Havoc (12 page)

CHAPTER 33

The next morning, Italian sunshine sparkled off the surface of the Mediterranean as Alton and Mallory climbed into their rented Audi.

“So how long will it take to get to Florence?” asked Mallory.

Alton glanced at the car’s dash-mounted GPS unit. “About four and a half hours. If we stop an hour or so for lunch, we’ll get there around five o’clock.”

“You don’t have to rush on my account. I can’t wait to see the Italian countryside.”

Within minutes, the ancient city of Naples and its ominous volcanic guardian disappeared from their rear-view mirror. The couple tooled down the highway, an obsidian serpent winding its way between verdant, rolling hills.

“It’s too bad we couldn’t spend as much time as we had planned in Naples,” said Alton.

“Yeah, but it’s safer to leave. I’d rather not run into any more of Gino Piazza’s guys again.”

“True,” said Alton. He supposed that had Mallory been traveling with Tom, she wouldn’t have needed to cut her time in Naples short. “Mallory, I’ve been thinking…the night Duncan died, you warned me that we were unarmed and shouldn’t get involved. Maybe I should have listened to you.”

“We did the right thing,” said Mallory. “Besides, now we can spend a little more time in Rome. That won’t break my heart.”

“You’d like that, huh?”

“Yeah, buddy. During the day, we can see the Trevi Fountain and the Vatican and all the rest of the stuff we missed last week, and at night…well, we can work on that next round of physical therapy, if you’re feeling good enough for that.”

Alton couldn’t help but snicker. “One thing’s for sure. You know how to have fun wherever you are.”

“You’d have to be a spoilsport
not
to have fun on this vacation,” said Mallory. “I mean, c’mon…we’re in Italy, for Pete’s sake.”

For upwards of twenty minutes, they enjoyed the unfolding scenery without speaking.

Alton was first to break the silence. “Have you been able to remember anything else about the night Duncan was murdered?”

“No, I’ve thought about it, but I’ve already told Rossi everything I can remember. What about you? Had any brainstorms?”

“Not really. All the evidence points to Duncan’s culpability in stealing the Silverstar files—the attack on us in Naples proves how important that transaction was to the buyers. But as to the three perps we saw in the Colosseum, I’m as much in the dark as ever.”

“Knowing you, I have a feeling you won’t stay in the dark for long.”

“If we were actually in charge of investigating this crime, I’d say yes, we’d have a decent chance to solve it. We’re not on the clock, though, remember? We’re on vacation.”

“Come on, you know as well as I that neither one of us just shuts off the old noggin like that,” said Mallory. “I know you’re thinking about the case. I am, too.”

“Well, if I have any flashes of insight, you and Inspector Rossi will be the first to know.” Alton grinned at his companion. “But as long as you’re in the passenger seat of a convertible, riding through the Italian countryside with me, I think most of my mind will be engaged elsewhere.”

Mallory punched his right arm but wore a pleased expression as she straightened herself back into her seat. “Easy there, Romeo. Just make sure you leave enough of your mind for the road.”

CHAPTER 34

The desks of Sergeant Orso Lama and Inspector Rossi lay on opposite sides of a waist-high partition. With Rossi facing the partition while seated at his desk, Lama had no problem discerning the man’s conversations. Until recently, Lama had regarded his proximity to the straight-laced inspector as a stroke of misfortune. Now, however, he viewed it as the most serendipitous good luck.

Gino Piazza, first-level Mafia boss, had never offered such a rich reward for inside intel, and Lama could listen to the Duncan Wells murder case unfold from the other side of the wall. A minute ago, he had distinctly heard Rossi mention Florence during his conversation with the two nosy Americans. That had to be their next destination.

Piazza would pay a handsome reward for this information. The timing couldn’t have been better, as far as Lama was concerned. The veteran cop had experienced a bad run at the Tor di Valle Harness Raceway and desperately needed an infusion of cash to pay off his mounting gambling debts. This tidbit of information should do the trick.

A mist of guilt settled around Lama for a moment, but it was quickly dissipated by the winds of pragmatism. If Lama didn’t sell Piazza the information, someone else would. What was the point in letting another cop-for-hire collect the payday? The thought prompted Lama to action. He should make the sale now, before someone else beat him to the punch. He sauntered out to the parking lot and placed a call. “I have a juicy piece of news about the Duncan Wells case. What’s it worth to you?”

Zane Crowe glared at his cell phone as it began ringing. “Who the bloody hell is it now?”

He swiped up the phone and barked, “Hello.”

“It’s me…Gino. What’s the matter? You angry?”

“Gino. Hello, mate. I was thinking it would be…some other bugger who’s been a total pain in the arse. So, how is your man in hospital?”

“He is recovering, but that is not why I call you. I have some information you have been asking about.”

“You don’t say,” said Crowe. “What do you have?”

“You ask me where are the two Americans. I have a source inside the Roman office of the
Polizia di Stato
. He tell me they are going to Florence.”

“Fantastic—thanks, Gino. Does he know anything else? What hotel they’ll be using? Where they’ll be visiting?”

“The only other thing the policeman says is that they are driving a car. He doesn’t have any other news.”

“It’s enough. And how much do I owe you for this information?”

“I pay the man two thousand euros. But if you kill the Americans, you don’t have to pay me back. Their deaths will be my payment, to avenge my men killed in Pompeii.”

“Even better. I’ll bring ‘em down—don’t you worry about that. Now that I know their next stop, I’ll be there to throw ‘em a party.”

“I think I’m gonna skip that party, but you enjoy it, my friend.”

After ending the call, Crowe brought up a map of Florence on his laptop. Since the Americans were tourists and presumably unfamiliar with Italian roadways, they would probably head due north out of Naples on the Autostrada del Sole, or A1, one of Italy’s primary north/south arteries. Most likely, they would stay close to the center of Florence, which would give them more convenient access to the city’s historical sights.

Using a travel website, Crowe identified a spot for his own accommodations, a small hostel about twenty kilometers outside of town, well away from the A1. From there, he could launch a preemptive strike against the Americans without the risk of stumbling into them before he was ready.

Crowe packed up his few belongings and found himself on the A1 within fifteen minutes. In just under three hours, he pulled into the gravel parking lot of the hostel.

After settling into the sparse accommodations, Crowe booted up his laptop. The next trick would be tracking down the Americans within Florence. Crowe figured he ought to think like a tourist. If he were visiting Florence, what would he want to see and do? He would probably want to take some type of guided tour—maybe several. Although he couldn’t be sure they would sign up for a tour, it seemed like a reasonable supposition, reasonable enough to spend some time researching.

Using a new, Italian-specific travel website, he looked up the tour companies that operated in Florence. There were quite a few, but not an impossible number. Once the tourist offices opened tomorrow, he would set the next phase of his research into motion.

In the meantime, Crowe spent the next several hours researching his targets. The bloke, Alton Blackwell, worked for Kruptos, Inc.

“What kind of company is that?” Crowe murmured to himself. 

Crowe brought up the Kruptos home page and read that it specialized in “electronic encryption and security.” So the guy was an IT nerd, a desk jockey—a disabled one, at that, according to social media websites.

But the woman, Crowe soon learned, was an FBI agent. She was probably the one who had gunned down Gino’s men. Crowe realized the female, Mallory Wilson, represented the greater danger. He would have to take special care with her. Once he took her out, the cripple should be no problem.

Normally, Crowe would have spent more time researching his targets. But in this case, the murderer decided he knew enough. He felt a growing anxiety to return to the search for Duncan Wells’ buyer, knowing the true riches lay with tracking down the cellphone that had changed hands the previous week. Digging into the targets’ backgrounds would only delay this additional research, and time was of the essence if he hoped to track down the valuable device before its current owner decided to leave the country—if he hadn’t already. Maybe Crowe didn’t know everything about the Americans, but he knew enough to take them out.

Crowe grinned as he scanned the computer screen. All his plans seemed to be falling into place.

CHAPTER 35

Ernesto Vega tried to avoid the mirror mounted on the wall over the desk in his hotel room. He knew his appearance had deteriorated and didn’t want to be reminded of that fact. All his attention, all his time, over the last two days had been laser focused on tracking down the mysterious figure that had made off with Duncan Wells’ cellphone last week. But the search had proved fruitless—at least so far.

Vega was never one to admit defeat. If he were, he wouldn’t have risen to assume his current position. The American-born son of immigrant parents, Vega had overcome every obstacle in his path, from surviving the tough streets of Philadelphia as a teen to excelling in La Salle’s rigorous academic environment, despite the ignorance and prejudice of some classmates. Vega didn’t have time for detractors. He was too busy making a name for himself as an up-and-coming intelligence analyst.

Eventually, the top echelons of government took notice of Vega’s exceptional skills and recruited him to his current position, one of an elite cadre of professionals assigned to the most critical national-security crises. Vega and his counterparts could be trusted to take the necessary actions to secure the interests of the United States, often making the tough choices from which the squeamish shied away.

Vega prided himself on being the man who got things done, the man who delivered. Only this time, he had delivered nothing but news of frustration and failure. Even his European contact—normally a reliable man—had failed to produce results.

Hoping to get lucky, Vega had canvassed the hotels in the closest proximity to the Colosseum in the off chance that the buyer had been too lazy to distance himself from the site of the meeting. So far, this strategy hadn’t yielded any favorable results.

After casting an accidental look at himself in the mirror, Vega decided hygiene would have to trump national security for the next few minutes. Besides, he couldn’t hit the next group of hotels on the list looking like this. He made rapid time bathing and finished in less than ten minutes. As he pulled on a pair of jeans, his phone rang.

“Vega speaking.”

“It’s Gantt. We have a hit on Wells’ cellphone.”

“It’s about time. What did you learn?”

“A couple of things. First, we obtained two new fingerprints. One of them matched the partial print the Roman police lifted off the discarded Chinese cigarette recovered at the scene of Wells’ murder.”

“We know that print wasn’t in IAFIS. Did you get a match on the other one?”

“Nope, which isn’t surprising,” replied Gantt. “If the perp had been printed, all ten digits would be in IAFIS, and the first print would have matched.”

“But at least we know the Chinese guy has the phone, right?”

“We think so. Based on today’s match, we know for sure that whoever left the cigarette butt in the Colosseum now has Wells’ phone. The evidence would suggest that Feng Wu is that man, but we can’t be absolutely certain.”

“It’s enough for me,” said Vega, setting his phone on the table and slipping a shirt over his broad shoulders as he spoke. “Did you learn anything else?”

“Yes, I was just getting to that. Once Wells’ cellphone was used, we were able to locate it using cell towers.”

“I thought you said the GPS functionality on the phone had been disabled.”

“Correct, but remember I also said that we’d still be able to triangulate on the phone’s position if someone used it?”

“Yeah, that’s right,” said Vega.

“We auto-installed a tracking app on the phone at the same time we uploaded the fingerprint scanner. Once the phone was switched on, we knew its location.”

“That’s good news. Where’s it now?”

“Whoever activated Wells’ phone, presumably Wu, was located in the northeastern section of Rome—the Hotel Villa Graziolini, to be exact, so our perp is probably staying there.”

Now dressed, Vega punched the keys on his laptop with beefy fingers. “Hotel Villa Graziolini, huh? That’s miles from the Colosseum. I guess our guy wasn’t taking any chances. Were you able to hack the hotel’s servers?”

“Yeah—piece of cake.”

“I don’t suppose Wu’s name is on the guest list, is it?”

“No,” said Gantt. “The Roman police would have tracked him down by now if it were.”

“True. So are there any other Chinese names on the list? One Wu might have used as a plausible alias?”

“Yeah, several. I’ll send them to you in an encrypted file.”

“Perfect,” said Vega.

“You know what to do next, right?”

“Yep. I’m on my way there as soon as we get off the horn. Why don’t you see if you can bring up the feed from the hotel’s security cameras? It’d be nice to know who I’m looking for.”

“Will do. I’ll see what we can do while you’re en route. I’m also gonna see if we can dig up any other photos of Wu—social media, jobs, schools, that kind of thing.

“Good.”

For a moment, Gantt fell into an unusual silence. “Agent Vega, you’re authorized to use all measures to recover the files…
all
measures.”

“I understand. I’m getting one of the measures ready as we speak,” replied Vega, inserting his Ruger into a compact holster in the rear waistband of his jeans. “Just make sure you stick near your phone in case I need intel.”

Half an hour later, Vega arrived at a shopping plaza a quarter mile down the street from the Hotel Villa Graziolini. He didn’t want to run the risk of encountering his target face-to-face, at least not until he was ready, so he instructed the taxi driver to drop him off in the plaza, well short of Wu’s hotel.

Vega walked in the direction of the hotel and spied an al fresco café almost directly across the street. Taking a seat at an isolated, circular table facing the hotel, he ordered a full meal and a bottle of wine. He also purchased a paperback from the adjacent newspaper stand. He couldn’t read a word of the Italian book, but no matter. He simply needed to sell the scene of a leisure diner. Not that it was likely Wu would spot him; Vega had chosen a table only partially visible from the hotel, as the table sat at the edge of a wicker screen. Wu would have to be looking for Vega to even notice him at that spot.

After the waiter left with his order, Vega placed a call to Gantt. “Do you have the video feed from the hotel?”

“Yep,” replied his colleague. “We’ve captured the image of only one Asian guest so far. I’m sending a still to you now.”

“Have you been able to track down a confirmed photo of Feng Wu for comparison?”

“Yes, it’s an older one from eight years ago, when he was a college student in Melbourne. But it should be good enough.”

“Send me both pics,” said Vega. Opening both files, Vega compared the still video image to that of Wu’s university ID photo. “It’s not a match.”

“I agree.”

“So for now, I’ll wait to see if you can get some more video footage of the other two male Chinese guests.”

“Roger,” replied Gantt. “I’ll be in touch.”

Several hours later, Gantt called Vega. “We have another hit on the video feed, and this time I think we’ve got something. Check out this guy who went to the hotel’s gift shop to buy a pack of cigarettes.”

Vega received the encrypted file and opened it, revealing the still image of a lean Chinese man in a solid navy-blue shirt looking at the hotel clerk. Vega toggled between this image and Wu’s university ID photo. “I think you’re right. A few more years on the man inside the hotel, but it looks like the same guy.”

“Agreed.”

Vega pondered his next steps for a moment. “Let’s tag-team this. Can you keep eyes on the video feeds and let me know if and when Wu reappears? I’m across the street from the building. If he leaves the hotel, I’ll spot him as he exits.”

“Will do. Stay sharp.”

Vega remained at his table several more hours. Even by European standards, the time for him to vacate his spot had passed. To appease his waiter, he purchased an appetizer and another bottle of wine—not that he had touched the first bottle. Eventually, he slid the man a twenty-euro note “for being so patient with me.” Vega was glad he had picked an inconspicuous spot to wait.

As the late afternoon set in, Vega’s cellphone sprang to life. He snatched it from the tabletop and answered it.

“It’s Gantt. Wu is on the move.”

Vega straightened in his chair and squinted towards the hotel. At the moment, no one passed in or out. “What are you seeing?”

“He just exited the elevator and is passing through the lobby.” Vega heard his partner bark at a nearby analyst. “No, switch over to the main-entrance camera—now! We don’t want to lose him. Okay—got him? Good. Vega, Wu’s headed for the exit. You should see him any moment now.”

“Okay—stand by.”

Vega opened the Italian paperback and rested it on the tabletop, angling the book to the left of the hotel’s entrance so as not to obscure his view. If Wu glanced in his direction, he would observe a tourist relaxing with a book.

A man wearing a navy-blue shirt and tan slacks exited the hotel. Keeping his book in place, Vega opened the photo app on his phone, activated max zoom, and snapped a series of pictures of the man until he disappeared around the corner on foot.

Vega jumped to his feet, tossing a couple of high-denomination euros on the table to settle his bill. Before he could cross the street, a changing traffic signal released a flood of cars, forcing him to wait an agonizing sixty seconds before a break in the flow of vehicles appeared.

He sprinted across the avenue to the side street onto which Wu had turned. The man was nowhere in sight. At least a dozen smaller roads and alleys branched off the road. Vega raced to the first road and then the second, peering down each to catch sight of his adversary, but the search proved futile.

Vega reestablished contact with his partner. “Wu got away—dammit!”

“He wasn’t carrying any luggage,” said Gantt. “He’ll be back.”

“Good point. Is he using Wells’ phone?”

“Nope. He’s only turned it on once, when we first detected it earlier today.”

“Okay, so we won’t be able to track him, wherever he’s headed. In the meantime, though, let’s take advantage of his absence. Do you have his room number?”

“Yep—got it from the hallway security cam. Three seventeen. We’ve already reprogrammed the key code to match up to our skeleton keys. You brought yours with you, right?”

“Yeah—it never leaves my wallet. Did you reprogram the room safe, too?

“Yep. Quad nines.”

“Good. I’ll call you back when I’m done.”

Vega shook his head in frustration. This mission, like many others, resembled his experience in the Marines: long stretches of boredom intersected by brief periods of pulse-pounding action.

Vega backtracked and entered the hotel. He spotted the elevator and approached it with a purposeful gait. After punching the third-floor button, he removed a generic hotel electronic room key—his “skeleton key”—from his wallet. He inserted the key and entered room 317 without a hitch.

Vega had no idea how long Wu would be gone. For all he knew, the man had gone down the street for a bite to eat and would return in five minutes.

He combed the room in a methodical fashion, starting with the room safe. After entering the number nine four times, Vega swung open the door. The safe contained a wad of cash and a cheap watch, but no phone. He closed the door and pressed the “lock” button.

The agent then turned his attention to the most frequently-used hiding places: between the mattresses, in the jumble of toiletries stored in Wu’s Dopp kit, in the mini-fridge, but to no avail. With dwindling hope, he checked each drawer in the room and all shelves, yet still encountered no phone. Apparently, Wu possessed sense enough to take the precious cargo with him.

As he slid the last drawer shut, Vega heard voices in the hall. Wu had left alone, but that was no guarantee he wouldn’t return with a second party. Given the stakes involved, such a tactic wouldn’t be a surprise at all.

Vega bounded for the bathtub and drew the curtain. If Wu entered the bathroom, Vega should be able to knock the man cold before he registered Vega’s presence. Unholstering his Ruger, he strained his ears to monitor the conversation just outside the hotel room’s door.

Thankfully, the voices receded down the hallway until they were out of earshot. Releasing a long exhale, Vega stepped out of the bathtub and tucked away his handgun. He placed four micro-transmitters in Wu’s room, each set to a different frequency. If Wu had previously swept the room for bugs, he might not think to do so again. Listening to the man’s conversations might provide critical insight into his next steps.

Vega exited the room. As he headed for the elevator, he called Gantt. “I’ve finished in Wu’s room. You can change the safe and door-lock codes back to their original settings now.” Vega and Gantt couldn’t afford to tip off their adversary that his location had been discovered and his hotel room breached. Better to let Wu believe he remained safely ensconced in his room.

“Roger,” replied Gantt.

“I’ll call you again when I’m back at my hotel,” said Vega, ending the call and stuffing the phone into his pocket.