by Dale Nelson
She caught Castro’s eye, and he flashed her a wry smile.
Her phone rang again. She looked down at the number but didn’t recognize it. She tapped the answer button and said, “This is Danzig.”
Part Three
Nineteen
They worked on him for about an hour, but Jack’s story never changed. He never wavered from his explanation that Viktor had been in the museum and that they weren’t working together. Jack didn’t know whether or not Aleksander believed him, but after several rounds of kidney punches and a few less wholesome methods of questioning, they relented.
Aleksander told Jack that either he was telling the truth or was a superior liar.
Mijo dragged Jack up the stairs and then dropped him on his bed. Jack passed out before Mijo was out of the room and woke up to the man standing over him. He didn’t know how much time had passed, but he was in terrible pain.
“Boss says to pack up. You’re going with him to Rome.”
Jack rolled over onto his side and pushed himself to a seated position.
“They’re loading a car now,” Mijo said.
Guess they weren’t taking any chances with Jack not making it to Rome.
Jack stood and changed clothes. He’d never unpacked, so getting his things together didn’t take any time. He walked into the bathroom and pissed blood.
Jack cleaned himself up as best he could, grabbed his bag, and headed downstairs. The Audi A8 L was idling in the carport. Aleksander was already in the back seat. Someone Jack didn’t recognize, a man, was in the front passenger seat. The driver was standing next to the car. He pointed at the open trunk for Jack to put his bags in and closed it when he was done. Jack got into the back seat next to Aleksander. No one said anything on the ride to the airport. They boarded a private plane, and Jack was given a seat in the rear of the aircraft. Aleksander sat in front. There was a guard in between them. He was given water and nothing else. When they landed two and a half hours later, Aleksander told him that he’d remain on the aircraft for about an hour to reduce the likelihood of someone putting them there together. He was to get a cab to Rome, get a hotel, and check in with Aleksander by phone every few hours. He’d be given an address of where to meet the following day.
Aleksander said he’d be followed. If he tried to leave Rome, he’d be killed.
That’s when Jack knew he was being set up.
Jack had a room at the Hotel De’ Ricci. It was a small boutique hotel on the western edge of Rome’s city center, just a block up from the River Tiber. They boasted an impressive wine cellar and advertised that they catered to oenophiles. Tactically, it was a good location because it was close to one of Rome’s major traffic arteries, Lungotevere del Tebaldi. The hotel was in a nondescript, orange-colored building tucked away on a side street, with little more than a glass door and labeled welcome mat to advertise its location. Once he puzzled out that this was a setup, Jack wasn’t surprised that Aleksander had him secure his own lodging. First, it established a trail for Jack in Rome, which he assumed Aleksander would want for the inevitable police investigation following the robbery. Second, it kept Jack away from wherever Aleksander was staying, which meant Jack couldn’t eavesdrop on his planning.
He’d made three phone calls to Aleksander so far. Each time it was just to verify that he was in town. On the first call, Aleksander asked what hotel Jack was staying at so that they could have a man there. The hotel was small and didn’t have a lobby, so any surveillance they were going to do would have to be done from the outside.
Shortly after ten in the morning, Jack answered a knock. There was a short, almost elfin man of about seventy with a face the color and texture of a walnut. His hair was silver on top and lightened to black the farther down the sides it went, until turning silver again at the temples. He wore it slicked back against his head. The man was impeccably dressed in a white linen jacket, blue and white bengal striped shirt, and light blue pants. An orange silk square erupted from his jacket pocket. Jack stood there for a long moment, taking the sight in, his eyes wet and heavy.
“Hello, my friend.”
Vito Verrazano stepped into the room, and they embraced.
“You’re looking a-good, kid,” Vito said, stepping back. His English had always been good, but it was a working man’s English, and he always put emphasis in the wrong spots. Jack showed him into the room and closed the door behind him.
Vito was maybe five-foot-four and built like a rectangle, square shoulders and thick, muscular arms, though he was much slighter now than the last time Jack had seen him twenty-two years before. The curtains were drawn, and it was stuffy in the room, for which Jack apologized, but he wasn’t taking chances with anyone eavesdropping from outside or from an adjoining room.
“It’s been a long time, kid,” Vito said.
“More than a couple years, yeah,” Jack replied. “I have to admit, I was surprised to hear from you.” Jack let out a nervous laugh. “Shocked was more like it.”
“Yeah. It took a while to build up the nerve. I had your number for a while.”
“Can I ask why now? That seems important to me.”
Vito looked away with wise eyes that were slightly wet. “I’m an old man, Jack. I don’t have a lot of years left for regrets. You know how it is in our business. You either become fast friends with someone or you learn to forget their name. I thought, when it’s all over, do I want to forget your name?”
Jack knew what he meant. Thieves couldn’t afford to form lasting bonds with people. First, it was safest not to know people’s real names because that turned into a liability fast. Second, the nature of the game was that you were only loyal to yourself. Double-crossing and selling out were genuine coins of the realm. But like any human interaction, sometimes the bonds formed overrode those other factors, as it had with Jack and Enzo. They were genuine lifelong friends. Jack felt the same way about Vito, who was both friend and mentor to him. Though he understood why Vito cut him out, it didn’t mean that it hurt any less when it happened.
“Of course I kept up with you. Gentleman Jack? You give yourself that name? I know you tried to keep a low profile about it, but word gets around. I heard about some of those jobs you did. That thing in Cannes, obviously. Where have you been? You’re not living here, are you? Are you married?”
“No, I’m not. I’m—” But then Jack caught himself. Part of him wanted to tell Vito about what he’d been doing, about his winery, knowing Vito would appreciate the care and craft that had gone into building that other life. “I’m here and there. If you keep moving,” Jack said, flashing a wry smile, “no one can pin you down, right?”
Vito chuckled, nodding. Jack sensed that Vito picked up on his reluctance to go deeper, and he didn’t press further.
Enzo arrived the night before and spent the morning walking the neighborhood around the Commerce Bank. He entered the room about twenty minutes after Vito in a typhoon of profanity.
This was his preferred way when his mind was working out a problem. The Watchmaker’s speech somehow devolved into a near constant torrent of vulgarity until he just snapped out of it. Enzo closed the door behind him.
“Motherfucking Serbian cocksuckers everywhere,” he said, to no one in particular. “The place is lousy with them. There was a group of four standing on a corner across the street watching the front and another one inside.”
“Any of them look like Viktor?” Jack asked.
Enzo shook a negative. “Goddamn it,” he said, finally noticing Vito. Enzo leaned down and clapped Vito on the shoulder. “You look good, you old bastard. When are you going to come fishing again?”
Vito smiled, but it was wan.
“Okay,” Enzo said. “All right, shit.” And that appeared to be the last of it, finally worked out of his system. “Okay,” he said again. Enzo’s other problem was that when his mind was working, he spoke too quickly, squeezing words in with a machine gun cadence. Speaking in English was the only way Jack could understand h
im. “It took me about an hour to see a bank manager, and he told me that I couldn’t get into see the vault but that they’d give me a private room to enter the contents of my deposit box. They’d have to log it, all that, make sure it wasn’t illegal.” Enzo rolled his eyes. “I asked him the rudimentary security questions, if the vault was in the basement, and he told me it was on the main floor, do they have armed guards, how fast to the police respond.”
“Did he get suspicious?”
“Started to, but then I told him that I’d be storing some heirloom jewelry that’s been in the family since my grandmother was a countess. Worth too much to keep in the house.” Enzo shrugged. “I can play paranoid pretty well.”
Jack made notes as Enzo spoke.
“When I left the bank, I crossed over Via Vittorio Emanuele, and that’s where I saw the group on the corner. I don’t know for a fact they work for Aleksander, but I know they were speaking Serbian.”
Jack nodded.
So, Aleksander had a crew here. He didn’t know if that was the team he’d be working with or a different group altogether.
He had to know that Jack hadn’t gotten the box number from Guilia yet. Other than the brief encounter the other night, they’d never had any time alone.
Jack acknowledged that it was an educated guess. It was possible Aleksander just assumed Jack got her to talk.
“Where are we on the safety deposit box?” Vito asked.
Jack shook his head. “That’s going to take some doing, unfortunately.”
“Well, what are you waiting for?” Enzo asked, a little impatient.
Jack shot him a look. “This isn’t easy for me,” he said. “Guilia has it, and she hasn’t given it to me yet. Plus, she’s in Spain, and I’m here.”
A flash of embarrassment crossed Enzo’s face. “I’m sorry.”
“But Enzo has a point,” Vito said. “I now it’s hard, Jack, but without her …” his voice trailed off.
“I know, I know. I’m on the next flight back to Alicante.”
The hotel room door opened. Everyone’s head darted in the direction of the front door, and Enzo reached for his waist. A man walked through wearing a blue-gray sharkskin suit and an open collar shirt with a loud, floral print on it. He was average height with a wiry, athletic build, square jaw, and a haircut that was just above stubble. He wore a pair of aviator glasses with green lenses, which he promptly removed and placed in his jacket pocket. He closed the door behind him and walked across the room.
“You’re a swell lot of thieves, aren’t you?” the man said.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” Enzo said.
Jack stood. “Vito, I’d like you to meet my friend Rusty.”
Twenty
“Vito Verrazano? It’s a pleasure,” Rusty said, extending hand.
Vito shook it.
“Thanks for coming,” Jack said.
“I wouldn’t miss it.”
Jack looked his friend up and down. “So, this is your idea of a getaway outfit?”
“Rule number one, Jack, never dress like a man on the run.”
“Does that make rule number two to dress like a gigolo?” Enzo asked.
“Maybe,” Rusty said, laughing. “Near as I can figure it, Danzig must have been watching me for some time but wasn’t able to do anything about it. So, once you got flagged in Paris, she figured that she’d activate some of the old tripwires she set for me after the Carlton job. That’s the only way she could move so fast. Well, that and I think she said you were a flight risk and they wanted to shut down your logistic support. I decided to play it safe and closed up shop where I was at. I burned the identity that I was living under. Even though she’s got my name, that’s been buried under so many other identities, I’m not really worried about it.” Rusty shrugged. “I need to lie low for a few months, and it will take some time building some of my networks back up, but honestly, as long as she doesn’t physically detain me, I think I’m in good shape.”
“That’s good,” Jack said.
“I’ve still got one guy on the inside that I can talk to. I’ll let you know how close the case is getting.”
“Somebody want to tell me what in the hell is going on right now?” Vito asked.
“Sure. Sorry. Rusty, here, is my fixer,” Jack said, leaving out any other explanation of who Rusty really was or how he came by his information. “And he can get us just about anything we need.” Jack put a hand on Vito’s shoulder. “You two need to talk.”
“And you need to be getting on an airplane,” Enzo said.
“Before you go,” Vito said, “fill everyone in on the plan.”
“Right,” Jack said. “I told Aleksander that I’m going into the bank in the next couple of days. I’m to tell the bank manager that I want access to a particular safe deposit box and explain that ‘my men’ in the lobby are armed and are going to make sure that happens in a timely manner.”
Jack paused and put a few things into his backpack. There were several flights a day between Rome and Alicante, though most connected through Barcelona or Madrid, but he was able to grab a seat on a nonstop Ryan Air flight, which also served as Europe’s street peddler, but it would have him there by evening. “I’ve got the room paid for a week, so you guys should feel free to stage out of here. Rusty booked you both in your own rooms across the hall.”
“Is there anything you need on this end?” Rusty asked.
“Yeah. Let’s have a clean car in case we need it. Four doors and fast. Let’s also make sure we have weapons. I think you’ve got the rest covered. I’ll be back tomorrow, first thing, but I’ll call as soon as I’ve got the information we need.”
Jack grabbed his things and headed downstairs to the lobby, where he asked the manager to get him a car. Jack changed cabs twice on the way to the airport to make sure that he wasn’t tailed. He didn’t believe that Aleksander was actually watching him, but he also wasn’t taking chances.
Fiumicino Airport was located about twenty miles outside of Rome proper, and if you were asking a typical Roman how long it would take to get there, he’d shrug his shoulders and just swear a little. Maybe it was thirty minutes, maybe it was two hours, maybe it was tomorrow. Either way, however long it took wouldn’t be his fault.
Jack checked his messages during the ride. Nothing from Megan. He knew had no right to expect a response, but even a “go to hell” voicemail would be something. When he got to the airport, he called Hugh and it went straight to voicemail. He left a similar message as he did with Megan.
Jack barely made his flight to Alicante. He checked his watch when he landed. It was just after eight p.m. There was a voicemail message waiting from Megan. It would be about eleven in the morning in Sonoma. Jack picked up his phone and dialed Megan as he was walking through the airport. She picked up on the second ring.
“Hi,” she said in a hesitant voice.
Jack scanned the airport for any sign of Aleksander’s goons. But Megan must have read his silence as nervousness, which he also felt, both in talking to her again and because he didn’t want to get jumped by a group of Serbian thugs.
Jack said, “I miss you, and I’m sorry. For everything.” He stepped outside the airport’s glass and metal doors into the cool, dry night. The sounds of the airport, the constant motion, surrounded him. An airplane took off in the background, cars in the parking zone honked, a traffic cop blew his whistle and lazily waved at people, conversations happened in rapid-fire Spanish.
“I know you are,” she said.
Jack smiled at that. She wasn’t giving him a pass, and that was so foundationally “her.”
“I don’t really know what to say here,” she said.
“Some people are trying to blackmail me into stealing something for them. They threatened to turn me over to the police if I didn’t. They’re a network of thieves, mostly from the former Yugoslavian countries, that the media calls the Pink Panthers.”
Megan waited a beat. “Can you go to the police first?
Cut them off?”
“They also threatened to burn down the winery.”
“That’s comprehensive,” she said. “Jesus Christ.”
“I didn’t do it. I couldn’t.” Jack looked around, checking to see if anyone was within earshot of him.
“Doesn’t that mean they’re going to …” Megan’s voice trailed off. She couldn’t bring herself to say it.
“I don’t think so. I made a deal with them, but it was just to buy time. I’m not committing any crimes for these guys. The important thing for you to know is that I have a plan.”
“Oh, that totally doesn’t sound dangerous.”
Jack looked off in the distance. The horizon was now an orange ribbon, like a dying ember. “Meg, all I want in this world is to have a life with you. I don’t know if that’s even possible now. If it is, if there’s even a chance …” Jack searched for words. “But I’ve got to face certain choices that I’ve made. I can’t be a whole person for anyone until I do. I need to stop running.”