The Bone Chamber Part 12

"Plan B. I'm open to suggestions."

"I hate hate Plan B," she muttered, glancing past him as the BMW came to a stop. She watched as the pa.s.senger exited, following Griffin toward the lobby doors. The man was tall, wearing dark slacks and a sport coat, his pale blue s.h.i.+rt open at the collar. Mirrored sungla.s.ses masked his square face and reminded her of the guard from the Smithsonian. The BMW pulled up the street slightly, just out of sight, with only its back b.u.mper in view. She didn't like the way this looked, the driver waiting, ready for takeoff. Quiet area, few witnesses... Plan B," she muttered, glancing past him as the BMW came to a stop. She watched as the pa.s.senger exited, following Griffin toward the lobby doors. The man was tall, wearing dark slacks and a sport coat, his pale blue s.h.i.+rt open at the collar. Mirrored sungla.s.ses masked his square face and reminded her of the guard from the Smithsonian. The BMW pulled up the street slightly, just out of sight, with only its back b.u.mper in view. She didn't like the way this looked, the driver waiting, ready for takeoff. Quiet area, few witnesses...

The man approached the lobby doors, his hand poised inside his jacket, and she decided that if this was a hit, if he did have a gun, he could easily take out Griffin, then her and the doorman, who paid them little attention. Time for a distraction, she decided, loosening the belt on her robe, allowing the terry to fly open, revealing her black underwear and bra as she walked. "Darling?" she called out, loud enough for the man to hear. "Is that you?"

All at once, the doorman, Griffin, and the man tailing him turned her way, and she put a little extra swing into her step to make sure her robe stayed open. "Darling?" she called again, seeing the man reaching into his coat toward the small of his back. "I seem to have left my key key somewhere." somewhere."

The man following Griffin hesitated, and she caught a glimpse of the b.u.t.t of his gun in his waistband. Griffin turned on his heel, but stopped as the lobby door opened, and out stepped the woman with the little towheaded toddler, who fled from his mother's arms, laughing as he ran right between the suspect and Griffin. His mother ran after him. "Gianni! Gianni!" she called out. "Vieni a me subito!"

Sydney's heart thudded at the sound of the child's laughter. Directly in the line of fire. Griffin stepped toward the man, stopped when he saw the boy, no doubt worried about the same thing. And what could she do, armed with nothing but a bottle of prosecco prosecco? Maybe she could throw it at him, distract him enough to give Griffin a shot-a.s.suming Griffin was armed. Instead, she strode up to the man, shouting, "You're late!" He looked at her in confusion, his gaze flicking down to her exposed skin. "You promised to meet me."

His expression hardened. Dismissed her. He turned away. Again started to draw his weapon. She came up behind him. Grabbed the bottle of prosecco prosecco in her pocket. Shoved the top of it into his back. Grasped his arm with her free hand, and hoped the Bureau's reputation extended to this country. "FBI. in her pocket. Shoved the top of it into his back. Grasped his arm with her free hand, and hoped the Bureau's reputation extended to this country. "FBI. Capisce? Capisce?"

He froze. The mother ran up, grabbed her child, then retreated back into the hotel, blissfully clueless.

"Reach for that gun," she said, "and you die."

"You're making a mistake," the man said in English, his accent thick.

"Not as big as yours," Sydney replied. The understatement of the year, she thought, pressing the prosecco prosecco harder against his back as Griffin appeared at her side, taking the man's gun, slipping it into his own waistband. He raised a brow at the sight of the small bottle, but otherwise said nothing, and she dropped it into her pocket, cinched her robe closed, as Griffin placed the man in a discreet wristlock. From the corner of her eye, she saw the driver step into view. He looked as though he was ready to approach, investigate. "What about his friend?" harder against his back as Griffin appeared at her side, taking the man's gun, slipping it into his own waistband. He raised a brow at the sight of the small bottle, but otherwise said nothing, and she dropped it into her pocket, cinched her robe closed, as Griffin placed the man in a discreet wristlock. From the corner of her eye, she saw the driver step into view. He looked as though he was ready to approach, investigate. "What about his friend?"

Griffin looked that direction just as the driver ran back to his car, sped off, wheels screeching across the cobbled drive. "Looks like your friend abandoned you."

"He'll be back."

"But you'll be gone. In the meantime, walk quietly into the lobby," Griffin said, with a slight twist to the man's wrist to ensure compliance. The doorman opened the gla.s.s door, let them in. Griffin said something to him in Italian, and Sydney overheard the word carabinieri carabinieri and a.s.sumed he was asking that the police be called. That and no doubt something about an office, since the doorman ran up to the desk, and the well-dressed man from behind the counter rushed forward, and ushered them into a room just off the lobby. and a.s.sumed he was asking that the police be called. That and no doubt something about an office, since the doorman ran up to the desk, and the well-dressed man from behind the counter rushed forward, and ushered them into a room just off the lobby.

Griffin said something to the manager, who nodded, then left them alone. The moment the door closed behind him, Griffin shoved the man in the chair, drew the gun on him, and told Sydney, "You don't happen to have a spare pair of handcuffs to go with that lethal weapon, do you?"

She smiled. "Unfortunately, no. Budget cuts have really taken their toll." She withdrew her sash from her robe. "Will this do?"

"As good as anything." He handed her the gun, then took the belt. "At least tell me you caught a license number on that car?"

"Sorry. I was a bit occupied."

"Probably stolen anyway." He walked behind the suspect, pulling his hands behind him, tying them to the back of the chair with the sash. "My suggestion? Be very careful. The lady has no qualms about blowing your brains out. The wine goes to her head pretty quickly." Griffin pulled the belt tight, asking, "Who are you, and who do you work for?"

The man said nothing.

Griffin didn't bother questioning him further. He searched his pockets, found no ID and no more weapons. Five minutes later there was a knock at the door, and someone called out Griffin's name. He opened the door to four men.

They stepped into the room, remained near the door, conversing quietly in Italian, every now and then glancing either at the prisoner or at Sydney, who had taken up residence in an armchair, where she could keep watch on the man. Earlier the man seemed calm, unruffled over his capture. But the longer the group spoke, each time they glanced his way, he seemed more disturbed. A sheen of sweat soon covered his brow and upper lip, his jaw clenched, and a vein in his temple seemed ready to burst. When two of the men walked over, switching out Sydney's sash for handcuffs, then each taking one of his arms to escort him out, his face paled. So be it, she thought as they left.

And no sooner had they stepped out the door, when a tall, stocky man walked in after them. She recognized Tex from Griffin's office in D.C. He gave her an appreciative glance, smiled in greeting, then said to Griffin, "Why is it I never get the pretty girls in bathrobes on my a.s.signments?"

"Luck of the draw. But watch yourself. She's dangerous."

"And," Sydney said, "she'd like to go up to her room to change. Or is that too much to ask?"

"We'll walk you up," Griffin said. "Your hotel has been compromised."

"Which means what?"

"You won't be staying here tonight. It's not safe."

Tex held the door, and she cinched her robe even tighter, feeling very conspicuous as the two of them walked her across the lobby to the elevator. "One minor problem. No key."

Griffin left her and Tex at the elevator, walked up to the manager, whispered something in his ear, nodded toward Sydney, and the man went behind the long registration desk to retrieve a duplicate key.

Once up in her room, she gathered her clothes and stepped into the bathroom to change. When she came out, the men were standing before the window, and she heard Tex say, "She really took him down with a bottle of prosecco prosecco from the minibar? You know, Griff, we could use her-" from the minibar? You know, Griff, we could use her-"

"She's not available."

"But-"

Whatever Griffin interjected was in Italian, and judging from the tone of his voice as he argued with Tex, not a subject he wanted to discuss, a fact confirmed when Griffin walked out onto the balcony, apparently frustrated with whatever Tex was telling him.

"Is something wrong?" she asked Tex, sitting down to put on her shoes.

"Guess that depends on your point of view. Mine's thinking you might be perfect for the party at the Adami villa. Lots of dignitaries, and you'd look a d.a.m.ned sight better on my arm than he will, no matter what his disguise, since my so-called date never made her flight out here."

"A party? You're kidding, right?"

"We're using the party as a cover to get me in the door. Have a-"

Griffin stepped back in the room. "Enough!"

"If she's going, she has a right to know what she's getting into."

"And who said she's going?"

"You have a better idea? The lodge aside, I'm supposed to be a rich American, looking to buy art. We all know rich Americans like to have beautiful women on their arms. And her presence will take notice off of me."

"It's too d.a.m.ned dangerous. I don't want her involved."

"Maybe," Sydney said, "someone should ask me?"

"Much like you asked if it was okay to hop a plane to Italy, involve yourself in an investigation you shouldn't have involved yourself in?"

"And it's a d.a.m.ned good thing I did," she said, grabbing the folder of university papers and shoving them in the small suitcase. She zipped it shut. "Or they'd be sc.r.a.ping your sorry a.s.s off the pavement."

Tex laughed, until he saw her pick up the bag, then her purse, and walk to the door. "You're not going to let her take off, Griff."

"Actually, I am, because I can guarantee that once she finds out this covert operation isn't sanctioned by the government, and that she could very well jeopardize her position with the Bureau, she'll refuse."

Sydney stopped cold, thinking about what Carillo had told her about this team Griffin was working on. She'd been tired, wasn't making the connection until now. "ATLAS is black ops, not special ops?" she said, eyeing them both.

Griffin crossed the room, stood face-to-face with her. "How do you know about ATLAS?"

Anger surged through her. "Tasha died for some black op gone awry? Find another guinea pig, because whatever game you're playing at isn't one I want in on."

"Since you're not in on it, no worries."

Tex put his hand on the door to prevent her leaving. "Sounds like she does want in on it, Griff. Or she wouldn't be protesting so much."

"Let her go, Tex."

But Tex didn't move. "Can I apologize for whatever he did?"

"Or what he didn't do?" she said, her hand still on the door, thinking about how Griffin had kept Tasha's death from her.

"I'll admit he isn't the easiest man to work with."

"Work with?" She glanced over at Griffin, who stood there with his arms crossed, glaring at them both. "I didn't even know who the h.e.l.l he works for until about an hour ago, and even then, I wasn't sure. What I do know is that from the moment my plane touched down in Quantico, he's managed to-"

"Be a royal pain in the a.s.s?"

"Something like that."

"He's a tortured soul."

"Tell him to get in line. A few of us have the market cornered."

Tex gave her an empathetic smile. "That we do, darlin'. But we get on with our lives. So, give us a chance to convince you to change your mind?"

"You heard her, Tex. She doesn't want any part of this."

Tex ignored Griffin, saying, "I'd really like to plant this device in that b.a.s.t.a.r.d's office. You're perfect for my cover. You studied art, you know the cla.s.sics, and I'm allegedly there to buy a painting."

She wasn't surprised he knew her pa.s.sion for fine art. Not with the background Griffin had done on her. And as much as she was tempted by the thought of getting to see some actual paintings, it wasn't worth the price. "Sorry. I only packed business casual."

"See?" Griffin said. "She can't do it."

"We have connections, darlin'."

"Doesn't matter," Sydney replied. "There's nothing you or anyone else in here could say that would make me change my mind. Nothing."

To which Tex said, "You want to nail the group we think killed your forensic anthropologist friend?"

It seemed several heartbeats pa.s.sed as his words sank in. "Nothing except that."

Before they left the hotel, two of Griffin's Italian team members, both special agents in the carabinieri carabinieri, returned to acquire the proper dress and jewelry for Sydney. Her measurements and shoe size were taken, followed by some rapid transactions in Italian via the phone. Within a half hour, a delivery was made directly to the hotel from Salvatore Ferragamo on the Via dei Condotti, consisting of black satin pumps and a low-cut, black evening dress that gathered just below the bodice into a s.h.i.+mmering fall of crepe and velvet that brushed at her toes. Tex left for the safe house to change into his formal wear, and while they waited for him to return, she was briefed on what they expected of her, while Griffin paced the room, clearly not happy with this latest turn of events.

"Calm down, amico mio amico mio," Giustino, the shorter of the two carabinieri carabinieri, said to Griffin, as his partner, Marc, helped Sydney fasten a diamond bracelet, then showed her how to work the transmitter and receiver. "She will be fine. It is not as if you are taking some unsuspecting citizen off the street and dropping her into the den of the lion."

"No," Marc said. "We are dropping an unsuspecting FBI agent into the den."

"But a beautiful and well-trained one, non e vero non e vero?" Giustino said.

Griffin threw the two men a dark look, then said to Sydney, "It's not too late to back out."

"If this gets me closer to finding out who killed Tasha and the amba.s.sador's daughter, and who tried to kill me, then I'm in."

Marc said, "You do understand, signorina signorina, that if something happens, if you or Tex are caught, we cannot acknowledge you? This is NOC." He p.r.o.nounced this last as "knock," which meant nonofficial cover. No ties to any governments. Everything under the radar.

"You mentioned that twice."

"We cannot even go in after you."

"You are are giving me a gun?" giving me a gun?"

Giustino said, "There is a small-caliber pistol in your evening bag. But as with everything else, if you get caught with it in Italy, you are-how do you say-on your own?"

"Even if the carabinieri carabinieri give it to me?" give it to me?"

"Mi dispiace, signorina, we are not involved in this affair, just as Griffin and the Stati Uniti are not involved in this."

Truly on her own, then. About to embark on her first unsanctioned black ops mission. And hoping she wasn't about to make the biggest mistake of her life.

13.

A shaft of moonlight broke through the clouds, allowing Sydney a glimpse of the pungent bay tree forests, as Tex drove the Lancia Thesis up the winding narrow and steep road in the Alban Hills. Their destination was the sixteenth-century Villa Patrizia. "Wait till you see this place," Tex said. "Built on a crag overhanging the volcanic circle of Lake Nemi by one of the more eccentric Orsini dukes. Probably why Adami bought it." allowing Sydney a glimpse of the pungent bay tree forests, as Tex drove the Lancia Thesis up the winding narrow and steep road in the Alban Hills. Their destination was the sixteenth-century Villa Patrizia. "Wait till you see this place," Tex said. "Built on a crag overhanging the volcanic circle of Lake Nemi by one of the more eccentric Orsini dukes. Probably why Adami bought it."

"So how is it no one ever came after this guy?" Sydney asked Tex.

"You can't topple a well-loved public figure like Adami without irrefutable proof."

"He's American?"

"As apple pie as a gangster can get. Born Carl Adam in New Jersey. Moved to Italy and became Carlo Adami. That's his ident.i.ty now, and since he's lived the past twenty-something years in Italy, married his wife and made his fortune, or rather, increased hers, he's become untouchable. He's handsome, rich, and the king of philanthropists. Donates millions of euros. Travels to Africa and Sudan, fights for orphaned AIDS babies, even holds and kisses them. That's the figure the public sees. No one wants to look too closely at how his numerous international holdings in energy and construction companies prosper anytime there's a war or civil unrest in the Mideast or third world countries. Or how some of that philanthropic money being thrown around the globe is funding terrorists, who keep that civil unrest going. That's why our operation is unsanctioned. We, being Italy and the U.S., need the evidence before we point the fingers. And he has too many important people from both countries in his pocket for us to be able to get it via the normal investigative route."

"So why would he have Alessandra murdered?"

"That, darlin', is the million-euro question. Something we haven't quite pieced together. We're fairly certain it had to do with his arms smuggling, or a cover for it."

"So she was working with your team on this?"

"She's the one who brought it to our attention. She seemed to think that Adami was working on finding the source to some plague he could use for his bioweapons. Unfortunately, we couldn't convince Alessandra not to go on this expedition he was financing. She insisted it would look better if she went herself. When she tried to contact Griffin about a week before she was murdered, he was working an operation in Tunisia. Didn't get her message until too late."