“The dry ice makes it stable for a short period of time. Come. We must hurry.”
“Signorina, Signorina.” Silvestri, who had been allowed back into the museum area, raced toward her, wringing his hands. “We must find who’s doing this.”
“And we will,” she assured him. “I’m going to leave someone with you until I get back. Even as we speak equipment is being set up in your office to monitor phone calls and all messengers will be checked.” She put a delicate hand on his arm. “I promised you, it will be all right. Believe me.”
She cast a look at one of the men in dark suits who hurried forward and led the young director toward his office.
“This way, Signorina Sebastiani,” one of the uniforms said. “The Minister of Finance has ordered a car at your disposal.”
She smiled at him and he saw the relief wash over her that her old family friend, Arturo Franzoni, now in the Italian Cabinet, would give her ready transportation to help his policemen in the Finanza. “Please tell Minister Franzoni I am most grateful.”
“Sì, he says he will do anything to aid you, Signorina. Meanwhile, please, the driver is waiting for you at the front door.”
Their driver had once been a professional racer, she was certain of it by the way she’d left her breath behind her as he left the curb. He zoomed along in his little dove-gray car to deposit them blocks away, along the Arno River. Once inside the famed offices of the de’Medici, now a museum, she and Lane went through a similar routine until the purse with its lethal contents rested in another lead-lined box. And more tension-filled time while she defused each one. More than two hours later, the same driver sped them back to the Bargello. There, Lane followed Isabella up the long steps to the upper level of the medieval jail where now the museum offices were located. Finanza polizia lined the corridors. More police were on the upper balcony in front of a heavy carved wooden door, including two metropolitan detectives in suits.
One of them greeted her. “Another one for your clever hands, Bella,” he told her. “Let’s hope you can take care of things before the poor director pisses himself.”
“Of course, Aldo,” she said calmly, addressing him by his first name. She ignored the slight edge of sarcasm in his voice. Many of the local police departments had their own bomb disposal unit but Isabella had an international reputation for handling explosives and she was always at the top of everyone’s list when an incident occurred. The metropolitan polizia deferred to her with reluctant and grudging admiration.
Aldo stepped forward now as if to prevent Lane from entering the museum.
“He’s with me,” she snapped.
“Scusi, Signorina Sebastiani. But you know we must be extremely careful.”
She cast an impatient eye at him and said to Lane. “Show them your creds so we can get on with this.”
Seconds later one of the uniformed men pulled the wooden door open and Isabella swept inside, followed by Lane. Silvestri was standing just inside, flanked by yet more local polizia, wringing his hands. His face was covered with a fine sheen of perspiration.
“Grazie, grazie, for coming so quickly, Signorina,” he babbled. “I left everything exactly as I found it.”
“Fine,” she muttered. “Good.” She looked at her old friend, the detective. “Cappi? Are my things still here?”
“I made sure of it,” he told her. “We also have a small tape recorder left inside the purse.”
“Another message?” she asked, her eyes on the small bomb laid out on Silvestri’s desk.
“Sì. We have examined the tape recorder. Ten years old. Japanese make.”
“Too old and too inexpensive to trace for ownership. Only fingerprints or trace evidence will help us learn who did this,” she concluded as she bent to the bomb. Then she began the process of dismantling it, exactly as she had done on the previous one.
The TATP bomb consisted of three tiny perfume vials filled with the dangerous liquid. They lay atop an innocuous gel mask that had been previously chilled and was still warming. Items a woman might carry in her purse. And lying next to them a simple lady’s alarm watch, set to go off at a certain time and detonate the explosive.
Lane tried not to show the relief he felt that the immediate danger was past and Bella was away from the explosives. He knew she was the best of the best, but the thought of that supple body blown to bits made him shudder.
Finally, done with the vials, Bella punched the button on the machine and played the message back again. The male voice speaking English in a British accent filled the room.
You display art that celebrates liberation of the oppressed, yet millions are impoverished by the three-headed hydra. Yet you do nothing. We will make you. Freeze the assets of Kopf or the next bomb will be immediate and devastating. Octo.
Lane and Isabella exchanged glances.
“We must have voice analysis,” she told Cappi.
“Interesting they did not bother to use a disguise mechanism,” Cappi noted.
“Leaving a recorded message is something new, right?” Lane asked her.
She nodded. “Today is the first time the bombs have appeared anywhere, in the art world or otherwise. The recorded message, too. Yet, this demand to freeze the assets of the Kopf is astounding.”
“The Kopf,” he said with a sour taste in his mouth. “Kopf Industries owned by three men known for their art holdings and their obscurity.”
“And their greed. One Russian, one Italian and one German joined together to package subprime mortgages and sell them as securities, defrauding millions and bankrupting entire countries.” Bella felt her blood pressure tick up. “This is no art thief setting these bombs. Could it be that some of those who have been defrauded by Kopf have set them?”
Lane stared at her. “Why not? They talk of being oppressed and impoverished by the three-headed hydra? Makes sense to me.”
“But who are they?” demanded Silvestri. “How can we save my museum if we do not know who is doing this?”
Lane nodded. “Signore Silvestri has a point. I have never heard of Octo. Who is this unknown group that’s suddenly doing this? Definitely strange that no one wants to claim credit for it.”
“What should I do?” Silvestri asked, nervously clasping and unclasping his hands.
“If they ask for a ransom to end the planting of bombs, do you have the cash available?” Lane wanted to know of the director.
Silvestri shrugged. “From the insurance company. And it would have to be approved by the board.”
Bella paced. “Signore, you can do nothing at the moment. These would-be bombers have not asked for money. They have not set the bombs in so intricate a manner that they could not be dismantled.” She cocked her head and raised a finger in the air. “They’re warning us. Of Kopf, certainly. We must learn more about this three-man group, Lane. Quickly. We need to find out if there are other museums or galleries in Europe that are having the same problem. If they have recorded or written messages attached that speak of Kopf or a three-headed hydra.”
Lane pulled out his cell phone. “Let me get onto Nemesis and see what background Maddie and Dan can dig up. And I’ll try to reach Adam and Nic. See if they’ve arrived here in Florence yet.”
Adam Molloy, former Mossad agent now married to agency CEO Nicki Welles, still had many contacts all over Europe and the Middle East and often was the Nemesis point man for international cases. Terrorism was Adam’s specialty.
Lane opened the door to the office and walked out into the hall, finding a quiet corner where he could carry on the conversation. He didn’t need either the museum staff or the polizia listening in as he called headquarters.
But as he opened his phone, he saw he had new attached documents, all securely encrypted, from Maddie about their new client. His new client. Ours, he corrected himself as he read all the info with growing understanding and horror. When he had brought himself up to speed enough to talk with Maddie with some intelligence, he hit the speed dial for headquarters
in Texas. “I just read what you sent me, Maddie. Threats against the G8 Finance Ministers by a group called Octo? Who the hell are they?”
“New. No traces,” she told him. “The G8 countries and Interpol are hiring us to see if we can be eyes and ears in addition to their own security. The meeting of the eight finance ministers is in Paris in three days, Lane. We need you and Bella on this. No telling what this Octo group has in mind.”
“We’ll have to hustle here, Maddie. We’ve got our own problems with bombs planted by Octo who want to bring down a corporation called Kopf Industries.” He gave her the condensed version of the bombs, their defusing and the recorded message. “See what you can find for me, okay?”
“Wow,” she yelped and he heard her doing little pants. “Hold on, will you? Braxton Hicks contractions. Nothing…um…big. False labor. Okay. Phew! Okay. Kopf? Did you say Kopf Industries?”
“I did. Why—?”
“Well, good thing we’re on this, buddy. The G8 have been under pressure by elected officials and pension companies to freeze the assets of Kopf who stole their money in a subprime-mortgage scam last year. One of the reasons they want more security is because of the demonstrations all over Europe against Kopf. Everyone calls Kopf a hydra.”
Lane ran a hand through his hair. “How did I miss that?”
“You were in Barcelona undercover on your last case.”
“Right. Right. But the hydra connection and G8 meeting threat might mean we are working the same case from two angles.”
“Maybe. Maybe. Oh, boy. Hang on. Here we go again… Okay. We’re good. Send me a transcript of the recording, will you, if the Italian police will let it go?”
“Sure. Bella is working as a consultant to the museums and the Finanza, so I doubt that’ll be a problem with them. And now that she’s working with us and our client is the G8, that ought to be more reason to let you analyze it on your software.”
“Agreed,” Maddie said. “Hey wait! Before you go, you really think she is our caliber?”
“Not a doubt in the world,” he bit off. He knew Maddie often used teasing to defuse tense situations but right now he was still shaking inside from Bella’s proximity to those bombs. He’d need to get hold of himself in a big hurry. “She’s the best I’ve ever seen. Steady as a rock with a cool head and the ability to block everything out except what she’s doing. And an unbelievable knowledge of explosives. Cool, calm, thoughtful. Just what we need.” What I need.
“Good. Whoever gets info first calls the other. Deal?”
“Deal. I’ll be going back to Isabella’s. You and I will talk soon.”
Isabella leaned back in her chair, shoes off and feet resting on an ottoman on the balcony of her apartment. It had been a very long day and the view of the black velvet sky was soothing to her frazzled nerves. The false alarm this morning. The “interview” with Lane which included all that exhaustive but highly satisfying sex. Racing from the Bargello to the Uffizi and back, taking care of the explosives, calming the directors, speaking with the Ministry of Culture and Heritage and beefing up security all took exhaustive patience and control.
Now that she could finally relax, she felt limp and drained. She and Lane were drinking a Brunello as smooth as silk and more soothing than the ebony sky. Meanwhile Lane tried to get Adam and Nic again.
“I got a ‘not available’ message so I left a voice mail,” he told her, clicking off and dropping the phone on the little table between them.
“I wonder where they are that they’re in a dead zone.”
“That happens rarely in Europe, but it does occur,” she offered.
As he checked his watch, his phone rang. “It’s two in the afternoon in Texas,” he murmured as he hit the receive button and talked with Maddie.
As he hung up, Bella leaned forward, more alarmed by his bleak expression. “So what did Maddie say?”
The lines around his mouth grew taut, then he took a long swallow from his glass. “Nothing good.”
Isabella frowned. “What?”
“Two in Paris and one in Spain. Same procedure. A purse with a dud in it left first—in France at the Louvre and in Spain at the Prado—followed up by the real thing. And that followed by the same recorded message.”
“Hydras. Kopf. Scams to rob people of their pensions and savings,” Bella spit out the words. “Greed.”
“But it’s not logical to punish the finance ministers,” he added.
“If their governments allow it,” she waved a hand. “I know Arturo pressed for reforms.”
“Arturo?” he asked as he split the rest of the wine between the two of them and lifted his glass again.
“The finance minister of our government is an old family friend. My father and he went to Oxford together in the sixties. I spoke to him today on the phone. You remember. When we were offered the car to the Uffizi. And you know, he said nothing of this threat in Paris.”
Lane shrugged. “Probably did not want to worry you. You had your own things to think about. Bombs. Museums and priceless art inside.”
Lane shrugged again. “That’s the problem with museums. The cost of everything has escalated so much that security is low on the list. Technology is old. Professionals hardly merit the term. And right when the facilities need the best. These days, if a thief or a bomber can get past the front door then they’re good as gold.”
“Security will now be on the alert for L.L. Bean purses,” Bella told him. “Our nasty little friends will need to find another delivery method.”
“Let’s hope we find them before that happens.” He took her nearer hand in his and tugged at her, urging out of her chair. When she was standing he reached up for her waist and tumbled her into his lap. “Meanwhile, there’s nothing we can do but wait for the forensics to come in the morning. We will decide what to do afterward. And this has been a rough day for you. I think you need a little stress relief and I’m just the person to provide it.”
“Oh?” Her lips curved in a seductive smile and she felt some of the strain easing from her body. She wouldn’t be able to relax fully until this was over and resolved but Lane’s touch had such a narcotic effect. Oh, wait. Maybe drugging wasn’t exactly the right concept. “What did you have in mind?”
His mouth sought hers, one lean hand cupping her head and pulling it toward him so he could bring her lips to his. At the first contact, warmth seeped through her and the knots in her muscles began to unravel. His tongue swept into her mouth, touching every interior surface like the lick of a flame.
His hand cradled her breast and his thumb rasped lightly back and forth over her now-hardened nipple. What was it with this man that just the barest touch could make her body ignite? Her breasts felt heavy and between her thighs she felt the wetness of her cunt and the pulse of her clit.
“Haven’t we already done this today?” she asked, breathless, when he broke the kiss. “Are you insatiable?”
“I seem to be that way with you,” he murmured, nibbling at her bottom lip.
His hand moved from her breast to slide beneath the silken fabric of her skirt, his fingers stroking their way up the inside of her thigh until he reached her thong.
“Wet,” he breathed. “I knew it. The chemistry between us is instantaneous and hot.”
“I hope we can control this when we’re out in the field together,” she joked.
“Trust me, princess. I might play hard but I work just as hard. When I’m out there I’m all business. Period.” He bent his head and nipped her nipple through her clothing. “But right now business is on hold and I can’t stop wanting to fuck you.”
“Then perhaps we should move from the balcony,” she teased, the hunger inside her already bursting through her body. “Unless you want to perform for the city of Florence.”
In response he stood up with her in his arms, carried her into the bedroom and placed her on the sheets still rumpled from earlier in the day. He bent over her, his mouth again ravenous against hers as he swiftly
and expertly removed her clothes. His hands skimmed lightly over her body, tracing the dips and hollows, molding to her breasts and sifting through her glistening pubic curls to find the hot, wet folds of her pussy.
Isabella moved restlessly, suddenly needing to feel him inside her, the hard length of him filling her.
“Hurry,” she whispered as he stripped off his own clothing and sheathed himself in a condom.
“We’ll have to replenish the supply of these if we’re going to keep doing this,” he remarked, his voice thick with desire and heat flashing in his eyes.
“No problem. We’ll put it next on our to-do list.”
He settled himself between her thighs and with one swift stroke drove into her. She gasped as the walls of her vagina stretched to accommodate him, then molded around him at once, the feel of him already becoming familiar.
“Hard and fast this time, Bella.” He loomed over her, every muscle in his face taut, his weight balanced on his hands as he locked his gaze with hers. “Sorry.”
“Oh, yes, please. Please.”
“I thought you would not have a man who hurried.”
She clenched her inner muscles around him. “There are exceptions to every rule. And this is one of them.”
He moved then, deep, rapid strokes, in and out, feeding the bonfire inside her. Whether it was the fact that their bodies were becoming so in tune with each other, or the crash of adrenaline after the tension of the afternoon that ignited it so quickly, the orgasm crashed over them in seconds. It hit with the force of a tornado, sweeping them into space, bodies shuddering together, hearts hammering, the only sounds in the room the lazily turning ceiling fan and the rasping of breath seesawing in and out of their lungs.
And finally they were done, spent, collapsed together on the sheets. Lane managed to rouse himself after several moments to dispose of the condom.
“I think we should order more sustenance,” he suggested as he padded back to the bed and surveyed her with an appreciative gaze. “I could eat every inch of your body but that might not be enough to get me through until tomorrow.”
Unti Twilight Page 4