Havoc (11 page)

Mallory nodded but fell strangely silent.

“Are you okay?” asked Alton. “It’s been a crazy day—even by our standards.”

“I know I’ve teased you a lot about you being my protector, how you’re always looking out for me. But I have to tell you…I’ve never felt it—or appreciated it—more than I did today.”

Alton placed his hand on top of hers. “That’s what makes us a good couple—we look out for each other.”

“I’m just so thankful you’re here, and that we’re both alive,” said Mallory, tearing up.

Alton moved next to Mallory and pulled her into a gentle hug. “I am, too,” he reassured her. “I’ll always be your protector, as long as you want me to be.”

As Alton embraced her, his mind wandered. Would Tom have rushed into danger at the first sound of gunshots the night of Duncan’s murder? And if not, would Mallory have even needed a protector, then or now? If Mallory had not made clear her wish to avoid discussing past relationships, Alton might have broached the subject again. As it stood, though, the questions lingered with Alton, unspoken, the rest of the evening.

CHAPTER 30

The next morning, Alton and Mallory grabbed a continental breakfast as they prepared to explore the slopes of Mount Vesuvius. Alton extended an apple in the direction of Corporal Giordano of the local
Polizia di Stato
, but the policeman declined the offer with a friendly wave.

As they pulled out of the parking lot, Alton contacted Inspector Rossi, switching his phone to speaker for Mallory’s benefit.

“Mr. Blackwell,” greeted Rossi. “I am so happy you’re not dead.”

“Yeah, I’m pretty pleased about that, too,” replied Alton.

“Is your police escort still with you?”

“Yes, he’s in the car behind us. But I have to admit I’m still worried.”

“Perhaps you should be,” said the inspector. “Let me tell you what I have discovered, and you can decide how much caution you need to take.”

“Okay.”

“Well, as we expected, the men who attacked you are members of the Sicilian Mafia. Fabio Sorrentino—the man you shot in the leg—is gonna live, but it will take a while for him to recover.”

“What did he tell you about the person who hired them?”

“He is trying to act like a tough guy, so he doesn’t say anything to us. But between you and me, I don’t think he knows much. He is the little fish—the one who does the dirty work. Gino Piazza, his boss—he is the person who would agree to do this job.”

“So why didn’t Sorrentino just tell us he doesn’t know anything?” asked Alton.

“He knows he can’t look like he is friendly with us,” replied Rossi. “The Mafia has friends in a lot of places, including my provincial office. If somebody tells Piazza that Sorrentino is cooperating with the police, he won’t be alive for long, whether he is in the jail or not.”

“What about you, Inspector?” asked Mallory. “Are you worried about Piazza’s response to your investigation? Could he come after you?”

The phone remained silent long enough for Alton to wonder if the call had dropped. The Audi’s engine strained as it climbed the switchback roads lining the slopes of the volcano.

At last the inspector spoke. “Did you know I have a wonderful wife at home? She is called Tiziana. And I have a little girl, Viola. She has only three years.

“The closer I get to a man like Piazza, the more I worry about my wife and daughter. But if I let men like Piazza do whatever they want, then my country will never be a safe place for my family anyway. So I investigate, but I don’t tell the whole department what I am doing.”

“I see,” said Alton. “Will you be talking with Piazza himself about yesterday’s shootout?”

“The
Polizia di Stato
in Sicily will send a man, but Piazza won’t say anything. I know that much. And we can’t prove he was involved, so we can’t put him in the jail. We can only speculate on the motive behind the attack.”

“Surely the motive is related to Duncan Wells’ murder investigation, don’t you think?” asked Alton. “That’s the reason you gave us the gun in the first place.”

“Yes, I think you are right.”

“But why would the Mafia—or whoever hired them—want to kill us?” asked Mallory. “We don’t know anything important.”

“There are two possibilities,” said Alton. “One is that we saw some key detail but haven’t attached the proper significance to it yet. The second possibility is that we’re really as uninformed as we think we are, but the perpetrators are afraid we know some incriminating fact anyway.”

“Either way, I advise you to leave Naples,” said Rossi. “Piazza is not gonna be happy about you killing his men.”

“We were planning on leaving tomorrow,” replied Alton. “Do you think we should leave today?”

“Well, is a little bit risky to stay, but as long as you have my Beretta and the corporal with you, I think you will be okay—especially if you handle yourself like you did yesterday. What is the next stop on your itinerary?”

“Florence.”

“Is good. Florence is far to the north of here and even further away from Sicily. But remember, Piazza can track you down there if he wants to, so be careful.”

“Believe me, Inspector,” said Alton, “I intend to take every precaution. That reminds me, though…if anyone in your department asks where we are, can you tell them we’ve gone somewhere else besides Florence? It occurs to me that if an insider is sharing information with Piazza, I’d rather not make it known where we actually are.”

“Okay,” said Rossi. “I don’t think anyone will ask me, but is good idea.”

“Inspector,” said Mallory. “Have you been able to acquire any more information about the suspected buyer, Feng Wu?”

“Not much,” said Rossi. “But we are still pretty sure he is our man. We haven’t found anyone else whose profile matches nearly as well as Wu’s.”

“Were his prints in IAFIS?”

“No. Henry Gowin ran them, but he came up empty.”

“Not surprising, considering Wu is a Chinese national,” said Alton.

“I agree,” said Rossi. “We are still looking for him, but there are a lot of hotels in Rome.”

As Alton swung around a particularly vicious hairpin turn, Mallory leaned in towards him, brushing his arm. She struggled against the restraining seatbelt to right herself.

“Have you been able to track down Duncan Wells’ phone?” she asked. “If Wu has it, any kind of tracker app on it should lead you right to it.”

“Yes, we are looking into that. At the moment, Well’s American phone company won’t release any information about the phone, but Agent Gowin is working to have them release all data, including a list of apps loaded onto it. Once we have that information, I hope we will be able to use it to track down Wu.”

“You’ll keep us in the loop, right?” asked Alton.

“Yes,” replied Rossi. “I think that is all the information I have.”

“Okay,” said Alton. “Thanks for the update.”

“You still have the Beretta I gave you, right?”

“Yes, I have it on me right now—plus some extra ammo.”

“Good. I hope you will not need it,” said Rossi, “but is better to be safe.”

After spending the day exploring the slopes of Mount Vesuvius with the cordial Corporal Giordano in tow, Alton and Mallory returned to their hotel room in the evening.

“Well, we’ve certainly had more excitement here in Naples than we bargained for,” said Mallory as they cozied together on the room’s loveseat.

“That’s for sure,” replied Alton. “That kind of excitement seems to follow us around.”

Alton hoped the adrenaline rush wasn’t wearing down his girlfriend. He couldn’t help but wonder if Tom, Mallory’s former interest, led a more normal lifestyle, but he opted to keep this question to himself.

CHAPTER 31

Feng Wu closed the curtains of his hotel room against the darkened night sky. He couldn’t imagine anyone observing the third-floor quarters from outside, but why take a chance?

He opened his e-mail to see if the Vidulum employee had responded to his intentionally-vague request for a meeting. Wu had said nothing about acquiring the remaining files in exchange for a huge payoff. Rather, he had merely said that he had information germane to Vidulum’s investigation into the missing files. His message had been intended to whet the man’s appetite without giving him too much time to ponder the risk or moral implications of a business transaction.

Wu scanned the Vidulum employee’s response.

Frankly, I don’t know who you are, and I don’t know your sources of information, but it will take a lot more than an e-mail to make me take you seriously. Prove you have worthwhile information, or leave me alone.

Wu hadn’t expected skepticism of this magnitude. No problem, though. If the man wanted evidence of the veracity of Wu’s claim, Wu had sixty-four gigs of it on the dead man’s phone.

Out of fear of corrupting vital data files, Wu had left Duncan’s phone untouched since the night of the transaction. Now, however, he would need to copy one of the files from the phone in order to attach it to his e-mail response. The file should provide all the proof the Vidulum employee would need to agree to a meeting. Wu opened the phone and scrolled through the list of files, eventually picking one entitled “scanning tunneling microscope testing trial #39” and sending it to his own e-mail address. Wu copied the file into his reply to the Vidulum employee with a brief note.

Please review the data file I have attached. After you have authenticated it, kindly inform me where and when you would like to meet to discuss the information I possess.

Now Wu would have to wait again for the man’s reply, but he suffered no doubt of the man’s eventual answer. With the company at stake and proof that Wu possessed the missing files, the Vidulum employee would have no choice but to agree to a meeting.

Wu smiled as he clicked the “send” icon. The second half of the Silverstar files should be in his possession within a matter of days.

CHAPTER 32

In a fit of frustration, Zane Crowe swatted a small lamp off his hotel room’s desk, sending it crashing into the wall. Duncan Wells’ buyer was turning out to be exceptionally hard to track down.

The assassin mentally ticked off his usual steps in such a search. Thanks to his Mafia friends, he had put the word out to a network of street-level Roman informants, but so far none had reported anything worthwhile. He had also bribed a sergeant at the local police station to check the notes from Wells’ murder investigation, only to learn the police were as clueless as he was. Yesterday, he had paid off an official at the customs office to supply a list of inbound, international passengers who had arrived between fourteen and seven days ago, but the list contained thousands of names. Crowe had to admit it: so far, none of his actions had proved fruitful.

Perhaps it was time to call in specialized help. He’d have to part with a bigger share of the eventual prize, but that still beat coming up empty-handed. He paced the floor, attempting to brainstorm more ideas before recruiting such costly assistance.

His cellphone rang, and he pulled it from his pocket. “Hello?”

“We need to talk about the Americans,” said the caller.

“The ones at the Colosseum the night Wells died?

“Yes.”

“I’m still working on my other job,” said Crowe. “Didn’t you give Gino a call?”

“Yes, I did. The Americans are still perfectly healthy, but two of Gino’s men are dead, and a third is in the hospital.”

“What! How in bloody hell did
that
happen?”

“How should I know? They were clumsy and over-confident, apparently. Three armed Mafioso members were taken out by a lady and a cripple with a single pistol between them.”

“You’ve got to be joking.”

“I wish I were.”

“Gino’s men must ‘a been sloppy, or the American buggers got a lucky bead on them.”

“Perhaps,” said the caller. “At this point, I don’t care what your other job is. I need you to intervene—personally.”

“Intervene in which problem?” asked Crowe. “You want me to take out the Mafia bloke in the hospital before he talks, or focus on the Americans?”

“Gino assures me his man in the hospital will tell the police nothing, although I wouldn’t mind having him eliminated for safety’s sake. But I was referring to the Americans. I need you to take them out yourself. No subcontracting the job this time.”

“Well, now, I’m working a pretty lucrative project right at the moment. How much is this new one worth to you?”

“Frankly, this should be a freebie. The only way the police will track me down is if they track you down first. You were on scene and pulled the trigger. Your ass is more on the line than mine.”

“Yes, but they gotta catch me first, don’t they?” said Crowe. “And I’m not in the habit of making that too easy. Even if they knew it was me, I know plenty ‘o cozy spots in South America that’d offer the good life to a well-heeled gringo like me. Whereas you’d have a tougher time on the run, I think.”

“Fine. Ten thousand—only upon successful completion of the job.”

“I didn’t just fall off the lorry, mate. You’re asking me to take out a couple of people who wasted two of Gino’s guys. This looks to be a dangerous job. You want me to take on that kind of risk, you’d better be willing to pay for it. Fifty thousand—half now, half later.”

“Twenty thousand—only after the job is done. And I can assure you I’m not paying a dime more. You don’t like it, I’ll find someone else with better rates. I could hire a whole gang for that much.”

Crowe began pacing the floor of the small hotel room. He hated to admit it, but the Americans could have some incriminating knowledge of Duncan’s assassination. Had they seen him that night? The Colosseum had been shrouded in darkness, but a brief patch of illumination at the wrong moment was all that would have been needed to give them a good look at him. It really would be better to take them out.

“Fine, twenty thousand: five thousand now to cover my traveling expenses, and fifteen when it’s done.”

“Agreed,” grumbled the caller. “I’ll transfer the funds when we hang up. I expect you to take action immediately.”

“Don’t ruffle your feathers. Where are these Americans, exactly?”

“They’re in Naples but are expected to leave tomorrow.”

“Any idea where they’ll be going to?”

“No, but I can try to find out. I’ll call you if I have something.”

“Good,” said Crowe, “I’ll do some checking around on my end, too. Say, if you don’t mind me asking…who else knows me and you have been working together?”

“I’ve had to involve a few other people—people I work with—just a little. But no one knows your name or all the details. That’s one of my operational rules: limit the spread of information. Why do you ask?”

“I find it better for my health to know who’s aware of my occupation. So no one knows the particulars of who I am?”

“That’s correct. My associates know I’m working with someone, but they don’t know who.”

“That’s all right, then. So, what are the names of these blokes I’m going after?”

“Alton Blackwell and Mallory Wilson. Would you like me to send you their photos?”

“If you have them, sure. Otherwise, don’t worry about it too much. I’ll be doing my own homework. That’s one of
my
rules: always know who you’re dealing with before engaging.”

“Whatever works. Just kill them before they remember something important. I don’t want to go to jail because you blew the assignment.”

“Don’t you worry. Zane Crowe is on the job now—personally.”