They all rose with a groan, and headed back to the plane. She wasn’t quite sure how Lopez was going to fly, because she felt a carb coma coming on. She leaned against Brandt, as they make their way across the tarmac.
Sleep. Sleep was all she could think about, as they mounted the steps to board the plane.
Then her stupid sat phone rang. She had to conjure up the energy to raise it to her mouth. “Yes?” Was all she could get out.
Stark’s mom sounded as tired as Rebecca felt. “We just got back a part of the translation and it’s a little strange.”
“How so?” Rebecca asked feeling slightly more invigorated. Nothing like a puzzle to get her going.
“Well, for one thing, there are a lot of dimensions. Like down to how thick the inter-flooring should be.”
Actually, that was to be expected. In the biblical version of the Noah tale, God had been pretty specific about how the ark should be built.
“And for the second?”
“There is one phrase is repeated over and over again. ‘Man decides the flood.’ We double-checked against other religious phrases and didn’t come up with anything.”
That was weird. Rebecca repeated, “Man decides the flood?”
“Yes,” Stark’s mom answered and it is repeated at least a hundred times in this small section of the code.”
Rebecca wasn’t sure if it was her post-lunch lag, but she did not recognize the phrase either.
“We’re just going to have to wait and see what else comes up. And by the way, we are heading to Venice to try to find the Book of Noah.”
“Excellent, I will update Stark,” his mother stated. “We have you on satellite now, and we are aggressively watching for any tail, especially the Chinese.”
It sounded like Stark’s mother was about to hang up.
“How is Bunny?” Rebecca asked, so Davidson didn’t have to.
“About the same,” Stark’s mother sighed. “Stark is in there with her right now.”
“Thanks,” Rebecca replied. “Keep us in the loop.”
Rebecca gave Davidson a sad smile. How much the sniper must have wanted to return home to be with Bunny.
But as Kasa would say, “That’s the sacrifice we make.”
* * *
Stark sat next to Bunny’s bed, brushing her long red hair. She would’ve been horrified to wake up to find it in such a mess. Although the doctors kept warning him that the chances she would come out of this coma were slim.
They hadn’t had to give her any drugs for nearly ten hours. She had slipped into a coma all by herself. But Stark had to stay optimistic. It was so hard though, when the doctors kept asking if they should call a priest for last rites.
Seriously. Lay off the end-of-life talk. He knew it was bad. He wasn’t being all Pollyanna, but he had to have some hope. So forget the rosary beads. Stark was making sure she looked good when she woke up.
And his hope wasn’t empty, all of those monitors’ bells and whistles had been quiet for quite a while. Were her vitals stable? No. But she wasn’t in any kind of horrible handbasket to Hell.
And things were going better on the Noah front. Which was a good thing. Outside, the rains were unrelenting, and on the television were announcement after announcement of major flooding all over the United States and the rest of the world.
The team had better figure out something, because there wasn’t an ark in the world that could hold all the people that would need to be saved this time.
* * *
Davidson had never been so full in his life. How he wished Bunny had been there in Cyprus. She would’ve said no, no, no to all of those carbs in the beginning, but then ended up with a plate as high as his.
He loved the way she sighed when she bit into something delicious. There was no smile like Bunny’s smile after a good dessert.
In some ways, Davidson felt guilty that he couldn’t be in DC. He wasn’t sure if he could do what Stark was doing. To watch Bunny in such bad shape would’ve broken Davidson’s heart. Was it horrible of him to be glad he was on a mission and had the ultimate excuse to not be there?
He was torn in two. He desperately wanted to be by her side. And at the same time he was desperately relieved that he didn’t have to be.
Strange how life was so much simpler when he was in the Knot. When you were in a cult, you didn’t have to think for yourself. They told you where to go. They told you what to do. It was simple. There was no choice to be made.
Now, now, Davidson had to make the hard choices. It turned out that free will was kind of a bitch.
They cruised over the lagoon, coming in for landing at the Marco Polo International airport in Venice.
Davidson had been to a lot of sites around the world, and many times they did not live up to their high hype. Italy was not one of those places. The whole country was simply beautiful. And Venice? Venice was the crown jewel.
As they descended, the canals became more apparent, glistening in the dim evening light. Between the canals, the beautiful architecture, and the heavy rain, the site below looked like an impressionist’s masterpiece, not a city.
He knew, if Lopez had anything to say about it, they would be staying for dinner.
The landing was uneventful even in the raging storm. It was like Lopez was trying to prove he could be quick and accurate.
Or quite possibly, trying to make up for the goat carriage.
* * *
Rebecca leaned her head against her husband’s shoulder as they swayed back and forth on the train ride. The train would take them straight to the Grand Canal Hotel. If she weren’t so tired, she would show exactly how excited she was to stay in one of the most beautiful hotels in the world.
Tika, apparently filling in for Stark, had made the arrangements. And she had spared no expense. They were booked into the Prestige Suite, which had views of the Grand Canal. Rebecca had only seen pictures on the Internet, but already knew this would be an experience of a lifetime.
The train came to a stop. The team exited and crossed the busy street to the hotel. It was as beautiful as it was billed to be. It was only five stories tall, quaint in a Renaissance sort of way. The building was off-white with beautiful red bougainvillea down from the roof. On either side were cultivated English gardens.
If the word “charm” ever needed an illustration beside it, the Grand Canal Hotel would suit it fine.
Brandt stopped the group just before entering hotel. “Rebecca and Sallah, we will get you situated upstairs, but then we’re going to head out and recon the bookstore. We should be back soon enough to get a few hours rack time.
The men nodded in unison.
The hotel went from charming to opulent as they entered the high-ceilinged lobby. A gilded chandelier hung high above their heads. Marble lined the floors. And velvet covered the furniture. Stunning in its simplicity. It held such grandeur, that Rebecca could imagine royalty staying there.
As they’d walked up to the reception desk, the staff had looked them up and down. They were all dressed in casual Ethiopian fashion. And they were covered in mud. Sallah was the only one who looked like he had any dignity left.
The snooty man’s eyes dilated when Brandt pulled out a black American Express Card.
Only then did they get a “Ciao.”
Despite the fact that they truly looked like they had ridden in a goat carriage, the attendant rapidly check them in for the Prestige Suite. Since they didn’t have any luggage, confirming the fact that they were indeed vagabonds, the desk clerk pointed them to the opulent elevator doors.
They opened to reveal a mirror lined elevator. The thick material was expertly etched in gold. The ceiling was graced by a nearly perfect replica of Michelangelo’s Creation of Adam.
For a building of its age, the elevator was smooth and fast. There wasn’t even that little bounce you sometimes got when you reached your floor. The doors opened smoothly to reveal plush carpeted hallway with replicas of Italy’s many, many great masterp
ieces.
Yep, Rebecca could get used to this.
CHAPTER 16
Brandt was glad to be in real clothes once more. They’d made a quick side trip to an insanely expensive men’s clothing store. But it was Venice after all. There wasn’t exactly a Men’s Big and Tall Warehouse around every corner. Even though he knew it went on Uncle Sam’s card, Brandt hated to waste even a dime.
He gave Davidson the card to shop for Rebecca’s clothes. If the sniper hadn’t gone into the military, he would have made a natural stylist.
The rest of the team headed out for the bookstore. They were mainly on the lookout for Chinese surveillance.
Brandt couldn’t shake Vanderwalt’s words, “It’s not what it looks like.”
The guy was always cagey, but that statement was pretty circumspect even for the MI-5 officer.
They arrived at the small rare book store. It was charming, of course, located right on one of the canals. It looked like the type of place that your grandfather would frequent. It had a small calligraphy sign, but that was about the only advertising the place seemed to need.
The team split up, going in three different directions.
Brandt strolled down the walkway beside the canal. He did not note anyone out of place, and all of the likely sniper nests looked empty. His knee was feeling much better, and the smooth stone walkway wasn’t challenging the joint at all. Funny, his knee was up for walking around what amounted to a city-sized tourist attraction.
Within minutes, Brandt had made a circuit around the block. He was joined by Lopez and Prenner.
They both shook her heads.
“Nothing around back,” Prenner stated.
“To the east was clear as well,” Lopez reported.
Brandt hadn’t expected anything else. The shop looked about as boring as its sign. Besides they had only put the plan to rendezvous with Vanderwalt into action a few hours ago.
No, if anybody planned to crash the party, they would probably set up a half an hour before the meet.
As if reading his mind, Prenner offered, “I’ll stay here.”
“We all need rack time,” Brandt objected.
“I slept on the plane,” Prenner countered.
Brandt studied his point man. He seemed alert and rested. Unlike Brandt, he hadn’t had an aching knee to keep him awake. Ah, youth. You really couldn’t appreciate it until you had lost it.
“Lopez?”
“Hell, I’m ordering room service before I crash.”
How could the corporal think about eating so soon after the glutton-fest in Cyprus?
But that was Lopez.
“Let me know when you want to be relieved,” Brandt stated.
“Won’t need to sir,” Prenner stated, walking away to set up at the café across the canal from the bookstore.
As they walked toward the hotel, Lopez began listing off all the foods he was going to order.
Well at least the corporal would have the carb load he was going to need for later tonight.
* * *
Rebecca swirled around, letting her new dress float out around her. The silk swished against her legs. She had seldom felt so beautiful in a garment before. The dress was made of a muted print of Monet flowers. Gorgeous didn’t begin to describe it.
She recalled her first mission with Brandt. For one, she was too terrified to kiss him. And for a second, she was just plain terrified. The chance that she could have enjoyed a moment like this back then was zero. She was too worried about dying every single second.
Now she’d learned. Sure you could die at any second, like there could be an RPG coming at her right now, but there was nothing she could do about it. She had learned to live in the moment. It wasn’t every day that you got a masterpiece dress.
Davidson really was that good.
“You and Bunny have to come here once she feels better.”
This got her a half smile. They both knew the chances of that were slim, but Rebecca refused to give up. Bunny was far too tenacious for her own good. However that trait should do her well now.
The door to the suite opened and her husband entered along with Lopez. The corporal didn’t even seem to see her. He dove for the phone and called up room service.
Her husband stopped in his tracks and smiled. “Honey…”
She ran over to him and jumped into his arms. He spun around making her dress float up again.
Finally he set her down.
Rebecca was laughing until she realized that Sallah was trying to get some sleep in the back bedroom.
“So you ordered for all of us?” Davidson asked Lopez.
The corporal frowned. “No, duh. Order your own food.”
Rebecca tugged Brandt towards their bedroom. “Rack time, right?”
By the smile Brandt gave her. Oh Hell, yah. Rack time was definitely on.
* * *
Davidson leaned back in the overstuffed couch. He wasn’t full. He was stuffed. Kind of like the pasta shells that Lopez had ordered.
There had been seven, count them, seven room service carts. With both shelves filled to the rim. It was like they had eaten their way through all of Italy by the time they were done.
Davison seriously didn’t think he would need to eat for another week. Lopez on the other hand was planning for late dinner after they got back from the bookstore. Davidson thought he was going to have to pass on that one.
Although grilled shrimp alfredo over linguine did sound amazing. And Tiramisu gelato did sound like a perfect ending to a late dinner.
“Anything on Bunny?” Lopez asked.
For just a moment, Davidson had not been thinking about his girlfriend. He didn’t blame Lopez though. The corporal was only being supportive.
Davidson looked at his watch. Stark should have called over fifteen minutes ago. It was very unusual to have the IT tech be even a minute late.
He was about to dial when his phone rang.
Davidson knew it wasn’t good news as he heard Stark take several breath before speaking, “Sam, I don’t know what to do…” the man hiccupped, then took a big swallow before continuing, “I just don’t know what to do.”
“What’s wrong, Stark? Has she worsened?”
“No, but the doctors keep telling me that the longer she’s doing this poorly, the harder it will be for her to come back,” Stark stated, sounding like he was holding back tears. “They want to know… They need to know if she’s Catholic. They want to know if we want to perform the last rites.” The dam broke and Stark sobbed openly. “They want to know if she agreed to be an organ donor.”
Davidson tried to let the horror of Stark’s words glide by without him getting too attached to the meaning.
“What do you think is best?” Davidson asked.
“I don’t know,” Stark wailed.
“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Davidson stated calmly. “Bunny is a lapsed Catholic, but I don’t think she would be offended if a priest did last rites. It doesn’t mean she is going to die, it just means she is covered if suddenly she takes a turn for the worse.”
“Okay,” Stark gulped. “I’ll tell them.”
“And if the worst does happen, I think Bunny would want to help someone else and donate any organs that she could.”
Stark just cried on the other end of the line for a minute or so. Davidson let him. Lord knew he would probably be in the same shape if he wasn’t on a mission.
“But how about we do something positive and optimistic? You know how badly she wants to go to the Medieval Knights restaurant in LA? Davidson asked.
“Yes,” Stark squeaked out. “She wants to have dinner with the king and queen.”
“So I want you to go online and buy tickets to a show in two months.”
“Two tickets?” Stark asked.
“No way, the whole team is going,” Davidson stated.
Stark sniffled a few more times than said. “I think I will get her that expensive mineral make-up she likes so much and that aroma-
therapy kit she’s been eyeing.”
Okay, it was a little odd to have another man know his girlfriend better than he did, but Davidson would roll with it. “Exactly. Let’s spend more time getting ready for her to do better, than worse.”
“Okay, thanks,” Stark stated and the line clicked off.
Once done supporting Stark, Davidson felt the weight of it lower onto his shoulders. He was desperately trying to keep himself from crying.
Lopez leaned over and offered him a spoon. “Want some spumoni?”
* * *
Vanderwalt exited the gate and turned right into the terminal, heading for ground transportation. That was the fourth flight he had been on today. There weren’t exactly many Hammerfest direct flights to, well anywhere. He had zigzagged across Europe just to get to Venice before nightfall.
He made an abrupt left into the Apple store. The two Asian-looking men continued ahead but that didn’t mean they weren’t still following him. Even though he was in a hurry to get to the rendezvous, Vanderwalt had to make sure he wasn’t being followed.
How in the hell have they found him so quickly? He didn’t even know his schedule until about half an hour before each plane.
Vanderwalt watched the men in the reflection of the display case. Once they had passed him, they had slowed and were now milling in front of the men’s bathroom.
Good, but not good enough.
The problem was he really needed to go past there to get to ground transportation.
So Vanderwalt did what any good spy would do. He faked a fall, grabbing his ankle screaming like a little girl.
That got all of the employees over asking what happened.
“There was a wet spot there,” Vanderwalt whined.
That got the manager over who insisted they hadn’t mopped for hours. Vanderwalt didn’t want to milk it too far, so he asked for a cart to take him to the taxi line.
The manager seemed a little surprised that he was getting off that easy. “Are you sure?”
Okay, so maybe Vanderwalt had sold the fall a little too well. He allowed the staff to help him up. He tried to imply a medium level of grimace and reluctance to bear weight on the “injured” limb.
The 3rd Cycle of the Betrayed Series Collection: Extremely Controversial Historical Thrillers (Betrayed Series Boxed set) Page 17