The Pursuit (7 page)

Nick and Kate slipped into the flow of people moving down the brightly lit street past clothing stores, gelato shops, and the occasional British pub catering to the annual contingent of rowdy U.K. tourists. There was a party atmosphere on the boulevard but, as exuberant and alcohol-fueled as it was, it felt to Kate more like a kid's birthday celebration at Chuck E. Cheese's than Mardi Gras in New Orleans. The only danger she sensed came from two men who'd been following them since they'd left the hotel.

“Let me show you the old town,” Nick said, making an abrupt turn down an alley, not much wider than a footpath. The alley led to Via San Cesareo, a pedestrian-only street that was barely wide enough for two lines of people walking single file in each direction.

Kate could smell garlic, lemon, fish, cooking fat, and leather as they passed the open restaurants and shops. The scent of sweat, tobacco, sunscreen, and perfume came off the crush of people.

“This was the site of the original walled city, built by the Greeks centuries before the birth of Christ,” Nick said. “The buildings are tall and the streets are intentionally narrow to keep people in the shadows and cool in the heat.”

Everywhere she looked, there was someone selling fresh
limoncello
and countless other lemon-infused products, from candy and soap to candles and lipstick. There were also shops selling tiles, sandals, paintings, leather bags, pottery, and other handmade goods. All produced by tired artisans who were right there, hunched over their worktables, as if to prove everything was locally made.

Some people a few steps ahead stopped to sample the
limoncello
being offered by two rival shopkeepers on opposite sides of the street, causing a foot traffic jam that pushed Kate up against Nick's back for a moment.

“It's a pickpocket's dream here,” Kate said.

“Not a bad place for an ambush or a stabbing, either.”

“You saw the men behind us,” she said.

“There were two more walking toward us before we came down here,” Nick said. “They are probably waiting in one of the alleys coming up.”

“You led us into a trap.”

“I thought I was leading
them
into one.” Nick looked over his shoulder at her. “Or was I mistaken?”

She smiled at him. “You're not. Go into that leather store on your left and head to the back.”

They passed the warring
limoncello
merchants and entered a tiny shop stuffed with handmade leather goods. Hundreds of purses, handbags, belts, and satchels hung from the ceiling and walls. In the back of the store, surrounded by scraps of leather, an old man was sewing a handbag.

Kate backed into a cranny beside the door while Nick moved further into the store, pretending to admire a messenger bag. She took a belt off the wall, looped it through its buckle to create a choke collar, and waited.

A moment later, one of their pursuers stepped in. She dropped the belt loop over his head, cinched it tight around his neck, and yanked him back against her. He began to struggle, but abruptly stopped when he felt the sharp tip of her knife against his spine.

“If I jam my knife between these vertebrae, I'll cut the nerves that control your lungs. You'll suffocate from a stab wound,” she whispered into his ear. “At least I think so. I've never had a chance to try it. But I'm eager to see if it works.”

Hard to tell if the man understood English. Good to see that he understood the seriousness of the knife at his back.

Nick stepped up, removed the gun that the man had half-tucked into his pants, and aimed it at the doorway as the second man came inside.

“Good evening,” Nick said. “Come in and join us.”

The second man saw the situation his partner was in, and the gun aimed at his own gut, and raised his hands.

“Drop your gun in a handbag,” Nick said. The man did as he was told, dropping the gun into the nearest open purse. “Now, gentlemen, do you speak English?”

They nodded yes.

“What was the plan this evening?” Nick asked them.

“We were told to bring you to see Mr. Kovic,” the man in the doorway said, speaking with a thick Serbian accent. “For a friendly talk.”

Kate tugged on the belt, tightening it around her prisoner's neck. “What about the two men waiting up ahead? What were they going to do?”

“Box you in so we could take you down to the car on Via Accademia. That's all. Nobody was supposed to get hurt.”

“Tell Dragan I'd be glad to talk with him,” Nick said. “He's warmly invited for breakfast tomorrow on the terrace of my hotel. Say around eight?”

“He won't like this,” the man in the doorway said.

“Tell him the lemon tarts are excellent,” Nick said.

Kate removed the belt and stepped back.

Nick kept his gun on the men as they left, then he dropped it into the purse with the second man's gun. Kate slipped her knife back into her ankle sheath, and Nick carried the purse up to the old man, who was still working on his bag. The old man was unperturbed, as if incidents like this happened in his store every day.

“We'd like this purse, please,” Nick said.

“That will be a hundred euros,” the old man said.

“The price tag says fifty,” Nick said.

“That's the price of a purse,” the old man said. “Gun totes are more expensive.”

Nick paid him the hundred euros and they left the store.

N
ick and Kate had dinner in their suite. Smoked red sea bream with a salty cinnamon brioche as an appetizer, followed by seaweed pasta with Venus clams, sea urchins, and chives as their entrée, and warm lemon cake with a lemon sorbet for dessert. They finished their meal with the obligatory icy shots of
limoncello.

“The seaweed and sea urchins were okay,” Kate said, “but they're never going to replace mac and cheese.”

Nick sat back and watched Kate. “No matter where you go, you are who you are. You're willing to try new things but more often than not you return to your cultural roots. I like that about you.”

“And you're the opposite,” Kate said. “You embrace your environment. You're a human chameleon. It's impressive, but sometimes I wonder if you've lost yourself. When you're playing a role, are you standing on the outside looking in, or have you become that person and kicked Nick to the curb?”

“Some of both,” Nick said. “When I'm in a con I'm outside, looking in. When I'm in my French country house I'm enjoying that part of me.”

“And which one is the seaweed and sea urchin Nick?”

“I like them. I have an adventuresome palate.”

Kate thought his adventuresome palate was at least partly responsible for their new sexual relationship. Like seaweed and sea urchin, he would continue to enjoy her when their paths crossed, but she couldn't see him settling for the monotony of monogamy. And she couldn't see herself justifying the relationship once this assignment was completed. She had serious feelings for Nick, but in the end he was a felon and she was the FBI.

In the morning they showered, dressed, and went down to the lobby restaurant for breakfast on the wide terrace that jutted out over the cliff. The low stone wall along the edge of the terrace was adorned every few feet with marble busts of ripped men and voluptuous women. Perhaps the busts were an incentive, Kate thought, to encourage guests to take it easy at the buffet.

Nick selected a table facing west, giving them a view across the gorge to Sorrento, the bay, and the villas along the mountainous peninsula. Kate, being Nick's bodyguard, sat with her back to the view, preferring to keep her eye on the hotel and anybody who came out to the terrace. She was the first to see Litija stroll toward them like she was on a fashion show runway. Litija was wearing a wide-brimmed red sun hat, enormous round sunglasses, a white skintight dress with bracelet sleeves and a very short skirt that Kate thought could use a couple more inches of material.

Litija came up behind Nick and bent down to kiss his cheek. “Nick, you devil. Who let you out?”

“She did.” Nick tipped his head to Kate and stood up to pull out a chair for Litija. “I'd be under lock and key if it wasn't for Kate.”

“Proving once again that behind every great man is a resourceful woman,” Litija said, offering her hand to Kate as she sat down. “I am Litija.”

Kate shook her hand. “So, does this mean Dragan has you to thank for his success?”

“I wouldn't be that presumptuous.” Litija smiled, plucked a grape from the fruit bowl, and popped it into her mouth. “He has lots of women. I'm just here having a little vacation after spending months in dreary Antwerp.”

“Will he be joining us?” Nick asked.

“Don't be ridiculous,” Litija said. “He can't take the risk of being seen in public with you. You're a wanted man.”

“So is he,” Nick said.

“But he didn't just escape from Belgian police custody. You're the most wanted man in Europe right now.”

“He put me in that situation.”

Litija took another grape. “That's something you two can discuss at his villa. It's beautiful, right on the coast. His boat is waiting to take us there.”

“I don't think that's a wise idea, based on the welcome we got last night,” Nick said.

“That was an unfortunate misunderstanding. Dragan is a careful man and all he wanted to do was invite you over for a drink,” Litija said. “His overly cautious approach can sometimes come across as unintentionally rude.”

“At least it was more polite than kidnapping Nick at gunpoint and shipping him overseas in a coffin,” Kate said.

“That's true!” Litija laughed and wagged a finger at Kate. “I like the way you think. But I wouldn't talk to Dragan like that. He doesn't have a great sense of humor.”

“I'd really like to avoid another journey in a coffin, especially one that lasts an eternity,” Nick said. “That's why I'd prefer meeting him in daylight in a public place.”

“You won't be in any danger at Dragan's villa,” Litija said. “If you're worried, bring your weapons. You can have a gun in each hand and a knife in your teeth if that makes you feel better. Nobody will take them away from you.”

“I can guarantee that,” Kate said.

“That's what I've heard,” Litija said, then turned back to Nick. “So, really, Dragan is the one who should be concerned about his safety, not you. What possible reason can you have for not accepting his invitation now?”

“None at all,” Nick said. “Shall we go?”

“He can wait.” Litija reached for a croissant. “I haven't had breakfast and I love the
sfogliatelle
here. Have you ordered a bottle of champagne yet?”

“Coming right up,” Nick said, and waved to the waiter.

Kate didn't know what the heck a
sfogliatelle
was but she suspected it would be expensive. And champagne.
Ka-ching!
She hoped there was a lot of space for itemizing on form HB7757Q.

Dragan's fifty-foot open-air yacht was classically Italian in its styling, rich in polished mahogany and supple leather, with the sculpted lines of a sports car and the iconic aura of a movie star. The pilot and deckhand, nautically dressed in jaunty blue sailor caps and white Paul & Shark polos and shorts, were the two men that Nick and Kate had confronted the previous night. If the men held a grudge, they didn't show it, though they definitely seemed uncomfortable in their uniforms.

Kate thought they looked like they were auditioning for jobs at Disney World, all suited up in Mr. Smee outfits.

The men seated Nick, Kate, and Litija on board, untethered the lines from the dock, and steered the boat out of the marina. They maneuvered past the anchored yachts and around the coming-and-going ferries that served Naples, Capri, and the resort towns further south along the Amalfi Coast.

“This is the scenic route to Dragan's villa,” Litija said as they cruised past Marina Grande, a fishing village nestled in a cove below Sorrento. “It's also the most direct. For centuries, the only way to get to his villa was by foot or by donkey. Can you see me on a donkey?”

They headed south on the choppy turquoise sea with the high jagged cliffs and rocky coves of the Sorrento peninsula on their left and the mountainous island of Capri on their right. The edge of the peninsula was largely undeveloped, covered in chestnut trees and scrub, too steep and rough in most places for anything but the occasional stone watchtower, a vestige of the time when pirates and invaders were a constant threat, and observers sent out smoke signals to warn of imminent attacks.

There was no doubt in Kate's mind that one or two of the towers were still manned. Dragan's men would be watching, sending back the modern-day version of a smoke signal alerting Dragan of anyone venturing into his territory.

The boat veered toward a sharp gorge. As they got closer, she could see that the gorge created a small cove hidden behind two tall rock formations that looked like stone fists rising up from the sea.

The water inside the cove was calm and lapped on a pebbled beach that gave way to a stacked rock sea wall and wooden dock. The ruins of an old village built in the bedrock reminded Kate of caves, and she was fascinated with the elaborate Moorish façades.

Above the village, she could see terraces and tunnels cut into the cliff face. Steep, winding steps led up to a large stone building on a craggy point. The building was an architectural Frankenstein that combined the ruins of a church, a fortress, and a villa with a long sea-facing terrace and battlements along the precipice. It would be a long walk up, and Kate was looking forward to seeing Litija attempt it in her five-inch stiletto heels.

Nick looked at the cliff face. “Chairlift?” he asked.

“Better than that,” Litija said. “There's an elevator.”

She led them along the sea wall to one of the buildings embedded in the hillside. They took a few steps inside, where an elevator was cut into the rock. Litija pressed the call button, and the door slid open.

“This shaft has been here for centuries,” Litija said. “I can't remember what for. There are all kinds of passages and shafts here. But Dragan stuck an elevator in this one, which is a good thing, because with these heels, I'd never be able to climb a thousand limestone steps.”

Damn, Kate thought. She'd been ready to race the bitch.

The three of them stepped into the elevator, which was large enough for six, and Kate thought it went up faster and smoother than the one in the Federal Building in Los Angeles. Apparently, international diamond thieves could afford better contractors than the U.S. government.

Kate brushed her jacket back and put her hand on her gun just in case there was an unwelcoming welcome committee. Litija noticed and smiled.

“A Glock 27. Nice. I prefer the Sig Sauer P239,” Litija said. “But there's nowhere to hide it on this dress.”

“You could put it under your hat,” Kate said.

“That's where I keep my garrote,” she said.

The elevator stopped and the doors opened onto the terrace. Kate was expecting a militaristic vibe, something in keeping with a fugitive criminal's stronghold. What she saw instead could have been a five-star resort. There were a dozen chaise lounges facing the sea. A deep blue lap pool hugged the hillside and was fed by a little waterfall. A long arched colonnade draped in blooming bougainvillea led to the villa. Dragan Kovic, dressed in all black, looked out of place in his colorful surroundings.

Dragan stood at the edge of the terrace beside a mounted telescope aimed at Capri. He wore a linen Nehru jacket open over a silk T-shirt, skinny jeans, and loafers.

“Nick, it's so good to see you,” Dragan said. “Congratulations on your remarkable escape, though I think you owe your inspiration to us.”

“If not my inspiration,” Nick said, “certainly my motivation.”

“Did you come here to kill me?”

“I'm not a killer,” Nick said.

Dragan looked over at Kate. “No, but I suspect she is.”

Kate had her eyes on the man beside Dragan. He looked like he'd shaved his face with an outboard motor and was regarding her as if she were livestock on an auction block.

“I can be,” Kate said. “If I'm provoked.”

Dragan followed her gaze. “Zarko and I will be on our best behavior.”

“I wish that had been your attitude on the diamond heist,” Nick said. “Instead, you double-crossed me, cheated me out of my share, and left me to take the fall.”

“I heard that you put yourself in that position,” Dragan said.

“How could I have possibly done that?”

“Zarko told me that you tried to escape with some diamonds while the men were preoccupied breaking open the safe-deposit boxes.”

“That's what he did.” Zarko looked Nick in the eye as he lied. “So I put him down. He may have just been sneaking off, but I think it was more than that. He wanted payback for snatching him in Hawaii. He was going to slip away with some diamonds and trip a silent alarm so we'd get caught. If I hadn't stopped him, your best men would be in jail and you'd be the humiliated victim of one of his famous cons.”

“Turning my own heist against me and walking away richer for it,” Dragan said. “That sounds like a trademark Nick Fox con to me.”