“Seems I’ve had a lot of use for one lately.”
So had he, but she was right. “This is foolish. We’re going to get shot or arrested if we keep going. What are you doing here?”
“That was going to be my question for you. This is my job. You’re a bookseller. Why did Danny Daniels send you?”
“He said they’d lost contact with you.”
“No one tried to contact me.”
“Seems our president apparently wants me involved, but didn’t have the courtesy to ask.”
Shouts and screams could be heard from behind them in the square.
But he had a greater concern. Torcello. “I have a boat docked just beyond San Marco, at the quayside.” He pointed right at another alleylike street. “We should be able to get there if we head that way.”
“Where are we going?” Stephanie asked.
“To help someone who needs even more help than you do.”
VIKTOR KILLED THE ENGINE AND ALLOWED THE BOAT TO GENTLY touch the stone dock. A muted scene of slate grays, muddy greens, and pale blues engulfed them. The iron silhouette of the basilica rose thirty meters away, just past a jagged patch of stubbled shadows that defined a garden and orchard. Rafael emerged from the aft cabin carrying two shoulder bags and said, “Eight packs and one turtle ought to be enough. If we torch the bottom, the rest will burn easily.”
Rafael understood the ancient potion and Viktor had come to rely on that expertise. He watched as his partner gently laid the rucksacks down and stepped back into the cabin, toting up one of the robotic turtles.
“He’s charged and ready.”
“Why is it a ‘he’?”
“I don’t know. Seems appropriate.”
Viktor smiled. “We need a rest.”
“A few days off would be good. Maybe the minister will give us the time, as a reward.”
He laughed. “The minister doesn’t believe in rewards.”
Rafael adjusted the straps on the two packs. “A few days in the Maldives would be great. Lying on a beach. Warm water.”
“Stop dreaming. Not going to happen.”
Rafael shouldered one of the heavy rucksacks. “Nothing wrong with dreaming. Especially out here, in this rain.”
He grabbed the turtle as Rafael lifted the other satchel. “In and out. Quick and fast. Okay?”
His partner nodded. “Should be an easy run.”
He agreed.
CASSIOPEIA STOOD ON THE BASILICA’S FRONT PORCH, USING ITS shadows and six towering columns for cover. The mist had evolved into a drizzle, but thankfully the damp night was warm. A steady breeze kept the froth stirred and masked sounds she desperately needed to hear. Like the engine on the boat, just beyond the garden to her right, which should be there by now.
Two pebbled paths led away, one to a stone pier that was surely Viktor’s stopping point, the other to the water itself. She needed to be patient, to allow them to enter the museum and make their way to the second floor.
Then give them a dose of their own medicine.
Malone 3 - The Venetian Betrayal
THIRTY-NINE
STEPHANIE STOOD BESIDE MALONE AS HE EASED THE BOAT AWAY from the concrete dock. Police cruisers were arriving, tying up at the quayside mooring posts where San Marco ended at the lagoon’s edge. Emergency lights strobed the darkness.
“All hell is going to break loose out there,” Malone said.
“Daniels should have thought about that before he interfered.”
Malone followed the lighted channel markers northward, paralleling the shore. More police boats raced by, sirens blasting. She found her world phone, dialed a number, then stepped close to Malone and switched to “Speaker.”
“Edwin,” she said. “You’re lucky you’re not here or I’d kick your ass.”
“Don’t you work for me?” Davis asked.
“I had three men in that square. Why weren’t they there when I needed them?”
“We sent Malone. I hear he’s equal to three men.”
“Whoever you are,” Malone said, “flattery would normally work. But I’m with her. You called her backup off?”
“She had the roof sniper and you. That was enough.”
“Now I’m really going to kick your ass,” she said.
“How about we get through this, then you can have the opportunity.”
“What the hell’s going on?” she said, voice rising. “Why is Cotton here?”
“I need to know what happened.”
She sucked in her anger and provided a brief summary. Then said, “Lots going on in that square right now. Plenty of attention.”
“Not necessarily a bad thing,” Davis said.
The original idea had been to see if Vincenti would act. Men had been staking out her hotel all evening and, when she’d left, they’d promptly headed upstairs, surely intent on finding the medallion. She wondered why the change in strategy—involving Malone—but held that inquiry and said into the phone, “You still haven’t said why Cotton is here.”
Malone steered left as they rounded the shoreline, the compass indicating northeast, and added power to the engines.
“What are you doing right now?” Davis asked.
“Heading into another problem,” Malone said. “You need to answer her question.”
“We want San Marco in an uproar tonight.”
She waited for more.
“We’ve learned that Irina Zovastina is on her way to Venice. She’ll be landing within the next two hours. Unusual, to say the least. A head of state making an unannounced visit to another country for no apparent reason. We need to find out what she’s doing there.”
“Why don’t you ask her?” Malone said.
“Are you always so helpful?”
“It’s one of my better traits.”
“Mr. Malone,” Davis said. “We know about the fire in Copenhagen and the medallions. Stephanie has one of them with her. Can you cut me some slack and help us out?”
“Is this that bad?” she asked.
“It’s not good.”
She saw that Malone’s cooperation was never in doubt. “Where is Zovastina headed?”
“Into the basilica, around one A.M. ”
“You apparently have good information.”