The thought of something like that made his knees weak.
When he entered the plane, the economy section was entirely empty. Who would be crazy enough to fly today? He said a quick prayer as the seatbelt sign pinged on. It was too late now. They were closing the cabin door.
GARE DE LYON, PARIS
The trip from London to Paris on the Eurostar was quick and easy. Sinclair sat in the back of a cab that smelled of stale cigarettes. Traffic was awful. The driver was cursing his way through the City of Light.
Sinclair had planned to stop off and see Charles at his house in the sixth arrondissement. But the only train out of Paris this afternoon was almost fully booked. He had no choice but to grab a seat while he could.
Besides, Charles had his own decisions to make. They’d fought bitterly on the phone. Another confrontation seemed pointless.
Instead, Sinclair got out of the cab at Gare de Lyon. The station was crowded, and people milled about. Inside the terminal he summoned his command of French and collected his tickets on the Thello sleeper train for the fifteen-hour trip from Paris to Rome.
It would be a scenic ride through France and Italy. He carried his Gladstone bag up the steps of the train and gestured for the attendant to unlock the door of compartment twenty-seven. The private compartment was simple and functional, with a bed, a table, and a reading light with an electrical outlet for his phone. There was plenty of space for his luggage in the overhead rack, so he put his bag up top. He’d need a change of clothes once he arrived.
Malik had given him a food basket. Inside was a bottle of St. Estèphe, apricots, brie, a baguette, and dark chocolate—provisions for later.
He took off his jacket, hung it on the hook, then stretched out on the bed just as the train was pulling out of the station.
Sinclair awoke to the sound of a knock on the door. A pretty blond girl in a uniform had come to collect his passport. They would keep it overnight as standard procedure for customs inspection between France and Italy.
As he gave her the travel document, the girl gave him a flirty smile.
“Is there anything else I can get you, sir?”
“No, thank you,” he said and shut the door.
Women! The last thing he needed was another girl to add to his romantic résumé. He walked wearily over to the window and sat down.
It was dusk, and he realized he hadn’t eaten today. Famished, he ransacked the basket. He ate as he watched the countryside go by.
Tonight the sunset was blood red. The haze from Iceland was already affecting the atmosphere in Europe.
Cordelia had explained that after a volcanic eruption, the refracted light from the ash and debris sometimes caused vivid red sunsets. The crimson color over France this evening had a personal significance. It was the same bold red as those Tuscan poppies in Capri.
He sipped his wine and thought about the aches of love.
OSLO, NORWAY
At 8:00 a.m., Princess Victoria drew back the curtains of her Oslo apartment and saw a gray Mercedes idling at the curb. Two security men were in the front seat; one was dangling his cigarette out the window. Her father had sent them. They were bringing her back to the palace. Permanently.
Victoria fingered her cell phone. Mobile transmissions could be hacked. She would have to get a new phone with a different number. Until then, it would be impossible to communicate with Charles.
There was a rap on the door. Mrs. Erickson was gently reminding her that it was time to leave.
Victoria checked her hair once more in the mirror and forced a smile. As she stepped out of the apartment building, a security officer got out of the car.
“Good morning, your royal highness,” the officer said as he opened the car door for her.
She looked down the street and noticed there were camera lenses glinting a block away. Paparazzi. She buckled her seatbelt and watched as the van approached the security cordon. Police officers drew aside the wooden sawhorses. A few bold videographers stepped up, filming through the windshield.
It was bedlam. Everyone shouting. Camera lights pinned her to the seat. She sat, looking neither right nor left, remembering to smile slightly. Within moments, the driver drove clear of the barriers. As the van sped up, she looked down. Her hands were clenched together, knuckles white.
VILLA BRINDISI, CAPRI
Contessa Georgiana Brindisi stood looking out the sliding glass doors of her living room. It was dawn. With all the ash in the atmosphere, the sky looked blood red.
The boys did not come in last night. When she checked their room this morning, the beds had not been slept in. Hopefully, they would reappear soon. But she wasn’t too worried. Camping was always popular with Capri teenagers during the hot summer months. Sometimes, they slept in the ruins.
Brindy walked over and picked up the newspaper. She scanned the front-page article about the princess and John Sinclair. In the photo Sinclair was devastatingly handsome and very believable in his role as the seducer of the fairest princess in Europe.
All his lovers had been listed. The editors had chosen a particularly nice photo of her swimming in the Blue Grotto. She remembered the day well. Sinclair and Luca had spent the morning diving off the boat, and then they all went into town for lunch. Those were wonderful years.
She missed him terribly. But ever since their breakup, Sinclair had kept his distance. There was no hope of ever attracting him again.
Not long ago, a scheme had occurred to her. It was on Luca’s fifteenth birthday. Her son was being treated with chemotherapy, and she had arrived at the hospital with presents and a cake. When she walked in, Luca was sitting in bed reading a letter.
The envelope immediately gave away whom it was from. A light residue of sand fell out. Sinclair always included a pinch of earth from wherever he was digging. The handwriting was distinctive. His script was blocky and strong with flourishes borrowed from the ancient languages: Greek, Sanskrit, and even hieroglyphics.
Luca was brimming with happiness. “I’m so glad he remembered my birthday.”
“Of course he would, caro. He loves you very much,” she said, forcing a smile.
That’s when she realized that if Sinclair came back, it would be so much better for Luca. So much better for them all. Right then and there, all the elements of deceit fell into place.
First, she suggested that Victoria should go up to visit Charles at the Villa San Angelo. And then she had made sure that the paparazzi were waiting when Sinclair returned with the princess in the car.
The concept was simple: Sinclair’s reputation would be tarnished, and his girlfriend, Cordelia, would leave him, freeing up Sinclair to marry.
She rubbed her neck and stretched. It was 7:00 a.m. Where were the boys?
Suddenly, the phone rang—unusual at this time of morning. The housekeeper Carmela was not up yet, so she sat down at the desk to answer the call.
“Hello,” she said.
An unfamiliar male voice came on the line.
“May I speak to the Contessa Georgiana Brindisi, please.”
“This is Contessa Brindisi.”
“Inspector Soldini in Rome. I’m afraid I have some terrible news, Contessa.”
Her heart stopped. Luca! She couldn’t speak.
“Your grandmother has been found dead in her home,” the inspector continued. “The housekeeper came across her body this morning when she arrived. I’m terribly sorry.”
Brindy nodded, not really surprised. Her grandmother was ninety-five years old and in poor health. A call like this had been expected for years.
“I understand, inspector,” she said smoothly. “Thank you very much for telling me. I will come to Rome as soon as possible to make the funeral arrangements.”
“There is a complication, Contessa,” he said. “I haven’t explained properly.”
“Complication? What do you mean?”
“Your grandmother was murdered. Shot through the forehead.”
Brindy bolted to
her feet, knocking over her chair.
“Cyclops!” she gasped. “Why?”
“We don’t know. Except maybe because of the valuables in her home. Pretty much everything was taken.”
Brindy felt her knees start to shake. She had paid Mondragone millions in protection money every year. And now he had murdered her grandmother! Why had he turned on her?
A horrifying thought came to mind. Was it because she hadn’t delivered the sapphire necklace?
“I’ll be in Rome in an hour.”
NAPLES, ITALY
A million people were crammed into the densely packed city of Naples. For Luca and Karl it was the perfect place to hide. No one paid any attention to two fifteen-year-old backpackers, shabbily dressed, wandering around like tourists.
The greasy smell of cooking oil and gasoline hung over the Via Carmignano. They found a grubby café with a half-dozen plastic chairs and a menu that offered a slice of pizza for four euros. A man in a stained apron called for them to come in, gesturing with both hands. He apparently served as both hawker and cook. Behind the counter, the radio was blaring, and the announcer’s voice sounded like automatic weapons fire.
“This isn’t a good pizza place,” Luca cautioned, taking on the role of local expert.
Hungry and irritable, Karl ignored him. “I’m starving. It doesn’t matter.”
Luca flung his backpack on the floor and ordered two slices of pizza margherita and two cans of Limonata, then carefully doled out the money. The food came immediately—slices oozing with hot grease onto the paper plates.
Karl took a swig of his drink and put the can down.
“I’m going to go find a bank. Wait for me here.”
Luca looked out at the street with concern. “Karl, no. You can’t wander around here on your own.”
“I’m not going that far. There has to be a bank right nearby.”
“Let me come with you.”
“Everybody knows you,” Karl argued. “You’re a Brindisi. I’m not even Italian. I look like a tourist.”
Luca sighed. “OK, but hurry back.”
Karl picked up his rucksack and walked briskly down the crowded street. Within a moment, he found a small jewelry store. It wasn’t an expensive place; the window was filled with gold chains and trinkets.
He went inside, and a bell clanged. The owner stood up, an older man in a threadbare shirt.
“Buongiorno,” Karl said.
The man nodded a greeting.
“I have something to sell,” Karl said.
Uncomprehending, the storeowner fanned his hand over the counter.
“Just a minute,” Karl said.
He put his backpack on the counter, pulled out the wad of facial tissue, and unwrapped a magnificent sapphire necklace.
“How much will you give me for it?” Karl asked.
The man stared in disbelief. Without taking his eyes off the treasure, his right hand felt around for a jeweler’s loupe. He fitted the magnifier into his eye socket and examined each gem, taking his time. There were fifteen blue-violet stones set with small diamonds in between. Karl felt his nerves twitch with anxiety as he waited.
The man’s neck looked frail, and his shirt collar was a couple sizes too big as he bent over the sapphires. White hair sparsely covered a pink scalp. The proprietor of the shop took the loupe away from his eye with an expression of astonishment.
“Will you buy it?” Karl asked.
Slowly, reluctantly, the man shook his head, no.
Karl reached for a notepad and pen on the counter. He wrote down 10,000 euros.
The man’s eyes widened in shock. It was a pittance compared to what the necklace was worth. His expression wavered. Karl crossed out the figure and wrote 5,000 euros.
The man’s gaze shifted to the door and then back to the necklace. The watery old eyes were canny. That’s when Karl knew he had a sale.
The man indicated that Karl should wait, and shuffled to the rear of the shop. The green velvet curtain swayed as he went through. Then all was quiet.
Karl could hear his own breath, ragged and nervous. After a few minutes, the old man came back carrying one-inch stacks of euros, secured with rubber bands.
Just then Karl’s cell phone rang. It was Luca, sounding stressed.
“Where are you?” he asked.
“I’m getting some money. I told you. Are you still at the pizza shop on the corner?”
“Yes,” Luca replied.
“Don’t worry. I’ll meet you at the restaurant in five minutes.”
“Hurry up. My mom is calling me nonstop.”
Karl hung up the phone and resumed the transaction. The old man slid the stacks of bills across to the counter a few at a time. A 500-euro note topped each packet.
Karl reached for the bundles of euros and stuffed them into his rucksack.
The necklace still lay on the glass countertop, gleaming with an indigo shimmer. A small ping of guilt crossed his mind. He shouldn’t have sold it. But V had so much jewelry; hopefully she wouldn’t miss the necklace.
The old man in the jewelry store waited a moment before he reached for the phone.
A few minutes later, Renato walked into the shop with a swagger.
“Ciao, Bartolomeo. What have you got for me?”
“You won’t believe it,” the old man said and pulled out the necklace, putting it on a faded black velvet display pad.
“Where did you get that?” Renato exclaimed.
“From some kid.”
“It looks like a million-euro necklace? Am I right?”
Bartolomeo nodded. “I’ve never seen anything like it in my life. These are not the kind of stones that are sold commercially, and the setting is handmade. This wasn’t designed in a cheap factory in Hong Kong.”
Renato grabbed the man by the arm.
“Where did he go?”
“He was meeting his friend at the pizza shop on the corner. I heard him say it on the phone.”
“What’d he look like?”
“Blond, red T-shirt, jeans, and thick glasses. A little stocky.”
“I’m going after him,” Renato said, yanking the door open, the bell clanging wildly.
“What should I do?” the old man asked.
“Hold on to it, and don’t tell anyone.”
Prince Karl sauntered up to the table and pulled out a chair. The burnt smell of pizza crust and tomatoes now seemed appealing. Luca had finished. There was only a rind of crust on the paper plate, but Karl’s slice was still there, the cheese congealed. Emotionally exhausted, he picked up his can of Limonata and took a long swig.
“You took so long. I thought you had been robbed,” Luca complained.
“Sorry.”
“My mom called me twelve times. I let it go to voice mail,” Luca said, holding up his phone for Karl to see.
“Don’t worry, she’ll be fine.”
“She’ll be mad at me.”
“Nah, we’ll just be gone for a couple of days,” Karl said, belching slightly at the carbonation. “We’re all set. I just got a couple thousand euros from the bank.”
“Why’d it take so long?”
“They had to verify the account.”
“So where do you want to go?”
“We need to find a hotel.”
Karl bit into the pizza and pulled out a long string of mozzarella like a piece of spaghetti.
“You want to stay overnight in Naples?” Luca asked.
“Yes, and tomorrow we can go to Herculaneum.”
“How are we going to get there?”
Karl leaned forward to keep the grease from dripping on his shirt. He swallowed before answering.
“Trust me. I have it all worked out.”
Renato sat down at the table next to the two boys and ordered a slice of pizza. The kids had absolutely no clue that they were being watched. After years of knocking around, Renato could tell if someone came from money.
This blond boy had wealth written all
over him. He was really somebody—the straight spine, the imperious tilt of the head. The dark-haired boy also looked rich. He was wearing a two-hundred-dollar sports watch, a Lacoste polo shirt, and a leather backpack.
They were planning some kind of trip. Probably they were on some kind of joy ride and couldn’t use their parents’ credit cards. They must have sold the necklace to pay for their expenses.
The sapphires were a big mystery. Obviously they weren’t from a store. Not even Bulgari had a necklace like that. So the boy must have taken it from home. Clearly it had been lying around the house and he had nicked it.
Now, what kind of house had this kind of jewelry lying around? A thought struck him and he almost gasped out loud. He had been sent to steal a necklace from Princess Victoria not twenty-four hours ago, but it had been gone. Now an heirloom necklace of the same description had turned up in Naples.
This kid must be Prince Karl of Norway!
Renato scrolled through the Internet connection on his phone and checked. Yes, this was Prince Karl—the same face and blond hair. A brilliant idea came into his mind. Why not make some money for himself? A little side action. A kidnapping wouldn’t be difficult to pull off. The crime-infested Secondigliano neighborhood was his backyard, and there were plenty of places to hide the boy while he waited for a ransom. Something told him the payoff was going to be huge, if he just bided his time.
The boys stood up and started to gather their things. Prince Karl walked over to the counter and paid for a bottle of water, then the boys started off down the street, consulting a map. Renato followed ten paces behind, keeping the red T-shirt in sight as he dialed the number for the jewelry shop owner.
“Hey, it’s me … You know that necklace? Put it in a fancy box. I mean a real fancy box with velvet. It’s for Mondragone. I’ll come and get it. Do not let anyone know that you have it.”
Summer of Fire Page 10