What was that all about?
She wanted to know, but there were more urgent things to worry about right now.
‘Are you sure you should take the chance? He’s expecting me. He’s not expecting to see the person he stole from.’
Before Dean could answer, Rask hung up. ‘We have a problem.’
Marina held her breath, worrying thoughts crowding her mind.
‘Livorno is swarming with paparazzi. Some big movie star’s coming in on their yacht. Apparently there are three black Mercedes limos lined up at one of the docks to take the entourage to Florence. The star is shooting an advertisement for Balenciaga. But there’s a rumour circulating they might be having brunch in some famous restaurant up in the town square first.’
Dean groaned. ‘Right near the church?’
Rask nodded and spread his hands. ‘I don’t know how we’re going to keep this under wraps. All you need is for someone to recognise you and I can see the headlines. ‘Logan abandons America’s Cup to play tourist in Tuscany.’
‘Christ, don’t get melodramatic.’ Dean sent Rask an irritated look. ‘I’ve lived with worse headlines than that, and the real story can come out later. I’m more concerned about Marina. She’s as well-known as me. What if someone spots her?’
Marina frowned. She wanted to ask about the other headlines he’d had to endure, but again there was no time. ‘Don’t worry, Dean. We have to play this out the best we can—take one of those risks we were talking about last night.’
His eyes were full of concern, and she could see he was far from happy with the developments. But in the end, he nodded. ‘The tender’s ready to go. I suppose we should get you there.’
Suddenly, a calm acceptance came over Marina. There were so many variables, so many things beyond her control. If she were spotted in Livorno, and with the Orion anchored a mile and a half away, it wouldn’t take much for the press to discover she’d been on the yacht at the time Dean had pulled out of the America’s Cup defence.
Especially if Alain decided to talk.
A bit of investigative journalism and they’d probably find out she’d worked on the cruise ship too, and then her agent, her management and even the SSO could ask questions. Her secret might still come out.
She took a deep breath and the three of them prepared to leave the comfort of the saloon.
What other choice did she have?
She’d come this far.
She had to see it through.
***
Fifteen minutes later, Dean was bringing the tender close to the cruise ship’s starboard side. Rask had organised for the liner’s exit door, the one facing out to sea, to be opened. Now, as the former detective took over the tender’s controls, she and Dean stepped aboard the cruise ship.
Immediately they were surrounded by three officers of the Italian Police. Dressed similarly to the passengers, all showed their badges.
‘The majority of guests are in the process of disembarking,’ said one man sporting a pair of wire-rimmed glasses. ‘We must hurry. It is safer for you to move along with the crowd and easier for us to hide among them.’
As Rask roared away in the tender, an employee of the ship stepped forward and closed the big exit door. Marina glanced at the man from under her hat and behind her glasses. Would he recognise her as the violinist from the string quartet who had played on board a couple of nights ago?
‘Your phone, ma’am.’ An officer sporting a brushed-back hairstyle held out his hand.
Marina took her phone from her bag and gave it to him. The officer held the phone against each of the three devices belonging to the three men, and then began scrolling through the menus.
‘Let me run through how this will work,’ said the man in glasses. ‘We’ll mix with the crowd. You must pretend we’re not there. Do not look around, but be assured we are present. Act as naturally as you can. Move as if your only concern is to locate him and hand over the USB. Think how you would behave and what you would say to him if that were truly the case.’
The officer who’d taken her phone handed it back to her. ‘We’ll be able to hear all your calls and messages now. We’ll be listening.’
‘Can you put it on my phone?’ Dean asked.
The officer with the brush-back shook his head once. ‘Police only, signore.’
‘What about Mr Rask?’ asked Marina.
‘Rask has gone back to the Orion,’ said Dean.
‘Mr Rask will be aware of everything as it transpires,’ the first officer said. ‘Now, before we go to the other side of the ship, do you have any questions?’
‘I do,’ said Dean. ‘What if he’s armed?’
‘The police are carrying firearms, though we do not expect Li Chen to be doing the same. From our teleconferences with Mr Rask, Interpol and the Australian Federal Police, all our information tells us that Li Chen is a white collar criminal. He shouldn’t be a physical threat to the lady.’
The lady. Marina breathed easier. Rask and Dean had certainly gone to great lengths to keep her identity a secret.
‘How do I get into the old town?’ she asked.
‘Shuttles leave every ten minutes from the terminal. Join the queue as if you are a normal tourist. Once up at the piazza, you will see the cathedral on your right. You can’t miss it. Don’t go directly in. Walk around, mingle for a few minutes, look in a shop window. Give these officers time to get into the church before you.’
They started walking to the other side of the ship, from where they’d be able to disembark on the dock.
‘Don’t mingle too long,’ Dean said in her ear as they hurried along. ‘Remember, the paparazzi are everywhere. Keep your hat low and your sunglasses on.’
‘Okay, I will.’
‘And honey.’ He took hold of her hand and brought it quickly to his lips. ‘Please be careful.’
Marina did her best to smile. ‘I’ll feel better knowing you’re close by.’
It was true. His commanding presence reassured her. Broader through the shoulders, he towered over the three Italian men. But more than his physical attributes, it was his aura of capability that impressed her the most, like he could handle anything life could throw at him.
The officer in the glasses, the one who seemed to be in charge of proceedings, moved them aside to enable a few guests to pass by. All around her excited daytrippers, laden with water bottles, hats and tote bags, were chattering excitedly about their plans.
‘The best advice I can give you is to use your wits. Go with your intuition. If you feel threatened in any way, or if you suspect he’s carrying a weapon, or he makes it known that he is, turn around and leave immediately. Make your way to the front of the Palazzo Grande. It’s the big white building in the centre of the piazza. You can’t miss it.’
He turned to Dean then. ‘One last thing. Mr Logan, please keep at a reasonable distance. You’re not trained in the matter of surveillance and could easily be spotted by our quarry.’
Dean nodded, though he looked unimpressed to be taking instructions from an Italian policeman.
‘I think we’re ready.’ The man in charge sent the third officer ahead of her down the gangway. Middle-aged and slightly balding, he was pulling off the tourist thing better than the others.
‘Remember, natural is best. Good luck. Go when you’re ready.’
Marina drew in a breath and slowly blew it out again.
‘Don’t let nerves worry you,’ Dean said, his steady voice calming her. ‘He’ll expect you to be nervous. It would be strange if you weren’t.’
That made sense.
Reminding herself she’d done no wrong, and that Li was the one who should be nervous and fearful, Marina checked the strap of her bag was sitting securely across her chest, the small pouch containing the USB tucked under her right arm.
Then, with one final look at Dean, she turned and walked down the gangway.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Li paid the receptionist with cash, slipp
ed on his backpack and left the hostel.
The air was crisp, the pavers damp from being hosed over. Every second car was a haphazardly-parked smart car. One had even muscled its way into a parking area reserved for bikes and motor scooters.
Li looked neither left nor right. Being a tourist didn’t interest him. Only money interested him. Money, and the various forms of motor transport.
Li was two months shy of his thirtieth birthday—medium height, medium build. It worked in his favour, especially as Westerners had a tendency to think all Asians looked the same.
He was at the piazza now, cutting through the American markets.
Italian women with cane baskets over their arms took their time inspecting the fresh produce. He jammed the Cobra cap on his head and made for the golf shop opposite the cathedral.
Food didn’t interest him.
Golf interested him.
He glanced at the cathedral and wondered if Marina would turn up.
He needed a number of things to go his way for the plan to come together. She had to have seen his text. And she’d need to keep her nerve. He was sure she would have been checking her phone. He was unsure about her holding her nerve.
The piazza was swarming with paparazzi. They stood in groups, drinking coffee. Waiting for a celebrity.
A stroke of luck.
If his lone wolf days were to end here, his arrest should garner every bit of publicity it could.
Recognition was not to be feared.
Publicity would be his friend.
The higher his profile, the greater chance a huge government department in either China or the United States would request his services.
A group of paparazzi burst into raucous laughter.
Biding their time.
Waiting for a celebrity.
Not him.
At least, not yet.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Marina sat in the hot shuttle, jammed between a man with a walking stick and an elegant older lady who’d told her she’d been into Florence and Pisa on previous cruises. This time, she’d decided to venture as far as Livorno.
Marina’s heart pounded and her forehead beaded with perspiration. She said as little as possible. Any moment she feared the woman would recognise her and mention the string quartet.
It’s no big deal. Say you stayed on board for the remainder of the cruise. Remember what he said. Act naturally.
She could see the balding officer who’d left before her. He was sitting three rows in front, looking through a tourist brochure on Livorno.
Dean was somewhere up the back.
She couldn’t see the others.
A ten-minute shuttle ride.
Two minutes to go.
The last minute and a half, Marina counted down the seconds. When the shuttle finally pulled into the Piazza Grande, she lined up to exit with the others.
Grateful for the sunglasses.
Glad of the hat.
Chapter Thirty
The piazza bustled with activity. Buses and taxis, markets and pedestrians, shops and cafes everywhere.
Dean focused on Marina, and didn’t look for the others. For the first time since Venice, his camera swung from his neck. It was a practical addition to the Hawaiian shirt and Yankees cap.
He stayed behind her, and to the left. When she moved to the left to look in the shop windows, he moved to the right, towards the centre of the piazza.
He could see the cathedral up ahead on the right.
Was Yu, or Li rather, already there?
The paparazzi certainly were. They were right out the front, standing in groups, smoking and drinking coffee.
Rask would be hyperventilating if he could see how close Dean was to them now, and he was glad his old friend was spared the stress. The delight Rask took evading the paparazzi had grown out of a protectiveness born twenty-odd years ago.
Nothing would change that now.
Dean kept his eyes on Marina, hands clammy, adrenaline making his heart beat faster. If the police made an arrest, these vultures were already on the spot. They’d be all over it like a rash in seconds.
Dread settled like a weight in Dean’s chest.
It would be a miracle if Marina got out of this without being recognised.
Right then she stopped to look in a shop window.
Dean lingered by a stall, pretending to inspect the merchandise.
An Italian lady, dressed in top-to-toe black, smiled at him. ‘Can I help you, signore?’
‘Er …’ Dean scanned the assortment of summer clothing, an idea forming in his head. A colourful woman’s caftan was on display, the kind that reached midway between the thigh and knee and was usually worn over a swimsuit. It was a striking piece, modern and smart.
And best of all, it had a hood.
‘I’ll take that.’ He pointed to the caftan.
‘It’s lovely, isn’t it?’
‘Hmm.’ Dean looked up, his eyes on Marina.
Shit!
She was starting to cross the piazza, heading for the cathedral.
He pulled a wad of cash from his pocket and thrust it at the woman. ‘Would you mind hurrying, please? I’m losing my wife.’
As the woman pulled a plastic bag from under the stall, Dean grabbed a pair of ‘Jackie Onassis’ style black sunnies from the display and dropped them in the bag. ‘I’ll take those as well.’
‘My pleasure, signore.’
Ten seconds later the woman was handing him the bag, and he was waving away his change.
Then he was crossing the piazza, eyes on Marina as she walked up the steps of the Cathedral of San Francesco d’Assisi.
Chapter Thirty-One
Marina averted her face away from the men with the zoom lenses and walked purposefully up the steps of the church.
An old man sat on a wooden chair in the vestibule. He was collecting admission from the line of people in front. An assortment of medals, rosary beads, holy cards and prayer books were displayed for sale on the table beside him. Next to it stood a notice stating the money was used for the ongoing restoration of the church.
Marina shivered as the cool air caressed her clammy skin. Was Victor somewhere inside, or would she be required to sit in a pew and wait for him? It had been a long time since she’d been inside a church. She’d attended a catholic school in Boston, so she had a recollection of the protocol required.
She could light a candle. That would be a nice thing to do, and from what the old fellow was saying to the people ahead of her, there were intricate ceiling frescos and a famous painting Christ Crowned with Thorns. At least that would give her something to look at if Victor, or Li, wasn’t inside. She’d be conspicuous sitting in a pew for ages.
As it turned out, she didn’t make it through the door.
‘I’m sorry, Miss.’ The man gave her a disapproving look as she approached. ‘No shorts allowed.’
‘What?’ Marina went light-headed as the blood drained from her face.
‘There’s the dress code.’ The man pointed to a sign hanging on the wall.
No shorts. Ladies arms must be covered.
‘Oh, what a shame.’
Marina heard a sympathetic voice behind her.
A woman of around fifty was throwing a wrap around her bare shoulders. ‘You learn after a while. I got caught out like that in Florence. It’s not so bad if it’s your arms, some of the churches even keep a box of scarves at the door for women to use for that very purpose. But when it’s shorts?’ The woman shrugged. ‘There’s not much you can do.’
The woman’s words barely permeated Marina’s numb mind. Not one of them, not Rask, Dean or the three Italian policemen had picked up on this.
What did she do now?
Use your wits.
She cleared her throat and did her best to smile at the man. ‘Would you be able to make an exception in this case? I’ve arranged to meet someone inside.’
‘I’m sorry,’ the man said, though he looked far from
apologetic. ‘If we made exceptions for one we’d have to make exceptions for all.’
So much for Christianity.
Marina swallowed and bit back a retort. Now wasn’t the time to draw attention to herself by trying to convince this man to let her in.
Someone touched her on the shoulder, and she jumped.
Heart banging, she swung around.
It was the woman who’d spoken earlier. ‘Would you like me to see if your friend’s inside? I could give them a message.’
‘Oh, no, thank you.’ Marina attempted a smile and backed away. ‘I’ll just wait outside.’
She swung around and almost collided with the policeman with the wire-rimmed glasses. He didn’t look at her, but she knew he’d heard every word.
Son of a bitch!
What was she to do now?
She’d have to buy a skirt from one of the shops and pull it over the top of her denim shorts.
She stepped outside and halted at the top of the steps, eyes scanning the area. There was no sign of Victor—Li, but she saw Dean coming towards her. He was in the middle of the piazza and heading right for the church.
Thankfully, he stopped when he caught sight of her, put down the carry bag he was holding and picked up his camera from where it hung around his neck. Except for his touristy clothes, he could have been another member of the paparazzi. Certainly no-one paid him any attention as he stood on the pavement, a little way along from the others, and fiddled with the zoom lens.
As Marina descended the steps, he turned towards the Town Hall opposite and began taking photographs of the building.
Thankful for his quick thinking, Marina was halfway down the steps when her phone rang. She paused again, and with shaking hands picked her phone from her bag. This was certain to be the police officer who’d witnessed the debacle in the vestibule.
‘Hello?’
‘Marina.’
Marina’s legs seemed to disappear out from under her.
‘Victor?’
‘What are you doing standing outside? Our plans were to meet inside the church.’
He was here!
Watching her!
And he’d recognised her even with the hat and sunglasses.
A Dangerous Arrangement Page 19