The Book of Spies

29

RIDING HIS skateboard, Bash Badawi cruised along the street opposite Yitzhak Law's home. He appeared casual in his baggy shorts, zippered hoodie jacket, and small backpack. His straight jet-black hair framed a dusky-colored face and almond-shaped brown eyes. Although he wore earphones as part of his disguise, the only sound he heard was the constant rumble of traffic and the talk of the pedestrians he passed.
As he slalomed across the intersection and turned back to retrace his route on the other side, he checked Quinn, who still sat stoically on the bench with his cloth shopping sack, and then Martina, who remained in her beach chair under the pepper tree, apparently reading the newspaper, chin tilted high. Everything was under control.
Still, he slowed his skateboard to study the area, wondering about a man who was pushing a baby carriage. Dressed in gray sweatpants and sweatshirt, he had passed by a half hour ago, returned, and was now heading off around the corner again. The man was big and bulky, with sharp features and thick black eyebrows. He could simply be taking the baby out for fresh air, circling the block.
Bash also noted a man with long brown hair and a thin face, riding a blue Vespa motor scooter. He had driven past fifteen minutes ago and perhaps earlier, too. Motor scooters were ubiquitous in Rome, and many Vespas rushed along the street. The man might be a messenger of some kind.
Passing beneath a branching maple tree, Bash again neared Yitzhak Law's old house. He could see no one through the windows. But then as he cruised past, there was a faint explosion from deep inside, the noise muffled by the stone walls. A gunshot. His chest tightened. He did an immediate one-eighty and dug his foot into the pavement, speeding back on his skateboard toward the steps.
IN THE kitchen, Judd held his pistol steadily against Angelo Charbonier's temple, his arm braced against his throat. With a single hard thrust, he could crush Angelo's windpipe if he tried to retake his weapon.
But now that Odile had arrived, Angelo smiled triumphantly. His eyes were as hard and black as anthracite. "Return my pistol, Judd," he ordered. "You do not want anything to happen to Roberto."
Roberto's face was pale with fear. Sweat glistened on his forehead. "I do not understand . . ." He stared helplessly at Yitzhak.
The professor had risen from his hiding place behind the table. His eyes blinked too fast as he demanded, "Put your guns away. All of you. What is this insanity?"
Odile asked her husband in French, "Have you summoned the men?"
Eva started to translate for Judd.
Judd interrupted her. "I know what Odile said. And my guess is their men are either here or soon will be. I saw Angelo reach into his pocket when he heard about Yakimovich." He said to Angelo, "You figured you'd learned all you were going to, so you signaled them, right?"
Angelo's smile widened, but he did not answer the question. "We now have, as you Yankees say, a standoff. If you do not return my weapon, Odile will shoot Roberto. And she will, believe me."
"I'm tempted to fire anyway," Judd said. "Wipe you, and by the time Odile pulls her trigger, I'll get off a clean shot at her. Then you'll both be dead."
Odile stepped farther behind Roberto so his body was a better shield against the threat of Judd. "There is another solution," she said. "You and I can put down our weapons. We can talk."
"Lower your gun, Odile," Judd said, "and I'll lower mine."
She nodded. As their gazes locked, they let their gun hands descend.
AS HE neared the house's steps, Bash Badawi slowed his skateboard, watching again. Something besides the gunshot was wrong, but he could not quite identify it. The afternoon sunlight beat down harshly, turning the street scene with its growling cars and low scooters and bobbing pedestrians into waves of streaming color. As his mind quickly sorted through what his eyes saw, he realized six men in shorts and T-shirts in wide bands of green, white, and red--the colors of Italy's flag--had rounded the corner in a bunch, feet light and forearms raised, hands loose, in the usual way of joggers. All apparently normal.
But it was not. The pack broke up and scattered, still jogging. Four moved across the street toward Carl and Martina, while two headed in his direction. They were janitors, hired killers, and they had targeted him and his team, which meant someone--perhaps the Vespa rider or the man in the sweatsuit, pushing the baby carriage--had already cased the area for them.
His gaze on the pair who were jogging toward him, Bash slid his hand inside his jacket, unhooked his shoulder holster, and gripped the handle of his Browning.
AS JUDD kept his gaze on Odile, he and she lowered their pistols to their sides. No one moved or spoke, suspended in a tableau of tension. The only sound was Roberto's short, frightened breaths, which seemed to shudder against the hard surfaces of the kitchen. He ran to Yitzhak, who put his arm around him.
Appearing to give Roberto room, Eva moved closer to Odile and stopped when she was about four feet away. Judd exchanged a glance with her, remembering her expertise in karate. She narrowed her eyes and gave a slight nod.
Judd stepped back from Angelo. "Tell me about the Library of Gold."
But it was Odile who answered: "There is nothing to say. All of us have been curious about it for years, of course."
"Bullshit," Judd said. "The library's why you're here. Why Angelo pulled his gun. Why you have men outside. You want to stop us from finding it."
Angelo Charbonier straightened against the wall, smoothing his sports jacket. "What I want to know is whom you have informed about what you have learned."
"I'll tell you that," Judd lied, "if you tell me what your relationship is to the library."
"Hypothetically, let us assume you are correct that we have some knowledge," Angelo said slowly. "Perhaps even that I am a member of the small book club that supports the library."
"Was my father a member, too?" Judd asked immediately.
Angelo looked surprised a moment, then shook his head firmly. "Your turn."
It was a beginning, but Judd did not trust Angelo. "Suppose we give you the scytale, and you tell us more. Then all of us can walk away alive and forget this ever happened."
"That has possibilities," Angelo agreed.
Judd checked Eva again, and she stared back.
He gestured at the table. "There's the scytale. It's all yours, Odile. Take it."
"No!" Angelo shouted.
But he was too late. Odile was already striding toward it.
BASH MADE a fast decision. His assignment was to protect Judd Ryder and Eva Blake. His fellow team members, Martine and Quinn, would fend for themselves. He had to break into the professor's house, and quickly.
Neither of the two janitors jogging toward him had showed a weapon yet, and they likely planned not to until they were beside him and could liquidate him quietly. He focused on them, propelling himself faster and faster on his skateboard.
The pair was only twenty feet away. Still jogging, they tensed as they saw his increasing speed. They lifted their shirts a few inches and drew out small-caliber pistols with sound suppressors screwed on.
Bash snatched out his Browning. The air felt hot and slick as he raced through it. The two killers aimed. He bent his knees, slid his left foot forward to the nose of his skateboard, and used the other foot to stomp down on the tail. Instantly the board ollied, flying into the air.
Surprised, the men jerked their gazes up. Bash shifted his weight, and the skateboard crashed into the chest of one. He fell hard on his back, and his gun spun away.
Bash landed and rolled, shaking off the impact. A bullet bit into the pavement next to him, but he continued to roll. Pieces of concrete cut into his skin. The downed janitor was swiftly reaching for his gun and rising into a crouch as a second bullet blasted into the pavement near Bash's head.
Bash fired twice, once into the chest of the standing man and then into the chest of the other. Blood exploded from their T-shirts. Pedestrians who had been walking toward them from both directions rushed away, screaming and shouting. At the same time a gunshot sounded from across the street.
Jumping to his feet, Bash checked across the traffic. Martine was slumped in her chair, her head dangling over her chest, while Quinn lay on his side on the bench. Bash took a deep breath. Both were down. Then he saw their killers were jogging back to the curb, preparing to cross over and come after him.
He snatched up his skateboard and sprinted up the steps to Yitzhak Law's door.