Ehsan’s eyes drifted from the TV and the announcement that his friends were dead to the door of the café. Just outside, snow was thickly falling in the narrow passageway. Snow was unusual in Venice, but not unheard of. A mother wrapped in a coat dusted with snow hurried by, a child holding tight to her hand. A happy childhood memory materialized, of walking with Marika through the snow in Zagreb. They were on their way to get cocoa. The shops were all bright with Christmas, toys and great stacks of pastries filling the windows. He could still smell the chocolate. The phone vibrated in his hand—it was like he’d been shocked with a million volts. The screen read “Mother.”
“Mother? . . . Yes, it is me . . . Are you okay? I thought you were . . . They were trying to get to Bosnia . . . Nearby—I want to give myself up . . . It wasn’t supposed to happen this way . . . We were tricked . . . I need to see you.” Ehsan looked out into the passageway; the people inside were reflected on the café’s windows. More flickering images of the bullet-ridden Toyota filled the television. “I’m still here . . . Yes, give myself up . . . Is Agent Castillo with you? . . . To you and him only, no one else . . .” He looked at his watch. “One hour, near the Basilica di San Marco. There’s a plaza to one side, with two carved red lions . . . Yes, that’s the place. One hour . . . I love you too.”
CHAPTER 45
“How did he sound?” Javier asked.
“Tired,” Marika answered as she set the cell phone on the table near her chair. “Thank God. My son is still alive!”
“You are too injured to walk to Piazza San Marco,” Alex said. “You barely made it this far. You should have stayed in the hospital.”
“I knew he was alive. I knew it.” Marika looked out the window at the falling snow. “I must go to him.” She looked at her watch. “One hour, I must go.” She stood and tried to take a step but fell to the carpet.
“Now, how are you going to walk halfway across Venice?” Alex said, walking over to Marika. “You can’t even stand. Javier, for God’s sake, talk some sense into this woman.”
“I’ve tried. The one I should have been talking to was Ehsan.”
“Don’t let them kill him,” Marika implored as she took Alex’s hand. “They will if they catch him. You must stop them.” She settled into the chair.
“You have to tell the Italians,” Alex said. “You have no choice.”
“Please don’t tell them yet. Let me see him, and then you can arrest him. He said he wanted to give himself up, but only to Agent Castillo.”
“So you said,” Javier said.
“He did say it—he wants to give himself up. You have to trust him. You have to trust me.”
“After what happened today,” Javier said, “I can’t trust him. I won’t trust him.”
“Please, Agent, for my love for my son, can you bring him here? Then take him to the police. Let me see him first, then . . .”
“Javier, where the hell can he go?” Alex said. “I’ll go with you. I can help convince him to come with us and return here to Marika. Then we turn him over to the Italians afterward.”
“The Italians, after what happened, will throw us all in jail,” Javier said, turning to Marika. “Especially now that you’ve talked with him. It is all too dangerous. Suppose all this is a charade and he has another bomb. Then what? Hell, maybe he’ll be wearing a suicide vest. Sorry, Alex, I couldn’t live with myself if that happens. Too many died today, and it was all Ehsan’s fault. Marika, this is the way it will play out. I’m going to talk with the Italians. When he reaches the piazza, he will be arrested. You can see him when you are better.”
“I will never let anyone hurt him,” Marika said. “No one. He is my son. I cannot bear to think of him in prison.”
“Give me your phone, Marika,” Javier said.
“You think I’ll call him?”
“I don’t want to find out. Phone.” He held his hand out.
Marika gave the cell phone to Javier. He placed it in his pocket. “Alex, stay with her while I make some calls.”
Marika watched as Javier left the small sitting room and disappeared into the bedroom, closing the door behind him but leaving it open an inch.
“Ms. Polonia, you have to convince him to let me see my son, to touch his face, to hold him in my arms. You are a woman; you know these things. I know he has to pay for what he’s done, but he doesn’t need to die.”
“That will be his choice,” Alex said. “Many people are dead because of him. There’re a dozen innocents in the hospital.”
“All those dead are on Kozak. If it weren’t for him, none of this would have happened. He’s the murderer—not my son.” She reached for the cigarette pack on the table and shook it; it was empty. “I need a cigarette. Would you hand me my handbag?” She pointed to a leather bag on the floor near the end of the couch.
Alex grabbed the strap of the bag and passed it to Marika, who opened the flap and removed a package of Ronhills. She extracted one and lit it.
“You shouldn’t smoke,” Alex said. “It’s not good for you.”
“Really? Tell me something I don’t know. But I assure you this is a lot more dangerous.” Marika slipped her hand back into the bag and pulled out the Beretta, cocked the hammer, and aimed it directly at Alex. “Now sit. I will use this if I have to.” Marika paused for a moment and watched Alex deliberately take a seat on the couch. “Agent Castillo, can you come in here?”
Javier walked back into the living room, slipping his cell phone in his pocket. When he saw Marika’s pistol, he froze.
“Sit there with Ms. Polonia.” She motioned Javier to the couch with her pistol. He sat. “This is what is going to happen. I am going to meet my son and then we are going to leave Italy.”
“You will never leave,” Alex said. “How can you even think of leaving this island? It’s impossible.”
“Nothing is impossible with a mother’s love. Ms. Polonia, Agent Castillo will give you the knife from the top drawer of the cabinet. Then you will cut the cords from the blinds and tie his hands behind him, and then his feet. And I mean very tight—I will be able to tell. Also, remove my phone from his pocket and set it on the table.”
Marika watched Alex do as she was told. “Now your turn. Please hand me the remaining cords.”
“You come and get them,” Alex said as she stood defiantly.
Marika stood, walked over to Alex, and placed the pistol’s muzzle on the other woman’s forehead. “On your knees, now.”
“I thought—”
“A simple ruse; we all believe what we want to believe. Now, on your knees.”
Alex lowered herself to the carpet. Marika then swung the barrel against Alex’s head, knocking her out. She collapsed to the floor. One minute later, Alex was tied up as tightly as Javier.
“You won’t get away,” Javier said, looking at Alex. “They will find you.”
“We will see. I know you have more than a professional interest in this woman. I knew it from the first time I saw you both together. She’s okay. But for right now, I have to find my son.” Marika took cloth napkins from the bar and gagged both of them. She put her coat on, wrapped a scarf around her face, and left the suite.
After the door slammed shut, Alex instantly rolled over onto her back and rubbed her face against the side of the couch, dislodging the gag. “Thought she’d never leave,” she said. “You okay?”
Javier nodded, just a little shocked.
“Good, hold on one second.” Alex rolled over to Javier’s side and with her teeth pulled on the end of the rope that extended out from the slipknot she’d tied. It opened, and Javier shed the rest of the cords.
With his hands free, he removed his gag. “That was quite a whack to the head, you okay?”
“I have two brothers. My mother always said I had the hardest head of the three of us.”
“Maybe I should leave you all trussed up—it’s the best way I know to keep you out of trouble.”
“How do you know I’m not Houdin
i and can get out of these in a second? Then I’ll beat your butt. And besides, we don’t have time, so please, cut me free.”
“Smart-ass. And you look so harmless all tied up.”
Outside, the snow had stopped, and a fairyland frosting of snow clung to the windowsills and rooftops. Footprints—small and feminine—had been left in the carpet of snow. They turned left.
“Better than bread crumbs,” Javier said.
CHAPTER 46
Marika hurried down the dark and empty alley. The snow shower had passed, and aimless white flakes drifted about in the still air. She pulled her coat tight and rewrapped the cashmere scarf once around her neck.
She passed the Aqua Palace Hotel, crossed the canal, and turned left onto the narrow Calle Specchieri. Her son was just a few blocks away; all that mattered now was Ehsan. At the intersection with Calle Larga San Marco, a tall man appeared and stood solidly in her path, blocking any direction except where she’d come.
“This way,” Ehsan said as he took his mother by the arm. “The police are converging on the piazza. I have a boat waiting.”
Marika looked up at her son, and a thousand questions raced through her mind. “Why?”
“It needed to be done” was his only answer.
As they turned to retrace Marika’s steps, two men blocked their way.
“Goddamn, you are hard to find,” Duane Turner said, a pistol in his hand. “I made some calls. They say your husband is dead. So, where’s the money? I’ll shoot him if you don’t tell me.” He pointed the pistol at Ehsan.
“Who the hell are you?” Ehsan asked, his hand reaching under his jacket.
“Stay the hell out of this, and don’t move. This woman and I have business to conduct. If you don’t want to be hurt, tell us where the money is.”
“Mother, who are these men?”
“These are some of Ms. Polonia’s friends. We met the other day. I have no idea what they are talking about.” She reached for her son, exposing her forearm.
“Mother?” Damico said. “Listen, bitch, who is this guy?”
“We need to go,” Ehsan said, taking his mother’s elbow. “The police will be here any moment.”
“Police, what the hell?” Turner said to Damico. “Dammit, she’s the broad from the other day.”
A pistol shot snapped in the still air. Turner fell to the stones, grabbing his thigh; blood splattered the snow. Damico pulled his weapon and, turning toward Marika, raised his pistol. Before he could fire, Ehsan swung his pistol and clubbed the man across his face, opening a long gash on the man’s cheek, and knocking him onto his partner. Turner yelled in pain.
“Mother, now,” Ehsan said and pulled Marika away from the men. “Mother?”
“Why did you shoot them?” she demanded.
“We need to go now. The police are coming.” He beckoned with his hand, reaching toward her. “Mother—now.”
Whistles and sirens echoed through the Venetian canyons. Marika looked down at the men struggling to get up, then turned and followed her son. They began to run. From the next alley, Marika was shocked to see Alex and Javier burst into their path. Alex slipped on the thin snow, stumbled, and slammed into Marika, knocking her down. Javier slid to a stop on the slippery pavement. He pulled his weapon. Marika saw that her son already had his pistol aimed at Alex.
“If either of you moves, I will kill her,” Ehsan said, his heavy breathing visible in the cold air. “Agent Castillo, is that how you want this to end?”
“What are you doing?” Marika said. “We need to go.”
“Ehsan, it is over,” Javier said. “The police are coming. There is no way you can escape. I know your mother had nothing to do with what happened, but you will have to pay. If you continue with this, I will see that she is charged with aiding you. Do you want her to spend the rest of her life in prison as a terrorist?”
“I have nothing, nothing—you hear me?” Ehsan said. “Since the day Kozak murdered my family, I was left with nothing—no past, no future, nothing.”
Marika looked at Alex. “This woman raised you,” Alex said, helping Marika stand. “She gave you your life and a future. How can you turn your back on her?”
Marika fumbled with her handbag as she reached her feet. She looked at her son. “Why are you doing this?”
“Mother, I’m sorry, but this had to be done. It was the only way my family could rest.”
“Ehsan, your family would not have wanted this,” Marika said, dropping the handbag and holding the Beretta tight to her side. “Asmir and Cvijetin are now dead. Is that what they wanted? Is this how you imagined all this ending?”
“We are soldiers. We knew this might happen.”
“Soldiers?” Marika shouted. “You are children. Children do not kill innocent people.”
From the far end of the plaza, beyond the red lions, Marika saw a dozen men in dark uniforms appear. Flashlight beams jerked about the ancient façades. The men stopped at the two DEA agents, and then half the group cautiously began to advance.
Ehsan looked forlornly at his mother, fear in his eyes. “Mother, we need to go.”
“Ehsan, my son, I love you more than life itself.” Marika reached out with both arms, pulled him to her breast, and kissed him on the cheek. As she tightly hugged him, she shot her son in the chest.
He stood wrapped in her embrace for a moment, his wide eyes looking into his mother’s, then collapsed at her feet, pulling her down with him.
Kneeling at her dying son’s side, she kissed her fingertips and touched his damp cheek. Slowly standing, she looked at Alex. “A mother’s love. You must understand.” She turned the weapon against her breast, fired one muffled shot, and collapsed onto her dead son.
FRIDAY
CHAPTER 47
Alex nursed a vodka on the rocks in the cramped office of the safe house. She listened to Javier as he walked the outside hall and talked first with Washington, then Milan, then Washington again. Morning daylight cut a thin shaft through a high window in the room and left a long, narrow strip of sunlight on the wall above Albert Nox’s head. He sipped coffee.
“Is he in a lot of trouble?” Alex asked.
“He’ll be fine,” Nox said. “Once all this is sorted out.”
“How the hell was he supposed to know this would all turn into a Venetian morality play? He was just a courier. There was no way he could know what went on more than twenty years ago.”
“We are all condemned by our pasts,” Nox said.
“Very Shakespearean, Albert,” Alex said, lifting her glass. “And bullshit.”
“With what is going on in Cleveland, old Bill Shakespeare could write a play about you, Alex,” Nox offered. “Are you going home today?”
“I haven’t heard from the hotel, or the police for that matter. They are trying to get me on a wait list for a flight somewhere that will connect to Cleveland. My captain wants me to be in his office as soon as I land. Not sure whether I’m being canned, arrested, or shot. None of the choices are all that appealing.”
“I’d give you a commendation. None of this is your making.”
“Yes, but that’s what I get for showing up at the dance. A couple of weeks’ vacation was all I was looking for, a few quiet days to myself. I am so screwed.”
“Your ex-husband?”
“I’m sure he’s gone. My partner says they are trying to break through the frozen block of ice that is the basement of the exploded house, but I am positive that he set the whole thing up. And it’s still snowing at the site of the explosion.”
“Winter in the Midwest, nothing more depressing.”
“After the last few days here, Venice may rank with the Midwest. My romance with this enchanting city of La Serenissima is over.”
“Your language skills are improving,” Nox said. “Don’t let the last few days turn you against her. She is beguiling and yes, at times frustrating, but still the queen she always has been.”
Javier came back in. He shoved his cell
phone into his pocket while Nox handed him a bourbon. “Well, it’s not as bad as it could have been. It seems that our little pursuit Wednesday afternoon of Fazlić and Radić, to the Islamic safe house, led to three people, Saudis, who lived in Austria. Fingerprints found on the inside of a tin of coffee in the house identified a Saudi woman living ten miles outside Vienna. The Austrian police staked out the house. When she returned to the residence with two men, they tried to escape. None survived. The car they were in exploded. Government officials are not sure if it was suicide or gunfire from the police that set it off.”
“And Fazlić and Radić?” asked Alex.
“They have been confirmed as the men killed at the roadblock. The report says that Fazlić tried to shoot his way out but was killed when he attacked the police head-on. Radić died from his wounds. The police were lucky to spot them. Seems that they passed by a truck weigh station and their license plate was scanned. It matched the one that appeared on the CCTV at the marina. A local police car saw the vehicle as it passed through a small town in the hills near the Slovenian border. They could not outrun the police radio.”
“Ehsan?”
“CCTV at a train station sixty miles from here, toward Trieste, caught him heading back to Venice,” Javier continued. “They saw someone dressed like him walk through the Santa Lucia concourse. His face was wrapped in a scarf. The timeline works. I just don’t get Marika. Why?”
“I can only come up with love,” Alex said. “She shot her son to prevent him from spending the rest of his life in prison or worse. She just could not live with that. It’s all so tragic. It started back in a war that no one understands and ends here in a city none called home.”
“One more sorrow in centuries of Venetian sorrows and deaths,” Nox added. “It was Byron who said, ‘I stood in Venice, on the Bridge of Sighs, A palace and a prison on each hand.’”
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