by Brad Thor
“Debutante heroin?” the Italian asked.
Harvath winked at him. “Chardonnay.”
Argento cracked a smile.
He was glad to see him loosen up. “This is all going to work out. Trust me.”
“I am trusting you,” the Italian stated. “All of my men are trusting you too. If things go bad, we’re in big trouble. All of us.”
CHAPTER 75
* * *
* * *
By the time the teams were ready to leave the safe house, there was little doubt La Formícula was going to be at The Beach Club tonight. Not only had he been “liking” every single post that popped up in his feed, but according to Nicholas, he had been exchanging private messages with friends about what time he planned to be there.
Harvath and Argento had walked everyone through the plan a final time, explaining how everything would work and making sure there were no questions. There weren’t any. Everyone understood what they had to do.
Tonight, instead of the American team going first, the Italians did. They wanted to get in before it got too crowded.
Harvath, though, wasn’t worried. After the money he had dropped last night, the fire marshal could be outside turning people away and the staff still would have found a way to get him inside.
It was just after eleven o’clock and the club was packed. The lights were lower and the music louder than the night before. Both of those developments were going to work in their favor.
After tipping the bouncers, they were shown to the crowded VIP section. There, Harvath tipped the man behind the velvet rope and they were led to their seating area. The man removed the Riservato sign from their table and said the waitress would be right over.
As they sat down, Harvath noticed there was only one seating cluster left. It too had a Riservato sign on the table. He hoped that it had been reserved for La Formícula.
Because Vottari accessed all of his social media accounts through his phone, Nicholas had been able to hack into his “find my phone” feature. Harvath was getting regular updates on his progress.
Looking down at the latest, he saw that the Mafioso was less than twenty minutes away. He could also see who he had been messaging with. There appeared to be five or six friends of his already in the club.
Pulling up their avatars, he did screen shots and sent them in a group text to the rest of the team. It would be important to know who Vottari’s friends were.
The one thing Harvath didn’t have was a drone overhead. Before La Formícula even left his estate, it would have been helpful to know how many men he was traveling with and how many vehicles they were bringing.
Argento guaranteed him that they had the next best thing, Roberto—the ROS operator who had cooked breakfast that morning. He would be outside when La Formícula arrived and then would relay all the information, including whether any drivers were remaining with vehicles.
Another of Argento’s men, Naldo, would be parked down the road with the engine running, ready to move as soon as Harvath gave the command.
The rest of the Italians were inside the club. Already, Harvath had been able to pick out a couple of them. The club was so dark and so crowded, though, that almost the moment he saw them, they were gone.
The pretty waitress with limited English skills brought over a tray of glasses and was followed by the busboy carrying the ice bucket and champagne.
Opening the bottle, the waitress poured glasses for everyone and, having drained it, asked, “More?”
Harvath smiled, handed her a tip, and responded the same way he had last time, “Later. Grazie.”
She thanked him for the tip and walked over to another table.
This time it was Staelin who gave the toast. “May our sons have rich fathers and beautiful mothers!”
“I’ll definitely drink to that,” said Lovett, who had turned every single head when she had walked in.
They clinked glasses and all took a drink of champagne.
Harvath then instructed, “Time to make some new friends.”
He wanted it to look as if they were here to have a good time. The more fun they were having, the less threatening they’d appear.
Besides, Harvath knew his team all too well. They were Alpha dogs. If there weren’t any pretty girls for them to mix it up with, they’d end up shooting death stares at Vottari and his men. That would only end badly.
With their pockets full of cash, Morrison and Barton headed toward the main bar. Staelin, though, didn’t budge. Instead he just sat there, texting on his phone.
“Tick tock,” Harvath said, urging him to get going.
The Delta Force operative ignored him.
Harvath looked at Lovett, but she didn’t have a clue what he was doing.
Finally, Staelin locked his screen and put his phone back in his pocket.
“Are you done?” asked Harvath. “Ready to go to work now?”
The Delta Force operative smiled, but it wasn’t at Harvath. He was smiling past him.
Raising his hand, he gestured to the man at the velvet rope.
Harvath turned just as the man unclipped the rope and allowed two very pretty women into the VIP section. As they came closer, he noticed one of them was one of the women Vottari had been messaging with.
“What the hell?” Harvath asked.
Staelin tapped the phone in his pocket as he stood to greet the approaching ladies. “Tinder,” he said, leaning over so Harvath could hear him. “Never leave home without it.”
A hookup app? He had to hand it to him. While Morrison and Barton were trying to buy drinks and get women to dance with them, Staelin hadn’t even gotten off the couch.
As the women arrived at the table, Staelin introduced himself, kissed them each on both cheeks, and then introduced Harvath and Lovett.
As they all sat down, the waitress materialized and asked what they wanted to drink. They ordered vodka Red Bulls and as soon as she was gone, began to flirt and pepper Staelin with questions. Their English was pretty good.
They wanted to know who he was, where he was from, and what he did. Having come up with a cover story the night before, he was ready with answers.
The team had decided that if anyone asked, they would say they were scouting locations for an extreme fitness competition similar to the Iron Man race. The key was to keep it simple.
When the drinks came, the ladies managed only a quick sip before Staelin dragged them both out onto the dance floor.
“He’s one hell of an operator,” Lovett remarked, as she watched the trio leave.
Harvath was about to agree when his phone illuminated. Picking it up, he read the message.
“Vottari just pulled up,” he said. “Two vehicles. Four men in total with him. It looks like they’re all coming in together.”
As Lovett discreetly adjusted her dress, Harvath sent out a group text, notifying the team of the details.
It was time to heat the place up.
CHAPTER 76
* * *
* * *
La Formícula walked into the club dressed all in white—white linen trousers, a white linen shirt, and white shoes. His black hair was slicked back and on his small right wrist was an enormous Rolex in rose gold.
The entourage was admitted right into the VIP section and, sure enough, was guided to the last remaining seating area. The man’s cologne was so strong, Harvath could smell it from where he sat.
Vottari took a spot on one of the white couches, while his bodyguards took up strategic positions nearby.
As the Mafioso’s eyes swept the room, Harvath pretended to be absorbed in his phone. He wanted La Formícula to stare as long and as hard as he pleased at Lovett.
Soon enough, a pair of Vottari’s friends arrived and he stood up to greet them.
“Did he get a good look?” Harvath asked, still interacting with his phone.
“And then some,” said Lovett. “I don’t think I had a stitch of clothing left by the time he got done. I fee
l like I need a shower.”
Harvath smiled. “I get it. Women look at me like that all the time. It’s degrading.”
Lovett rubbed her thigh with her middle finger. Harvath laughed.
Over in Vottari’s seating area, a few more friends had arrived, as had the waitress with glasses and two busboys toting ice buckets and champagne.
Soon enough, corks were flying and everyone was having a good time.
Morrison and Barton had met up with a pair of sisters. After drinks and some dancing they brought them back to the VIP section and made introductions. Harvath ordered another bottle of champagne.
Not too long after, Staelin and his lady friends came back. But instead of returning to sit with his teammates, he allowed the women to drag him over to meet Vottari and his gang of friends. The guy was amazing.
When Harvath’s new bottle of champagne was opened, Barton raised his glass and said, “Cent’anni!”
The two sisters were delighted that he could toast in Italian. “Where did you learn it?”
“From The Godfather,” he replied proudly.
“The film?” they asked in unison. When he nodded, they all began laughing.
Harvath knew the toast too. And he’d learned it the same way. It was a wish for one hundred years of good luck.
His wish, though, was that Barton would stop quoting from Mafia movies while they were sitting across from one of Calabria’s most vicious mobsters.
Just looking at him, it was hard to believe that Vottari was so dangerous. But he knew that looks could be deceiving. The crime scene photos Argento had shown him had been disgusting.
Focusing his attention back on his group, he joined in as Morrison made a toast with some bawdy Irish limerick and everybody cracked up.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Staelin having a terrific time laughing and telling jokes with La Formícula. Moments later, the Delta Force operative waved the entire team over.
Picking up their drinks, they walked across the VIP section and joined them. Staelin made introductions and before Harvath knew what was happening, Vottari had given his bodyguards orders to move the furniture.
The large men walked back to Harvath’s seating area, lifted the couches, chairs, and even the table and repositioned them so the two groups could sit together. As soon as they were done moving everything, they returned to their positions.
“Antonio is in the olive oil business,” Staelin said, raising his voice so he could be heard above the music. “He’s going to get us a case of his best stuff.”
“Extra virgin,” Vottari promised. “Absolutely the best.”
Harvath flashed him the thumbs-up as the man leaned in to ask Staelin something.
“They only work together,” The Delta Force operative replied, nodding at Harvath and Lovett. “In America, we say that he’s her work husband. They’re not married. She’s totally single.”
Harvath wasn’t the jealous type. Not by a long shot. He was more protective than anything else, but with that said he really didn’t like the vibe this guy was putting out toward Lovett. If she sensed it, which he knew she had to, she was doing an amazing job keeping it under wraps. Vottari was disgusting.
They made small talk as another bottle of champagne made the rounds and everyone’s glasses were topped off.
Just then, a song came on and all of the Italians went wild.
Standing up, Vottari reached for Lovett’s hand. “Number-one song all summer in Italy,” he shouted. “Come dance!”
One of the women with Staelin grabbed Harvath and pulled him with her as the entire VIP section emptied onto the dance floor.
It was so crowded, you could barely move. Harvath did his best to keep Lovett and Vottari in sight.
The bodyguards had stayed behind, and he hoped that Lovett had noticed. This might be her only shot.
La Formícula was a real internationalist on the dance floor. He had Russian hands and Roman fingers all over Lovett. Harvath wanted to knock him out right there and then.
As the song picked up speed, the crowd got wilder and wilder. They knew the lyrics by heart and were belting them out.
The DJ, reading the room the way only a good DJ can, went from the big summer anthem into another huge European hit.
A cheer rose from the dance floor as people recognized the new song, and the energy in the club kicked up to a new level.
Lasers, choreographed to the music, slashed across the room, strobes popped, and fog machines roared to life.
The DJ was on a roll and continued to mix one dance hit into another. The crowd absolutely loved it and showed no sign of slowing down.
The woman Harvath was dancing with was ecstatic—grooving and whipping her hair from side to side. If he had turned and left the floor right at that moment, he doubted she would have even noticed.
Which, as it turned out, was a good thing, because when he looked back over at Vottari and Lovett, they were gone.
CHAPTER 77
* * *
* * *
After a solid twenty minutes of dancing, Lovett convinced Vottari that they should step outside for some air. Considering how welcoming she had been to all his advances on the dance floor, he was all for it.
They walked out onto a large terrace and headed for the round, outdoor bar.
“What would you like to drink?” he asked.
“Whiskey sour,” she replied.
Once he got the attention of one of the bartenders, he ordered whiskey sours for both of them.
Vottari’s shirt was soaked through with sweat. Grabbing a few napkins off the bar, he wiped his face, then his armpits, and tossed the napkins on the ground.
“What hotel are you staying at?” he asked.
The question took her by surprise. She didn’t know any of the hotels in the area. “Airbnb,” she said. She had to lean in to be heard over the music being pumped through the speakers above the bar.
La Formícula took her movement as an invitation, and he put his hands on both her hips. “At my house, I have a swimming pool and a hot tub. You like hot tubs?”
“They’re okay,” she replied as the bartender arrived with their drinks. Vottari needed his hands to pull out his wallet to pay for them.
“Let’s go see the water,” she suggested, tilting her head toward one of the tables near the beach.
Vottari nodded and motioned for her to lead the way. She knew he hadn’t done it to be a gentleman and that he just wanted to check out her ass. The man was an absolute sleazebag.
The tables were counter-height with barstools and umbrellas made of palm fronds. Just as they arrived at the one she had picked out, he changed his mind.
“Where are you going?”
“This way,” he said, heading toward the cabanas out on the sand.
Shit, she thought. Inside a canvas tent, with no one else around was about the last place she wanted to be with this guy. But if she didn’t go with him, she might not get another chance to slip the Rohypnol into his drink. Reluctantly, she followed.
“Look how nice,” he said when they had arrived.
There was a loveseat, two additional chairs, and a small table with thick, white candles in hurricane lamps. It was quite lovely, and in almost any other circumstance, might have even been romantic.
There was a small Riservato sign on the table and Lovett pointed at it. “Reserved,” she said.
Vottari walked over, picked up the sign, and tossed it aside. “Not anymore. Come, sit,” he replied, leading her over to the loveseat.
When she joined him he raised his glass and clinked it against hers. “Cheers.”
“Cheers,” Lovett responded, taking a sip of her cocktail.
As soon as she began to lower the glass, he took it from her and set it next to his on the table. That was when he pounced.
He was quite strong for a man of his size. Pushing her backward on the loveseat, he grabbed her wrists and pinned her down as he buried his face between the tops of her bre
asts and then ran his tongue up the side of her neck.
Lovett struggled to get free. “Wait a second,” she said. “Stop.”
Vottari, though, wasn’t interested in hearing that word and kept going, nibbling her earlobe and then pushing his tongue inside.
“Stop!” she insisted, much more forcefully. This time, she got his attention.
“What is it?”
Over his shoulder, she could see their whiskey sours sitting on the table. Beyond was the entrance to the cabana. “What if someone sees us?”
Vottari smiled and bent down to kiss her. His overpowering cologne made her want to throw up. She turned her face to the side, frustrating him.
“Close the flaps,” she said softly.
“The what?”
“The door. Close the door. I don’t want anyone to see.”
Figuring he was in for a very good time, Vottari’s smiled widened. Lifting himself off her, he went to close the cabana’s flaps.
The moment he turned his back, Lovett sat up and shot her hand into her bra.
Damn it, she worried. Where are they?
She had placed the tablets in her bra, where she thought she could easily get to them. But with having had his hands, and even his face, all over her, they must have shifted.
Come on. Come on. Come on. She was starting to freak out. Where the hell were they?
Just then, she felt the first tablet, and then the second. Her fingers closed around them like a vise and she slid them from her bra.
Looking up, she could see only Vottari’s silhouette outside. He had already unfurled one flap and was working on the other.
Snapping the first tablet so that it would dissolve faster, she dropped it into his drink.
She was in the process of snapping the second when it popped out from between her fingers and landed on the table.
Without a moment to lose, she picked up her glass with the cocktail napkin underneath, set it atop the pill and pressed down, crushing it.
Then, setting her glass aside, she grabbed Vottari’s. Sweeping the pieces into his glass, she gave it a swirl to mix everything up, and then she set it down.
