It Takes a Thief

by Liz Wolfe

  “You’ll be photographing it?”

  Zoe nodded. “I have the photo glasses from Robyn and one of those little credit card–sized cameras since I’ll be working alone this time.”

  “And this Augustino Columbo was one of the scientists working on cold fusion?” Drake asked.

  “Evidently.”

  Drake shook his head. “I don’t know if I really buy Ethan’s theory about them creating cold fusion.”

  “Why not?”

  “Well, for one thing, there’ve been a lot of people working on it over the years. It’s actually been done, just not controlled. I don’t see how a bunch of documents from dead scientists would contain any information that would make it work.”

  “You never know. They could have been working in a different direction. Or it could be some combination of processes that will make it feasible.”

  “Yeah. Maybe. But I also don’t believe that the Order would be that interested in it.”

  “In your debriefing, you said they mentioned an energy source.”

  “They did. I’m just not convinced it’s something as benign as cold fusion. The thing about cold fusionis that it can’t be used as a weapon. It doesn’t put out enough energy at one time to be used like that. I think the energy they’re developing goes a lot further than cold fusion.”

  “Like what?”

  “I wish I knew.”

  10

  December 19, Florence, Italy

  DRAKE SAT AT A CORNER table on the patio of La Trattoria with a caffee corretto in front of him. As much as he liked the rich dark coffee with a splash of cognac, he hadn’t touched the cup. The servers here knew him as Dante Russo, as did many others in Italy and several other European countries. He leaned back in his chair, legs stretched out, appearing to be totally at ease. Inside, he was vibrating with tension.

  He would remain at the café until midnight, which was only another ten minutes. He lifted the coffee and glanced around casually. He’d chosen the corner table so he could observe the rest of the outdoor tables and the front door of the café. No one new had entered the café or patio in over half an hour. At three minutes before midnight, he drained the last of his coffee and stood, pulling several euros from a gold money clip.

  As he dropped them on the table, a man sat down in the chair opposite him.

  “Dante Russo?” the man asked.

  “Depends on who’s asking.”

  “A mutual friend told me I could find you here.”

  “Yeah, until midnight.”

  “It is not quite midnight.” the man said in English with only a slight French accent.

  Drake glanced at his watch and sat back down. “You have two minutes.”

  “I believe it will be worth your time. I have a client looking for a special device.”

  Drake lifted an eyebrow. “Go on.”

  “I believe it will need to be manufactured. Do you think you could handle that?”

  One corner of Drake’s lips lifted. “I can handle anything.”

  “You seem very sure of yourself.”

  “I am,” Drake acknowledged. “Getting stuff is my business. Whether it already exists or has to be invented.”

  “This would have to be manufactured to exact specifications, although I don’t believe it would be terribly difficult.”

  Drake’s eyes never left the man’s face as he waited for more information. When nothing was said, Drake glanced at his watch and stood. “Midnight. See you around.”

  “Wait.”

  “Why? You going to get around to telling me exactly what you want anytime soon?”

  The man shifted in his seat. “I wanted to make sure you could deliver before I explained the particulars.”

  “I can deliver.”

  “I need a detonation device. But it needs to be in an ink pen.”

  Drake sat down again. “Sounds simple enough.”

  The man drew a pen from his breast pocket and laid it on the table. Drake picked up the white and gold cigar-shaped pen. “Waterman L’Etalon. Very nice.” Drake knew the pen cost over four hundred dollars. He rolled the pen in his fingers. He’d always liked expensive, well-made accessories.

  “The device must be in a pen identical to this. The operation must be simple and natural.”

  “So, you want the device to detonate when the pen is used? Say, when the cap is removed?” Drake unscrewed the cap and removed it.

  The man nodded. “That would be excellent.”

  “Distance?”

  “Pardon?” the man asked.

  “How far from the device will the remote detonator be?”

  “Probably no more than a few meters.”

  “Suicide mission, huh?” Drake smiled.

  “Actually, I don’t concern myself with those details. I simply procure what my clients want.”

  “Yeah, me too. That kind of shit fascinates me, though. From a distance of course.”

  “Can you supply the item?”

  “Can you supply the money?”

  “Money will not be an issue,” the man assured Drake.

  “Perfect.” Drake pushed a business card across the table to him. “Have a hundred grand, American, deposited in this account by noon tomorrow.”

  “A hundred grand?”

  “A good faith deposit,” Drake explained. “You didn’t think I’d go to all the trouble of hunting down a source without a deposit?”

  “Of course not, Signore Russo. It will be done.”

  Drake leaned back in his chair and motioned to a server for two caffee correttos. “As soon as the money is wired, I’ll find someone to produce the mechanism. Then I will give you a price. If we can come to terms on money, we have a deal.”

  “Money will not be a problem,” the man assured him again.

  “You have a name?” Drake asked. “And a number where I can reach you?”

  “Jean-Luc Fournier.” He pulled a card from his pocket and handed it to Drake. “You can reach me at this number.”

  Drake pocketed the card. Of course, Jean-Luc Fournier wouldn’t be his real name, but it was a place to start. “I hope this isn’t a wild-goose chase, Monsieur Fournier. I’d be real unhappy to discover that your clients don’t have the money to pull this off.”

  Both men paused as the server delivered two caffee correttos to the table. Drake nodded to the server and lifted his cup.

  “I can assure you they have the money.” Jean-Luc leaned forward and lowered his voice further. “Middle Eastern oil money. I hope you have the resources. My clients do not deal well with disappointment. And they have a deadline to consider.”

  “I never disappoint, Monsieur Fournier. Ever.” Drake took another sip of his coffee, then dropped a few more euros on the table.

  “How do I contact you?” Fournier asked.

  Drake smiled at him as he stood. “You don’t.”

  December 19, Florence, Italy

  Zoe stopped at the pay phone outside the small café and punched in her calling card number, then Ethan’s cell number. Her stomach rumbled when the café door opened and the aroma of fresh pastries wafted past her.

  “Hello?”

  “Sorry to wake you, Ethan,” Zoe said. “The job went without a hitch last night and I’ve uploaded the photos to the FTP site.”

  “What was the document you stole?”

  “No idea. It was encoded. I imagine Logan is working on it.”

  “Are you coming back to the states now?” he asked.

  “Evidently not. The Triumvirate wants me here. They said it would be better for me to be close by. Sounds like the other jobs will all be in Europe. Either that, or they just don’t want to let me out of their sight.” That thought made her a little queasy.

  “Have you spoken to Drake?”

  “We met yesterday. Haven’t you heard from him?” She would have thought that Drake would want to let Ethan know about Logan’s motive for working with the Order.

  “Not yet. I’ll probably have a
n e-mail from him when I get into the office. Stay in touch with him, Zoe.”

  “Will do. I’ll call again when I know what’shappening.” She hung up the phone and followed the delicious smells into the café, where she ordered a cup of tea and a brioche. She felt a moment of guilt as she bit into the crusty pastry, but she’d made use of the gym in the hotel three times since she’d been here. Maybe she’d take a run later today as well. She glanced through a small tourist guide while she finished her tea. She had no plans for today, no job tonight. She could be a regular tourist and walk around Florence, take in some of the sights.

  Within half an hour, Zoe found herself in front of the house she believed her mother lived in. The blue Alfa Romeo wasn’t parked at the curb. Did that mean her brother was gone? She took a deep, calming breath. She didn’t know if the man was actually her brother. She wasn’t even certain that the woman who lived here was her mother. Mira de Luca might not be an unusual name at all. There could be a lot of women with that name. But this was the address Ethan had turned up. And he hadn’t mentioned any other leads.

  The idea that her mother could be just a few yards away filled her with a nervous energy that was difficult to contain. She sat on the cold bench and stared at the house, unable to take her eyes off it, willing someone to open the door. She tapped her foot on the concrete walk until her shin burned. The curtains were open at one window, but she didn’t see any movement inthe room. Probably no one was even at home and she was just sitting there staring at an empty house. She should leave. Walk around the city, maybe. Or return to the hotel. She stood and moved to the sidewalk.

  Then she was suddenly running across the street and bounding up the steps to the house. Her cold fingers lifted the door knocker and let it fall against the brass plate.

  She shouldn’t be here. She’d promised Ethan that she wouldn’t do this. And he was right. She had no business trying to find her mother when she was involved in an op. Zoe was half-turned away from the door when it opened.

  The woman stood several inches taller than Zoe. Her trim figure was outfitted in a soft green cashmere sweater over darker wool pants. Her hair was more strawberry-blond than Zoe’s red, and pulled back into a low ponytail. Zoe focused her eyes on the shiny black pumps that peeked from under the bottom of the woman’s pants. She wasn’t entirely sure she was even breathing. She looked up into green eyes that felt achingly familiar.

  The woman smiled at her and Zoe felt a lump form in her throat. At forty-nine, Mira de Luca hadn’t changed that much from the twenty-four-year-old mother who had disappeared from Zoe’s young life. The word that whispered from her lips surprised Zoe.

  “Mom?”

  “Dear God.” Mira’s hand fluttered to her throat. “Zoe?”

  Zoe steeled herself against the tears that pricked her eyes, against the urge to reach out to the beautiful woman in front of her. Any doubt that this woman was her mother evaporated when Mira said her name. Oh, God. What had she done? Why had she been so impulsive? Why hadn’t she waited? Mira reached out a hand, but Zoe stepped back before the hand could brush her cheek

  “Please, come in.” Mira stepped aside.

  Zoe hesitated. She’d never been so unsure of what she should do. Of what she wanted. But the burning need to know overcame her reluctance and she walked into the entry way. She’d come to find out why her mother had abandoned her, and she wasn’t going to cut and run now. Mira led her through the wood-paneled entryway and into a parlor splashed with bright, contemporary colors. Floor-to-ceiling windows looked out onto a small patio and garden. Zoe chose a large, square chair and sat on the edge of the seat.

  “How did you find me?” Mira asked.

  “I’m surprised you recognized me.”

  “Your eyes.” Mira’s lips quavered when she smiled. “Not very many people have such unusual eyes.” She laced her fingers together, then released them, finally resting them on her knees. “Your brother has the same eyes.”

  “Right. My brother. He would be about twenty-six now.”

  “Yes, in May. Zoe, I have so many questions.” Mira never took her eyes off Zoe. “How did you find out that I was alive? How did you find me?”

  Zoe hadn’t considered that her mother would have questions. She was quickly realizing that she hadn’t considered much at all before she’d knocked on the door. But she wasn’t about to answer her mother’s questions before she got some answers of her own. She’d had plenty of questions since she’d received Nana Phoebe’s letters, but now they had all distilled down to a single intense need.

  “I only have one question.” Zoe forced herself to meet her mother’s gaze. “Why did you leave me?”

  Mira sat motionless for a moment, then brushed at the tears that trickled down her cheeks. “I was so afraid.”

  “Of Dad?”

  “No. Well, yes. I was afraid of what he would do to Matt.” She tried to smile. “That’s your brother’s name.”

  “Why would he do anything to his own son?” Zoe asked.

  “He wouldn’t harm him. Nothing like that. But

  Zeke had always talked about how wonderful it would be to have a son.” Mira pulled a tissue from the silver box on the table next to her chair. “He wanted a son to follow in his footsteps.”

  “And you had a problem with that?”

  “Of course, I had a problem with that.” Mira seemed surprised at the harshness of her own voice and cleared her throat. “No mother wants to see her son become a thief. What kind of life would that be for him?”

  Zoe knew exactly what kind of life it was. “Yeah, I guess it would be pretty awful.”

  “Your father was away when I went into labor. On one of his jobs, as he called them. Your Aunt Phoebe made all the arrangements. When Matt was only two days old, I traveled to Greece by ship. I was met by a friend of Phoebe’s. She arranged for me to travel to Italy, where I stayed with friends of hers for a short time.”

  “You haven’t answered my question.” Zoe had a stranglehold on her emotions and she wasn’t sure how much longer she could hold them in.

  “As I said, I knew Zeke would train Matt to follow in his footsteps. I couldn’t live with that.”

  “What about your daughter?”

  “He wouldn’t do that to you. You were his special little angel. He loved you so much, and I knew hewould take care of you.” Her hands fluttered in a helpless motion. “I didn’t think I had a choice. I couldn’t take both of you and I knew you would be all right.”

  “You were wrong.”

  The phone rang and Mira glanced at it, then picked up the receiver. Zoe watched as Mira spoke quietly. The break in their conversation cracked her composure. She needed to get away. She needed to think. Following that instinct, she stood and walked to the front door.

  “Wait. Please,” Mira called after her. “What did you mean by that? That I was wrong?”

  Anger flared inside Zoe and her throat ached with unshed tears. She jerked open the door and walked down the steps to the sidewalk ignoring her mother’s pleas to stay.

  December 20, Florence, Italy

  “Ethan, Drake here. I think I’ve got a lead on something this terrorist cell is doing.”

  “Tell me.”

  “I was contacted by a man who has a client that wants a detonation device in an ink pen. He said his client has Middle Eastern oil money.”

  “That could be our group, then.”

  “He was very specific that the pen has to be a white Waterman L’Etalon. I’m thinking that we might want to go ahead and give them a detonation device. See if I can get any closer to them.”

  “I hate to put something like that in their hands.”

  “I know, Ethan, but they’ll get the device somewhere, whether we supply it or not. And we might be able to track them from the money transfer.”

  “I’ll see if Robyn can put a tracking device in the pen. She’s been working on a miniature model that might work.”

  “Is there any other intel on
the cell?” Drake asked.

  “Not enough. Bolton has a lot of agents sniffing it out, but so far we only know what you were briefed on.”

  “Right. Mussad Abdullah, also known as Antonio Cimino, son of Vito Cimino and a Middle Eastern woman.”

  “You’ve had contact with Mussad Abdullah?” Ethan asked.

  “No, but I’m checking out Vito.”

  “Our latest intel is that Mussad, aka Antonio, is currently paying a visit to his father.”

  “Interesting. Why would a man raised as a devout Muslim spend so much time with his infidel father in

  Italy?” Drake asked.

  “Maybe you can arrange to run into him somewhere.”

  “Sounds good. How soon can Robyn have the pen ready?”

  “Shouldn’t take long. How did you leave it with the guy?”

  “He’s transferring a hundred grand to the Dante Russo account, as a security deposit. I told him I’d find a supplier after I receive the money.”

  “That should give us plenty of time to produce the device. I’ll have it shipped to your hotel. Have you talked to Zoe lately?”

  “Not since we met at the Boboli Gardens. She’s supposed to contact me when she knows about the next job for them.”

  “Keep an eye on her. She doesn’t have the experience to deal with the Order if they suspect her.”

  “If it even looks like they’re onto her, I’ll pull her out.”

  “Good. I don’t need her spilling any information to them.”

  “Sure. No problem.” Drake hung up, shook his head at Ethan’s lack of concern, and booted up his computer. He typed in the address of the bank account he’d given Fournier and smiled when he saw the deposit. He punched Fournier’s number into the cell phone he used as Dante Russo and waited. “Russo, here. I have the security deposit.”

  “Excellent. How soon will you have a supplier?”

  “A few days. I’ll call you with an amount.”

  December 21, Florence, Italy

  “Antonio, come, have some breakfast.” Vito Cimino waved his son over to the table.

  Mussad barely understood the Italian his father spoke, and he hated being called Antonio. It was the name his infidel father insisted on. But for now, he would have to put up with it. Ziyad wanted to know more about the Order. Taking that information back to Ziyad would mitigate the shame he felt because of his father. And it served Allah.