Right. It was pointless asking her to repeat, but my face must have betrayed my disappointment. To my surprise, she smiled with braces on her teeth and repeated her directions, taking twice as long now. Maybe she figured I was both lost and slow minded. I didn’t want to stop her and seem ungrateful for her time, but one look at her boyfriend, who was now rolling his eyes, suggested that I had another reason to interrupt her useless efforts.
“Thanks,” I said with a fake smile and headed in the direction she had first showed. Their footsteps receded behind me.
The sloshing sound of the water lapping against the edge of the canal on my left was the only audible noise beside my footsteps now. Downright nervous, I regretted not being better prepared for this outing. After walking for twenty minutes, the Piazza San Gallo remained invisible.
The roaring of a motor boat approached in my direction. The sound was a welcome sign, announcing someone else was coming who might give me better directions. I waited for it to be closer and waved to the driver, signaling him to stop. Instead of stopping, the men inside sped on while howling a few wolf calls and whistles.
As I kept walking, the lack of souvenir shops and restaurants suggested that I had ventured into the less tourist area. My gut feeling was turning my stomach in knots for no good reason. So I’d diverted a bit off course. Isn’t that supposed to be part of the adventure, Josie would have asked.
I crossed one of the many tiny bridges, hoping to return to a more familiar area I had seen a while ago. Keeping my nose up to memorize the name of the passing streets, I jumped with surprise when something small and furry brushed my feet. Looking down, I spotted a dark scampering form about the size of my fist scurrying away.
Further down, I came across a strange road sign, against a residential door by the entrance of another bridge. I crouched down to read an unfamiliar panel. The triangular warning sported a rodent beside what appeared to be a garbage bag with a universal bright red cross mark superimposed. I jerked myself upright and turned around, scanning the direction of the disappearing shadow which was heading toward the next garbage bag near another dwelling. Urruk! It had indeed been a rat!
A new set of footsteps behind me distracted my attention. Glad of having another chance to find someone to help me find my way, I turned around to meet whoever was coming. There was no one. Had I imagined the foot steps? Perhaps they had been the fruit of my current edgy nerves. I resumed in my previous direction and picked up the sound again. I waited about five seconds to make sure it was actually coming my way. Yes, it was growing in speed and volume. The pitch on the pavement showed that the feet were heavy. Likely a man. Something made me continue in my direction instead of turning around to meet him. It was an inexplicable reaction except for the hair raised at the nape of my neck and the speeding rhythm of my breath. I barely registered another quick set of footsteps tapping much further in the background down the street judging by their faint sound. All of my instincts were instructing my legs to run, but I fought it, refusing to yield to such a primal response. Instead, a low wave vibration had settled in my chest sending strange hot shiver from my scalp to the sole of my feet.
Better to assess my options before acting on impulse. Option A: Assuming I am not being followed, seek psychiatric help to rule out paranoid tendency after this trip is over.
Option B: I am being followed. Not good. Freeze, fight or flee?
The foot steps must now be about fifty paces behind me, judging by their sound. Unless I was mistaken, they were continuing to approach. A new shot of adrenalin coursed through my bloodstream, tensing my every muscles and tendons in full alert mode.
Fight? With Mr. Heavy Footstep? I don’t think so. I am no sissy but unless I know if I can take him over I’d rather not chance it with my scanty GI Jane techniques.
Whoever this was, although not running, he was gaining on me. Must have been only twenty feet away from me now.
Flee? And show my fear? No. That would be silly. Might as well advertise my vulnerability and incite a chase while we’re at it.
Freeze? Well, I’ll save that for another gun-in-my-face scenario if applicable. Then again, I hate looking indecisive.
This is it. He must be only ten feet away now, and that other set of feet seems to have disappeared. Perhaps I should rejoice I am only left with a single assailant instead of two, but the rising sour taste of gastric reflux removed any bright side to the situation.
I was positive now. He was planning a sneak attack. Maybe I could bank on the surprise effect? Anyway, I had only pocket change with me, and my credit cards were in the hotel’s safe. Could this be a simple case of misinterpretation on my part? Was I imagining the whole “damsel in distress” scenario?
As a compromise to my unresolved plan of action, I went for the “I’m-not-afraid-but-cautious” attitude, making sure my steps were even and determined.
The street had to eventually lead to a cross road. The heavy step kept its rhythm to match mine, but the furthest one had returned and was gaining speed. Therefore, I assumed that the two sets of feet did not have the same purpose.
With haste, I reviewed my escape plan. There was another bridge about a hundred feet away, and a light turned on up in a window of a second floor house about fifty feet away. Now, what did I remember from my self-defense course taken ten years ago? Did I carry anything in my purse I could use as a weapon? Why don’t you turn around and see what is going on instead of trotting like a winded up toy with your heels making such a clatter on the pavement? Did my fear show? Was I going insane? The little bridge was a welcoming and soothing sight for my overexcited nerves. Must be even a romantic spot, in broad daylight.
One of my heels cut up in one of the pavement’s asperities, twisting my ankle. My gait shifted as if something had just given out. I almost took a dive from my crooked sidestep. To stabilize myself, I pulled and straightened myself up, therefore correcting my precarious and unstable position enough to avoid a fall. I darted a swift look down to see what was the matter. Yep, I had just broken the heel of one of my shoes. I hurriedly removed the maimed shoe to examine the damage as it was still attached to it. Should I yank it off? What if I needed to run?
It was too late for that.
Chapter 10
August 26th, Venice, Evening
In the meantime, Mr. Heavy Feet caught up with me. A light whiff of stale beer and tobacco along with his footsteps informed me he had reached my right side. With horror, I concluded that my concern for my damaged shoe had been my undoing and that I had underestimated his gain on me. He grabbed my purse with the force of someone intent on taking it.
Without shifting my head much, a glimpse of my assailant revealed he wore a black hoodie pushed down on his face. Outraged, I jerked my weight in the opposite direction of his grasp while tightly holding the strap of my purse. I had no intention of letting go. Apparently not expecting such a recalcitrant victim, the man relented after a few pushes and shoves. Without the resistance of him pulling against me, I lost my balance. With my gait shifting out of control, I couldn’t straighten myself up fast enough. The bad news was that I was standing too close to the edge of the canal. The man reached out again; for me or my purse, I couldn’t tell. It was a moot point as I lunged head first in the green darkness of the canal’s water.
I tried not to panic, but my nerves were hacked up from the pursuit and now I was becoming disoriented. Under the tepid water, without the benefit of the sun or moon light to guide me up, I swam toward the surface as the canal was no more than about eight foot deep and about twenty feet wide. I had better try to calm down and find my bearings. Otherwise, I’ll be using the small reserve of air I had in my lungs since I had not inhaled before falling in. So, get out as fast as possible, and then what? Would he be waiting for me on the street? Was he after me or my money and credit cards? Perhaps he had another agenda. All he had to do was to wait until I surfaced and pick me up as I got out of this dirty mess. I’m sure he�
��d be happy to give me a hand up. Then, after he gets what he wants, he’ll push me right back in or worse.
Survival instinct cut my deliberation short. I could still taste the disgusting water mixed with algae and God-knows-what-else because I must have had my mouth open when I fell in. Yuck. Pushing myself up with the grace of a bird caught in a tarry pit, I mustered up enough coordination to flap my wings, in the right direction, I hoped. When I poked my head on the surface, I located a small quay a few feet ahead and trod water in that direction. I had almost reached it when something gripped one of my arms and pulled me up, halting my efforts. I fought with all my might, thinking it was my assailant, but still ended up losing the battle and landed half crumpled against the rough pavement.
Still half submerged in the canal, I coughed my lungs out. I needed to catch my breath before pulling myself completely out, but two hands finished the job for me.
“Good grief, is there anywhere you go without getting yourself in trouble?” asked a familiar voice with a tone full of incredulity and impatience.
I was still too busy coughing to care about his tone, but what was important was that I was in one piece and I had kept my purse. But in all honesty, I don’t think I’d ever been happier to see him. He knelt down beside me, a comforting arm around my back, but too soon, he got up and walked away. I lifted my head to look at him, but he was facing away toward the man lying face down, a few feet away with hands cuffed behind his back. He was motionless.
After getting myself up, dripping with smelly water and algae goo, I worked on wriggling the excess off my hair. Soon a police boat arrived, and two police officers stepped out to meet Steinfield. One of the security officers turned, walked over and wrapped my trembling shoulders in a scratchy wool blanket. The other one were still busy talking and gesticulating toward the cuffed man.
Steinfield got on his phone, and the only word I caught from the Italian conversation was ‘carabinieri’. Right on cue, a siren rang in the distance, and the nearby waterway surged up, announcing the imminent arrival of another police boat.
Drake hung up and strolled to meet me. Without a word, he removed a few wisps of hair still sticking to my face with attentive care. The warmth of his touch and his trademark woodsy odor calmed and reassured me. I took refuge for a moment in the safety of his arms as he held me close. A slow sigh escaped his lips, and I felt his breath against my ear.
Another siren resounded, signaling that additional reinforcement was on its way.
“Are you Ok?” he whispered while running a slow hand over the back of my head. Was this a fleeting caress or was he assessing my head for any suspicious lumps? I rooted for the first scenario. I could have purred in appreciation for the impromptu caress. Get a grip, Mara; his concern is only professional.
What does he mean, am I Ok? Besides the fact that I got lost, missed my show, got mugged, fell into the canal and swallowed mud?
“What are you doing here and how did you find me? Did you follow me? I don’t need a chaperone,” I said with a miffed tone but interrupted myself too late. His grin was sign enough I had just made a fool of myself. Again.
Bending at the waist, he bowed in a mock chivalrous manner.
“You’re welcome, my lady,” he teased, using a poor imitation of a British accent.
“Thanks.” Remorse rose at being such a bad sport, but in my defense, he had an unparallel talent for bringing out the worst in me.
“I’m going back to my hotel.”
Another vaporetto arrived, filled with five men in uniforms who quickly stepped out to meet Steinfield. As I walked past him, he grabbed my arm, stopping me from going further.
“Not so fast, sister. You need to give your statement. I’ll take you back to your hotel after I’ve finish talking with the police. Besides,” he said, lifting a cocky brow, “you wouldn’t find your way back.”
The man was daring me to argue. Although fuming, I kept my mouth shut.
I couldn’t control the shiver gripping me from being cold and stressed. The squad of the second vaporetto removed my assailant and transferred him to their boat. I glanced at the latter’s form. Steinfield answered my unspoken question.
“He’s unconscious from a punch I graciously delivered.” He smirked, a touch of pride in his tone.
He moved among the gathered police and security officers with ease and confidence, no doubt in his element. From the way the local authority addressed him, I could tell they respected him. In full control of the situation, he was dispatching what appeared like orders in a calm but firm tone. At least, that’s what I gathered even if I could not understand the specifics.
Soon, the second vaporetto left with the mugger. Steinfield gave a short verbal statement, but I would need to give a formal one to the police tomorrow. I was thankful for this, considering that I was still so wet and tired. They escorted us part of the way to my hotel.
When we reached my hotel’s door I grabbed the glass door handle of the entrance and turned to Steinfield.
“Goodnight and thank you for your help,” I said, dismissing him.
He held the door open and to my annoyance followed me inside.
“No way,” I warned him.
“Don’t be ridiculous. From now on, I’m not letting you out of my sight for a minute,” he said with a threatening tone but keeping it low as if not wanting to alert the other patrons of the lobby.
I ignored him and beelined for the reception desk. Surely they could throw him out since I knew for a fact that there was no room available for him. The receptionist looked at me and handed me my key while trying not to stare at my state of dishevelment. Taking a whiff of my ‘Eau de toilette de Venice’, she scrunched up her aristocratic nose in disgust and avoided touching my finger when handing me my key. Did she think my bad luck was contagious?
I gave a triumphant smile to Steinfield and headed to the elevator, pushing the call button more times than necessary in the vain hope of making it come sooner. Behind me, the crystalline giggle of the receptionist echoed as she laughed at something my sticking FBI agent had whispered to her. The man must have perfected his hit-and-run charm techniques over the years and, being on the move as he must be, he wouldn’t waste any time or opportunities. I suspected he was no better than a sailor with a girl in every port or an airline pilot with a flight attendant in every airport. Just like my father in his heyday.
Oh, come on; this elevator was moving at a snail pace. Exasperated, I headed for the stairs and climbed them two by two. After locating my door, my patience was further tried by the antique key giving me a struggle to unlock the mechanism. After a couple of tries, I finally got it to work, but it was too late. To my surprise, Steinfield had caught up with me. Did he fly upstairs? The plush carpeted floor must have muffled his footsteps. In fact, at this moment, one of those athletic feet was preventing me from closing the door of the suite in his face.
Turning to him, I had to step back in my room, not realizing he stood so near. Big mistake. He closed the door and leaned with nonchalance against it, his eyes trailing on me from head to toe with a sly grin.
“You are not sleeping here tonight. I warn you.”
“What are you afraid of? That the night manager may think you are entertaining a gentleman tonight? Are you so afraid for your reputation?” He shook his head and let out a quick exhale as if incredulous. “And by the way, you look like a wet cat freshly fished out of a canal,” he added with a wink and signature grin.
Arghh, the man was impossible! I was still shivering from my chilly dip and didn’t enjoy his humor at the moment. Like a fifty pound sandbag, the weight of the day dropped on my shoulders, rendering me dumb and done. These last twenty-four hours had been so emotionally intense that I felt as if I had been put through a washing machine on wring cycle. At this point all I wanted was to get out of these wet clothes, shower and sink in a comfy bed.
“Suit yourself. Take the small sofa if you insist, and you s
till owe me an explanation about how you found me so fast back there by the canal.” Suspicion was rising as I had not remembered seeing him following me when I exited the hotel.
His eye sparkled with amusement. “Well, if you haven’t figured it out, I certainly won’t tell. Would take the fun out of it, don’t you think?”
On reflection, I didn’t wanna know and what’s more, I probably wouldn’t like the answer. But still, I half regretted my hasty words. Despite everything, Agent Steinfield had protected me, pulled me out of the water and ensured my safe return to my hotel. Maybe he didn’t deserve my bitchy mood. But on the other hand, his bossy attitude and New Age macho style was more than annoying.
I was used to being in charge with my ATC job and would take no crap from anyone on the team. This career choice is well known for its required high level of stress management skills, and only the toughest survive in this field. I never realized that managing a certain type of stress doesn’t necessarily equip you to deal with all kinds of situations.
A moment later, he took a brief call, but the deep frown on his face alerted me he might have received additional bad news.
“Listen, you may not be aware, but there was an explosion at Verona train station earlier today. The damage was extensive and the death toll is already up to two dozen, and three times as many were injured. Rachid’s faction is claiming responsibility for it, and we barely missed it as it happened two hours after the Orient-Express arrived in Verona. The VSOE, after its two hour stop in the city, had just left the station only a few minutes to continue its way on to Venice when the explosion happened. The bomb squad is now combing the Venetian Train Station because, according to Rachid’s latest media communication, Santa Lucia Station was also targeted.”
I dropped on one of the upholstered chairs by the dresser, forgetting I was still wet.
“Do you think this hotel could be in danger? Why is he doing this? What do they want?”
“Do you know that among the passengers of the Orient-Express, you are the only one who ventured so far into the city, considering we had such a short stop over?”
Express Pursuit Page 10