“What?”
He gestured out the window. “There.”
She peered through the glass and saw a cyclone fence, a grassy yard, and a large irregularly shaped concrete building that resembled a spaceship. “That’s the embassy?”
“In all its glory.” The sentiment in his tone made her suspicious that he knew more about this place than he was saying.
He pulled up to a stop light and eyed the pedestrians.
Janelle sighed. “I don’t see anyone who looks like that picture of Agent Julian Knox.”
“It’s past noon. He’s probably gone to lunch.”
“We should head for that restaurant, then.”
With a nod, he pulled into a side street, turned around, and drove back to the main road. He made a right turn, and after a while, they passed another statue of a warrior on horseback.
“A lot of monuments around here.”
“We’re in the Palermo district. It has a heavy Italian influence,” he said as if that explained it. “That’s Giuseppe Garibaldi. He was an Italian military figure in the eighteen hundreds.”
She was impressed. “Sounds like you know a lot about this area.”
He shrugged. “I worked in the attaché office for a year before I was sent to Washington.”
“After the special training in Patagonia?”
“Yes.”
She thought he had a history with that building.
They entered the roundabout circling the statue, and cars buzzed around them. “Why is everyone driving so fast?”
“The speed limit is just a suggestion here.” Simon fought to maneuver the Beetle into the far lane in time to turn onto the next street.
As he did, the road became narrow and crowded with pedestrians on the sidewalks and crosswalks, while the shops bunched together, and tall buildings jammed up against short ones. Some structures looked like they’d come from Paris, others from New York. In any case, this area looked more like a city. Along the sidewalk, a tree was planted every few feet. Some were turning colors, others had already lost their foliage.
They made their way through the congested street, scooted around the block, and ended up at a place on a corner. The building was done in a classical style of gray stone and featured a cheery red awning with “El Puente” printed on it in white letters.
“Looks like we’re here,” she said.
Except they had to park half a block away.
After finding a spot, they got out and walked to the place.
Inside El Puente they found fine wooden chairs and tables in a warm atmosphere of deep reds, with pale curtains pulled back for a view of the outside dining area, which reminded Janelle of a Parisian cafe, though she’d never been to France. This was, in fact, her first time out of the US. Some trip.
Simon asked for a seat near the window so they had a view of the tables under the whimsical red umbrellas outside.
There was only one diner out there, a woman who was drinking coffee and was absorbed in a book.
There weren’t many people inside, either.
Simon read the concern on her face. “It’s early. The place will fill up soon.”
“Do you really think this man will help us?”
Simon glanced around the room to make sure no one was watching, then drew a piece of paper out of his coat pocket. “Here’s the letter Tiziano wrote.”
Surprised at his sudden candor, she took it and read it.
Julian,
I am prevailing upon our long friendship and work relationship on behalf of Agent Simon Sloan, who was a trainee of mine in the past.
He has been accused of the unthinkable. Murdering his own boss, Agent Barnabas Cooley, in Washington DC. I know Agent Sloan and could not be more certain he is innocent of this charge.
He needs your help to find who did kill his boss and to prove himself innocent of this horrendous crime.
I trust you will use all resources available to do this.
Your friend and colleague,
Tiziano
“It’s very persuasive.” She handed it back to him.
“Let’s hope so.” He put it back into his pocket as a waitress came up to take their orders.
She looked down at the menu, but couldn’t read a word of it.
Simon reached over and turned it over for her. “There’s an English version on the back.”
“Thanks,” she said, her cheeks turning pink. She thought she saw Simon give her a wry half grin.
Clearing her throat, she dismissed it and glanced over the offerings.
There was a wide variety of sandwiches ranging from tenderloin to turkey, and a wide assortment of cheeses. And the coffees. Viennese coffee, calypso coffee, Irish coffee, Madrid coffee, and on and on.
Before the waitress got too antsy, she ordered a plain coffee with milk and a chicken burger on pita bread. Simon ordered a ham and cheese on a French roll and the black coffee he was addicted to.
They kept an eye on the dining areas while the food came, and ate slowly to make it last.
After an hour the place began to fill with business people, several couples, and a few families. Simon’s sharp gaze went from diner to diner, as he not only looked for Julian Knox, but watched for any sign of the men in the helicopter or any enemy that might suddenly materialize.
Janelle listened to a spirited conversation among a group of businessmen a few tables away and wished she could understand what they were saying. Then she shifted her attention to the outdoor seating.
From the sidewalk a man in a tweed jacket strolled over to an empty table and sat down. He was thin, and the curls of his thick gray hair peeked out from under a gray cap.
“Is that him?” she whispered.
Simon turned his head and studied the figure. “There are some similarities, but he’s too short.”
In frustration, she let out a sigh and leaned toward Simon. “Shouldn’t he be here by now?”
“Perhaps he got called into a meeting.”
Or maybe he found a new lunch spot.
Another hour went by, and no one who resembled the man in the photo came in to eat. Three o’clock came, and the restaurant began to thin and get ready to close. Their server came to leave the bill and pick up their empty cups.
“He didn’t come,” Janelle said as the waitress moved away, her hopes sinking to the polished floor.
“Doesn’t look like it.” Without betraying his disappointment, Simon got to his feet and tossed some cash onto the table. “Let’s check out that hotel room.”
Chapter Twelve
The hotel Tiziano had selected was a few blocks away, and after maneuvering through claustrophobic avenues and around bus stops that took up a whole lane, they arrived there and checked in, using the IDs he had given them.
Simon had parked in the garage and went around the back way to retrieve his duffel bags and her suitcase to avoid suspicion.
As soon as they were inside the room, he locked the door, set down the bags, headed for the window, and closed the curtains.
Janelle watched him run his hands methodically over the sill, and realized he was checking for bugs. “Is that really necessary?”
“Shh,” he commanded with a sharp look that made her scowl back at him. How could anyone put a bug in this room? Nobody knew they were coming here except Tiziano. But Simon was being his extra-cautious self, so instead of arguing, she joined him.
They checked the walls, the vents, the bathroom, behind and under the beds, and even behind the heating unit along the wall.
They found nothing.
The room was small and cozy. A dark laminate floor, sparse furniture, and two double beds. Tiziano must have understood her sketchy relationship with Simon.
Feeling exhausted, she took off her scarf, laid it on the dresser, and shook out her long red hair. Then she kicked off her shoes, sank down onto the white sheet, and put her feet on the brown coverlet at the base of the bed near the bathroom.
“Can we talk no
w?”
For a long moment, Simon took her in with his deep blue gaze, as if he had the urge to lay down next to her.
Then he turned away. “I have work to do.”
He opened one of the duffel bags, took out his laptop, and sat down with it at a small table at the window.
After firing it up, he typed a little on the keyboard, then sat staring at the screen. He typed a little more, stared again, repeated the process. Just as he’d done in the cabin.
Back in Atlanta Simon Sloan had said he loved her, but that must have been the adrenaline talking. Besides he had been frazzled at the time from driving all night. It was obvious he didn’t feel that way now.
That didn’t mean she had to be useless. She wasn’t going to put up with being left out anymore.
Rising, she moved to where he sat and peered over his shoulder. “Are those the documents you told Tiziano you were looking at?”
With a grunt of irritation, he shut the laptop. “This is classified information, Janey.”
“So you’re going to figure it all out by yourself?”
“I don’t have a choice.”
“Of course, you do. Besides, if you’ve been disavowed, then you’re not supposed to be looking at those documents, either. Didn’t you steal them?”
Gritting his teeth, he held tight to the closed laptop and remained silent.
He was making her livid. “Well, if you won’t let me help, then I might as well go back to Atlanta.” She stomped over to her suitcase.
Simon jumped up from his chair. “No.”
“Why not?” She spun around, daring him to tell her the truth about how he felt.
He surprised her by rushing to her and putting his hands on her arms. “Because they’ve seen you, Janey.”
He meant the men in the helicopter.
“They know what you look like. They probably took pictures. Do you know what they’d do to you if they captured you? The less information you have, the better.”
The sensation of his sudden touch, along with his words, took her breath. She needed a moment before she could answer.
At last she did—with defiance. “Wouldn’t that just make it worse? I mean, wouldn’t they assume I had information anyway?”
She felt a visible shudder go through him. “I didn’t want this for you. I should never have stopped in Atlanta. Look what I’ve gotten you into.”
Stunned, she blinked at him. Was that why he’d been pushing her away? “You didn’t twist my arm. I came on my own. And I swear, I’ll leave on my own if you don’t let me help you.”
His gaze ran over her face and she knew he was fighting for control. He wanted to kiss her as much as she wanted him to.
But that would be a distraction neither of them needed right now. “What about those documents? Did you steal them?”
He let her go and took a step back. “I had copies. They’re reports and evidence Cooley and I had put together on Group 141.”
“Let me see them.”
With a weary look, he gave in and moved back to the table. “All right. I guess it isn’t fair to keep you in the dark.” He put his hand on the lid. “Are you sure, Janey? Once you see this, there’s no going back.”
His warning made her stomach twist. This was dangerous business. But they were already in danger, and not knowing anything was worse. “I’m very sure.”
“All right.” He lifted the lid.
Leaning over, she noticed something sticking out of the side of the laptop, and details from the recent past clicked in her head. “Is that the pen drive I told you about?”
Some weeks ago at Mr. Parker’s request, Janelle had called Simon in the middle of the night to tell him about a drug bust Mr. Parker and Miranda Steele had been involved in—in Ukraine of all places. She’d informed Simon the pair were on their way to New York with a pen drive.
She hadn’t been told what was on it.
Simon nodded. “Yes. It’s what Parker and Steele brought to me.”
She pulled up a chair, sat down, and peered at Simon’s screen.
A spreadsheet was displayed with row after row of data, some two columns, some four, mostly three. The characters were Cyrillic letters.
“What is that?”
“It’s a list of names and their aliases.”
“And you can read those characters?”
“Most of them. Here.” He pressed a key combination, and the characters turned to English. Though the names certainly weren’t.
Simon pointed at the screen. “The left column is the person’s real name, the right column is a fake name given to the person by a martial arts club in Kiev.”
“A martial arts club? What does that have to do with anything?”
“The club was a front for criminal activity. They were taking homeless young men off the street, training them to fight, and enlisting them in their enterprises. We know some of them went to Group 141.”
Now she knew exactly who he was talking about. That was where the Ukrainians she’d encountered while working for the Parker Agency had come from. “But didn’t we destroy Group 141?”
“We cut off the head.”
She pointed to a row. “That name. Is that Gregor?” He was the creep with the black spiral tattooed on his head that she’d first seen on a riverboat in New Orleans.
“Yes. All of Santana’s top men are listed here.”
Santana.
The MIB, or Man in Boston, as the FBI had dubbed him. A trickle of fear went through her at the thought of that man and the things he had done.
Simon pointed out the names one by one. Gogol, Anatoly Tamarkin, several more. “Here’s the name of the one you killed in Boston.”
Zahara. That had happened during a vicious gunfight. Her stomach was a brick now. She hugged herself, not wanting to think about that horrible night. “But the other men have all been arrested.”
“The ones who were on that island with Santana. But look how many more names there are.”
She slid her finger down the touchpad and saw dozens of names. Not all of them Ukrainian. What had happened to them all? And then it clicked. “You think Group 141 is still in operation?”
“It’s my theory.”
A highly plausible one. Her throat tightened at the idea. Someone else must be in charge now. “And whoever is running the organization now is the one who killed Cooley.”
“Or who ordered his death.”
And then ordered Simon’s. She rubbed her arms as he brought up another window.
“This is the last email Cooley sent me.”
With a sense of reverence, she leaned forward and read it. There was a good bit of FBI mumbo jumbo, but one paragraph stood out.
It looks like the MIB isn’t alone. There’s more. Another branch, interconnected and possibly operating in major cities all over the world.
“That’s what he was talking about in his last letter to you.”
“I believe so.”
“So there is a new leader now that Santana’s gone.”
“It would make sense. Like I said, we cut off the head, but the body’s still alive.”
“And has grown a new head. And one of these names might be that person.” She pointed to the spreadsheet.
His brow creased, telling her it wasn’t that easy. “Apparently this register of names has been kept for years. Some of the people on it are older, some may have been killed or arrested, but one of them might be the new leader.”
“And you can’t access a database to check that out.”
“No, I can’t.” His shoulders sagged. “I did check out the names of the four men in Tiziano’s training group from ten years ago. They aren’t on the spreadsheet.”
That was something of a relief, but she wasn’t sure it helped if the men in the helicopter had been recruited by the new leader.
Simon began poking around for a file.
“What are you doing?”
“I think I have some old photos I kept. Yes. Here they are
.” He opened one. “I remember this. We had been goofing around on a break.”
Before the half-constructed cabin stood eight sweaty muscle bound men, all of them tanned and buff. Some in black T-shirts, others bare chested, all in either cutoff jeans or sweatpants, they looked like they were catching their breath after a rousing round of soccer.
Right away, she recognized Tiziano standing at the side, though his hair wasn’t as gray as it was now and his skin was smoother. She also knew O’Cleary and Cooley by his haircut.
With a soccer ball under his arm, Simon stood next to Cooley as handsome as ever. He was shirtless, and the sight of his tanned rippled six-pack made her mouth water.
She forced her gaze to the others and pointed at one with twinkling eyes and a big white smile who was giving a thumb’s up sign. “Who’s that?”
“That’s Luke Kirby. He was always a joker.”
“Luke Kirby.” She pointed to the one next to him, who had a head of thick curly dark hair, and his arms posed to show off his biceps. “And this?”
“Leo Aldrich. I think he’d kicked the winning goal that day. He and Kirby were best friends.”
Her focus turned to the shorter man in the front of the group. He wore a blond buzzcut, dark-rimmed glasses, and a look of pain. “Did this guy lose the game?”
“I don’t remember, but that’s Flint Hooper.”
“He looks like he’s got an attitude.”
Simon nodded. “He did. But he was okay most of the time.”
Janelle recalled Tiziano saying he didn’t like to obey orders.
He pointed to the remaining man who was standing on Cooley’s other side. “That’s Jax Breaker. We were friends at the time. I’d say he was one of the most efficient workers we had.”
Janelle studied his arched brows and square chin. He seemed serious, but not overly so. Still, one of these men had shot at her from that helicopter.
She tried to memorize each man’s name and features, but wasn’t sure she could recognize them on the street. She sat back and yawned. “What do we do now?”
“Mull all this over. But you look like you could use a nap.”
“Me? Nap?” She yawned again.
“It’s a common practice here. People go to sleep after midnight, get up early, and sleep for several hours after lunch.”
Escape from Danger Page 5
