“For as long as you can remember, you’ve seen me travel around the world from one corporate headquarters to another as a security consultant. Well, that’s not exactly true,” he said. “I do fly all over the world, but I’m not a consultant. I kill people, Matthew. Bad people. But I kill them all the same.”
I was in shock. Complete. There was a buzzing sound suddenly in both my ears. My chest felt hot on the inside.
“You murder people?” I said. “For money?”
“I eliminate scum — the dregs of our world. Most of them are killers themselves. Some just order the murders of others. It doesn’t make it any more righteous that I target only folks who deserve to die. But you know what? I sleep okay at night. I don’t have a problem with it. Do you, Matthew?”
I did, actually. “And you think, what? That that’s what I should be doing? Killing bad people?”
“Not should be doing,” he said. “Could be doing. It’s just an option you have. I saw your service record. I held your shooting medals. You’re one of the best-trained Marines to come out of Parris Island.”
“Dad, fighting for this country is a lot different from being an assassin for hire.”
“Is it?” he said. “Badasses are badasses, aren’t they? I think so. Seems perfectly logical to me.”
“I don’t know about your logic there, Dad.”
But I’m pretty sure the seed was planted inside that barroom in Colorado.
A few months after I talked to my father, I took my first job, and I’ve been following in his footsteps ever since. I think of myself as the ghost of my father. That’s how I got my name.
I remember the last question I asked my dad the night he told me about his secret life. “Does Mom know?”
He nodded. “I didn’t tell her at first, but I knew I had to sooner or later. You can’t live a lie with someone you love. She could have walked out on me. She could have told me to give it up. But your mother stuck with me and never brought it up again. Rarely brought it up again, I should say. Occasionally she does. When she wants something she considers worthwhile — like tuition if you decide to go to art school.”
And now it was my turn. It was time to share my secret with Katherine.
I went to the closet and opened the room safe. I got out the doctor bag filled with diamonds. I sat down on the bed next to her.
“Katherine,” I said, “I’ve got something to tell you.”
Chapter 55
KATHERINE LOOKED AT the bag. “Dr. Matthew’s magic medical bag,” she said. “Is there another surprise in there?”
“Kind of.”
“Well, you gave me brie and baguettes when we went to France. What’s in there now that we’re in Italy? Chianti and cannolis?”
“No. Remember I told you I found a bag full of diamonds at the train station?”
“How could I forget?” she said. “The first thing I thought when we set foot in this incredible room was, I hope you brought enough diamonds.”
“But you don’t think the diamonds really exist,” I said.
She rolled her eyes, put her hand to her chin, and shook her head slowly from side to side. I think it’s something she learned in professor school. It’s a way of letting a student know he is completely wrong without broadcasting it to the entire classroom.
I dipped my hand into the bag. The diamonds were loose now. I had taken them out of my socks so I could show them to Katherine in all their dramatic glory. I scooped up a fistful just as Professor Sanborne decided to let me know how preposterous my story was.
“Matthew, you know I love you,” she said. “But love is not blind or stupid, and that whole cock-and-bull story about finding diamonds in a train station is ridiculous. I don’t care how you can afford to pay for this vacation, but I’d feel a whole lot better if you finally decided to tell me the truth.”
What the hell? I thought. I dropped the whole fistful of diamonds on the bed.
“Behold the sparkling truth,” I said.
Katherine shrieked. “Oh, my God!”
Then I opened the medical bag wide and held it so she could get a good look at the other thirty or forty fistfuls.
This time she jumped off the bed and the oh, my Gods came in a flurry. Then she sat back down. “Are they real?”
“Very.”
“My God, Matthew, they must be worth — I don’t know — millions.”
“So I’m told.”
“Are they yours?” she asked.
“They are now. In fact, they’re ours. This is the key to a whole new life.”
I gave her the watered-down version of how I found them in Grand Central. Bomb goes off. I stumble on Zelvas. He dies. I take the diamonds.
“What are you going to do with them?” she asked.
“Sell them. Depending on what I can negotiate, I figure I can get seven to ten million.”
She let loose another string of about half a dozen Oh, my Gods.
“But what about that man who got killed at Grand Central?” she said. “Maybe he’s got a wife, kids. I don’t even know what I’m saying, Matthew…”
“Trust me,” I said, “Walter Zelvas had nobody. No wife, no kids, nobody.”
I inhaled. It was time to tell Katherine the whole truth about myself and hope she didn’t walk out when she heard it.
“Katherine,” I said, “there’s one more little fact about me you really should know. That man Walter Zelvas who had the bag of diamonds.…I’m the one who —”
Bam! A loud cracking sound and the door to our hotel room flew open. And there she was — Marta Krall standing in our doorway with a large-bore gun in her hand.
Pointed at me, then at Katherine, then back at me.
“Where do I start?” she said.
Chapter 56
“Mr. Bannon, I presume,” she continued.
Katherine had gasped at the sight of the gun — who wouldn’t? — but now she bombarded me with questions. “Who is this woman? How does she know your name? What does she want? Matthew?”
Krall answered the important question for me.
“Some of what I want is right there,” she said, pointing the gun at the handful of diamonds on the bed. “And I’ll bet the rest is in that black bag — isn’t it, Ms. Sanborne?”
A shiver ran through Katherine’s body at the sound of her name. She whispered in my ear. “Give her the diamonds. Okay, Matthew?”
Krall heard every word. “Spoken like a woman who doesn’t want to die young. I can respect that.”
If Marta Krall had known I was the Ghost, she’d have shot me the second she entered the room. She already had what she came for — Chukov’s diamonds. But Krall wasn’t just a killer, she was a sadistic killer. Thinking I was Matthew Bannon, art student, she figured she could take her time. She wasn’t satisfied just to recover the diamonds. I had made her work hard to find them. She wanted to play with me now.
“So, tell me, Mr. Bannon,” Krall said, “are you sleeping with all your professors or just the pretty ones?” Then she went after Katherine. “I hope he was good in bed, because your affair is going to cost you your life.”
The talking was a big mistake. Those extra few seconds were what I needed. I pushed Katherine to the floor and flung the medical bag at Marta.
She got off a shot, but the bullet went inches wide and suddenly diamonds were raining all over the room. The distraction gave me a second and I barreled into Krall. Her gun fired again, the bullet smashing into the LCD TV, glass shattering in a spectacular fashion. I threw my body at Marta Krall, and her gun went flying.
I rolled, but she dived on top of me and began punching my face. She could really punch, too. I head-butted my way past a hail of fists and sharp elbows and rammed my skull into her perfect nose. She grunted like a man, toppled backward, and, still stunned, staggered to her feet. I sprang up and the two of us were standing face-to-face. No guns. Mano a mano, so to speak.
I aimed a right jab at her beautiful face. She ducked, and I dro
ve a left hook into her stomach. She doubled over, gasping. I charged and hit her again with my full body weight.
I’m pretty sure she expected to crash into the wall behind her, but that’s not what I had in mind. There was no wall behind her. Just an oversize, multi-paned, arched window, and from what I could see from my vantage point, nothing behind it but blue sky.
“Ooooo-rah!” I screamed, and Krall went flying through the handcrafted Venetian glass window. Arms flailing, she dropped like a stone to the street below.
I was sure the fall would kill her. But she never hit the sidewalk. Venice isn’t famous for its sidewalks. She hit the water. I picked her gun up off the floor, leaned out the window, and scanned the canal.
At least fifteen seconds passed before Marta came up to the surface, sputtering. I could’ve shot her, but I didn’t do it.
Not in front of Katherine.
Chapter 57
KATHERINE WHISPERED ACROSS the room. “Is she dead?”
“Unfortunately not,” I said.
“Matthew, I can’t believe it. She tried to kill us. We have to call the police.”
“No, Katherine. That’s one thing we can’t do,” I said.
“What are you talking about? Of course we call the police. That woman is insane. She knows about your diamonds. She knows our names. What if she comes back?”
“Listen to me,” I said. I put my hands on her cheeks. Her eyes were filled with fear. “Sweetheart, we don’t have a lot of time, and I hate to play the do-you-love-me card, but do you love me?”
“Of course. Yes. Always.”
“Do you trust me?”
She hesitated.
“Let me rephrase the question. I didn’t ask if you understand everything that has happened in the past three days, but do you trust me enough to believe that whatever I ask you to do in the next few minutes will be because I love you madly and will do anything to keep you safe?”
“Absolutely,” she said. No hesitation, and with a hint of a smile.
“We don’t have to call the police,” I said, “because in a few minutes this place will be crawling with cops. If we’re still here, they’ll arrest us.”
“Why? We’re innocent.”
“Even if these cops speak perfect English, there’s no way they’re going to believe a word we say. There’s a bullet hole in our TV, a body went flying through our window, and there are millions of dollars’ worth of diamonds scattered around our room, which — oh, by the way, Officer, just happens to be totally trashed. We have exactly two minutes to grab whatever we can and get out. Trust me. Please.”
I hit the floor and started scraping diamonds off the rug and tossing them into the medical bag. A second later Katherine was scooping them off the bedspread.
The desk, the dresser, and two chairs had been knocked over, and I stood them upright. Then I moved the rest of the furniture so we could get whatever had rolled underneath.
“Ninety seconds and we pop smoke,” I said.
“Pop smoke?” Katherine asked.
“It’s Marine-speak for get the hell out of this hotel room before we wind up doing some serious time in an Italian prison.”
We crawled on the floor, scavenging among the broken glass, shattered furniture, and overturned room-service cart, grabbing as many loose stones as we could find.
A minute later I pulled the plug. “Time’s up,” I said. “You have thirty seconds to throw your clothes in a bag or leave them behind.”
At the two-minute mark I grabbed Katherine by the arm and pulled her toward the door.
“Over there,” Katherine said, pointing to a corner. “Is that diamonds or broken glass?”
They were diamonds, and my trained sniper’s eye could spot at least half a dozen spots where the sparkle was definitely not glass. But we didn’t have time to get them all.
“Leave them. They’ll be a nice tip for the maid,” I said, looking around our formerly glorious room. “Believe me, she’ll have earned it.”
Chapter 58
THE BEST WAY I can describe what was going on in the lobby of the Danieli was discreet commotion. The manager of the hotel, several of his assistants, four desk clerks, and a couple of bellmen were scurrying about — some of them communicating by radio in hushed voices. But I could hear the overtones of panic.
I caught the words al quinto piano repeated several times—“on the fifth floor”—referring to the location from which Marta Krall had just taken her swan dive. Members of the hotel staff were on their way to the room with the broken window. I figured la Polizia di Venezia couldn’t be far behind.
The chaos worked in our favor. Katherine and I strolled casually through the lobby and out the front door with our bags. Had anyone been paying attention, it might have been noticed that we hadn’t bothered to check out. But everyone was far too busy to notice a chatty couple who were debating whether to visit the Peggy Guggenheim collection at the Museo d’Arte Moderna or spend a few hours at the Gallerie dell’Accademia.
If this were New York City, we’d have jumped in a cab and tear-assed down the Grand Central Parkway straight to JFK. But there aren’t a lot of high-speed getaway options in Venice. A gondola would have been romantic but not too smart.
There was a water taxi parked in front of the hotel and we got in.
It was a ten-seater. We were the only two passengers.
“Railway station,” I said. “Venezia Santa Lucia.”
“Cinque minuti,” the driver said, not moving the boat. He pointed to the eight empty seats.
“What’s going on?” Katherine said. “Why aren’t we moving?”
“He wants to wait five minutes till he gets more passengers.”
I could see cops storming into the hotel. Katherine and I had registered in our own names, so it wouldn’t be long before the local police were looking for us. When they didn’t find us, they’d widen the search. We had to get out of Italy before our pictures were posted at every border crossing.
“Waiting is not an option,” I told Katherine.
She clasped her hands together and looked to the heavens. “God, my boyfriend’s been a little crazy lately,” she said. “Please don’t let him ask me to swim.”
I kissed her on the forehead and turned to the water-taxi driver. “Siamo in ritardo per il nostro treno,” I said.
Katherine looked at me.
“I told him we were late for our train.”
The driver shrugged. “Gli Americani sono sempre in ritardo,” he said.
“He says we’re always late. Quanto?” I said. “How much?”
“Novantacinque euro.”
“Ninety-five euros. How much for tutto?” I said. “The whole damn boat. Immediatamente! ”
“Seicento.”
I dug into my pocket and peeled off three two-hundred-euro notes. The engine turned over as soon as the bills left my hand.
“Siete Americani?” our taxi driver said as we cut through the water past the Palazzo Ducale.
“No, we’re not,” I said.
He shrugged again. He had all the money he was going to get out of me. No small talk required.
Katherine leaned into my chest and I wrapped my arm around her. “Just in case you were wondering,” she said, “I’m petrified.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “This isn’t exactly what I had planned.”
“Don’t apologize,” she said. “Paris was amazing. Venice is inspiring. Except for that blond bitch who shot at us, it’s been a heck of a vacation.”
I kissed her.
“Where are we going now?” she asked.
“Amsterdam.”
“What’s there?” she said.
“Beautiful canals, great nightlife, and incredible art — the Rijksmuseum has all the Dutch masters. Rembrandt, van Gogh, Vermeer — you’ll love it.”
She stared at me. Her gray eyes were steely now. “Matt, cut the travelogue bullshit. The Italian police are looking for us, and instead of racing back to New York,
we’re on our way to a museum in the Netherlands? What happened to Trust me?” she said. “So let me repeat the question. What’s in Amsterdam?”
I leaned in close and whispered in her ear, “People who buy diamonds.”
Chapter 59
IT TOOK FIFTEEN minutes to get to the train station. I was eager to come clean to Katherine, but just in case our six-hundred-euro captain had a better handle on English than he had let on, we just sat and enjoyed the view.
The next train to Milan was leaving in forty-five minutes. From there we could catch the overnight train to Amsterdam. Flying would take only two hours, but that meant going through airport security, and I had decided to hang on to Marta Krall’s gun.
I bought two first-class train tickets to Milan and reserved a sleeper car for the second leg of the trip.
We sat down to wait at a little coffee bar. I ordered a cappuccino. Katherine had a caffè con panna, which is basically espresso topped with sweet whipped cream.
“Do you remember what we were talking about in our hotel room before we were so rudely interrupted?” I said.
“Do I remember? First you nearly gave me a heart attack when you showed me what was inside your little doctor kit, then you said something like — but wait, that’s not all. You were going to tell me another big secret, when the door crashed in.” She sipped her espresso. “Are you going to tell me now?”
I nodded. “Walter Zelvas — the guy who got killed at Grand Central — was a professional killer,” I said. “He worked for the Russian mob. Among other things, they run a global diamond-smuggling operation, and Zelvas was taking off with a bag full of diamonds that he stole from them. They found out, and they hired another hit man to kill him. Zelvas didn’t die from a bomb blast. He was professionally terminated.”
Katherine put her hand up to her mouth. “You’re…you’re telling me the truth, aren’t you?”
“Yes. I swear.”
“But how do you know? How did you find out?”
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