Express Pursuit

by Caroline Beauregard

  A handsome waiter dressed in a white jacket and handling his tray with expertise walked with prompt steps to my table. His patented sexy smile would ensure, no doubt, maximum tipping from his female customers. Upon a quick inspection of the menu, I calculated that I had already spent almost 25 US dollars just by sitting here before even ordering anything. Unbelievable. I glanced at the clientele sitting around me who, I gathered, were used to paying a copperto and concert tax before even having taken a sip of Fizzante sparkling water. Anyway, there were no longer any other available tables here nor elsewhere in the Piazza.

  Since it was perhaps eighty degree outside, I opted for a gelato creation called “Coppa panna e amerana”. The quartet was treating us to Strauss Walz when my waiter returned with the monstrosity.

  The silver tub was filled with two large scoops of vanilla ice cream topped with Bing cherries dripping with kirsch liqueur sauce. Swirls of fluffy Chantilly mounted with rainbow aluminum burst sticks landed to the concoction a festive flair. I blushed when I saw a few heads turn toward the embarrassing gigantesque treat. It looked smaller on the picture of the menu. After a few spoonfuls, the delectable dessert, along with its hefty dose of alcohol, was enough to induce almost a sweet state of nonchalance.

  “Mommy, I want one like the lady over there,” said a young girl sitting two tables away.

  “No, Katie, this is much too big for you, and besides”—her mother slid a disgusted glare in my direction—“you’ll get a tummy ache if you were to eat all that.”

  To give myself more countenance, I took out my journal and pen from my purse.

  Josie, this trip has been so far nothing short of amazing although full of surprises. The VSOE is so elegant and classy, as you can imagine. I ruined before even boarding the train, my new knock off Chanel suit you insisted I bought when we shopped together. I got knocked down by a man suspected of terrorism and ripped my skirt.

  But I must say Venice is every bit as romantic as you promised.

  Too bad I missed the Venezia Show and my entrance to the San Marco basilica on account of being mugged and interrogated by the police. But have no fear, the precious Chanel Bag you gave me didn’t suffer too much from a dip in one of the Venetian canals. And, by the way, I‘ve met the sexiest man. The problem is that he is an FBI agent, and he thinks I am carrying a dangerous piece of equipment which no one can find. Now how’s that for adventure? So far this trip is nothing like I expected despite the intense planning I had done six months ago. I so wish you could be here. We could share this enormous gelato and maybe people would stop staring at me as if I was a glutton.

  The musicians are taking a break and without the distraction of the music I wonder for the hundredth time, what am I doing here? The sights are beautiful and the train ride was the ultimate comfort, but this is not a luxury I’m used to. Unlike you Josie, I was not raised with the proverbial silver spoon in my mouth. You would have enjoyed the trip and taken these mishaps for a healthy dose of excitement. But what is the point if you’re alone with no one to share it with? Maybe Sylvia will find the pictures interesting when we meet later on. Anyway, the guys at the Tower will be thrilled to learn about my runnings with an FBI agent. He is—

  The loud scrapping of an aluminum chair being pulled beside me alerted me, and I turned to see who was invading my peace and privacy. There he stood, looking at me and my barely touched cherry gelato, licking his chops with glee while eying me with a questioning lift of his brow.

  Chapter 12

  August 27th, Venice, Cafe Florian at Piazza San Marco, A Few Minutes Later

  "Aren’t you going to eat that? If not, I could offer my services,” he said as he sat down without waiting for an invitation.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Do you really need to ask?” He took his smirk a notch down while turning back his attention to the gelato.

  “That thing will drip all over the table if you don’t eat it. It’s already half melted, in case you haven’t noticed with your nose in your notebook,” he observed with false concern for the table.

  “Knock yourself out,” I said, sticking my spoon into it without further ceremony and pushing the melting goo toward him.

  Within three minutes, he had wolfed down all of it and would probably suffer from a brain freeze for the rest of the day.

  “I’ve got news,” he said, leaning back on his seat with a sigh. I wasn't sure if the sigh was on account of his full stomach, or if he had yet more bad news for me.

  “The FBI in the States picked up a leak about another string of attacks scheduled for the next few days all across Europe. There may be several factions at work behind those plans.”

  Although this was bad news, I couldn’t help but notice that he must trust me enough now to share this kind of information. I would have liked to savour the sweetness of this small victory, but my need to get more details took precedence.

  “You think Rachid is behind this?”

  “I can’t prove it yet, but my knowledge of the way he operates makes him a prime suspect, even if he can’t be everywhere at the same time.”

  “Don't you agree it’s about time you tell me more about his organization?”

  “You know this is classified information and that I’m not at liberty to discuss that with civilians.”

  The tension was palpable on the closed up expression of his face. His tone had been cold and detached. He crossed his arms over his puffed up chest as if making sure his point came out loud and clear.

  “Civilians, my foot. I’m sorry, but I’ve also got news for you. I’ve been dragged into this against my will, and I’ll be damned if you think I’m just going to sit here and take the back seat.” I’d had enough with his macho attitude and he might as well learn right now I won’t tolerate being kept in the dark anymore.

  “Keep your voice down,” he admonished in a hushed tone.

  “Oh, sorry.” I tried to reign in my temper which, at this moment, raged only a few degrees below its boiling point.

  He raked a hand through his hair, messing it by luck in a style worthy of an artistic masterpiece of “laissez-faire”.

  He scanned the area to see if anyone had been interested in our conversation.

  At this moment my phone’s email message tone rang. “Great; it must be from Sylvia.” I took it out of my purse, unlocked it and scanned the message’s content.

  Do not change your travel plans or we will destroy every train station on your way. We will kill your sister if you don’t cooperate. We are watching you.

  Anonymous

  I froze in horror and read the message over and over, thinking there must be an error. This couldn’t be just a prank, of that I was positive. I knew best than to kid myself. With a trembling hand, I handed the phone over to Steinfield.

  In a flicker, he jolted up and surveyed the Piazza with a deadly glare as if he’d switched in full alert mode. He dropped the phone on the table. I stuffed it back in my purse but didn’t delete the message.

  He unsnapped the closure of his holster and took out his gun with swift, precise movements but kept it at a discrete angle. In the next instant, he was on his phone and had a brief conversation in Italian. A moment later, he pushed away his chair.

  “Let’s go.” He took my hand as he strode off at a brisk pace with me trotting in tow.

  “Where are we going?” I repeated a second time.

  “Carabinieri,” he said, not in the least short of breath, and increased his speed while scanning the way for any suspect movements that could show an additional threat.

  A thousand questions were running in my head. In the last twenty-four hours, not only had my life become complicated by an imbroglio involving terrorists, but now they had involved my sister in their insane plans. Whoever had written that message knew about my trip and my family.

  I should have worried earlier when I noticed Sylvia’s response took more time than usual.

&nbs
p; I felt violated as if someone had a personal vendetta against me and now my sister. How was this whole nightmare even possible? Had they kidnapped her? I was almost grateful to be running to catch Steinfield’s long strides. It kept my mind more focused and prevented it from busting with the extreme stress gripping me as if someone had fastened an icy iron band around my chest. My head burned from the blood swooshing in my temple as it echoed the erratic tempo of my pulse. With my throat desiccated from our mad dash across the street, we still managed to make it back to the police headquarters in record time.

  Ten minutes later, a squad was waiting at the entrance, and as soon as we entered, the head of security met us. The offices were swimming with the coming and going of different officers who had raised their voices and seemed to gesticulate and argue about everything that was happening.

  Preffeto Bagglioni directed us to a small office and closed the door. Drake gave him additional details about the anonymous text. I took out my phone, expecting they would want to look at the message themselves. The boss opened the door ajar and yelled a short order, and two more officers showed up. One, wearing blue latex gloves, extended his hand toward my phone and placed it in a zip-lock bag.

  Drake was in another animated conversation in Italian which I could not follow.

  He kept darting glances toward me with a deep frown and pursed lips. After running twice his hands in his hair, he dug one of his hands in his front slack pocket. Straining to hear over the ambient noise, I caught the sound of his impromptu maracas induced by his sharp shakes, a sure sign he was on edge. He turned in my direction and held his index finger up, informing me he would be back a minute before he left the office with the head of security. As the door closed, I saw him taking out his FBI badge.

  I waited like a dog summoned by his master to sit but after two minutes, I left the tiny office to pace along the hallway between the row of offices, and I tried to get a glimpse of what was going on without looking as if I was snooping around. Two officers gave me queer looks after my fifth passing along the same hall. I couldn’t sit still. Steinfield’s gesture had been clear. He expected me to wait. Wait? Wait for what? That he finishes his business with Preffeto Bagglioni? Does he think I’m at his beck and call? Why is this taking so long? They’ve been in that office for twenty minutes now. Perhaps I should go in there and defend my cause. Instead, I returned to the first office where I was told to stay and examined the map of Venice hanging on the wall.

  I resumed my pacing back and forth, ignoring the attention I gathered.

  One of the younger agent offer me a Cappuccino and then an Expresso while flashing me a big lured smile. As a last resort, he asked, “Cafe Americanos?”

  “No, thanks.” My nerves were jumpy enough as it was.

  I would think if this only involved Steinfield, wouldn’t they have sent me away? Maybe this is worse than I think. Has the Venetian authority decided that they shouldn’t allow me to run free in this city? Is he trying to free me or organize for me to have additional security in view of the new threat and dangerous equipment I may carry? Are the Interpol going to work on locating my sister? Maybe they haven’t kidnapped her yet and will hold off if I continue the trip as planned? Please, let her be safe.

  The muscles in the back of my neck were so tight they felt like twisted ropes, and my patience had run out. I was about to walk in there and demand an explanation, or decision, or something. Either they let me go or they lock me up. There was not fifty options available here. Cmon, the suspense is unbearable. I know that I am dealing with this delay like a spoiled brat but waiting for other people to decide on my behalf is against my principles. “Carpe diem, and let the chips fall where they may” would be more my motto.

  My temper curbed a notch below 911 as I walked with decisive steps to the office where Steinfield had gone. I was about to reach for the handle when the door flew open with me almost crashing into him. A brief look of surprise highlighted his irises but was just as soon replaced by his signature sly grin.

  “Missed me?” He leaned down to whisper in my ear before taking a firm grab on my elbow. Next, he was escorting me, without delay, down the hallway toward the exit. What is it with this man and double messages? I never have the time to analyze his words, or contradictory body language, before something else distracts me. He stopped a moment to exchange a few words in Italian with another member of the security team. Once finished, he resumed his dragging with measured step outside the building. My instincts were shouting to walk along and be quiet despite my anger at being clueless about what had just happened.

  “I want to know what they said about me and my sister.”

  “No. Not now,” he said without stopping.

  Not to worry, Agent Steinfield, you’ll get it, tantrum and all if I have to.

  Once we were a few hundred feet away from the building, we turned into a side street. He let go of my arm and slid his hand on the small of my back. I swat it off and rooted my heels on the pavement crossing my arms. He stopped. After scanning the area once more, he faced me.

  “Can we do this somewhere more private?” he hissed, knowing too well what was coming his way.

  A group of tourists passed around us with their camera aiming everywhere. A few were focusing on us. He locked his attention on something behind me, and his expression became even more rigid, calculating. I had reached my limit of intrigue for the day and was about to open my mouth to protest when he grabbed me by the waist with a firm hand and pulled me to him.

  “Be quiet,” he ordered.

  A soft gasp escaped me as he crashed his lips on mine, muffling my protest. Shocked, I only registered his brutal attack which held an unsuspected need and possessiveness. He was quick to readjust his pressure and eased up his mouth over mine to hover his lips in a most frustrating and teasing manner. Bewildered, I should have resisted or at least tried to pull back. To my defense, the firm hand on my back was now massaging me slowly into submission while his other hand remained tangled in my hair. He continued his superficial lip exploration, and a moment later I almost fell backward when without warning he pulled away, straitening up to scan the street again.

  “It’s Ok; they’re gone now,” he said with a cool and detached tone.

  Startled by his voice, I straighten myself fuming and upset with embarrassment. Any romantic notion that had eased, uninvited, into my head vanished. The fake kiss had been a simple diversion planned by a calculating mind. Reality washed over me like a slap in the face. The kiss, it was obvious now, had meant nothing to him. Cheap trick nonetheless. Unlike him, I wished I could get rid of the tingling sensation still lingering on my lips and the ghost effect that his hands had left on my back. And because my heart was racing out of control, a one word question suited me fine.

  “Who?” I checked down the street, relieved to have an excuse not to look at him. I didn’t want him to know I was sensitive to his sex appeal.

  “It’s not important who was following you. Whoever it was is bad news. For all I know, it was likely a competitive faction of Rachid’s who must be aware you may carry the latest technology he intends to use for his next coup. We’re going back to your hotel room, and I’ll check it for bugs.”

  “But what about my sister; did you get information at the police station about her?”

  “No.”

  Heading back to my hotel, we walked in silence along the Calle Salvadago bordering a canal. After a few minutes, I heard a child suddenly scream piercing cries, followed by incessant whining. Alerted, I looked around to see what was going on. Drake had already put a hand inside his jacket, likely prepared for the eventuality of using his gun. Soon the source of the sound came into view. About sixty feet away, a young mother was holding a toddler who was wailing with desperation and trying to escape her protective arms. Beside her stood the father, leaning over the toddler, coaxing him to calm down.

  “It’s gone, son. I’m sorry, but there’s nothing we can do to g
et your Teddy back,” he said with a Texan drawl.

  “Lemme go! I want my Teddy!” yelled the young one with renewed petulance, pushing and wriggling against his mother’s arms.

  Poor kid. It must be terrible to lose a beloved toy. I gazed around in case I spotted the teddy bear. Perhaps he’d dropped it down the street where they came from. Nothing, but then, I caught something awkward at the corner of my eyes. In the canal’s dirty water, a strange form was drifting away, pushed by the slow current. The yellow matted spongy thing was still floating, half submerged. It was heading toward where Drake and I stood.

  I elbowed him. He had also seen the drifting debris judging from his disgusted face. There was no point in asking if he would try to retrieve it.

  Turning to the canal I crouched down and extended my hand to see if I could reach it as the current was slow. If I could just reach a few inches closer…

  A strong hand grabbed my arm and pulled me up.

  “Haven’t you had enough dips in these canals?” he growled between his teeth. He was leaning over me with a dark expression on his face. However, he must have noticed my silent plead because he rolled his eyes before mumbling an expletive between his teeth. “The answer is no.” His tone was flat and unyielding. “And you’re not even sure if that’s what’s just been floating by.” He challenged with a solid stance, hinting he had no intention to move. “Cmon.” He scorned frowning at me with contempt. “I’m not going in there to fetch some dirty tattered teddy bear,” he added in case he had not made himself clear enough. The frown was still present, but as he spoke I saw the puzzle solver at work, computing with his mind.

  “Haven’t you ever lost a favorite toy as a kid? Just look at the poor boy.”

  Ignoring the child, his eyes darted to the spongy form down the canal while he deliberated with pursed lips. A defeated sigh escaped his lips, followed by a raking of his hair with an impatient hand.