You’re kidding, right?” he asked hopefully.
Her face broke into a smile, and she laughed.
He had been scanning as they stood in line, the rumble of Athens’s wild traffic beside them, filling all three lanes. Eva tugged his sleeve just as he spotted Preston and his two men hurrying toward them from the Metro station. There was no hesitation—the men had pinpointed them. They were drawing their pistols.
“Come on.” Judd pushed past the two people ahead of them.
A taxi was pulling up. He yanked open the rear door, and Eva threw herself inside. He tossed in the duffel and dropped in next to her as she told the driver in Greek to leave quickly. It was a one-way street, so there was no way they could do a U-turn. They would have to drive past Preston.
“Get down,” Judd snapped as the vehicle rushed off.
They fell low. Shots rang out, and rounds slashed through the doors and roof. Metal and plastic sliced through the air. The driver swore loudly, and the car hurtled faster. More bullets cut through the taxi, and then there was no feel of acceleration. Judd looked up just in time to see the driver collapse silently onto his side, sprawling across the front seat.
“Jesus.”
“What’s happened?” Eva asked quickly.
The vehicle slowed. It wove from side to side. Horns honked, and drivers shouted as they swerved their cars to get out of the way. The cars behind were signaling, trying to pass.
“The driver’s been shot. Stay down,” Judd ordered.
Preston was racing along the curb after them, his two men on his heels. They would reach the taxi much too soon.
Judd snatched out his Beretta. “Keep my door open until I get to the driver’s side.”
Her eyes wide, Eva nodded.
He opened his door. Hunching, he sprinted along the still-moving cab. Rounds crashed through the door and bit into the pavement around his feet, exploding needle-sharp shards. Suddenly hot pain sliced across his side and burned up into his brain. He fought dizziness.
As he rounded the hood, he saw through the windshield Preston had jammed his gun into the open passenger window of a tall SUV four cars behind, all rolling slowly, unable to pass in the fast traffic in the other lane.
As the three men took over the big vehicle, Judd jerked open the driver’s door, and Eva closed the one in back. Still running, he shoved the downed taximan across the seat, causing a scalding pain to split up from his side. He gave his head a quick shake and dropped inside. There was an open stretch ahead. He floored the gas feed, his door slamming itself shut. He pressed his forearm against the gunshot wound in his side, trying to slow the blood.
“Is he alive?” Eva leaned over the front seat.
“Get down, dammit.”
Behind them, one of Preston’s men had his pistol out the window of the hijacked SUV, aiming over the roofs of the vehicles between them. There was a vegetable truck in the other lane. Judd accelerated, overtaking it. He signaled. The truck continued its lumbering speed. He spun the steering wheel, forcing the taxi’s nose into the lane in front of the truck. The truck’s horn blasted. He heard a loud curse, but the truck gave way, and he slid the taxi into the slot just as the traffic light turned red. There were cars between him and it. No way to run the red light, and Preston’s SUV was coming up swiftly on the right.
“Grab the duffel. We’ve got to get out of here. My side of the cab.”
With the taxi still rolling, they stepped out and ran through the traffic. Cars swerved. More horns honked. As they reached the sidewalk, Judd tried to take the duffel.
But Eva held on to it, staring at his bloody jacket. “You’re wounded.” She looked around quickly. “I know where we are. This way.”
He holstered his Beretta, pressed his arm against the wound again, and followed as she moved swiftly among pedestrians. The noise of idling engines filled his head. Stores were alight, shoppers showing through the windows.
“Preston’s coming,” he told her.
She hurried inside a large store selling casual clothes. Racks and stacks of women’s jeans, shirts, and dresses marched back deep into the building. A saleswoman greeted them in English. Eva said hello and kept walking. Judd felt the eyes of the clerks looking after them.
As the stove’s front door opened and Preston and his men entered, Eva led Judd into a hallway at the rear. They ran past changing rooms. She turned a doorknob, and they were out again in the night, this time in a cobbled alleyway where trash cans and empty packing boxes were stacked against the walls.
Running, they passed doors.
“Open this one,” she told him.“I’ll do the next.” She leaned over and snatched up two pieces of broken cobblestone. “Prop the door.”
His door led into some kind a restaurant, the spicy odor of sauteeing garlic wafting out. He dropped the rock, leaving the door ajar. And met her as she nicked her rock into place. Without a word she ran again and opened a third door. They rushed inside to a short corridor where there were bathrooms. The noise of voices and clinking glasses assaulted them. They were in a bar.
Bolting the door, she took a deep breath. “How badly are you hurt?” She looked up at him, her face full of worry.
“I think it’s superficial.”
“I hope like hell you’re right.”
As they walked quickly into the long, crowded room, he chuckled. “Where did you learn a distraction technique like that with the doors?”
She smiled at the bartender as they passed. “A long time ago, in a city far, far away, to paraphrase Star Trek.”
“In other words L.A. We need to make sure one of those killers isn’t posted on the sidewalk.”
His hand inside his jacket on the hilt of his pistol, he stepped outside first, looking through the pedestrians. She stood behind him in the doorway.
“Looks good.” He felt his heart rate decelerate.
“I’ll get us a taxi,” she told him.
He let her do it.
58
Tucker Andersen paced the room in the Hotel Hecate. Judd had left an envelope containing the card key at the front desk for him. After checking in to a room for himself, he had come here to theirs. Waiting two hours, he had been reading Charles Sherback’s note
book. When he heard the click of a card key in the lock, he pulled out his Browning, slipped into the bathroom, and stood behind the door.
Watching through the crack, he saw the door open slowly and the head of a bleached-blond man appear, gray eyes surveying the room.
Tucker stepped out. “Where the hell have you been?”
“Sightseeing.” Carrying a paper sack from a pharmacy, Judd walked in, his gait easy. But there was a sea of blood down the side of his brown jacket.
Eva slipped in behind him and closed and bolted the door. “Glad you’re here, Tucker. We’ve had a few problems. Preston shot Judd, but we got The Book of Spies. Robin Miller had it stored in a Metro locker.”
She set a large black duffel bag on the table, then took the sack from Judd and dumped out bandages and other supplies. The aspirin and over-the-counter painkillers had been opened.
“That’s very good,” Tucker said. “Congratulations. Don’t lie down, Judd. Let’s have a look at your side.”
As Judd removed his jacket and peeled off his polo shirt, Tucker took in Eva’s black hair and darkened skin and peered from one to the other and back again, assessing the atmosphere. They radiated tired urgency—and they had become a close team.
As soon as Judd’s torso was exposed, Tucker and Eva converged. The injury was a raw red gash through the fleshy part of his waist—long, a good half inch deep, and weeping blood.
“You got lucky, Judd.” Tucker saw Eva head for the medical supplies on the table. “Have you ever cleaned and sewn a wound?” he asked her.
She turned. “No.”
“Okay. Judd, take off your jeans and come into the bathroom. Let’s get started.” He wondered whether Eva would turn out to be squeamish.
He grabbed sterile latex gloves, sterile cotton, anesthetic spray, and antibiotic soap. In the bathroom, he told Judd to sit straddling the edge of the tub. As Eva watched, he put on the gloves, sprayed on the anesthetic, waited, then squirted the soap inside and around the gash, patting and rubbing gently. Judd made no sound, although Tucker knew it must hurt like hell. He poured glasses of water over the injury, washing it for three minutes. Then he dried Judd’s side with cotton and his leg with a towel. He glanced up at Eva. She was following intently.
When they returned to the room, Judd sat on a chair and swallowed more painkillers. His face was pale. Tucker sprayed on more anesthetic, found the right size needle from the supplies, and held it over the flame of a match. After threading fishing line into it, he ran the antibiotic cream over it and laid a thick line of cream inside the wound.
“Time for more pain,” he warned.
Judd nodded. “Do your worst.”
“The idea is to sew as far away from the cut as the injury is deep,” he told Eva. “Then you cut the line and tie a knot every quarter inch.”
He heard small noises in Judd’s throat as he worked, but Judd did not move. When he finished, the younger spy’s face dripped sweat.
Judd sighed deeply and looked up at Eva. She smiled at him.
Tucker taped on a thick sterile bandage. “Go lie down,” he ordered.
Judd did, stretching out and propping up his head on pillows. Eva took the quilt off her bed and covered him.
“You look comfortable,” she said.
“I’m enjoying myself.” He grinned, but his sweaty skin was pasty.
“Good,” Tucker said. “Let’s get to business. Report.”
Going to the duffel bag, Eva described Robin’s phone call, Judd’s meeting her at the Theater of Dionysus, and Robin’s running off.
“Eva got the key to the Metro locker from Robin.” Judd gave Eva a proud glance. “She pickpocketed her, did it so well Robin didn’t have a clue.”
“What happened to Robin?”
“We don’t know.” Eva opened the duffel. “She wasn’t with Preston when he arrived at the Metro with three men.”
“I suspect once he got the information from her about where she’d stashed Spies, he killed her,” Judd said.
They were silent a moment.
“A nice Greek boy was helping me with the duffel on the Metro,” Eva said. “Judd and I were split up, and the ride turned out to be safe. After that the men followed us out. We were escaping when Judd was shot. I’m not sure how they identified us.”
“I doubt it was electronically,” Judd said.
“He’s right. My cell phone’s gone, and there’s no way Preston could’ve bugged either of us. He was never close enough.”
“Training of some kind,” Tucker decided.
Eva opened the bag and with both hands lifted out a foam-covered bundle. “This is The Book of Spies.” She carried it to her bed and removed layers of foam. “Robin told us the library was on a private island, only one other island visible in the far distance. Three buildings, tennis courts, a swimming pool, and a helipad. She was flown from Athens with a hood on, but at least that gives us a radius. The problem is it’s a big radius. The island could be anywhere from the Black Sea to the Aegean, Ionian, or Mediterranean seas. And there’s a vast number of islands; Greece has more than two thousand, and many are private. The other piece of information you should know is tomorrow night is the library’s annual banquet, so there’ll be a lot of security on the island, wherever it is.”
She went into the bathroom and washed her hands.
Moving slowly, Judd sat up on the edge of the bed to watch as she unwrapped transparent polyethylene sheeting. His color was returning to normal, and a sense of hope infused the room. Tucker joined him, leaning forward, hands clasped between his knees. At last only the archival polyester film remained. The golden cover of the illuminated manuscript shone through.
Eva peeled back the film. “Ah,” she breathed.
They stared, silenced by the dramatic artistry of the softly glowing gold, the pearl dagger, the ruby drop of blood, the emerald border. The first time Tucker had seen the book, he had been bowled over. He was still awed.
“I can’t believe you took off one of the emeralds so you could bug the book, Tucker,” Eva scolded.
“I’ve still got it. We can glue it back on.”
“It’s a desecration. If the bug hadn’t helped us find the book, I’d really be mad.” But she smiled.
He found himself smiling back. “Being a heathen goes with the job.”
Eva sat cross-legged on the floor in front of the men, her back to them, facing the book. “Tell me, oh Book of Spies, where inside you is the secret to the Library of Gold?” She turned the pages slowly.
They studied the progression of extravagant pictures, beautiful Cyrillic letters, stunning borders. As time passed, Tucker stood up and stretched, then sat again to focus. More pages turned until at last they reached the end of the book—four hundred parchment pages. There was nothing unusual, no contemporary writing, no sign the book had been tampered with at all.
Tucker paced. “I was reading Charles’s notebook before you got here, hoping he’d left the answer there.”
“I know. Both of us have studied it, too.” Eva stood up and went to Judd’s jeans, fishing out a billfold.“This is Robin’s. Maybe she was lying to us about not knowing where the library is.”
“I’m going to call NSA,” Judd announced. “Hand me my mobile please, Eva.”
Eva reached into his jacket pocket and carried it and the billfold to the bed. As Judd phoned and gave a description of the island, she spread out the billfold’s contents—euros, a photo of Charles, and a photo of Edinburgh. Tucker and she inspected everything closely but found nothing useful.
Judd ended the call. “They’ll get back to me as soon as they have some information.”
“How are you feeling, Judd?” she asked.
“Better. Definitely better,” Judd said. “How about another hit of pain pills?”
Shaking his head at Judd’s lie, Tucker got them for him. “I’m going to order food. We need to eat. It’ll help us to think.”
“I’m hungry, too,” Eva said. “I’d l
ove a bottle of retsina with dinner. I’ll take my shower now.” She studied Judd a moment then went into the bathroom and closed the door.
Tucker picked up the phone. “What do you want to eat?”
“Anything. Just order.”
As Tucker did, Judd closed the book and examined the binding and spine. At last he shook his head and set it back down. Then he lay on the bed again, pulling the quilt over him.
“Good thing Eva’s with us,” he said. “She knows what to look for.”
“How’s everything going between you two?”
“Fine.”
“You like Eva.”
“Not the way you mean. Don’t worry. No fraternizing.”
Tucker thought about how he had met his own wife. “That’s not what I mean.”
“I won’t let it interfere with the job.” His expression toughened. “They killed Dad.”
“I remember. I also know you lost a woman who was very important to you in Iraq. You almost got busted out of the army for going after her killer.”
Judd gazed evenly at him. “That was a long time ago.”
“Was it?”
The bathroom door opened, and Eva walked out, so clean she glistened. Her cobalt blue eyes seemed brighter, and her lanky frame more curvaceous. She exuded sexuality but seemed unaware of it.
“Is dinner here yet? I’m starving.” She gazed happily at both men.
Judd looked away.
Later, at the table beside the radiator, they ate braised cuttlefish fresh from the docks at Piraeus, the city’s seaport a few miles away, accompanied by mushroom pilaf, grilled red and green peppers, and fiery kopanistopita, filo triangles stuffed with spicy cheese. The wine was retsina, as Eva had requested.
“Tastes like pine resin.” Tucker rotated the glass in his hand, inspecting the deep red color.
“It’s the wine of Greece,” she said. “I haven’t had any this good in years. The reason for the name and the taste is the ancient Greeks knew air was the enemy of wine, so they used pine resin to seal the tops of the amphorae and even added it to the wine itself.”
