It Takes a Thief

by Liz Wolfe

  “This is a concern.” Ziyad stroked his beard. “We must, of course, prevent them from this. It is another effort to enslave us. I am sorry to tell you that you will need to return to your father’s house.”

  “I expected as much,” Mussad said. “I will go gladly. In the name of Allah.”

  Ziyad nodded. “Allah will bless you.”

  “My father also told me that the new American president is a member of the Order. It seems that the Order is much larger than we had thought.”

  “Hemings is a member? That is even more reason to kill him.”

  “My father told me about him. He is descended from Thomas Jefferson and one of the man’s slaves.” Mussad shook his head. “One of their most revered presidents, yet he owned slaves.” While Islam tolerated the ownership of slaves, which Mussad didn’t really understand, it did not approve of slavery itself.

  “He also fornicated with his slaves, if Hemings is a descendant. Is this common knowledge?” Ziyad asked.

  “I do not know.” Mussad shrugged. “I have not heard of Hemings talking about it during his campaign.”

  “You will stay here for several days, then you will return to Italy. I am sorry you must subject yourself to your father, but it is necessary.” Ziyad stood.

  “It is no matter. I am happy to serve Allah any way I may.” Mussad stretched his feet out and leaned his head against the back of his chair. He had several days to enjoy his homeland before returning to the iniquity of his father’s house.

  “I will join you later this afternoon.” Ziyad walked across the patio with purposeful strides. Mussad’s information had planted an idea that could possibly help them resolve the problem of delivering the Neurotox.

  In the small room that served as an office, Ziyad turned on the computer and opened his Internet connection. He typed words and phrases into search engines and followed links until he found the information he was seeking. After half an hour, he’d discovered that while Hemings didn’t make an issue of his connection to Jefferson, neither did he hide it, and, in fact, he seemed proud of his heritage. He had dedicated a room in his West Virginia home to the Jefferson artifacts and belongings he had collected.

  Ziyad smiled as he continued reading. Surely the man would welcome the opportunity to take his oath of office at an antique podium once owned by his ancestor.

  December 29, CIA Headquarters, Langley, Virginia

  “Do you have anything on the photographs?” Ethan asked Leo Buschner, one of the CIA’s best computer techs. Leo could get a clear image from a picture that appeared to be nothing but jumbled pixels.

  “Oh, yeah.” Leo wheeled around in his chair. “First I had to isolate individual photographs of each person. Then I used the program I developed to enhance each picture. When I finally had usable photographs of each person—well, not of every person there—that’s even beyond the capabilities of my program. And trust me, it’s better than anything else out—”

  “So, what did you find, Leo?” Ethan asked.

  “Here.” Leo handed him several sheets of paper. “The top sheet is just a list of all the people I was able to identify by comparing the photographs to photos we have on file. The other sheets are individual pictures with the names and short biographies of each person.”

  “My God!” Ethan read down the list Leo gave him. It included ten members of the World Banking Consortium, four members of Congress, several European politicians, and other notables from every industry, including major pharmaceutical firms, international software companies, and manufacturing conglomerates. “How accurate is this?”

  “About ninety-nine point eight seven percent,” Leo replied. “You see, what I do is a comparison of—”

  “Good work, Leo.” Ethan rushed out, ignoring Leo’s explanation.

  “Don’t feel bad,” Robyn said. “He does it to me all the time.”

  “Yeah, well, I figure they’re busy, you know?”

  “That’s one word for it,” Robyn agreed.

  “You got any plans for New Year’s Eve?” Leo asked. “I’m going to a costume party. I’ve got this great costume. A Wookie. You want to come with me?”

  Robyn stared at him for a moment. “No.”

  13

  January 3, Florence, Italy

  MIRA WOKE SUDDENLY AND SAT up. Her mouth was dry and her heart hammered against her breastbone. The clock on her nightstand read three fifteen. She tried to remember the vestiges of whatever dream must have awakened her, but she couldn’t grasp even a hint of one. A thump sounded down the hallway. Someone was in the house. Her first thought was for Matteo. He slept like a rock and likely wouldn’t wake from a noise in the house. She threw back the covers and pulled on the robe she’d left draped on the foot of the bed. The door opened before her feet were on the floor.

  “Stay right there, ma’am.”

  Mira stood, pulled the belt of her robe tight, and knotted it. The man had shown her a measure of respect by calling her ma’am, and that made her hope that he had no intention of hurting her. On the other hand, he hadn’t bothered to cover his face, which madeher wonder why he didn’t care that she saw him. But mostly, she hoped they had come for her and not for Matteo.

  “Why are you here?” she asked, pleased that her voice was strong, because she felt like everything inside her was quivering.

  “You’re coming with us. Don’t resist and it’ll go easy. You’ll be released later.”

  “Later?” Mira shoved her feet into slippers. “What’s the reason for this?”

  “You don’t need to know that, ma’am.”

  “Really? You can come into my house and take me, but you think I have no reason to know why?” She looked the man over. He was tall and big, with a square jaw and unblinking eyes. He held a handgun easily, which made her think he’d done it before—a lot. Her mind worked furiously. The only thing different in her life recently was that Zoe had appeared. And her daughter had been reluctant to tell her why she was in Italy other than she was there on business. Knowing how Zeke had raised their daughter, she could imagine what kind of business that would be. But what it could possibly have to do with her, she couldn’t imagine.

  Mira sent up a silent prayer that whoever this man was, he would leave Matteo alone.

  “This is because of Zoe, isn’t it?”

  That seemed to surprise the man. He blinked andgrunted. “Yeah. But she’ll come around and then you’ll be released.” He waved the gun in a beckoning gesture.

  She straightened her shoulders and walked past him into the hallway. Another man stood outside the open door to Matteo’s room. She stopped, one hand fluttering to her throat, the other reaching out as a second man dragged her son from his room. There was a bloody gash over his left eye, which was already swelling closed. An angry red blotch blossomed on one shoulder, a raised welt on the other.

  “Matteo!”

  He turned to look at her and shook his head. “No, Mama.”

  Mira knew he was pleading with her to not say anything. To do nothing that would make it worse for herself. As if to prove Matteo’s point, the man who’d entered her bedroom gripped her arm and pulled her down the hallway past her son. She stumbled along, turning her head in an effort to see her son until the man jerked her arm painfully and guided her down the stairs. The man led her out of the house and pushed her into the middle seat of a van. He fastened plastic strips around her wrists, then pulled her robe back over her shoulder where it had fallen down to expose the thin nightgown that barely covered her breast. Mira was struck again by his respectful attitude. Perhaps she could reason with him.

  “Please. This is unnecessary.”

  The man turned back to look at her and shook his head.

  “I don’t know what you’re trying to accomplish, but I can assure you that Zoe will not capitulate to your wishes because of me or my son. She doesn’t even know us. She only met us a few days ago.” The man gave no indication that her words were even heard.

  “For God’s
sake! I abandoned her as a baby!” Mira sobbed and swallowed hard to stop the tears. “She has no reason to care what happens to us.” The man stepped aside, and Matteo was shoved into the seat next to her.

  Mira raised her bound hands to Matteo’s battered face, tears streaming down her cheeks. There would be no reasoning with these men. No matter how polite their leader was.

  January 4, Florence, Italy

  “It’s done,” Hank Robertson informed Weisbaum.

  “You showed them to the rooms we had prepared?”

  “The woman tried to reason with me. She indicated that Alexander would be less than concerned about her well-being or that of her son.”

  Weisbaum waved his hand. “She would say anything at that point. I imagine more to protect her son than to protect herself.”

  Hank nodded. “That would be consistent with her behavior.”

  “You administered the drugs?”

  “As you ordered. They’re both sleeping now.”

  “And they were not hurt?” Weisbaum asked. “I mean, seriously?”

  “No, sir. We proceeded as you ordered. Were you aware that Alexander had contacted her mother since her arrival here?”

  Weisbaum lifted his brows. “Really? I had no idea. Perhaps we should have been watching her a bit closer.”

  “It would be a shame if Alexander isn’t persuaded by this.”

  “Yes. But there’s always her father.” Weisbaum walked across the room to sit behind his desk. “Has Ms. Alexander arrived?”

  “Just before I came in, sir.”

  “Send her in.” Weisbaum expected she would be more than a little put out by the fact that he’d sent two men to her hotel demanding that she accompany them here. It was about time Ms. Alexander learned that she didn’t have the upper hand after all.

  “What the hell is this about?” Zoe shook off the man who was holding her elbow and stomped across the room to stand in front of Weisbaum’s desk. “Is there some reason for dragging me out of my hotel room in the middle of the freaking night?”

  “Actually, there’s a very good reason.” Weisbaum gestured at a chair. “Please have a seat. This might take a few minutes.”

  “What?” Zoe worked at maintaining her anger to disguise the fear that jolted through her. “What might take a few minutes?”

  “We can start with the fact that you work for the CIA.”

  Zoe locked her knees against the weakness that flowed down her legs. “Have you lost your mind? What the hell would a thief be doing with the CIA?”

  “That was my question, actually. What would a thief be doing with the CIA? I thought perhaps you could enlighten me.”

  “You have totally lost your mind. In case it’s beyond your power of reason, a thief normally steers clear of involvement with law enforcement of any kind.”

  “You really should take a seat.” Weisbaum picked up a delicate china cup and sipped. “This will evidently take more than a few minutes.”

  “Fine.” Zoe flopped into the chair.

  “We have an inside source that has confirmed your work with the CIA. I believe Ethan Calder is your handler?” He waved a hand. “Whatever. I’m assuming that the CIA convinced you to offer your services to us in order to determine exactly what we are doing. I’m also assuming that you have furnished them with information regarding the items you have obtained for us.”

  “Look, I don’t know what—”

  “Enough!” Weisbaum tossed several papers across the desk. “Look at those before you continue your denials.” He waited while she flipped through the documents.

  Zoe swallowed the bile that rose to her throat. The papers were copies of CIA files. Notes about the documents she’d photographed. Reports that Ethan had filed. She scanned the pages quickly, then tossed them onto Weisbaum’s desk.

  “Now, with that issue resolved, I think I should tell you that we have your mother and brother in our custody. Actually, custody is too harsh a word. They are our guests. And they will be treated as such unless you do something that would force us to change that.”

  “Why didn’t you just kill me?”

  “Ah. That was a consideration. But the truth is that we still have need of your services. I believe there are two more documents that we require. And eventhough we could get another thief, time is essential at this point. I’m convinced that it is more expedient to ensure your cooperation.”

  “Are you threatening me?”

  “I suppose you could consider it a threat. But let me put it more directly. If you agree to cease all communication with the CIA—and we will ensure that you do—we will allow your mother and brother to live. After you have obtained the documents, we will release them.”

  “And if I refuse?”

  Weisbaum smiled. “Actually, Zoe, I’m surprised at your association with the CIA. You don’t strike me as the sort of person who would be overly concerned with her country’s needs or wants. I’d think you were more the type to be concerned about yourself. Your own safety and well-being. And that of your family, of course.” He spread his upturned hands. “All I’m really asking is that you sever your relationship with the CIA. You’ll still be paid very well for procuring the documents we want.”

  “I see.” Zoe had no problem hearing the underlying threat in his words. If she refused, Weisbaum would kill her mother and brother, and then herself.

  “You haven’t left me much choice, have you?”

  “I prefer to think that I haven’t left you any choice at all.”

  January 4, Florence, Italy

  Zoe slammed the bedroom door and turned the lock. Like that was going to help. The beauty of the room, with its massive canopy bed, brocade and velvet hangings, and old oak furnishings, only served to fuel her anger. Her suitcases had been placed on the antique dresser. She shuddered at the thought of her personal belongings being handled by the Triumvirate’s goons. Of course, her laptop was missing. And Weisbaum had taken her cell phone.

  What the hell was she going to do? Sure, she could get out. It would be ridiculously easy for her, actually. Then she could call Ethan and tell him what had happened. Or Drake. Either way, she’d be pulled out. Returned to her father’s house in Maryland. Safe and sound.

  And her mother and brother would probably be killed. Probably? No, definitely. And a part of her wanted to do just that. Just leave her mother and brother to whatever would happen to them. And why the hell shouldn’t she? Her mother had left her, hadn’t she? She’d taken Matteo and left Zoe behind. Leaving her daughter to whatever might happen. With noconcern for the life that she would be forced to live. What the hell was up with that? Was her brother that much more important than she was? Her father had bemoaned the fact that he had no son to follow in his footsteps even as he’d trained her. And her mother had chosen to save her son over her daughter. Sure, her mother had explained her motives, but Zoe wasn’t buying it.

  She ripped the covers back on the bed and growled at the luxurious sheets that had to be seven hundred thread count. She had similar sheets on her bed at her father’s house. And she’d spent a small fortune on them. She abandoned the bed and headed for the bath, throwing off her clothes as she went. She was too pissed and too confused to think clearly. All she could do at this point was take care of herself. She turned on the shower and stepped in while the water was still cool. Her body absorbed the cold shock of the water, slowly relaxing as it turned warm.

  What had she been thinking? Ethan had pointed out that she wasn’t an agent. And he’d been right. She was a thief. She stole stuff. She wasn’t prepared to deal with her loved ones being threatened.

  Loved ones?

  Zoe crumpled under the warm spray of water, squatting on the tiled floor of the shower. Her arms wrapped around her knees and she rocked back andforth. She had been playing mind games about how she felt about her mother and brother. About whether she wanted them to be a part of her life. She had even toyed with ways she could make her mother see just how she’d devastated her
daughter’s life. Just how wrong she’d been. But somehow they’d slipped into her heart when she wasn’t watching. Now, the idea of harm coming to either of them sickened her. When had their lives become more important to her than her own? More important than her job?

  And she was all about the job. Wasn’t she? Of course, she was. She always had been. She was a thief. No, she was the best thief. Since her father had retired, anyway. She could steal anything from anywhere. Anything.

  But could she steal anyone? Zoe uncurled herself and stood up in the shower. She turned the water off and leaned against the warm tiles. Could she steal her mother and brother from the Order?

  January 5, Florence, Italy

  “What are you doing here?” Logan asked.

  Zoe glanced around the large dining room. She and Logan were the only ones there. She piled scrambled eggson her plate, added three strips of bacon, and moved to the table. Logan sipped his coffee and quirked an eyebrow at her.

  “They found out about me.”

  “What?” Logan looked at the door nervously. “How?”

  “Well, I’m glad to know that you didn’t out me.” Zoe forked eggs into her mouth and chewed. “I don’t know how they found out. But that’s not even the problem. They took my mother and brother.”

  “What do you mean they took them?”

  “Geez, Logan. What part of that do you not understand? They kidnapped them.” She bit into a piece of bacon. “Of course, they are assuring me that if I just do a couple more jobs for them, they’ll release them.”

  “What did you say?”

  Zoe shook her head. “You just don’t get it, do you? Of course, I agreed. But they aren’t going to release them. Ever.”

  Logan pushed his plate away. “Maybe you misunderstood.”

  “Misunderstood?”

  “I thought they’d kidnapped my uncle, too, but he told me last night that he came willingly. He says the Order is going to make the world a better place and he’s excited to be a part of it.”