Natalie's Dilemma: a Frank Renzi crime thriller (Frank Renzi novels Book 7)

by Susan Fleet

  “I'd have called you sooner, but I pulled some strings and got their security info. She's traveling on a U.S. passport under the name Ling Lam, flying to London Heathrow to board an overnight flight.” Jason paused. “You're gonna love this, Boss.”

  “Stop fucking around, Jason. Tell me!”

  “Her flight lands at JFK on Friday morning at eleven-thirty!”

  “Fantastic!” He glanced at the boarding line. No more passengers. “Hold on, I've got to get my luggage off the plane.” He darted to the gate, flashed his ID at the agent and said, “I can't take this flight and I need to get my luggage off the plane.”

  The woman frowned. “I'm not sure we can do that—”

  He glared at her, his eyes cold. “This is a law enforcement emergency. Make it happen!”

  “Yes, sir. I'll call the baggage chief. What do your bags look like?”

  “One suitcase,” he snapped. “A hard-case, black.”

  He clenched his teeth as she spoke into her handset.

  After an endless wait, she pointed to the boarding tunnel and said, “The baggage crew will bring it to you, Agent Hammer.”

  He rushed down the tunnel. Stopped near the portal to the plane and waited anxiously. Saw the baggage dolly approach the ladder beside the door. Yes! His suitcase was on the dolly.

  He raised his cellphone and said, “Jason, you still there?”

  “Yes. Did you get your luggage?”

  “It's coming now. Was she traveling alone?”

  “No sir. She's traveling with four other people, two men, a woman and a young child.”

  Strange. The serial-killer bitch usually acted alone.

  “Here's the interesting part,” Jason said. “I found out who accessed the data on the software face-recognition program. A Europol agent.”

  Hammer ground his teeth. How dare they? The CIA trumped Europol every time.

  “I pulled some strings, contacted Europol and got their names. You want them?”

  “Of course I want them!”

  “They all have the same last name, Volpe. John, age 32, Joseph, age 28, Noreen, age 22, and Bruce, age 5. But according to Europol, the passports are fake. Their real names are Orazio Antonetti, Tomasso Antonetti, Catarina Antonetti and Bianca Ruffino.”

  It hit him like a hand grenade. “Are you sure?”

  “Positive.”

  He could hardly believe it. The serial-killer bitch had hooked up with the Mafiosos who were responsible for the murders and kidnapping in Venice. But he had no time to think about it now.

  “Call you later, Jason. I need to book a flight to New York.”

  “No need to do that, sir. I already booked one for you.”

  CHAPTER 14

  FRIDAY December 17

  Frank sipped his bottled water and extended his legs under the seat in front of him. His bag in the overhead bin held everything he needed, the warrants, handcuffs and fresh underwear in case he had to stay overnight. Some of the other passengers were catching a few winks, but he was too wired to sleep. He'd already set his watch to Eastern time, 8:15 AM in New York now.

  His non-stop Jet Blue flight would land at JFK at 10:05 AM. Natalie would arrive on a British Airways flight at 11:35. After she cleared Customs, he would be waiting for her. But arresting her might not be as easy as he'd led Vobitch and Kelly to believe. Conti would be a problem, and he was certain Natalie was already planning her escape.

  The first time he saw her was on a security video at a ritzy French Quarter hotel, striding along in a slinky dress and spike heels like she knew exactly where she was going and what she'd do when she got there. Kill Arnold Peterson. He and Kenyon had worked the case. Peterson wasn't the man who murdered Natalie's mother, but he told her who did. It wasn't a friendly chat. When she shot him, Peterson had been tied up naked on the bed, one to the head with a silenced Beretta.

  At the time he thought it was a cold-blooded hit. Later, he'd changed his mind. Ruthless and single-minded was more like it.

  He checked the in-flight map on the seat-back in front of him—two hours and ten minutes until his flight landed at JFK—and returned to the highlight reel of Natalie's life of crime. The man who murdered her mother was dead, so she killed his only son. No video on that one, just one shot to the head. That happened in the summer of 2008. During a late-August hurricane evacuation, he almost caught her outside a B&B in the Garden District, their first face-to-face meeting. After a foot-race, she ambushed him in an ally and shot him in the leg.

  She could have finished him off, gazing at him as he lay on the ground. Even now he got chills thinking about it. Natalie staring at him, holding the Beretta in her hand. A few minutes later Kenyon found him and got him into an ambulance. By then, Natalie was gone. Before she got on a plane and disappeared, she'd mailed an audiotape and a note addressed to him personally, telling him who killed her mother in 1988.

  They put him on medical leave until his leg healed, which left plenty of time to read the diary Natalie had abandoned in the B&B. It started when Natalie was ten, soon after her mother was murdered, a road-map of her life for the next twenty years.

  She fell in love with a man when she lived in Paris and another when she returned to the States, a former CIA agent. The man in Paris lived to see another day. Oliver James didn't. Natalie shot him in a Boston hotel.

  After she escaped, he had checked the Interpol website twice a week for any sign of her. In June 2010, he saw a report about an art heist in a museum near London. A witness saw the thief leave and believed it was a woman, because of her sexy walk and distinctive stride.

  He was convinced it was Natalie. It was, and it involved a twisted tale of treachery. In cahoots with a vicious thief and an insider guard, Natalie had stolen priceless paintings from the Gardner Museum in Boston. The thief and the guard wound up dead. During another foot-chase at a train station near Boston, he'd caught her. She told him the stolen art was in a car in the parking garage. Eager to retrieve the priceless paintings, he told a Boston police officer to drive her to the station in Boston. But Natalie had conned the cop into stopping the cruiser and escaped. Again!

  This time she wouldn't. This time he'd handcuff her and put her on a plane. Fearing he might not be able to arrest her before the last flight left for New Orleans, he hadn't bought the tickets yet. On the plane, he'd have plenty of time to grill her. He had a million questions.

  Why did she turn to a life of crime? Why did she kill Oliver James?

  And the biggest question of all: Why didn't she kill him in that Garden District alley when she had the chance?

  _____

  6:30 AM –- British Airways Flight 123

  Unable to sleep, Natalie leaned back against the headrest. Beside her in the window seat, Bianca was fast asleep, her tiny fist pressed to her mouth. In the seat ahead of her, Tommy was reading Playboy. Beside him, Catarina was mercifully silent. Orazio was across the aisle, one row behind her in an aisle seat. The power position, so he could watch them.

  Earlier, Bianca had begun kicking Tommy's seat. To distract her, Natalie took out a box of crayons and a holiday coloring book and found a big Christmas tree. Bianca took out a black crayon and scribbled all over it. A bad sign. Some of the kids at the shelter who'd witnessed violence at home did this. Black pictures to depict their bleak existence. What had Bianca seen?

  She found a page with Santa Claus and gave her a red crayon. But Bianca kept the black crayon, scribbled over Santa and said, “I hate Santa! I hate Christmas. And I hate you!”

  Tommy turned around and said, “Mind your manners, kid. Don't talk like that.”

  Natalie whispered to Bianca, “You miss Mamma, don't you.” After giving her a strange look, Bianca had curled up and gone to sleep.

  Conti had a seat in first class. She'd seen him use the restroom outside the first class cabin. How on earth could she have fallen for him? Was she losing her ability to assess people? It had happened once before. Oliver had charmed her into thinking he cared
about her. Later, it became painfully obvious he didn't. Willem was different.

  What marvelous times they'd had in Paris, going to art museums, listening to jazz, discussing films over dinner at posh restaurants. She was certain Willem loved her, but when she asked him to leave his wife, he wouldn't. A painful end to her only love affair.

  She drank some water. Forget Willem. She had to focus on her escape. Soon they would land in New York and Renzi would be there. She hadn't seen him since he'd captured her at a train station last year and questioned her. Oddly, she'd found herself attracted to his deep melodious voice and dark penetrating eyes. Was this some kind of reverse Stockholm Syndrome, the prey falls for the hunter?

  At least Renzi was honest. He didn't pretend to like her. He despised her.

  If all went well at JFK, she would never see him. Pak Lam had said he would have someone meet her at the baggage claim, and when Pak Lam said he would do something, he made it happen.

  She glanced across the aisle. Orazio was staring at her, expressionless. The hackles rose on the back of her neck. She might not be good at choosing lovers, but she knew how to evaluate criminals. Orazio suspected something. She didn't know why, but she'd need to watch him carefully if she was going to escape. Earlier, in the plane's restroom she had checked the cellphone Conti had given her. He had already sent her a text. “See you when you come through customs. Good luck.”

  Good luck. Bullshit. He wasn't worried about her safety. He wanted her to make sure the 'Netti brothers didn't find out she wasn't who she said she was. Wanted her to eavesdrop on their conversations and report back to him. What would he do if Orazio killed her?

  A shiver ran down her spine. She had to stop thinking like that.

  Pak Lam's contact would give her a cellphone, a credit card and some cash. Then she would find a way to elude Orazio and Bianca and escape. She suspected Bianca understood more English than she let on. One thing was clear. She was terrified of Orazio. At the airport in Rome, perhaps sensing his animosity toward her, Bianca had tugged at her hand to help get her away from Orazio.

  After she escaped, Orazio would be furious. Would Catarina protect Bianca from him?

  A cold hard knot formed in her stomach. She couldn't afford to worry about that. She had her own problems to solve.

  _____

  11:45 AM --- JFK International Airport, New York City

  Orazio herded his companions onto the escalator that descended to the baggage claim area and massaged his aching leg. Merda! If not for the fucked-up heist, he could have flown first class, plenty of leg room, a fresh cup of espresso and a sweet roll for breakfast. But no. During this interminable seven hour flight he had to sit in the main cabin and keep an eye on Catarina and Tommy, the girl and the nanny.

  Below him, Catarina was prattling about the fabulous stores she intended to visit. But she would not be buying clothes in New York. Silent and subdued on the stair below him, Tommy appeared anxious. This would be a new experience for him. Yesterday, Orazio had explained what would happen if the customs officers discovered their swag. Detention, then jail.

  He focused on the perils that lay ahead. Collecting the bags did not worry him. Passing through Customs did. As he had instructed, Catarina and Tommy had on their most elegant outfits. He'd made Tommy leave his pinky ring at home, knowing it would attract attention. He had worn a tailored Gucci suit for his entry into the United States. Just a wealthy Italian family eager to begin their vacation in New York. The kid and the nanny reinforced this deception. But hidden in small fabric bags, the uncut diamonds were inside the briefcase he carried.

  They had cleared security in Rome without incident, but clearing Customs would be more problematic. Catarina was wearing the diamond earrings and matching necklace he'd stolen. The rest of the stolen jewelry was in her suitcase.

  An announcement on the PA system advised passengers on British Airways Flight 123 to collect their luggage at Carousel Two. Catarina and Laura stepped off the escalator and headed in that direction with Bianca. Orazio said in Italian, “Don't worry, Tommy. I packed your suitcase carefully. The cash is inside the secret compartment at the bottom, dusted with talcum powder to throw off the sniffer dogs.”

  Tommy mopped sweat from his brow. “But what if they search my bag and find it?”

  “Stop acting like a petty thief,” he snapped. “You are a wealthy man vacationing with your family. You're the charming one. Ask the customs official how to get to the World Trade Center Memorial. They love it when visitors show respect for the Americans who died on 9-11.”

  Tommy clenched his jaw and said nothing.

  His brother hated taking orders, especially from him.

  A mob of British Airways passengers stood around Carousel Two, but the metal conveyor belt wasn't moving. He walked over to Laura and said in English, “How is our little traveler?”

  The girl shrank away from him, avoiding his eyes.

  “She will be fine as soon as she has a good meal and sleeps in a real bed.”

  Perhaps, but the nanny seemed anxious. “What's wrong, Laura? You look worried.”

  A flash of dismay crossed her face. Recovering quickly, she said, “One time when I landed in Boston they lost my luggage. The airline put my bags on a plane to California.”

  This disturbed him, but he did not allow it to show on his face. What if they lost Tommy's suitcase with the cash?

  “I am sure that will not happen. We will have our bags in no time.”

  Still, sometimes thieves lurked in the baggage claim area and stole expensive-looking luggage. He edged through the crowd toward the opening where the baggage handlers would dump their luggage onto the conveyor belt. If a thief stole any of their suitcases, the cafone would regret it. He'd cut off his balls and stuff them in his mouth.

  _____

  Shaken to the core, she watched Orazio push through the crowd. He was watching her like a hawk, had spotted her nervousness. She ran sweaty palms over the front of her denim jacket. It had patch-pockets on the front, ready to receive what Pak Lam's contact gave her.

  But she had to get away from Bianca, who was already fussing, asking for more Goldfish crackers. She whispered to Catarina, “I need to use a restroom. You know, to change ...”

  Catarina smiled. “No problem, Laura. Bianca can stay with me.”

  She circled the crowd that surrounded the metal carousel. Her contact knew her flight number, would expect to see her near Carousel Two. She saw an older Japanese couple, and a young Chinese woman with an infant, but no Chinese-Americans. With a metal clank, the conveyor belt began to move. She kept going, inching through the crowd as suitcases, knapsacks and packages tumbled onto the conveyor belt. Her suitcase had a gold ribbon tied to the handle to make it easy to spot. But if she grabbed it now, Orazio would expect her to join him, and kill her chances to escape.

  They would go to Customs. Conti and Renzi would be waiting outside.

  Someone bumped into her from behind and thrust something into her hand. Her fingers closed around a soft bag. Her heart surged. It felt like a cellphone and a power cord. She slowed but didn't turn around, kept her face blank in case Orazio was watching. She dropped the bag into one pocket of her jacket. “Good luck,” said a male voice as he put a wad of cash in her hand. “Call our friend.”

  A young Asian man with glossy black hair walked past her and kept going. She shoved the cash in the other pocket, wanting to shout with joy. Now she had a cellphone and some cash.

  Ducking around British Airways passengers that surrounded Carousel Two, she hurried to the nearest restroom. Several women stood at the sinks, washing their hands or peering into mirrors to tidy their hair. She went in an empty stall, shut the door and opened the drawstring bag. Inside was a power cord and an iPhone. She turned it on. Fully charged. Perfect. Giddy with excitement, she counted the wad of bills: nine hundred dollars in fifties, wrapped around a Master Card in Ling Lam's name.

  She put the cash and credit card in her wallet and s
tuffed the bag with the iPhone and charger into her leather purse. Forget the suitcase. She had what she needed to escape. She'd buy whatever else she needed later. All she had to do was hide until Orazio and the others collected their luggage. He'd be furious when she didn't claim her suitcase, but he wouldn't waste time hunting for her. He wanted to get his ill-gotten gains through Customs.

  But Conti and Renzi would be waiting for them. If she wasn't with the 'Netti brothers, what would they do?

  Conti was focused on the 'Netti brothers, but Renzi wasn't. Renzi, the relentless hunter who never gave up.

  No way was she going to let him arrest her. She would hide long enough for Orazio and the others to pass through Customs, then go through Customs by herself. But she couldn't stay here. The restroom was too close to Carousel Two. Orazio might send Catarina in here to look for her. She'd better find another restroom and figure out how to disguise herself.

  She saw a woman head for the door, a large black woman, taller and wider than she was. If she stayed close behind her, maybe no one would notice when she came out the door.

  She followed the woman outside.

  And came face to face with Orazio.

  Her heart almost jumped out of her chest.

  “What were you doing in there? Talking to someone?”

  “No, no,” she stammered. “I just … I wanted to wash my face.”

  “Why do you leave the girl alone for so long?”

  “Catarina—”

  “I did not hire Catarina to mind her, I hired you.”

  She said nothing. He was already furious. Why provoke him?

  “I have your suitcase. Come with me, we go to Customs now.”

  CHAPTER 15

  12:35 PM – JFK International Airport

  Frank stood behind a crowd of people jabbering excitedly in various languages, awaiting the arrival of friends or relatives. Off to his right, livery drivers in dark suits held cardboard signs with names printed on them in Magic Marker, awaiting their passengers.