by Brad Thor
The tiny restaurant had a beautiful arched ceiling and walls dotted with several small alcoves filled with different colored bottles of Capri wine, all artistically lit from behind. Harvath noticed the walls were also covered with photographs of the owner and what appeared to be numerous Italian celebrities. It was obvious that he was proud of his restaurant and took an active role in its operation.
On top of everything else, the man was very friendly and loved to speak English. It was not hard to draw him into gossipy conversation, especially about the famous people who came to eat in his restaurant.
The owner insisted on starting Harvath and Meg with a Caprese salad while they talked. When the dish arrived and Harvath took his first bite, it was easily the best mozzarella he had ever tasted. The owner could see the look on his face and was very pleased. He bragged about how he had a special source on the island for all of his cheese. Meg, clever woman that she was, brought the owner back around to talking about his clients. She shared with him that a woman they had met while out to drinks one night had recommend his restaurant. The minute she described Adara the man’s eyes lit up.
“Che bella donna!” he exclaimed. “She has the eyes of silver, just like you say. The most beautiful woman who has ever come to eat at Al Grottino, after you of course, Signora.”
“So you know her?” took up Harvath, acting casual and only mildly interested.
“She has been here many times.”
“The lady must enjoy your cooking very much.”
“Oh, very much,” replied the owner. “Many times she asks me for my recipes and how can I say no to such a beautiful woman?” He shot Meg a quick, flirtatious glance. “The only thing I ask is that she not begin her own restaurant here on Capri. No one would come to see my face anymore.”
Now Meg got back into the conversation. “She is such an elegant woman. Don’t you think?”
“Very elegant and very beautiful,” said the owner.
“Does she own a villa here? I would imagine it is quite impressive.”
“No. No villa. She comes to visit and stays in the hotel.”
“Of course. The Quisisana,” said Meg with a smile.
“No, the Capri Palace in Anacapri. Last night she was here for dinner with a very handsome American man—”
“We’ll have to keep our eyes out for them. We’re staying at the Capri Palace also. I might know the man she was with,” said Harvath as he described Marcel Hamdi from Schoen’s surveillance photos.
“No. This man, he’s tall like the woman, bello, but blond hair. We say in Italian, con un pizzo,” said the owner, rubbing his chin.
“Ah, with a goatee,” said Meg.
“Ecco. It’s your first time to Capri?” asked the owner, changing the subject.
“My first. She has been here before,” said Harvath as he nodded to Meg.
“Bella donna. You have not eaten in my restaurant before?”
“No,” responded Meg. “This is my first time.”
“Then I will make for you something special. I have a nice gnocchi for your husband, and for you I make a linguine ai gamberetti. A special shrimps with tomato sauce, good?”
“Sounds delicious,” said Meg.
“Maybe also a nice wine. Something dry, but not too expensive. Okay?”
“Bene.”
“Lei parla l’italiano!”
“Yes, but my…” said Meg as she hestitated, “my husband does not.”
“Perffeto. We can make our plans and he will never know,” said the owner with a conspiratorial wink as he went to place their orders in the kitchen.
Soon after, the lunch crowd picked up and the owner was quite busy. When he stopped by their table to check on how they had enjoyed their meals, Harvath took the opportunity to ask one more question. “The food was wonderful. We will have to buy the lady who told us about your restaurant a cocktail.” If the owner wasn’t suspicious already, he would be soon, but Harvath felt he had to push just a little bit further. “I wish we knew her name. Do you by any chance?”
“I’m sorry, no. Allora, il caffè?” said the owner, indicating that the subject was closed for good.
Meg ordered her customary cappuccino, and Harvath, a double espresso, which they finished quickly. As soon as they paid their check and left the restaurant, they walked as fast as they could to the cabstand just off the Piazzetta.
60
The open-air taxi brought them to the small yet bustling heart of Anacapri. Perched on a low hill above the town square was the five-star Capri Palace. It was accessible via a series of steps followed by a short walkway winding past the lower half of the hotel swimming pool. Glass windows along the walk, much like a large-scale aquarium, allowed people to peer through the water and watch the guests as they swam above.
Stores around the piazza sold everything from sandals, sunscreen, and beach towels, to local ceramics, film, and postcards. Harvath and Meg secreted themselves just inside one of the shops that had a good view of the hotel’s imposing white façade. Meg pretended to look for postcards while Harvath studied the tanned faces of the throngs of tourists milling around the piazza. They were everywhere—like ants crawling over an enormous hill of sugar. Harvath thought about using his binoculars to try and catch a glimpse of the guests around the pool, but being downhill from the hotel made it impossible. They needed to get closer.
He got Meg’s attention, and they stepped out into the street. The sun was extremely strong. The whitewashed buildings surrounding the piazza seemed to bounce the sunlight back with twice its brilliance. Walking past the cabstand, Harvath noticed a narrow side street that wound up the hill and ended right next to the hotel’s designer-clothing boutique. A taxi idled in the makeshift cul-de-sac.
As Harvath studied the sea of people once more, one in particular caught his eye. She was tall and thin, yet very toned. Her skin was a rich copper color, and though she wore a large straw hat and sunglasses, Harvath knew her right off by the way she moved. She was not one of the many casual tourists out strolling. This was a woman with a purpose and destination.
He grabbed Meg’s left arm and flicked his eyes in the direction of Adara Nidal. It took Meg a moment, but then she spotted her too. Neither of them dared utter a word as they proceeded up the stone steps toward the Capri Palace. Harvath reflexively reached beneath his shirt at the small of his back. He grabbed the butt of the Browning nine-millimeter and prepared to draw, and that was when everything fell apart.
The element of surprise was ruined when the blond woman from the perfume shop the previous evening appeared out of nowhere and squealed, “If it isn’t Capri’s most adorable newlyweds! How are you kids? Are you having a fabulous time here, or what?”
The woman moved right in front of Harvath and placed both of her hands upon his shoulders. He tried to avoid her, but it was no good. Her wrists were weighted down with gold bracelets and designer shopping bags and as she reached one of her hands out for Meg, she continued, “Isn’t this a small world? Or should I say island? What am I talking about? It is a small island. Don’t you just love Anacapri? This is where I always stay when I come. I mean I might go over to Capri Town, but this is where anybody who is anybody stays.”
Unfortunately, the woman had one of those voices that really seemed to carry. The commotion had been enough to turn Adara Nidal’s head and now she was staring right into Harvath’s eyes.
“Sorry, we’ve gotta run,” said Scot as he and Meg untangled themselves from the American woman and picked up their pace.
“Where’s the fire?” asked the woman as Harvath and Meg took off after Adara, who was already way ahead of them and closing in on the idling taxi.
Harvath half pulled his gun, but knew that the flood of tourists would make it impossible to get off a clean shot. He slid the Browning back into the holster, grabbed Meg by the wrist, and spun her back in the direction they had come. There was no way they could beat Adara to the waiting taxi. Their only chance was to catch it when it
came onto the main road at the bottom of the hill.
They ran back to the stone steps and down into the piazza. Crossing the tiny square, Harvath steered Meg to the front of the cabstand and, in a move that would have made even the most seasoned New Yorker jealous, elbowed out a crowd of drunk Germans and hopped into their cab. The driver started protesting immediately, and it wasn’t until Harvath fished out a large Euro note that the man agreed to forget about their jumping the line. By that time, Adara Nidal’s cab had already come down the hill and had swung onto the main road heading south.
Meg instructed their driver in Italian to follow the other cab.
“What’s going on?” asked the old man, who was at least seventy if he was a day, as he pulled away from the piazza.
“Don’t worry about it. Keep driving,” responded Meg.
Despite his age, the old islander did a good job of keeping up, but not good enough. Adara Nidal’s cab made a hard right and their driver missed it. He continued south and had to swing an even harder right up what looked like a one-way street to get back behind her.
They were now headed toward the very western edge of the island, with two buses and several cars separating them. Harvath had to hand the old man another large banknote to convince him to risk passing the other vehicles. The roads of Capri had not been designed with high-speed chases in mind.
The driver made several attempts to move out from behind the bus in front of them, only to have to jerk the wheel back hard to the right because of an oncoming vehicle in the opposite lane. Slowly, he began to make some progress as he threaded his way forward.
Meg asked the driver what was at this end of the island that caused so much traffic. After passing another car, the man responded, “Grotta Azzura.” The Blue Grotto.
Harvath kept peeling off notes, crumpling them into balls, and throwing them into the front seat as he urged the driver to go faster. Though they had passed both buses and several of the cars, Adara Nidal’s cab was far ahead and disappeared every time it took one of the many curves in the winding road.
Holding on to the seat in front of him, Harvath stood in the open-air convertible and tried to keep track of her cab. He wondered why she would be racing toward the Blue Grotto. It had to be Hamdi. Maybe he had anchored the Belle Étoile off the grotto and was sending a launch to pick her up. Then the road forked and their driver veered to the right, away from the heavy stream of traffic. Harvath almost lost his balance. He couldn’t see the other cab anywhere, only a high cloud of dust hovering over the road in front of them, which hadn’t escaped their clever driver.
There was also a road sign. Harvath now knew where Adara Nidal was headed. Eliporto di Capri—Capri Heliport.
Before the taxi had even come to a complete stop at the gate of the heliport, Harvath was already out and running. The roar of the powerful Eurocopter AS365 Dauphin was deafening as it quickly lifted off. Through the Plexiglas window of its plush nine-passenger-capacity cabin, Harvath thought he could see Adara smiling at him, but he couldn’t be sure. The navy blue bird with its gold logos was flying directly west, into the sun.
The one thing Harvath did know was that he had seen that helicopter before. He had seen it in Ari Schoen’s surveillance photos sitting on the helipad of Marcel Hamdi’s megayacht, the Belle Étoile.
61
When Harvath and Meg returned to Anacapri, they headed right for the Capri Palace. Past a cascading fountain surrounded by votive candles, they entered the luxuriously appointed, snow-white lobby and headed left toward the bar.
Heavy columns throughout the room supported a multiarched ceiling and created a multitude of private sitting areas. A short mahogany bar with four stools stood alone in a far corner, while a brace of dark wooden ceiling fans quietly stirred the air overhead. White couches and loveseats were scattered throughout, fronted by thick, low-slung mahogany tables. Lamps, their shades festooned with delicate gold tassels, added to the air of elegance.
Harvath and Meg proceeded past a large grand piano and out onto the flower-filled terrace. After they found a table, a waiter quickly appeared to take their drink orders. An evening cocktail at one’s hotel was a tradition on Capri, and as Scot and Meg settled in to wait for the man who had been seen dining with Adara Nidal, their only hope was that he would actually show up.
The sun began its slow descent into the ocean, casting a glow of burnt orange over the Capri Palace’s terrace. Large white candles, nestled in sand and set in large glass hurricane lamps, were lit and placed strategically around the terrace. The waiters began setting up a buffet table, and when Meg asked them what they were preparing for, one of the waiters explained that it was the manager’s weekly cocktail party for hotel guests. Harvath began to think that their luck might be changing.
As the slow parade of guests began to file out onto the terrace, their man appeared. He was wearing a white linen suit with a pink-and-white-checked shirt. His hair was perfectly coifed, his goatee neatly trimmed, and it was obvious from the way he carried himself that he had no self-esteem issues.
“Is that him?” asked Meg quietly.
“He certainly fits the description,” said Harvath as he discreetly eyeballed the man. “You know what to do.”
Meg slinked across the terrace and got into line right behind the man at the buffet. As he picked up a complimentary glass of champagne and a few canapés, he noticed the attractive blond behind him, and that’s when Meg began to make small talk. “What a beautiful sunset this evening. Don’t you think?”
“Very lovely,” he answered. As Meg reached for a canapé, the man noticed she wasn’t wearing a wedding ring. “Are you staying at the hotel? I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Neal Harris.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Harris. Where’s your lady friend this evening?” asked Meg, offering neither her name nor her hand.
“My lady friend?”
“Oh, don’t play coy with me,” said Meg flirtatiously. “We’ve all seen you and that goddess with those incredible eyes.”
“Yes, that goddess” said Harris, glad that people had noticed him and the woman. “She does have the most beautiful eyes. Actually, I was hoping she’d already be here. I haven’t seen her since this afternoon.”
“Well, so much the better. You can join me for a drink while you wait for her.”
“I’d be honored,” replied Harris. “But I didn’t catch your—”
“Outstanding. I have a delightful friend that you absolutely have to meet,” said Meg as she latched on to Harris’s elbow and steered him over to where Scot Harvath was sitting.
“Neal Harris,” said Meg, “I’d like you to meet my friend, Scot. Scot, meet Neal Harris.”
Harris offered his hand to Harvath and waited for him to rise. Harvath stayed seated.
“Oh, you’ll have to excuse Scot,” said Meg. “He has a bit of a problem.”
“Oh, really?” said Harris, waiting for Meg to sit and then taking the empty chair next to Harvath. “And what might that be?”
Harvath had secreted his Browning beneath a linen napkin on his lap and now raised it just enough for Harris to see. “I have developed a real dislike for terrorist collaborators, Mr. Harris.”
“Terrorist collaborators?” cried Harris, seeing the gun.
“Keep your voice down,” whispered Harvath in order to heighten the intimidation factor, “or I swear I’ll kill you right here.”
“What the hell is going on?” said Harris, careful to keep his voice down.
“What’s going on,” replied Harvath, “is that you are in a lot of trouble, my friend.”
“First, I am not your friend. And second, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Well, let’s start with a very leggy, attractive brunette with rather strange eyes that you’ve been seen about the island with over the last couple of days.”
“Who? Penny? I hardly know her.”
“She told you her name was, Penny?”
“Short
for Penelope. She’s British. From England.”
Meg shot Harvath a look.
“What was her last name?” demanded Harvath, jerking the Browning for added effect.
“Stratton. Her name was Penelope Stratton. Now what is this all about?”
“Your girlfriend is one very serious character,” said Harvath.
“She’s not my girlfriend. I just met her a couple of days ago. Is she somebody’s wife? Is that it? I had no idea. Honestly. She came on to me.”
“Please. You expect us to believe that?” said Meg.
“Yes! It’s the truth,” pleaded Harris.
“Why would she come on to a guy like you?” asked Harvath.
“It’s not my fault women like me.”
“Meg?” asked Harvath. “You like this guy? You find him attractive?”
“I have no idea what she saw in him,” answered Meg.
“Listen, Harris,” continued Harvath, “I’m going to give you one chance to get yourself out of this mess.”
“Mess? What mess? I have no idea what’s going on.”
“Whether you do, or you don’t, I don’t really care. Either way, if I don’t feel I’m getting complete and total cooperation from you, I’m going to shoot you in the head and drop your body in a shallow grave. Are you going to cooperate?”
“Of course, I will. She was great in bed, but—” said Harris, pausing as both Harvath’s and Meg’s eyebrows went up. “I mean she was a lovely diversion for the couple of days we were together, but I don’t owe her anything. As a matter of fact, screw her! I’m with you two. Especially this gentleman with the gun.”
“Spoken like a true romantic,” said Harvath, lowering the Browning.
62
Harvath knew that there wasn’t a chance in hell Adara Nidal was going to return to the Capri Palace. She knew they were on to her and most likely she wouldn’t even return to Capri. What they did have going for them was that, for once, they had surprised her. According to Harris, Adara—or Penny, as he continually referred to her—was planning to check out soon. She had said that she was about to change the world, but Harris said he thought she had some business deal cooking and was speaking metaphorically. Not only did he have no idea where she was going, he had absolutely no idea how literally she had been speaking.