They sat in the tiny stone courtyard of the cafe, beneath a gaily striped umbrella, not three yards from the seawall. They could smell the tang of the brine and the sharp mineral scent of the ancient stone blocks. Jenny ate with little appetite. She drank no wine but insisted on iced coffee.
She wanted to talk about Camille Muhlmann but said nothing, afraid of Bravo's reaction. Fear of another sort, terribly familiar, was slithering through her belly like a serpent. Their sublime moment of intimacy should have changed everything, but when she had awoken this morning, her self-made wall had reasserted itself. Worse, she didn't trust her own feelings. After all, she admonished herself, she'd been no more than half conscious-perhaps the whole thing had been nothing more than a fever dream.
Seeing her shiver, Bravo said at once, 'Are you all right?'
'I'm fine.' There was a patch of sunlight on his face, making the electric-blue color of his eyes even more extravagant. 'You don't have to keep asking me. Really.'
'But you looked-'
Her face flushed with sudden anger and she shot him a poisoned look. 'For God's sake, don't scrutinize me! Paolo Zorzi trained me-and trained me well-for this life. Do we have that straight?'
The remainder of the meal was passed without either of them uttering another word. The happy burble of voices, sudden bursts of laughter, clink of wine-filled glasses, amorous glances passed between couples at neighboring tables all served to depress her so thoroughly that before dessert and a refill of her iced coffee she was forced to closet herself in one of the two minuscule stalls in the cafe's bathroom so that she could burst into tears undetected. Dexter Shaw had charged her with protecting his son. Bad enough that Bravo had already seen her in a weakened state, she was certain he would lose all respect for her if he knew that she'd sunk so low.
After lunch, they mounted the seawall again and stood in the same spot as before. Again, Bravo pointed. 'Look!'
As they watched, they saw a ghostly shape rising slowly out of the sea.
Jenny, glancing at her watch, said, 'One, five, three, zero. Fifteen-thirty-it's military time! Three-thirty in the afternoon.'
Bravo nodded. 'My father was referring to the tide tables. See there, the ebbing tide is bringing his piscina to us.'
The ghostly shape began to resolve itself as the water of the bay continued to recede. Soon it became clear that they were looking at concrete walls.
'A swimming pool!' Jenny exclaimed.
'Yes, and a damned clever one, too. Look, it's three-sided to hold the sea water and allow anyone coming from the shore to enter, so that people have a place to swim all afternoon long while the tide is out.'
They went a little way along the seawall until they came to a flight of steps on its far side.
'Come on,' he said.
Clattering down the steps, they emerged onto the beach. Immediately, they were struck by the reflected heat and a stronger scent of brine, along with the odors of aquatic decay, suntan oil and pleasantly perspiring bodies. Down the beach some way was a shack selling raw oysters, frites and cold drinks. The beach was filled with people-women in skimpy bikinis or bare-breasted, men talking, arms folded across their chests. Three children kicked a multicolored striped ball into the surf, where bathers were coming and going.
Bravo and Jenny removed their shoes. He rolled up his trousers and she lifted her skirt, wrapping it like a Turkish towel around the tops of her thighs. Then they walked across the sand, wading out toward the swimming pool, which was still rising from the restless waters of the bay.
Using the GPS, Bravo guided them deeper into the water, which rose to their thighs. When they reached the left wall of the pool, Bravo moved along it to the farthest point. He ran his fingers down the inside of the wall as far as they would go.
'Anything?' Jenny asked.
He shook his head.
Not far from where they stood, Camille leaned against the seawall. She had on a scarf that completely covered her hair, and she had bought a man's felt cap whose shallow brim she kept low on her forehead. Her elbows were on the top of the seawall, and her hands gripped a pair of powerful binoculars through which she peered at Bravo and Jenny. She watched with extreme concentration as Bravo handed the GPS, his passport and his cell phone to Jenny and then sank beneath the water.
Within three minutes, Bravo reappeared. Water streamed off him and his shirt clung to him like rags.
'There's a small, square door flush with the wall,' he said as he wiped water out of his eyes. 'The problem is that the door has no handle.'
'Does it have a lock?'
'That's the other problem,' Bravo said. 'It's utterly unconventional.'
'I know a bit about locks,' Jenny said. 'What does it look like?'
'It's a tiny square. Do you know of any kind of key that would open a square lock?'
Jenny shook her head, frowning. 'But your father wouldn't have led you here unless he'd provided you with a way to open the door.'
'I only have the one key he entrusted to me,' Bravo said. 'I promise you it's not going to open that peculiar lock.'
'What else did you find in the boat compartment?' she said.
He dug in his pocket, produced the Zippo, the cuff links and the enamel lapel pin. He stared at them for a moment, trying to think as his father would have thought. The Zippo was far too big and the pin was the wrong shape, but the cuff links were cubes-and they were more or less the right size. He picked up one of them and stared at the groove pattern around its side.
'You're right!' he said excitedly, showing Jenny the grooves. 'This isn't simply a cuff link-it's a key! The key to the underwater door!'
He went under the water, but soon-too soon-reemerged.
'It slides into the lock but won't turn.'
'The groove pattern is wrong,' Jenny said. 'Try the other one.'
As Bravo submerged again, Camille trained her attention on Jenny. Camille felt that she knew Bravo well enough. After all, she'd had years to absorb all the ins and outs of his psyche. It was critical now that she be able to do the same with Jenny, and her time frame was by necessity terribly compressed. Even her mole inside the Order hadn't known who would assign the Guardian to Bravo, let alone which Guardian it would be. To be truthful, she had been surprised that it had been Jenny.
In any event, if she was to carry out her plan, namely to herd Bravo and Jenny like cattle, separate them, make them desperate, then she needed to be able to get inside both their heads. What interested her now was that though they had spent the night together, Jenny was still maintaining a certain distance. In fact, from her expression and body language, Camille was sure that she was angry-but whether it was with Bravo or herself she could not yet say. Was she frigid or, possibly, gay? This was an important question for Camille because it was her experience that sexuality was a major determinant of human behavior. Camille had been in the next stall when Jenny had locked herself in and started to sob. She felt sure that this was a key moment to getting beneath the Guardian's skin and was frustrated that she hadn't learned what had caused Jenny to break down so hard.
Watching her now with the sun in her eyes, her hair gleaming, her shapely torso emerging from the white glare of the water, Camille found it in herself to admire the woman's recuperative powers, but what she was really concentrating on was the next phase of her plan to peel back the layers that all human beings erect to protect themselves and lay bare the vulnerable points she could exploit.
It was as blue under the water as the arching rock face of the Grotta Azzurra. The pale legs of waders, the hairy bellies of swimmers, Jenny's thighs-everything appeared distorted, save for the door in the concrete wall. Brushing it with the flat of his hand brought out a shine, and he could see that it was some kind of metal-stainless steel, perhaps, to repel the effects of the salt.
As if in slow motion, he extended the cuff link into the lock, turning it forty-five degrees at a time until he was able to press it all the way into the lock. He turned it and pulled. Nothing happened. He turned it the other way, pulled again and the door swung open. With his other hand, he reached in, felt something and immediately pulled it out. It was a small packet sealed in plastic. He checked to make sure there was nothing else inside the box, then he relocked it, extracted the key and, with a strong kick, breached the surface.
