January 12, Florence, Italy
“HANK. NICE TO SEE YOU again. What’s up?” Drake pulled off his leather trench coat and draped it over the back of a chair in the entryway.
“Nice to see you, too.” Hank Robertson waved to Drake. “Follow me. I have something to take care of.”
“Sure. Can I leave my coat here?”
“No problem.” Hank led Drake across the hall and down a hallway. “How’ve you been? Anything exciting going on?”
“Oh, you know, the usual. Tracking down the bad guys for the CIA. Bummer that they sent me into the field, though. I was really hoping I could get you guys the information you wanted.” Like hell. He was mostly hoping that he could get Hank out of this and somehow not destroy his career with the CIA. “What about you?”
“Nothing special, really.” Hank opened a door and flicked a light switch, illuminating a narrow stairway. “Just doing my job with the Order.”
Drake followed him down the stairs and into a long narrow room. Hank punched a code into a keypad and opened the door, motioning Drake to walk through. On the other side was another long narrow room with five metal doors. Drake recognized it. He’d been held in one of those rooms a few months ago. The nerve endings that hadn’t totally healed twitched at the ends of the scars on his rib cage. Hank punched in another code at one of the doors and opened it.
Inside a man sat in a metal chair, much like the one Drake had been chained to. The man was sweating profusely. His head shot up when they entered.
“What?” he asked. “What have I done? I only wanted to help. I obtained a huge sum of money for the Order.” His head drooped again. “I don’t understand,” he whimpered.
“You don’t need to understand,” Hank said.
“But if I just knew what I did wrong, I could fix it. I swear. I’d do anything.”
The man’s pleading seemed to have no effect on Robertson. Drake watched as his former commander walked to a table and picked up a Colt.45. He held the gun loosely in his hand and looked at Drake with a half smile, then shook his head.
“I really hate this shit.”
Drake forced an answering smile and nodded. What the hell was Hank doing? He figured he must need information from the guy and was trying to scare it out of him. Well, hell. Drake had done the same kind of thing. More than once.
“Try to be a man, for God’s sake, Stubeck,” Robertson said.
Stubeck’s head jerked up. “Yes, of course. I just don’t know what you want from me. Just tell me and I will comply.”
Robertson shook his head, lifted the gun, and shot Stubeck.
Drake jerked, then immediately tamped down his reaction. Stubeck slumped forward in the chair, held up only by the ropes that bound him, a bullet hole in his forehead.
“Damn. I really hate this kind of shit,” Robertson repeated. He laid the gun on the table and turned to Drake. “But you know how it is. Some guys just don’t get it. This one took it upon himself to act without the Order’s blessing.” Robertson shook his head. “Didn’t even have the fucking sense to let the Triumvirate know what he was doing.”
“Too stupid to live?” Drake asked with a chuckle that he hoped didn’t sound as forced as it felt.
“Pretty much,” Robertson agreed. He pulled out a chair from the table and sat in it, ignoring Stubeck’s dead body behind him. “I’m glad to see how you’re taking this.”
“What?” Drake asked. “The fact that you had to take care of someone?” He shrugged. “It happens.”
“Good to know you feel that way. Time might come that you have to do the same kind of thing.” Robertson grinned at him. “Think you can handle it?”
“You think I couldn’t?” Drake asked. “Hank, you know me better than that. I can do whatever needs to be done.”
“That’s what I’ve told them. In fact, I’ve assured them you can handle it.”
“Well, we’ve both been there. We know that sometimes you just have to do what you have to do.”
“Even if it’s someone you know?” Robertson asked.
Drake stared at Robertson. “Sounds like you have someone specific in mind.”
“The Order needs one more document. After that, she’s a liability. Don’t get me wrong. The Order would rather not kill anyone. But Zoe knows stuff that could hamper the Order’s efforts. It’s for the greater good.” He leaned back in the chair. “Since you’ll be with her on the heist, they figure you’re the best one to take careof her.”
“So, I kill her after she gets the document?” Drake asked.
“Well, yeah, but not until the Triumvirate has a chance to check it out. Gotta make sure we don’t need her anymore, you know?”
“Sure. Just let me know when,” Drake said.
January 13, Florence Italy
Zoe jogged the half mile from where the limo had dropped her off and arrived at the mansion shortly before nine. She’d hoped to be back and in her bed before the household arose, but the extra time it had taken to get her mother out had prevented that. Damn, she was exhausted. She opened the door of the mansion and stepped into the entryway, bending over to brace her hands on her knees, trying to catch her breath.
“Ms. Alexander. Out for a morning run?”
Zoe looked up to see Weisbaum standing a few feet from her. Damn it. This day just kept getting better and better.
“You have a problem with that?” She stood up. “I have to stay in shape. Makes my job a lot easier.”
“I’m sure it does. If you have a moment?”
Weisbaum gestured toward his office.
“Sure.” Every hair on her body stood at attention. Weisbaum was being way too nice, which could only mean they had discovered that her mother was missing. She followed him into his office and slumped into a chair before his desk. “What?”
“Excuse me?” Weisbaum asked.
“You wanted to see me. I’m assuming it was about something in particular. Or maybe you just wanted to share your morning coffee with me?”
“If you want coffee, I can arrange it, but, yes, I wanted to see you about a matter.”
“Shoot. I’ll have some tea after I have a shower.”
“Your mother is missing.” Weisbaum sat and leaned his elbows on his desk, lacing his fingers together.
“No shit. I noticed that. No, wait, you told me you’d taken her. Don’t tell me you’ve misplaced her?”
“Your attitude is annoying and unnecessary,” Weisbaum said. His hands formed a steeple and his fingertips tapped each other. “Are you telling me you had nothing to do with it?”
“Oh, I’m not telling you a damn thing, Weisbaum.”
“You were the only one who knew we had your mother and brother in custody. And you are one of the few persons to possess the skills to get her out of here.”
Zoe shrugged. “And your point?”
Weisbaum sank back into his chair. “You’re very good.”
“I know, but thank you for mentioning it.” Zoe stood and walked toward the door, then turned back. “Was there anything else?”
Weisbaum held her gaze for a moment, then looked at a paper on his desk. “Only that we still have your brother.” He looked up and smiled at her. “We’ve moved him to a more secure location, of course.”
“Of course.”
“One more thing,” Weisbaum said.
“What? I’d really like to go take a shower.”
“This is your next job. Your last job.” He held a file folder out. Zoe strode back to his desk and snatched the folder from his hand.
“You mean my last job for you.” She ignored the way he raised his eyebrows at her, turned, and walked across the room. She jerked the door open, then kicked it shut and trotted to the staircase. Her foot was on the bottom stair when Drake emerged from a door.
“Zoe,” he called. “That’s the next job?” He nodded at the folder in her hand.
“Yeah.”
“Let’s go over it.”
“Later.” Zoe continued up the stairs.
“Now.”
The tone of his voice made her turn around. “I really need a shower and a nap.”
“This won’t take long.”
Zoe gave up. She just didn’t have the energy to argue with him. She turned and walked back down the stairs, following Drake to the French doors that led to the courtyard. He walked to a bench on the far side of the flagstones and sat down.
“I’m impressed. You got your mother out.”
“But not my brother. And now they’ve moved him.”
“And I know where he is.”
“Where?” she demanded.
“Sit. First, some other things. Once you’ve done this job, they have no further use for you.”
Zoe nodded. “I know. I’m sure they have plans for me that include a nice burial.”
“You have any plans to prevent that?”
“I don’t have any plans at all right now. I’ve been up all night. I’m too tired to think.”
“Well, you’d better start thinking.” He held his hand out. “What’s the job?”
She handed the folder to him and slumped back against the bench. What the hell was she going to do? She had to get Matteo out. She’d prefer to get herself out, too. And that meant that she’d have to find Matteo before she did the last job for them.
“The Institute of Physics in Prague,” Drake said. “What?”
“That’s where the next job is. That isn’t going to be easy.”
“What are we stealing? Plans for something?”
“A crystal lens.” He flipped a page in the folder. “Evidently it’s kept in a safe in the basement. It’s a backup for the one they use in some special laser.”
Zoe took the folder from him and skimmed a few pages. “We’ll do it in two days. But, first, where’s Matteo?”
“You’ll never get him out.”
“That wasn’t the question.”
“I assume Ethan took your mother somewhere. What did you tell him about me?”
“Where’s Matteo?”
“Fine. He’s in a small room under the villa. There’s an electronic lock on the outer door and then electronic locks on each interior door. There are four rooms and I have no idea which one he’s in.”
“Okay. Do you remember the name on the electronic locks?”
“What?”
“The locks would probably have the brand name on them. Do you remember what it was?”
“Securi something, I think.”
“Securitron?” she asked.
“Yeah, that sounds right. Why?” He held a hand up. “Never mind. That was a stupid question.” Zoe smiled. “Yes, it was.”
“I take it you’re familiar with that brand?”
“Of course.”
Drake sighed. “I’ll help you.”
“Thanks, but it’s not necessary.”
“You’ll never manage it alone.”
“That might be true. But I won’t be the one rescuing him.”
January 13, Iraq
Ziyad couldn’t stop himself from examining the podium while he waited for Ayman to join him. It was perfect. Constructed in France in 1792, it was just the sort of podium Thomas Jefferson would have stood before to take his second oath of office. And fortunately there were no cameras then, so no one could prove that he hadn’t. The Presidential Inaugural Committee had accepted the documentation he’d provided through the mysterious Mr. and Mrs. Randall as authentic.
He ran his hands over the smooth polished surface of the top and underneath where the hidden compartment had been constructed. It was flawless. Thecompartment, originally constructed to hold a book or sheets of parchment, had been enclosed and would soon contain the Neurotox that would kill and disable the governmental leaders of America. Ziyad was tempted to open the compartment but knew he had to wait for Ayman. He didn’t want to take the chance of marring the elaborate piece.
“You are pleased?” Ayman asked as he entered the room.
“Yes. Very pleased.” Ziyad could hardly contain his excitement. “Show me how it works.”
Ayman crossed the room and placed his hands under the compartment, silently pulling it forward to reveal an empty space. Ziyad eyed the device that had been attached for testing.
“This is where the canister will be attached?”
“Exactly,” Ayman said. “And insulation will be packed in to prevent extreme cold or heat from reaching it.”
“I almost cannot believe we are so close to achieving our goal. It is a dream come true.”
“Has the canister been shipped?” Ayman asked.
“Yes. And the insulation that you requested. Will it really keep the temperature steady?”
“Enough for our purposes,” Ayman assured him. “Our agent will attach the canister here, and pack the insulation around it. The podium will ship to France tomorrow and from there to America.”
“And you are certain our agent will be able to handle the installation?”
“It will be delivered to the Capitol Building and stored in the basement until the Inauguration. I have a man in maintenance there. He will receive the podium and has already stashed the device and insulation. He assures me that the temperature of the basement is well within our target range of ten to twenty-six degrees Celsius. The day before the Inauguration, it will be brought up and kept inside the building until the morning of the Inauguration. On the day of the Inaugural celebration it will be placed outside on the portico early in the morning, but the insulation will provide more than enough protection from the early morning chill.”
Ziyad sighed with relief. “This is the prototype of the actual canister?”
“Yes. And when the device is detonated, this lever releases, which turns this wheel.” Ayman pointed at the parts. “Then the Neurotox is sprayed into the air here.” He indicated what appeared to be a normal wormhole in the wood but actually hid the nozzle that would deliver the Neurotox to America’s leaders.
“We shall test it.” Ziyad pulled the white pen from his pocket. Keeping his eyes on the apparatus attached to the side of the hidden compartment, hetwisted the cap of the pen and pulled it off.
The lever clicked up, a small wheel turned, and Ziyad imagined he could hear the hiss of the Neurotox being sprayed into the air. The sound of success.
January 14, Florence, Italy
Zeke rolled over the top of the stone wall and dropped silently to the ground. He slipped along the side of the wall, keeping to the shadows, until he came to the window with the wood stacked underneath it. He stepped onto the stack, smiling at his daughter’s thoughtfulness. His nimble fingers felt around the window casing to make sure Zoe had disabled the electronic sensors. She had. Not that he expected her to be less than perfect, but double-checking was as natural to him as breathing. He took a moment to consider what he was about to do.
Rescue his son. His son! And after that, he’d get his hands on that bitch, Mira. He had more than a few words to say to her about stealing his son. He reached for the window, saw his hand tremble, and pulled it back. He worried that the Parkinson’s would cause him to make a mistake. He forced his thoughts to the task at hand. Get in. Get Matteo. Get out. He regulated his breathing and let his thoughts fade away.
He slid the window open, braced his palms on the sill, and hoisted his lean body up and over the ledge. Even though he’d stopped thieving years ago, he’d kept up his training. He was still good. Even with the Parkinson’s. Still there was the nagging worry that he might not be up to the job. He stopped that thought immediately. Worry precipitated failure. How many times had he told Zoe that? Plan your work and work your plan. That was the path to success. He’d planned as well as he could with the limited information available. The rest he’d have to trust to fate.
Zeke padded silently down the hallway and turned left. He paused beside a potted palm to assess the area. He could see the entryway bathed in moonlight that filtered in through the floor-to-ceiling windows on either side of the arched double doors. At the other end of the hallway he saw the door that would lead him downstairs. To his son. He moved down the hallway, eased the door open, and padded down the stairs. He opened the door a crack and looked out. The fluorescent ceiling lights were turned off, leaving the room lit only by a series of low-wattage canister lights. Just enough light to see by. He slipped out and closed the door behind him.
Prying the case off the keypad to the security system, he aimed his penlight inside and located thewires. He pulled the white and yellow wires together and took the wire cutters from the fanny pack. His hand fumbled and the cutters dropped to the floor.
Zeke froze. The noise sounded deafening to his ears. He glanced around, waiting for someone to appear. After a moment, he forced himself to breathe normally and concentrated on relaxing his muscles. No one was around. Probably they were so sure of their security system that they hadn’t posted night guards. Especially with Zoe out of town on a job. Who else would be interested in rescuing Matteo de Luca? Who else even knew he was here? He chuckled to himself. Their security system, good as it was, wouldn’t be good enough.
He picked up the wire cutters, located the white and yellow wires, and snipped them. Then he snipped the red wire and twisted it together with the yellow wire. He said a little prayer as he pushed on the door handle. The door opened. No sound. No alarm. He still had it.
He considered the four doors before him. All he knew was that it wasn’t the second door from the right. That left three doors. He chose one on instinct and performed the same wire snipping and twisting. The door opened and for a moment he couldn’t even take a breath. He just looked at the long, narrow form lying on the bed, covered with a white sheet and a thin blanket.
Zeke slipped a thin plastic card between the doorand frame to prevent the lock from engaging and moved across the room to the bed. He let his penlight dangle from the cord around his neck and lifted the sheet.
His son was beautiful. A strong jaw and prominent cheekbones, dark eyebrows and thick lashes. Zeke almost chuckled. He’d bet this one had broken a few hearts, even at such a young age. He touched the soft dark curls that fell over his son’s forehead. Just like his mother’s hair. The bitch.
He unzipped the fanny pack and pulled out the prepared syringe. Calder had assured him this would counteract the drugs they had given Matteo. Zeke wasn’t at all sure he trusted the man, but he knew he could never carry Matteo far enough to effect their escape. He removed the plastic cover from the needle and pulled Matteo’s arm out, hoping to find a prominent vein. He was in luck. His son’s inner arm was traced with the pale blue lines he sought. He plunged the needle into his son’s arm just the way he’d been shown and depressed the plunger. Always careful to not leave any evidence, he replaced the plastic tip and shoved the syringe into his fanny pack.
Matteo’s eyes fluttered open, then shut again. Zeke shook his shoulder gently.
“Matteo. Wake up.”
“Huh? What?” Matteo’s eyes opened. “Who are you?”
“It’s not important. I’m here to get you out. Come with me.” Zeke pulled his son’s arm to help him sit up.
“What the fuck happened?” Matteo muttered.
“There’s no reason for language like that.” Zeke pulled Matteo to his feet. “Can you stand? Can you walk?”
“Oh, sure.” Matteo took a step and his legs crumpled under him. “Oh, shit. Maybe not.”
“Sit,” Zeke instructed. He waited a moment, hoping Matteo would improve. Instead, he slumped back on the bed, his eyes closed.
Zeke pulled the second syringe from his pack and removed the plastic cover. Calder had told him the adrenaline would work immediately. He’d also told him that a second shot might be necessary. Not knowing exactly how drugged Matteo would be, they had sent two smaller doses. He pulled Matteo’s arm out for the shot, then he heard footsteps in the hallway. He tossed the sheet and blanket over Matteo and leapt to stand behind the door.
“Just take me a second,” a voice said as the door handle moved and the door opened. The plastic card fell to the floor and Zeke held his breath. But the man’s voice covered the sound of it hitting the concrete floor and his booted foot covered the card when he stepped into the room. The man held a syringe similar to the one in Zeke’s hand.
Dear God. The last thing he needed was to have more drugs in his son. He knew he could take this man down, but what about the other one in the hall? No, it was too risky. The man peered at Matteo, shrugged, and turned back into the hallway.
“He’s still out. Doesn’t need another shot.”
Zeke waited until the last second to grab the door handle and caught it just before it latched closed. He picked up the plastic card and slipped it between the door and frame again, almost sticking himself with the exposed needle. He listened to the men’s footsteps as they left. He was too old for this crap.
After catching his breath and calming his heart rate, he moved back to the bed and turned Matteo’s arm to expose the inside of his elbow. He found the vein and inserted the needle, depressing the plunger again.
After a few seconds Matteo gasped and sat up. “What the hell?” His breathing was rapid and shallow.
“Again with the language,” Zeke muttered. “Come. We must leave.”
“Where’re we going?” Matteo asked.
“To see your mother.”