The Kill Order

by Robin Burcell

  “That’s a bit off the beaten track.”

  “That’s because the reporter, Tim Ronson, who wrote that article you sent me ended up there. I found a former colleague of the reporter, who said he was fired from a major San Jose newspaper for writing a series of articles, including the one you sent, without verifying his sources. That he essentially made up his stories, some of which have to do with governmental improprieties.”

  “And how does that lead to Sacramento?”

  “That’s where Ronson was working when he committed suicide. Only in this case, I’d call it a case of assisted suicide, like a botched job. It took two bullets. The first shot when he allegedly tried to blow his brains out via his open mouth apparently missed the mark, taking out his jaw and face, which could easily happen if, say, one were struggling with the gun, or someone was holding it, thereby causing it to miss the brain stem. It was the second shot point blank to the head that did him in. Which, in most death investigations, sort of discounts the whole he-shot-himself theory, mostly because it’s really hard to pull the trigger the second time when you’re missing half your head. Especially when physics come into play and you know the kick from that first shot probably flung the gun out of his hand.”

  “Suspicious to be sure, but how’s his editor going to help us?”

  “Because the editor never bought the suicide theory and had the foresight to hide the guy’s case notes in the advertising files, single white male seeking single white male. Guess they weren’t comfortable searching that section when they served the search warrant. He’s expecting your visit.”

  “We’re on the next plane out.”

  35

  Venice, Italy

  Lisette was still reeling, long after she’d realized that the body had not been Piper’s. She recalled the moment they arrived at the building that morning, the morgue, and Giustino walking them over to a figure draped by a sheet, lying in a puddle that flooded the porcelain table. They’d fished her from the canal, and the room smelled of the dank water. Her heart had skipped a beat at the size, so similar, but when she saw the face, she knew without a doubt it was not Piper.

  And so, after finding out that she might still be alive, they sat down at a café, drinking more hot coffee, while detailing the areas they would be searching. Giustino suggested that Dumas take Lisette and Marc to the convent, where, he hoped, they might learn something that could help them.

  Dumas led them through a maze of alleys and over bridges, through several large squares, campi. After several minutes, they ended up on the Grand Canal. “Hurry,” Dumas said. “We can catch the vaporetto and save some time if we don’t have to wait.” The water bus was just pulling up to the pier. “Let’s get out of the cold,” said Dumas, opening the door to the cabin, which held surprisingly few passengers. Undoubtedly Venetians, since they were oblivious to the beauty around them. The three took a seat near the back. The boat moved leisurely from stop to stop, and after her and Marc’s long trip to get here, the hum of the motors, the cries of the terns all seemed remote, even dreamlike. The weather closed in. The dark waters of the Grand Canal reflected the steel gray of the clouded sky. The great waterside palaces seemed tinged with melancholy. Had they been there for a leisurely visit, it would have been the perfect spot to while away the hours with Marc.

  Unfortunately it was not, and Dumas broke into her reverie. “Ours is the next stop.” The boat bumped against the pier, and the attendant secured the mooring, then slid back the steel barrier, letting the passengers disembark.

  Dumas led them through another complex maze of narrow salizade, and through a short dark wooden passageway, this sotoportego splitting the ground floor of a Renaissance house, the tunnel dark and smelling of damp wood.

  At the end of it, the three traversed another bridge, this one bringing into view the very old, rather plain redbrick church with a leaning campanile. Surrounded by water on two sides, it stood to one side of an L-shaped campo. The doors of the church were closed; the campo seemed to be deserted. A long, high wall studded with glass at the top stretched out behind the church, the closed double doors set into the wall, and the convent where Piper had been kidnapped adjoined it. They were apparently expected, because as soon as the priest knocked, a nun admitted them to what proved to be a large kitchen garden.

  Silently, she led them down a path to another set of doors, which opened into a columned cloister, which enclosed a smaller furrowed garden. Lisette imagined that in the springtime it would be blooming with flowers. Turning the corner, the sister stopped, and knocked on the door of a small office.

  “Avanti!” a woman’s voice invited them to enter.

  A younger nun was seated in a chair next to the desk, behind which was seated a nun who appeared to be in her early seventies, undoubtedly the mother superior. There was a butterfly bandage on her forehead with a few stitches visible, and purple bruising. “Don Emilio,” she said, rising. “You are prompt as usual.” She turned her gaze to Lisette and Marc. “These are the agents who will be helping to search for young Piper?”

  “They are. Lisette Perrault and Marc di Luca, this is the Reverend Mother Angelica.”

  The reverend mother appeared distraught. “I must apologize to you for our failure to protect the child.”

  “No,” Lisette said. “The fault lies with me. I was responsible.”

  Dumas cleared his throat. “Perhaps we should get started?”

  “Of course,” she said. “Don Emilio tells me that you would probably want to inspect the premises and look for . . . leads, I believe he called them.”

  “If we could,” Marc said.

  Dumas took them around.

  Marc and Lisette examined the courtyard outside the mother superior’s office, Marc saying to Dumas, “I am still having a hard time understanding how it is they found her so easily.”

  “We believe she was traced to the convent after she called the States.”

  Marc, however, was not happy. “How did she get to a phone when it was specified that she would not have access?”

  “It was not done intentionally,” Dumas said. “She is, however, somewhat more resourceful than the . . . usual guest? To this end, the good sisters are praying that her less than stellar talents will serve her well in her time of need.”

  “Let’s hope so,” Marc said. “So they traced her call? From which end?”

  Lisette’s throat tightened. “She called my cell phone and left a message. To apologize. Do you think they traced that?”

  “It’s possible,” Father Dumas said. “And something to keep in mind as we search,” he said. Not finding anything, they returned inside to inspect the mother superior’s office in hopes that a piece of evidence might have escaped notice there. They were interrupted a few minutes later when one of the sisters knocked on the open door, announcing that Giustino of the carabinieri had arrived.

  “Good. You’re all here,” he said. “I was hoping that would be so, since I have a small bit of good news.” He held up his cell phone. “She managed a text to me. Assuming this truly is her, she is still in Venice. Trapped in a wardrobe, if her message is to be believed.”

  “Where in Venice?”

  “The phone is now turned off, so to find a more accurate location via GPS is not possible.”

  Marc read the text. “Have you tried to contact her back?”

  “Of course. I asked her to turn on the GPS. No answer, sfortunatamente. I have a handful of trusted men searching, but we are worried that someone is monitoring and we don’t dare put out that we have been in contact.”

  “Monitoring the carabinieri?”

  “Us, the local police. As it stands now, we’re not sure. If they are, imagine what would happen if they discover she is there still. As you can see, that limits our resources, which is why I came to deliver this other news personally. We have only just now received a report of a
suspicious incident in the area we will be searching.”

  “What sort of incident?” Lisette asked, feeling a spark of hope.

  “A couple returning from a party very late recalled seeing a man carrying a young woman out of a boat, one whom he claimed had too much to drink. They also had been drinking, so at the time it seemed plausible. It was only after they sobered, and were discussing it with others in their travel party much later, that they were told they might want to report it. The man, he resembles the suspect who was seen in the convent.” He took out a map, pointing to a location, circled. “This is where he was seen getting out of the boat with the girl. Where we will be searching. Marco, since you are native Italian, you will not stand out so much. You, Lisette, can be a tourist, shopping or some such. The more eyes and ears we have out there, the better.”

  “And how,” Lisette asked, “are we communicating? Especially if we suspect our transmissions are being monitored?”

  Giustino pulled several prepaid phones from his satchel. “These and Bluetooth. In light of the possible monitoring, I do not suggest using any electronic communication that is assigned to you.” He handed them each a phone. “Let us get started.”

  The area they were searching was Campo San Polo, one of the larger squares—if a roughly clam-shaped architectural space can be called such. It was, in Lisette’s opinion, an unusually pleasant place to do a stakeout, since it boasted numerous cafés, a large magazine kiosk, and the customary marble well-head, surrounded by numerous pigeons and a handful of comfortable park benches.

  Marc blended with the local residents who bought their daily newspapers, dropped into a café or trattoria, while Lisette wandered among the tourists. As the winter sun disappeared over the stovepipe chimneys, though, Lisette, who in other circumstances might have appreciated the beauty of her surroundings, was ready to give up hope.

  There were ten of them searching altogether, and they had yet to find anything that might tell them where in the square their suspect had taken the girl. Eventually Giustino had half the team break off for dinner, while the other half would continue the search.

  A thin winter fog began creeping into the narrow calle as Lisette and Marc approached the Rio di San Trovaso. As they rounded the corner on to the narrow fondamenta, the fog had become quite dense, muffling the lap of the waters against the decaying bricks of the quay. They could just make out the welcoming windows of the Taverna San Trovaso at its dead end, and were soon seated and ordering. Just as the waiter was serving the primo piatto—spaghetti alla carbonara for Lisette and a more Venetian spaghetti with squid in its own ink for Marc, his cell phone rang, upsetting the tranquillity of some locals at the next table, who shot him a withering look. It was Giustino.

  Marc listened, then said, “We’re on our way.”

  “What?” Lisette asked.

  He stood, pulled several euro notes from his pocket, then placed them on the table. “Giustino said they have located the fruit we have been searching for.”

  36

  Giustino pointed. “There. I have a man watching the location. It is on the piano nobile of that gothic palazzo. The third arched window from the left.”

  Marc looked that direction, saw a blue wavering light, as if from a television. “How are we expecting to get in there?”

  “We storm the door,” Giustino replied.

  “And hope,” Lisette said, “that Piper isn’t caught in the crossfire?”

  “Unfortunately, yes. That is our only option with our limited manpower. Unless you can think of another solution.”

  Marc looked at the map Giustino had drawn. “There’s no way in via the side entrance?”

  “The rio prevents this. I would call my cousin with his fleet of boats, but that would only get us in the rio and not up to the window in question. We would need more time and that we do not have.”

  “How sure are you that someone is monitoring police traffic?”

  “We’re not,” Giustino replied. “It is only a suspicion at this point. But are you willing to risk it?”

  Lisette turned around and faced the two of them. “Why not find out? Set a trap. If they fall into it, we know for certain there is a leak. And it may even confirm if she is in this area. If they don’t . . .”

  “What do you have in mind, amica mia?”

  “They think Piper has escaped. So we announce that we have her and that she is going to point out to us the house where she was held captive. We just fail to give our location.”

  “Probabilmente . . .” Giustino tapped at his chin, while he eyed the apartment. “Sì . . . I do believe it will work. But we must have a position of advantage. Both sides of the campo.”

  “The sotoportego,” Marc said, nodding toward the far side. “Lisette and I can set up there.”

  “If it works, we will need to make sure they are drawn out. And someone would need to make entry.”

  “Lisette and I can make entry. In that position, we can get the closest without drawing attention.”

  “Sì. Like lovers. When you are in place, I will make the call.”

  Marc put his arm around Lisette. “We’ll make it work,” he replied. “I just need to know what our contingency plan is if it turns out otherwise.”

  “If police communication has been compromised? Then we must storm the place and hope she is not harmed.” And then, in a voice too low for Lisette to hear, he said something to Marc in rapid Italian, finishing with, “Non è vero?”

  Marc nodded, then took Lisette by the arm. “Let’s go.”

  She looked at Marc as they walked away. “What was it he just told you?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Nothing? That was a pretty spirited conversation for nothing. Why not have this nothing discussion in front of me?”

  He sighed. “I did not want to worry you, cara mia. Giustino has informed me that his men have the same order to kill—”

  “Did I miss something? McNiel lost his job protecting her location. They’re trying to shut down ATLAS because we are protecting her. I thought we all agreed. We are not going through with this kill order.”

  “Giustino did not say he was planning to go through with it. It was more a warning that we need to be careful if we are to save her, because the order is out there.”

  Somewhat relieved, she glanced back at Giustino, who seemed to understand her concern. He gave a slight nod, as if to say he was still on their side, and she breathed easier. It still didn’t lessen the guilt of knowing that it was her fault that Piper had been kidnapped. The girl had trusted her, and Lisette had betrayed that trust by allowing her to be taken by two men posing as U.S. marshals.

  Marc led her beneath the arch. The blackness of the sotoportego enshrouded them, the dim wire-caged bulb doing little to dispel the dark. For several minutes she and Marco pretended to be a couple whose mutual desire kept the cold at bay. The rather enjoyable pretense was interrupted when Giustino called both of them, so that their cell phones were connected via conference call. “We are waiting for two more of my men to arrive, and then I will make the call on my police phone, announcing that we have her and she is showing us where she was being held.”

  “Sì. Copy.”

  He and Lisette waited in the shadows. The water moving against the buildings in the rio behind them was the only sound, until Giustino’s voice in her Bluetooth broke the silence. “Someone is entering the campo and walking your direction.”

  “I have visual,” Marc said. “Did you make the call?”

  “Affermitiva.”

  They waited in silence, and after a couple of minutes, the sound of footsteps echoed across the paving stones. As Lisette, her arms around Marc, looked over his shoulder, she saw a man approaching a nearby palazzo. “I see him,” she said.

  The man walked straight toward the palazzo, retrieved a large key from his pocket, opened one half
of a tall double door, and disappeared into the depths of its unlit ground floor.

  “Two are leaving,” Marc said quietly. “Still no contact with our . . . fruit?”

  “I sent a text,” Giustino said. “There is no answer.”

  The half moon slid behind a cloud, offering some cover, and she and Marc stepped out from beneath the sotoportego, in order to cross over. Just as the two men were about to turn a corner, one of the two looked back. Marc quickly moved Lisette into the shadows, and for a moment she thought they’d been spotted. False alarm. The man’s face glowed momentarily as he cupped his hands to light a cigarette. A moment later, he was on his way again, following his partner.

  “We’re moving in,” Marc said.

  He and Lisette crossed the campo, Marc’s arm around her as though they were a couple, returning home from the Vivaldi concert, which had just ended at the Church of San Polo. They worried about not hearing from Piper, especially when she had been in touch that one time. But all they could do was continue on, and when they reached the double green door, Marc looked around, surveying the campo. “We’re here,” he said into the Bluetooth.

  “The two men have not reached position one.”

  Marc hesitated. They should have reached that point. He looked at the door. They were so close. “We’re going in.”

  “Non ancora! My men, they are not here. What if—”

  “We’re too close. Just let us know when the suspects come into view.”

  “Sì.”

  He reached out, tried the door, found it unlocked. They took that as a sign. Marc aimed his gun, and Lisette swung the door open. The downstairs entry was dark, and they stood there a moment, listening. Marc pointed upward, where the sound of a TV droned. After a quick check of the entry, they took the stairs up. This appeared to be the main living area, lit only by a television. They cleared the room, then entered the hall, passing the bathroom. They stood in front of the only other door, which was closed. Marc turned the knob, pushed it open with his foot, standing to one side. When Lisette looked in, she saw the body on the floor, the puddle of blood reflecting the moonlight. Too big to be Piper. Relief swept through her.