“What are you implying? That I had something to do with it?” I got up and turned on the TV to see if there was any news about the attacks.
Most Italian channels were covering the event replaying footage taken by witnesses using their mobile devices. I had been unsettled by the London gas bombing, but this one hit home with an exponential force. One should never forget how life can be so fragile.
I paced the room. To think that I had spoken to these passengers only a few hours ago.
“I can’t stay here and do nothing,” I said. But deep down I knew well I did not have the energy to go. But still, I felt concerned and wanted to do something constructive about it.
“There is nothing to do tonight. The local authority and the Interpol are working the case, and tomorrow morning I will be more likely to get a report from the bombing squad and compare the data with the missed attack in Paris. As for their demands, I’m sure we’ll hear from them soon. Terrorists like to use the media to broadcast their demands and push governments to execute them. So, get some sleep.”
“Paris? But I didn’t hear about any bombing in Paris.”
“It’s because the bomb that the security agents found was not properly set and didn’t go off.”
The questions were rushing in my head like a casino roulette and I couldn’t decide which one to pick up first, but for some reason I blurted out, “Where in Paris?”
“Gare de l’Est.”
What is wrong with these people? Was this one also related to London and Verona attack? I opened my mouth to fire away more questions, but seeing my intent, he lifted his right hand up stopping me.
“Sorry, but I am not at liberty to discuss this further because it’s classified information at the moment.”
Was that supposed to reassure me? After the stress of being pursued tonight, falling in the canal and now hearing of the bombing in Verona, the muscles in my neck and upper shoulder were stiff like iron bars while the rest of my body was ready to puddle at my feet like Jello. I turned off the TV, sick of the repeated brainwashing images they kept showing in loops.
The hot shower did me good, and my flannel PJs finished wrapping me in a cocoon of warm fuzziness. I cracked open the bathroom door to see what he was doing. He’d sprawled himself on the love seat with his long legs hanging across one to the armrests. His shoes were neatly placed side by side on the floor next to him while he used his leather jacket as a makeshift blanket. The boyish charm of his face, even more pleasant when relaxed, mixed in a most alluring way with his animal magnetism and wholesome manliness. The dark eyelashes fanned on his cheeks, giving him a certain softness that balanced the virile stubble covering his jaw. I managed with pride to resist the temptation to feel the texture of his beard. Would it be coarse or soft and tingling? I lingered instead over the sensual line of his lips, which had a slight upturned curve. My hand reached for a lock of hair, moving it away from his eyes while taking care not to wake him. His eyebrows moved a fraction, but the regular rhythm of his breathing reassured me he was sound asleep. The poor man must be so tired. Despite the horrible attacks that seem to chase us, I was grateful to have him around.
I dragged the comforter off the bed and draped it over his slumbered form. Beyond exhausted, I climbed in the inviting queen size bed to surrender to sleep’s oblivion.
August 27th, Venice, Hotel Flora, Middle of the Night
Despite my best efforts to thread through the liquid mass, I couldn’t escape the thick black molasses that engulfed and choked me. I flung my hands forward, hoping to move out, but it was useless. My arms were getting sore and exhausted, and my lungs burned. How long had I been fighting to stay alive in this hell? Panic now gripped at my throat, restricting even more my oxygen reserve. Something moaned in the recess of my mind, and I felt like giving up. So tired and freaked out with desperation. My hands tried to reach up anything but all the while, I couldn’t tell whether I was digging myself out or sinking even deeper. This inky murk would soon become my tomb. With all my strength, I tried, once more, to hurl myself to pierce through the tarry goo. When the cool chill of my imminent death gripped me, something warm and solid nestled itself against my back.
A sneaky tentacle snaked its way around my midriff, inducing me to stop fighting with a slow rocking motion. My aching body gave up and my head, for an unknown reason, remembered the soft caress of a hand tracing the contour of my scalp which immediately calmed me. At last, serenity washed over me, clearing the tar that held me prisoner. Instead, I now rested on the smooth sand of an unknown beach. I rocked with the rhythmic tempo of the waves lapping against my flesh, lulling me into a sea-green beatitude. The exotic aroma of a distant island, perfumed the air with sandalwood and cinnamon. These enigmatic sensations, reassured me. Appeased me. I could finally relax because I was safe now.
***
August 27th, Venice, Hotel Flora, 3:00 AM
The girl even managed to get in trouble while sleeping, mused Drake. Maybe he could catch a few hours of sleep, now that he was literally handling the situation after hearing her moans and wails for the last twenty minutes. At least he knew he’d sleep well and that she wouldn’t take off on him without him being able to trace her since he’d planted a micro GPS locator in her purse before their arrival to Verona. Her main luggage had proven devoid of any tampering or illicit piece of bombing equipment, which didn’t sit well with him. If it had been the case, it would have confirmed his suspicions about the terrorists using her.
He had to give it to her though, she certainly had spunk, even if she did not always use it with the greatest wisdom. What was she thinking, engaging in a fight with some guy over her purse? Didn’t she know the man might have pulled a knife or gun at her? Thank God for GPS. He had had a hunch she wouldn’t listen when he told her to stay put.
He still waited for more information about the mugger. The carabinieri were having a hard time making him talk. But Drake didn’t need the full report. The Italian was no ordinary tourist mugger. Although Miss Ellington appeared to be an easy victim to burglary, there was many other opportunities for a mugger to steal a purse. No, that one was on a mission, and she had just been lucky because he had not expected her to resist him. He could have sworn he’d seen that mug on some wanted list. Although he knew most of Rachid’s close acolytes, the leader often favored using new contacts picked across the world who had no criminal records because they would be difficult to trace. But he would not have dealt with other enemy factions, that’s for sure. Even between terrorists, there were disputes over who would access the most destructive technology. Regardless, the mugger had targeted Mara and had covered his track by making it seem as a simple burglary.
The thug was after her, or more to the point, after something she was unaware she carried. This new element pushed the situation into a whole new direction. If Rachid’s faction had not planted a piece of equipment used for bombing on her, what were they using her for?
Drake let out a heavy sigh. This turn of events should not have surprised him. Had Rachid gotten his hands on an innovative high-tech piece of equipment? It had to be tiny to pass unsuspected through these searches.
So Drake’s mission had just gotten more complicated. When his reliable source certified that Rachid had organized the passover of the technology in London forty-eight hours ago, he’d seized his best chance ever to catch his nemesis but the last thing he expected was to have a problem retrieving the bombing equipment once he’d track down the carrier.
Now, for the first time, he questioned the validity of his source although he had to admit it—every attack announced by Rachid had taken place. London’s gas bomb disrupted the operation of the train station even if there had been no deaths or serious injuries. The Paris bombing set-up had been found as predicted. As for the Verona attack, it was the deadliest one so far, and Drake had the gut feeling that the bombings’s scale would increase in damage and death count. As for Venice, there was no report yet which the a
gent considered inconsistent if Rachid’s intention was to bomb every stop along the VSOE route. Likely, the Serenissima, as the locals liked to call their beloved city, had followed his instruction to increase security in airports and train stations, and perhaps that explained the lack of explosions here. However, he knew better than to rejoice about it. Anyway, if anything suspicious happened, the authorities were to keep him in the loop, thanks to his special FBI and Interpol status and high security clearance level.
He smiled with satisfaction. Her earlier nightmare seemed to have eased up as he listened to her calmer breathing rate. He had discreetly climbed on the bed and had gently rocked her sleeping form to ease her agitated slumber. She fit snug into his arms. This was, in fact, a rare occasion when he’d allowed himself the luxury of hanging around a woman’s bed. His busy and erratic schedule allowed only brief encounters with local women who knew enough not to ask for more. He’d always been honest with his lady partners even if the flings only lasted as long as it took to “clean up the local vermin”, as he liked to call his missions.
His longest fling had lasted over eight months with the lovely Saida from Egypt. She became too attached despite his warnings, and when he’d been called on another mission, the long-term relationship suffered and she ended up resenting him, anyway. Even if he didn’t feel he deserved her reproach, he’d gotten a taste of how a real relationship could be. Lots of work but lots of satisfaction too. And not just in the physical sense. He had gotten too emotionally involved, against his better judgment, and was still feeling the sting of their necessary breakup. At least he salvaged the relationship which had turned into a friendly one and was glad to hear she got married a while ago.
Mara Ellington differed from the women who had passed through his life. He liked her quick spirit and sense of repartee. This one could keep a man on his toes, that was for sure. He almost guffawed remembering how she had stepped on his foot with spite when he’d kind of forced her to dance with him. Feisty little spitfire, he agreed. Not to mention that her reddish strawberry blond hair had a way of catching the light, making the color oscillate between a blond and light red head. He was still undecided on that point.
Her grayish eyes were as temperamental as her spirit. Blue in daylight, grayer by night. Despite suffering from chronic wardrobe mishaps, her slender but feminine curves had not escaped his appreciation. He couldn’t get enough of studying—whenever she was not suspecting— how her milky diaphanous complexion would color despite the make-up she applied to hide her freckles. He could always tell when he affected her, even more so when he was near. Her cheeks would turn a tad darker. One day, he would like to tell her he found her freckles too damn sexy to be covered up. Why do women go through all that trouble to look good? Don’t they know that if you’re hooked, that’s because you like the package “au natural”.
At this moment, she looked so vulnerable while sleeping. As much as she tried to look tough in the face of danger, her restless sleep betrayed how scared she had been earlier tonight. He wished he could spare her more bad news, but he was in no position to promise her anything.
Earlier tonight, he had phoned his supervisor, Major Wilcox McDaniels, Deputy Chief of Staff, at the headquarters of FBI CT International branch.
“You already got your last chance, Steinfield. Better let Interpol handle it because I can’t spare any additional forces to help you with this obsession of yours. I don’t even have the budget I initially requested. There are other fish in the sea to deal with, other terrorists who pose a more direct threat to US citizens. Looks like your source may have been wrong about Rachid using a carrier to transfers bombing equipment in London. Your lead with this carrier produced no result so far,” McDaniels said.
“So after all I’ve told you about his tear gas grenade attacks on London, the bomb in Paris and the explosion in Verona Train Station and possibly Venice’s Santa Lucia’s, you still think this is only an obsession on my part?”
“Steinfield, don’t test me. You know as well as I do that we cannot organize an operation on the spot like this. We need time to sync with Interpol, and I haven’t got the green light yet on all levels of governments involved. I’ve got superior officers over my head too. Unless you operate under the strict orders of Interpol, I cannot do more on my end. Even then, there is a limit to what your mandate as an FBI agent working with Interpol permits. Sorry. Maybe it’s time you think about returning to the Counter Terrorist office branch in New York. We could use you better here.”
“We are both aware if I don’t put an end to his activities, it will just send the message that the USA FBI’s presence in Europe is worthless. Is that how you want to play it?”
“Listen, the International Security Division of the FBI is about to issue a statement demanding we wait for the full authorizations of local and international authorities before the US sends any operative teams on these types of missions. Otherwise, there are just to much political issues at stake. So, unless you catch your guy and bring down his organization within the next 72 hours, your pursuit of Omar Ahmed Rachid will become illegal as per article 67.7.”
“Thank God there are still people who believe in justice more than in politics. You know it’s pathetic that the Defence Department won’t free more budget in effective preventive measures. There is no point in having a top notch reactive aggressive process if they’re not spending the money and men power in prevention tactics.”
“You’re getting dangerously close to crossing the line here, so I’ll warn you one last time. I will not discuss defense budget politics with you. Let the local authorities deal with him; this is getting out of our jurisdiction. Let the National Association of Police Organization deal with this. Ain’t your fight anymore. Rachid must be in his seventies, and he may even die at the hand of other competing terrorists factions before you can get to him. You should let it go. I mean, I know what it means to you—”
“I never thought you were a quitter.”
“Think about what I said. We could use a good agent like you here more than ever,” McDaniels said before hanging up.
Chapter 11
August 27th, Hotel Flora, Near Dawn
Drake checked his watch: 5:00 AM. He was eager to get her up. After she got through with her deposition at the police office, he would tend to more important matters. The latest report he had received from the Interpol office contained more than one alarming piece of information.
Mara was still sleeping peacefully. With her hair spread out on her pillow and no make-up, she looked not much older than a college grad. Not as vulnerable as she seems, he reflected. The way she had shoved off her assailant hinted that she must have taken courses in self-defense. What she lacked in technique, she made up in attitude. He chuckled, remembering the sight of the wet kitten he’d pulled out of the water. She’d looked kind of sexy with her soaked blouse plastered on her small pointed breasts. His mind and baser instincts agreed, and he felt like a cad to have allowed the image to dance in his memory in such an inappropriate manner.
He was on a mission and once accomplished, Mara Ellington would soon continue on with her life as if this whole episode had been an unfortunate interference in an otherwise perfect vacation. But for how long? How many other attempts would there be on her person? Whoever was behind the mugger’s assault yesterday would soon retaliate, no doubt. He might not be there to save her every time it happened. This bugged him to no end. Foremost, his prime interest was to prevent further bombing and dismantle Rachid’s faction, but unfortunately, his gut feeling was telling him she was involved, although he didn’t know how. Until he found out, her life would remain in danger.
However, to be honest, she didn’t even seem to have appreciated his intervention by the canal. She’d been too proud to admit that she needed him and only thanked him for helping her with noticeable reluctance. He couldn’t help but grin at her frisky character. The little tigress didn’t seem to appreciate cold water, just like him
. And she had been “all claws out” when she had realized he’d followed her. Did she seriously think he would leave her out of his sight? If so, she was more naive than he suspected.
Being careful not to wake her up, he returned to his previous makeshift bed on the loveseat without forgetting to set his watch alarm at 7:00 AM. When it rang, he got up, showered, changed and called the front desk to order a breakfast tray for her. Twenty minutes later, there was a light tap on the door.
“Room service, sir.”
Tiptoeing to open the door, he took the tray and paid the waiter with a generous tip to ensure his quick departure. Then, he set up the food on the coffee table of the en-suite room before approaching Miss Ellington. It didn’t take long for her perky freckled nose to shoot up.
He couldn’t resist indulging in a bit of fun.
***
August 27th, Venice, Hotel Flora, Early Morning
Although still half asleep, my senses woke up to the smell of fresh brewed coffee, eggs, bacon, Danish and… something tickling my nose with insistence? A fly? I tried to shoo away the pesky insect, but it kept coming back as if on a mission. Why won’t it leave me alone?
I cracked open one eye and caught Steinfield removing his teasing index finger from my nose.
“Morning, Sleeping Beauty. Care for breakfast?”
“What? What are you doing in my room?” My groggy mind slowly cleared up; Oh, right, he had shoved his way in last night.
His phone rang, and after picking it up, he went to sit on the loveseat near the coffee table.
The brightness of this sunny day pierced through despite the closed curtain. The small painting depicting one of the quaint canal with gondolas brought me back to my close encounter last night and the reason of Steinfield’s presence in my room. On the bright side, the lovely scenery filled my spirit with excitement and made me even more eager to explore the city. I had booked two “Cut the line tickets” to visit the Basilica San Marco at 10:00 and the Doge Palace at 11:00.
Express Pursuit Page 11