She pressed a hand to her stomach to calm it. “I had the impression Vadim helped devise the plan, even pushed it, but I didn’t hear their target.”
“Byrne told me. His snitch came through yesterday. The plan was to set off a dirty bomb in the diamond district.”
“But that’s horrible! Why?”
“Damn, I see Vadim’s part in this,” Jack said, his mouth contorting. “Saqr’s radioactive explosion would strike at what he views as Western decadence and materialism. Hundreds, maybe thousands of people would die. Contamination would virtually entomb diamond trading records and diamonds for years. The economic chaos would affect thousands, maybe millions. It would devastate the legitimate diamond trade.”
“And Vadim could step in with his smuggled diamonds and take over the industry.”
“Damn the evil bastard!” Jack seemed to swallow further invectives. He sucked in a breath through his teeth and turned to her. Gentle concern in his eyes, he cupped her cheek. “And he caught you in the middle of his web.”
She leaned into his rough palm. Reaching behind her with his other hand, he unclipped her hair and finger-combed it loose. When he began kneading her tight neck muscles, she nearly purred. He might not express his feelings in words, but these small touches of comfort showed that he cared. He probably didn’t realize it.
“Did he hear you?” he said.
Her shoulders trembled in an involuntary shudder. “I must’ve made a noise. I was so shocked. At first I didn’t know what to do. I had nowhere to hide.” She recalled being too frightened to think clearly. “So I just ran.”
“The way Vadim went after you finally makes sense. He chased you down then because you could blow his plans out of the water.”
“Later he had to make sure he could get the uranium-stuffed saint before he had his men kill us.” A niggling suspicion jarred her pulse, and she turned to face him. “Oh, Jack, do you think he knows why you’re after him?”
He scowled, clearly thinking the notion over, but then shook his head. “He must. But back to that day — do you remember him chasing you?”
She conjured up the events after her escape from the house. Tears flowed along with the memory, but the ending came up blank. “Yes, but not the actual impact.”
“The doctor said you might not. Just as well.”
“I remember charging down the driveway. The crunch of gravel behind me. And voices shouting in Italian and in English. That was you?”
“That was me.” He pressed his lips to her forehead. “Is that everything?”
She knew what he wanted to hear. She temporized by mopping her eyes with the tissue. He was honorable and idealistic. He believed he had to seek vengeance, but in the end he wouldn’t go through with murder. She wanted to trust him, needed to trust him.
After blowing her nose, she said, “I remember another outing to Venice. We spent the night at a palazzo in Santa Croce. Vadim said it belonged to a friend named Moretta, but he seemed very at home there.”
“I doubt Vadim has friends. Moretta could be another alias. Interpol and the task force don’t have the name. The Santa Croce district, huh? Where exactly is the palazzo?”
“On the Fondamenta Aldo. I don’t know the address, but it’s a faded rose-brick with wrought-iron balconies. What will you do?”
He kissed her again, gently on the lips this time. “I’ll bring your suitcases in here before I go check on dinner. I’ll ply you with food and Chianti and tuck you in bed. Then I’ll wait up for the Haz-Mat guys.”
He left the room. But he hadn’t said he would phone the task force about the Santa Croce palazzo. Would he throw away his life for revenge? Or did he listen to her arguments? Feeling his pain prompted her to stand up to him. And for him. Was that all she could do? Should she admit she’d fallen in love with him? Would that change anything? Probably not, since he didn’t love her. He cared, but that was all. He wouldn’t let himself feel more.
Telling him she loved him would make no difference except to load on more guilt. She had no answers, only screaming nerves and a heart wrenched by a wringer of too many emotions to sort out. Love hurt the most. Love should be filled with joy and smiles, not pain and tears. Why did she have to fall in love with this man? She didn’t want love if it made her heart ache like this.
A shower wouldn’t help much, but perhaps it would cleanse the grimy feelings brought on by remembering Vadim’s dirty manipulations. Gathering up her hair in the discarded comb clip, she scooted off the bed and headed to the bathroom.
More memories had emerged from the depths, not about Vadim but personal ones she hadn’t told Jack. She needed time to mull them over and make decisions.
Chapter 25
AT TWELVE-THIRTY JACK closed the bedroom door on the sleeping Sophie and went downstairs to meet the Haz-Mat team.
He could still feel the warmth of her body and detect her scent on his skin. Leaving her would be the hardest thing he’d ever done. But he had no choice.
Sophie had proclaimed him chef supreme for his stew of leftovers. They laughed and ate and drank the wine on the terrace to a chorus of summer insects. Then they made love in the antique bed. Afterward, he held her close until she slept. He watched her, silently apologizing for leaving her, for hurting her. When he heard the van pull up in front of the house, he’d eased out of bed, lifted his Glock from the bedside stand and slipped on his jeans.
His hand on the door latch, he stowed the reverie for the future and opened the door.
A team of five covered in white protective suits trooped into the house and upstairs. Their leader ordered in clipped Italian, “Stai,” which sounded an awful lot like a command to Fido. He remained at the foot of the stairs and listened to the click and beep of their equipment.
Ironic that he and Sophie had lived with the uranium for days and now he was being ordered to keep away for his safety.
Moments later the group descended with a sealed kit. The Haz-Mat chief nodded and said, “Radioattivo.” As he left, he handed over the hollowed-out statuette, apparently safe without its contents.
Jack set the little saint on a hall table. So they’d been right, only too slow to figure it out. Were they in danger for having been near it? But if the statuette was safe, maybe there’d been no leak. He didn’t know enough Italian to ask.
After they left, he drove away down the hill road. He found the winding route to the Autostrade and pointed the car north toward Florence on the A1. From Florence to Venice was two hundred and fifty-five kilometers, one hundred and fifty-eight miles. He should make it to Venice in three hours.
Still dark. Appropriate. Or should he let the light of day shine on his revenge? Revenge? Or would justice suffice? Was his determination to kill Vadim screwed up? Or was it moral and just, as he always believed? He never questioned his goal before. He never had reason. No self-pity for him, but he felt like a clock wound too tight. The fire in his chest still burned him, but other emotions, other needs wedged in. The anguish and guilt that had held sway for five years no longer sustained him.
He’d changed. Sophie had changed him.
When he looked down the long barrel of the rest of his life, he no longer saw nothing.
He saw her.
Sophie was his life-giving connection. A shimmer of light in a cavern of darkness. He felt alive again, totally alive, when he was near her. She was his conscience, his lover, his friend, his—
Not his.
The thoughts tangled in his mind, like wires all knotted together. Sophie wouldn’t be there for him. She wanted an independent life, a future she made for herself. He would never see her again. His heart kicked hard against his rib cage, and he nearly went off the road. Horns blared as other cars careened past him. He gripped the wheel to wrench the car straight again.
Pain and grief had been his steady companions. They would remain with him. His lips compressed into a tight line. He shifted into fourth gear and flexed his fingers
to ease the stiffness from his scars.
Was Sophie awake? Should he have left her a note? No, better to put her out of his mind. He’d made sure she was safe. De Carlo was sending an officer to patrol the grounds. Anything else Jack did would only hurt her more. His chest tightened until he thought his heart would tear apart.
Sophie. Maybe he could give himself one chance.
He picked up the sat phone from the car seat and hit a number on the speed dial.
***
When Sophie heard the car roll away down the drive, she knew she’d failed. Jack was heading to Venice to kill Vadim.
Tears pricked her eyes, and she sat up in bed. Stupida, she had no time for weeping. Jack’s life was at stake. She had to stop him. How, she didn’t know. She dragged herself from bed and slipped on his discarded dress shirt. After a trip to the bathroom, she searched the house for the cell phone. No sign of it or the sat phone. He’d taken both.
Eyeing the house phone, she smacked her forehead with the heel of her hand. She didn’t know the numbers of either of Jack’s phones. If she phoned the task force, they might arrest him whether or not he’d done anything. She didn’t trust Commissario De Carlo not to go in with guns blazing. But if she didn’t alert someone, Vadim could kill Jack.
She had to try.
The automated response at the Venice Questura gave her De Carlo’s voice mail, so she hung up and called again. After much button pushing, she reached a human being who would not give her the commissario’s mobile number. The stubborn officer agreed to inform him of her call.
God knew when he’d get the message. That left her only one option.
She had to go to Venice.
She quickly donned the pink cropped pants and blouse she’d worn the day Jack took her to the villa — practical and not bought by Vadim. The yellow espadrilles didn’t match, but they were better for walking than the prissy Gucci sandals.
The banjo clock in the hall read one a.m. Nothing in Giordano was open.
Arturo lived above the fruttivendolo. Perhaps she could wake him and borrow his truck. Or she’d ask if he would drive her into Florence, where she could rent a car. She made sure her bank card was in her purse, then headed out the door.
“Good evening, Sophie. How convenient.” Sebastian Vadim stepped from the shadows.
She gasped and stumbled on the step. Two burly men grasped her by the arms.
“You will not run this time, my dear. Shall we go in?”
Her heart raced. Her throat closed with fear, so she could utter only a faint squeak. How did he find her? What if Jack came back when he found no one in Venice?
The two bodyguards half dragged, half walked her inside. White noise blared in her ears, and her head reeled. She saw no way to escape, no way to warn Jack.
The men threw her into a chair, and she clutched its arms for something solid to hold on to.
“Ah, here is our little saint,” Vadim said in barely accented English as he crossed to the table where Santa Elisabetta stood. A sly smile curved his lips. He removed black-rimmed glasses she’d never seen before and dropped them in a pocket. “The very thing I came for.”
She held her breath, biting her lower lip.
“This visit may be briefer than I’d anticipated.” From a small bag he carried he drew out a pair of heavy protective gloves and put them on.
He wore his usual silk suit and open-collared silk shirt, but his salt-and-pepper hair was bleached blond. A disguise, along with the glasses? How could she have ever liked this foul man? She’d once thought him kind and honorable, but now she sensed an aura of evil, of malevolence, that sent chills over her scalp.
He lifted the statuette. A frown furrowed his brow. He turned the marble piece over, exclaiming in a language she didn’t know. His native Cleatian? He stalked over to her, shook it in front of her face. “Where is it? What have you done with it?”
Fury and righteous indignation swept fear aside. Sophie straightened her shoulders. “You mean the stolen uranium? The polizia confiscated it. They know about your plot. I remember everything.”
She didn’t see coming the blow that knocked her to the floor.
***
Jack slid his Glock into the belt holster and paced the Oriental carpet. The rose-brick house was empty, shuttered and dark. Did Vadim go to Cleatia? Could he get past the border?
During his drive he’d notified De Carlo, but the task force was delayed. Now it didn’t matter. Without a clue to Vadim’s whereabouts, he ought to return to Sophie. In case Vadim had more men looking for her.
And he ought to let her know nothing had happened to him. Three-thirty. He hated to wake her, but she’d be worried if she found him gone. He punched in the number of the farmhouse.
“Pronto, hello. J-Jack?”
The tremble in her voice slugged him in the gut. “Sophie, it’s me.”
“Not alone. Don’t—”
“She cannot speak with you now, Thorne. You will have to settle for me.”
He’d heard that voice only once, five years ago, but he recognized the smooth, accented tones. “Vadim!”
“Ah, I am flattered that you remember me.”
Jack’s pulse clattered. Ice clawed down his spine. How in hell did Vadim find Sophie? “You bastard. If you hurt her—”
“An empty threat, Thorne. You will do nothing except what I say. You have been a thorn in my side for five years. Oh, yes, your search for me has not gone unnoticed. Now you have found me.”
Jack slammed the palazzo’s front door behind him and ran to the police launch. He’d contacted the task force earlier and set it up. He motioned to the startled driver to get going, then mouthed, “Police dock.”
The open powerboat’s inboard engine growled to life, and the wide-eyed young officer steered into the canal.
No time to waste. Vadim had Sophie. “What do you want?” he barked into the phone.
“A meeting. What else? I will pass the time with Signora Rinaldi until you arrive. She may not enjoy it as much as I, of course. You will want to hurry.”
“Vadim, you freaking sick monster…” Jack’s words blasted empty air.
Chapter 26
DRESSED IN BLACK jumpsuits, called “ninjas,” Jack Thorne and Matt Leoni crouched beyond the farmhouse’s terrace shrubbery.
Despite the cool night, sweat trickled down Jack’s spine. The borrowed Kevlar vest was too tight and itched. Dew soaked through the microfiber to his knee. Minor irritations. He focused night-vision binoculars on Vadim’s two hulking henchmen. Each had a pistol in a shoulder holster. They were gabbing about who-knows-what on the terrace. Smoke wafted on the light breeze — Nazionale or some other European cigarette brand.
Every nerve in Jack’s body twanged on hyperalert. A heavy, slick ball sat in his gut. He couldn’t let someone else he loved die at Vadim’s hand.
Sophie, be alive, be alive. Please, God, not Sophie.
For the moment, all he could do was watch and wait.
Thank God Leoni had met him at the police dock. The officer took it from there. From nowhere he conjured a police helicopter to deliver the entire team and its commando arms and equipment to Giordano. They made the trip in record time.
At four-thirty, darkness still cloaked them from detection. High, thin clouds covered the waning moon. The officer sent earlier to check on Sophie’s safety had been found dead, his neck broken. That implied Vadim hadn’t come alone. A reconnoiter of his Mercedes and of the grounds determined that he had two hired guns for support.
Once the CO understood what Vadim wanted — Jack — he’d agreed that Jack could enter alone.
But first they had to neutralize the hired guns.
Leather scraped against stone as the two stepped on their cigarettes. They headed in opposite directions to circle the grounds, a patrol they apparently did once an hour.
Jack and Leoni exchanged hand signals as they followed, Leoni to the left, Jack to the
right.
His target was squat and square, a cinderblock of a man who might be strong but not agile. Speed and silence were key in taking him down.
Jack stayed low and behind the abundant cover until his man meandered well away from the house. At the first opening, he stepped out and delivered a solid punch downward to the collarbone, sinking the man to his knees with barely a sound. Jack slipped the weapon from his holster and used it to conk him on the temple. The thug dropped like the stone block he resembled.
One down.
Just in time. The first light of dawn was erasing the darkness, shading everything with gray tones. With quick and silent movements he secured the unconscious man’s hands and feet with zip ties and his mouth with tape. He slipped the man’s Beretta into a ninja leg pocket.
In a moment, Leoni met him on the terrace. “Got mine,” he whispered.
Standing to one side, Jack peered in. He could see through the dining room to the sitting room.
Vadim and Sophie sat in facing armchairs. Jack could see her only in profile, but she looked okay. Scared but unharmed. And angry. He exhaled slowly, releasing the fear she might already be dead. She glared at Vadim, but from so far back in her seat she could’ve been part of the upholstery.
Vadim leaned forward, talking to her. More like pontificating, judging from his smirk. A smug expression Jack would erase soon. Just behind them on a small table stood the saint figure. So Vadim knew he’d lost the uranium. That was bound to make him even angrier. And maybe afraid. Saqr wouldn’t understand. Or forgive. Good, Jack could play on his enemy’s emotions.
I’m going in, he signaled to Leoni and adjusted his hidden mic.
Leoni tapped his transceiver and gave him a thumbs-up.
Glock in his hand, Jack opened the terrace door and stepped inside.
***
Sophie’s pulse jittered as the hall clock chimed the half hour. Little more than an hour since Jack telephoned. Two more hours until he could possibly arrive.
Her cheek throbbed where Vadim had struck her. He hadn’t touched her again, although he implied to Jack he would. If she could keep him talking, perhaps he wouldn’t hurt her more.
Dark Vengeance (The DARK Files Book 4) Page 20