by John Sneeden
CHAPTER FOUR
Venice
ZANE CIRCLED THE quiet Venetian block three times. He kept his head down, giving the illusion he was immersed in his phone. He counted six people—an elderly woman carrying a bag of produce, three teenagers with skateboards, and a couple holding hands—and none gave him any cause for concern.
On the third pass, he stopped at a weathered green door midway down the Calle de l’Aseo. After glancing in both directions, he used a key to gain entry. Beyond the door was a private stairwell, which he took to the second floor. He crossed the dark landing and pressed an ear against the door. Hearing nothing, he located a panel to the right of the doorjamb. He withdrew a card and swiped it through the slot on the side. When the screen lit, he punched in a five-digit code and waited. A sharp buzz and a loud click followed.
Zane entered and closed the door behind him. Before doing anything else, he stepped over to the sole window and cracked the blinds. With the all-clear signal set, he turned on a lamp, illuminating a familiar interior. The CIA-operated flat looked exactly as it had on his last visit two years before. Like other safe houses, the layout was simple and functional: a living room and open kitchen combination, three bedrooms, and one and a half baths. The furnishings consisted of two couches and a coffee table.
Zane crossed into the kitchen and opened one of the cabinets. Stacked neatly inside were several boxes of MREs—Meals Ready to Eat—along with ten cans of coffee. He picked up one of the cans and read the label. Lavazza. He smiled. Carmen will be ecstatic.
He checked his watch. Carmen and Amanda were due to arrive at any moment. Per Delphi protocol, they had all traveled separately from the airport. Zane left first, taking one of the many transfer boats operating on the lagoon. Amanda left next by taxi, while Carmen departed on board the Alilaguna ferry.
Knowing both of his partners would appreciate a jolt of caffeine, Zane started a pot of the Lavazza. He dropped his bag in one of the bedrooms, grabbed a fresh set of clothes, and headed for the shower. He stood underneath the hard stream for a full ten minutes, letting it invigorate his body and jump-start his circulation. He shampooed his long locks before stepping out and drying off.
As he finished, Zane heard muffled conversation coming from down the hall, so he quickly dressed and made his way back to the front. Carmen stood against the kitchen counter, and Amanda peered through the blinds.
“Sono in paradiso!” Carmen held up her cup as Zane entered. I’m in heaven!
He gave her a wink. “Something told me you’d like that.”
“Not sure I’ve ever seen her this excited before,” Amanda said.
Zane nudged Carmen out of the way and poured a cup for himself. “I guess you haven’t seen her around some of the dark-haired hunks in Florence.”
“Lavazza is better than any hunk I’ve ever met.”
Zane shook his head. “I seriously doubt that.”
“So you’re my shrink now?” Carmen gestured toward the living room. “This way. I have something for you.”
Zane followed her out of the kitchen while Amanda closed the blinds and joined them. Carmen lifted an unmarked box from one of the couches and set it on the coffee table. “I stopped by the courier’s office on the way in.”
Carmen used the edge of a key to cut the tape and opened the lid. A large cache of weapons and tactical items were stacked inside: a Glock 21, a Beretta 92FS, a Walther PPS, a dozen or so magazines, and a lock pick kit.
Zane looked at Carmen. “What about Brett’s bombs?”
Carmen laughed. “Is that what you’re calling them now?”
“I think it’s a great name,” Amanda said. “We can get some T-shirts printed.”
“They’re supposed to be in a separate container.” Carmen pushed some of the items around before finally lifting a metal box. A key was already in the lock, so she twisted it and opened the lid. Inside were two of the explosive devices.
“We’re going to have a blast using these things.” Zane picked one up.
Amanda shook her head and smiled. “Har, har.”
Zane looked at Carmen. “I know you too well. Don’t tell me you aren’t looking forward to tossing one of these babies through a window.”
“Something tells me we won’t be using them anytime soon,” she said. “Although I guess stranger things have happened.”
Amanda grabbed the Wather PPS and sat back on the couch. “So is Pauling’s residence near here?”
“Now is a good time to go over that. Be right back.” Carmen disappeared into one of the bedrooms then reappeared with a tablet and sat down between Zane and Amanda.
“I think his place is on the other side of town. Isn’t it?” Zane asked.
“Just about.” After entering her map application, Carmen pointed at the screen. “We’re here in south central Venice, just west of the lower end of the Grand Canal.” She moved her finger to the northeast end of the island. “Pauling’s house is here, where the Rio di Santa Giustina meets the Venetian lagoon.”
“Switch that over to satellite,” Zane said.
Carmen tapped, and the map transitioned to satellite images. When it finished loading, she zoomed in on the area.
Amanda pointed. “That actually looks like two houses.”
“Pauling’s is the one closest to the water.”
Zane’s brow furrowed. Standalone buildings were rare in Venice. Almost all structures in the city were contiguous. A freestanding home must cost a fortune. “Do you know if he owns both?”
“I don’t have any information on the other one,” Carmen said. “I suppose it’s possible, but I’m running on the assumption it belongs to someone else.”
“The Oracle wasn’t kidding when he said Pauling inherited a fortune,” Zane said. “I’m guessing the prices on those homes are jaw-dropping. In fact, it wouldn’t surprise me if that’s the most expensive residential real estate in Venice.”
Amanda pointed at the screen. “Can we get a look from ground level?”
Carmen toggled over to street view. Zane stared at the image, which was taken from about twenty yards away. Pauling’s home seemed even larger up close. It was three stories high with a red brick exterior. While he had no idea what home prices were in Venice, he guessed this would be at least an eight-figure house.
“Where is the entrance?” Amanda asked.
Carmen swiped the screen a few times to bring up the side of the building furthest away from the canal. She pointed at the door hidden inside an alcove.
“The neighborhood seems quiet.” Zane reached out and moved the view in several different directions. “No pedestrians. No boats passing down the canal.”
“It’s a residential area,” Carmen said. “Of course, there’s no guarantee it’s always that quiet. Probably depends on the time of day.”
Zane grabbed the Glock from the box and slipped it into his waistband. “Google has shown us about all it can. Let’s go have a look inside.”
CHAPTER FIVE
ZANE STARED AT Pauling’s home from the shadows of a nearby building. It was situated at the edge of the famed Venetian Lagoon, which encircled the city. Despite what Carmen had said about seeing a glow in one of the windows, the house looked dark to him.
After watching for a full minute, he pulled back. “I don’t see anything.”
“I’m telling you, I saw it,” Carmen said.
“Maybe it was a reflection from the house next to it.” Then again, that one looked dark as well. Whatever she’d seen, it wasn’t there now.
The loud whine of a boat reached their ears. Zane and Carmen looked toward the water. Seconds later, the running lights of a small craft appeared. It was coming in from the lagoon and seemed to be moving toward the canal that ran alongside Pauling’s home.
“I hope Amanda is out of sight,” Carmen said. While Zane and Carmen kept watch over the area, Amanda had slipped over to Pauling’s house to disable the alarm.
“I’m sure she is,” Zane said.
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br /> The boat slowed to a crawl. Zane frowned. Had they seen Amanda? Law enforcement patrols were everywhere on the lagoon, and the last thing they needed was to get arrested for tampering with Pauling’s security system. As the craft came closer, Zane saw it was filled with a half dozen men. They talked loudly and drank bottled beer. He breathed a sigh of relief. Instead of turning down the canal, the boat followed the contour of the city and disappeared from sight.
“Here she comes.” Carmen pointed.
A dark figure strode toward them from the house.
“All done.” Amanda joined them.
“Any issues?” Zane asked her.
“None.”
“Good job.” Zane checked his weapon then looked up. “Ready?”
Both nodded.
Zane led them to the house. A loud conversation drifted out of a window across the canal, but otherwise, the area was quiet. Thankfully, the door was hidden at the back of a shallow alcove, which would allow Zane to open it without being seen. As the other two stood vigil, he removed the lock pick kit and got to work. As he’d expected, the mechanism was high quality. Anyone who could afford this home wouldn’t have cheap locks. A couple of minutes later, a soft click indicated it had surrendered.
Zane reached for the knob with a gloved hand. “Stay here.”
Carmen grabbed his arm. “What if I was right about the light?”
“That’s why I’m going in alone. No need to put us all at risk. I’ll make sure the coast is clear. If it is, I’ll call you up.” He nodded at Amanda. “Remember, we just disabled the alarm. That means it would’ve been difficult for anyone else to get in without setting it off. Unless you think Pauling is alive and up there watching TV.”
Carmen nodded reluctantly. “If you see anything—and I mean anything—come back out, or call us in.”
After chambering a round, Zane slipped inside and pulled the door shut behind him. The bottom floor had no windows, and the darkness was heavy. Zane stood perfectly still, allowing his eyes to adjust. He found himself standing in a large foyer. On the opposite side was a hallway, and to his right was a set of stairs leading to the upper floors.
While the first floor seemed more utilitarian, he decided to clear it before heading up. Hearing no sound, he crossed the foyer and entered the hallway. Thankfully, the floor was covered with commercial-grade carpet, which allowed him to move without sound. The hallway eventually turned right, with rooms opening off the left-hand side. Zane stopped at each one and flicked the light on briefly. Just as he’d expected, most were used for storage. The one at the end contained a washer and dryer.
Finding nothing of interest, he returned to the stairs and began a careful ascent. About three-quarters of the way up, he paused and listened. There was still no sound, so he continued. The room at the top of the stairs took up half of the second floor. Ambient light spilled in through the blinds, allowing him to see. The decor was modern and minimalist: a white leather sectional, a sculpted rug, and a smattering of contemporary tables and lamps. Ancient vases, stone bowls, and oil lamps rested on the surfaces. It wasn’t hard to tell this was the home of an archaeologist.
Zane quickly cleared the other two rooms on the floor: a kitchen and a formal dining area. At this point, the only thing that seemed suspicious was the obsessive neatness of the home. It was almost too sterile—too neat. Had someone come and sanitized a crime scene? Perhaps. Then again, maybe Pauling just had a good maid.
Returning to the stairs, Zane climbed to the third floor, where he found another large room, this one filled with a half dozen rows of shelves and three tables. The shelves were filled with hardcover books of various sizes. It was a private library of immense proportions and would probably be a good place to start their search.
Zane moved to the left and found a hallway leading to the rest of the floor. Since he hadn’t seen any bedrooms yet, he guessed the living quarters were somewhere down the corridor. Interestingly, that was where Carmen had seen the light.
As he continued forward, Zane heard the faint clink of metal from somewhere down the hall. He froze in place, but the noise didn’t repeat. To his trained ears, it sounded like two clothes hangers tapping against one another. And if that was correct, it meant someone was hiding in one of the bedrooms, waiting for him to come down. But who? Was it the people responsible for Pauling’s disappearance?
An idea surfaced. Returning to the stairs, he descended slowly, stepping hard enough to be heard and yet not so hard as to be obvious. When he reached the landing between the floors, he stopped, turned around, and retraced his steps, this time without making a sound. He returned to the library and ducked behind one of the tables in front of the shelves. He removed his Glock and waited.
Despite waiting for several minutes, no sound reached his ears. Zane clenched his jaw in frustration. Maybe he hadn’t stepped hard enough. Or maybe the intruder heard the sound but wasn’t buying the ruse.
Just as he was about to give up, Zane heard the clink of hangers once again, followed by the sound of footfalls coming down the hall. He crouched lower and looked through the table legs. Seconds later, a figure appeared in the doorway.
His heart thumping, Zane lifted his head slightly above the tabletop. It was a risky move, one that would get him caught if the person happened to be looking in that direction. Someone stood at the corner, looking toward the stairs. As the details sharpened, Zane realized it was the silhouette of a woman.
After remaining still for a moment, she moved, forcing Zane to make a decision. Should he stay or follow? Acting on instinct, he stood and fell in behind her. Thankfully, the heat blowing through the vents masked the sound of his steps. As he drew closer, he saw she was younger than he’d thought. She was of medium height with a thin build and dark wavy hair that fell just past her shoulders. She wore stylish jeans and a black sweater—not the attire of a burglar. If she was a thief, she was the hottest one Zane had ever seen.
The girl paused at the head of the stairs. Zane stopped about two feet away. She turned slightly. Had she heard him?
He stepped forward and placed the muzzle of his Glock between her shoulder blades. “Don’t move. Get those hands in the air where I can see them.” He repeated the command in Italian.
The girl stiffened at the sound of his voice. After some hesitation, she slowly lifted her hands. When they reached shoulder level, she pivoted, catching him off guard. Her hands torqued around with surprising speed, knocking his pistol across the room.
Zane had violated one of the major rules of fighting. He’d underestimated his opponent. Perhaps it was how easily he’d been able to draw her out of hiding or perhaps it was the way she was dressed. Whatever the reason, he’d let his guard down and had gotten too close, allowing her to make a simple—but effective—move.
Facing him, the girl threw a right-handed punch at his face. Zane recovered quickly, blocking her fist with his left arm while delivering a crushing blow to her abdomen with his right. She hadn’t been prepared for the counter punch, which sent her reeling. As she fell backward, she let out a cry of pain. Despite her apparent distress, Zane wasn’t going to be lulled into complacency again. He dove on top of her, grabbed her wrists, then pinned both arms to the floor.
She squirmed under him. “Stop. Let me go.”
Zane held her firmly. “So you can try to punch me again? I don’t think so.”
After a few more seconds, she finally stopped moving. The tone of his voice seemed to calm her slightly. Finally, she looked up at him. “Please, you’re hurting me. Let me go.”
“First, you’re going to tell me who you are,” Zane said calmly. “Then you’re going to tell me why you’re here.”
She hesitated then tried to squirm away again. Zane tightened his grip on her wrists, causing her to wince.
“Okay, okay, okay… I’ll tell you who I am.”
Zane smiled. “That’s more like it. And don’t lie. I can tell if you’re lying.”
She studied him cl
osely, as though trying to determine if he were friend or foe. Finally, she said, “My name is Emily.”
Zane’s brow furrowed. He’d heard that name recently. But where? He knew he should recognize it but couldn’t recall where he’d heard it before. He met her gaze. “Emily who?”
“I told you who I was. Now let me go!”
“Emily who?” Zane’s voice was firm.
Her lip quivered. Her eyes darted away for a moment then came back to him. “My name is Emily Pauling, and this is my father’s house.”
CHAPTER SIX
ZANE FROWNED, SCARCELY able to believe what he’d just heard. “You’re Richard Pauling’s daughter?”
“Yes, I’m Emily Pauling. I can show you my driver’s license if you don’t believe me.” She squirmed some more. “Now, can you please let me go?”
Hearing the name a second time triggered Zane’s memory. He now knew where he’d seen it before—Richard Pauling’s dossier. Zane hadn’t anticipated meeting her, so he’d skimmed through her material, choosing instead to focus on the archaeologist and his work. But now that her face was just a few inches away, he saw the resemblance to the photographs in the file. Her hair was longer, but that was the only difference.
Emily moved again. “So now you’re going back on your word? Let me up.”
Her plea pulled Zane out of his thoughts. He looked at her. “No more self-defense moves?”
She laughed. “You’re probably not going to believe this, but that’s one of only two moves I know.”
Zane studied her. She had wilted pretty quickly after the initial pivot, so she was probably telling the truth.
She laughed again, louder this time. “Look, I promise. I took a self-defense class last year and have been practicing those two moves over and over.”
Zane released one of her wrists and used his free hand to text Carmen, telling her to come to the third floor. He frisked Emily briefly, pulling a phone out of her pocket.