“I tend to notice guys who are shooting at me,” she said. “How many different groups are after us?”
“More importantly, how’d they know we’d be here?” he said, pushing through the door.
They hurried down the stairs, and Francesca thought that the Via Veneto might offer some protection since it was filled with people waiting for the bus or out for a late afternoon stroll.
Griffin turned to Francesca. “You have any ideas how we can lose them around here?”
She pointed across the street. “Via dei Cappuccini,” she said, indicating the smaller street that intersected with the Via Veneto. “It leads right to the Via Sistina. Maybe we can lose them in the crowd, or down the Spanish Steps.”
“Let’s go.” They crossed over to Via dei Cappuccini, which sloped a short way downhill where it ended in the Via Sistina, a narrow street, with shops, hotels, and plenty of pedestrians.
As they turned onto the busy street, Francesca looked back and saw the men following at a brisk pace about thirty yards behind them. “They’re still on us.”
And Sydney said, “Tell me you have a plan?”
“When in doubt,” Griffin said, “Plan B.”
“I hate Plan B.”
“You don’t even know what it is.”
“And that’s usually the problem,” Sydney replied as they crossed to the opposite side of the street.
“You have a mirror in that purse?” he asked Francesca.
“Yes.”
“Get it out.”
She dug it from her purse just as they approached the Piazza della Trinita dei Monti with its huge Egyptian obelisk overlooking the Piazza di Spagna-the famous Spanish Steps. Tourists and Italians were descending the sweeping stairway, and at first that was where Francesca thought Griffin intended to take them. But just as they reached the end of Via Sistina, Griffin put his hand on her shoulder. “This way,” he said.
They made a hard left onto a dark, narrow street that intersected in a sharp V at the end of Via Sistina. Not a pedestrian in sight. Only parked cars and trucks.
Griffin handed Sydney the mirror, then grabbed Francesca’s hand, holding tight as they raced up the street, not stopping until they reached a set of steps jutting down from a building facade. In the deepening shadows, Francesca saw a gigantic gargoyle face that seemed to be swallowing the door at the top of the short flight of stairs. Griffin shoved Francesca behind the landing. “You, don’t move,” he ordered her. To Sydney, he said, “Watch the street. Let me know when they’re almost on us.”
“And then what?” Sydney asked, as Griffin ducked behind a delivery truck.
“Time to find out who they are and what they’re planning.”
And for the second time in as many days, Francesca wondered if she’d made a very big mistake. One that might cost her her life.
26
Sydney crouched behind the truck beside Griffin, holding the mirror out just far enough to view their surroundings without being seen. A few seconds later, she saw the two men who were shadowing them. “They’ve stopped at the end of the street,” she whispered. “Looking around, like they’re trying to figure out which way to go…Guy in the leather coat is pointing this way…They’re coming.” She waited until they were just a few feet away, then she raised her hand, signaling with her fingers, three…two…one.
Griffin stepped out, grabbed the guy’s leather jacket, pulled him back behind the truck. Sydney saw a glint of silver as Griffin held a knife to the man’s throat.
The other man took a hesitant step toward them.
Griffin shook his head. “Don’t move. Who are you and why are you following us?”
The man looked around him in both directions, before saying in heavily accented English, “We are simply messengers. You have nothing to fear from us. I-we work for Father Dumas.”
“And he works for God,” Griffin muttered, clearly not letting down his guard on the simple belief that God made Dumas any more trustworthy. “Search him,” he told Sydney.
She moved up behind the other man, patted him down. “He’s clean.”
“How about you?” Griffin asked the man he still had a tight grip on. “You carrying?”
“No.”
“And what would that be poking me in my gut?”
“Maybe just a small gun.” American, Sydney realized.
“Then you won’t mind if my associate removes it, for your safety.”
“No.”
“Didn’t think so.”
Sydney pulled a not so small Beretta from his waistband, aimed the weapon at him.
Griffin stepped back, holding the knife at his side. “The gun tells me you don’t work for Dumas. Why are you watching us?”
The guy glanced at Sydney, and the gun she held. “Really, Special Agent Fitzpatrick. There’s no need for lethal weapons. I’m simply the messenger. If we wanted to kill you, you’d be dead.”
She hid her surprise at hearing her name. “Then who was that shooting at us at the Gianicolo Hill yesterday?”
“An unfortunate misunderstanding from…some associates. We now have a strong interest in ensuring that everyone’s needs are met on this venture.”
“Needs?” Griffin asked. “What needs?”
“Let’s just say that you are very close to acquiring something that we want. And to guarantee its safe delivery into our hands, we intend to offer you something-or rather some
Griffin tensed. “I’m listening.”
“Bring us the map, we return your friend.”
“And how do I know my friend is alive?” Griffin asked, while Sydney was trying to figure out what the man was talking about. A map of what? Francesca’s map of the columbarium? No. That made little sense. Adami was after bioweapons, not ancient burial sites.
“If you’ll allow me to reach in my pocket,” the guy said, “I have a mobile phone for you to call.”
Sydney kept the gun trained on him. “Slowly,” she ordered.
He lifted his jacket so that they could see inside, then reached in and pulled out a thin cell phone. He held it up, saying, “First, the rules. In exchange for your friend, we require that the map be given directly to us. No copies or photographs of it allowed.” He glanced over at Francesca, who still waited by the stairs, adding, “Not even for academic purposes. And we require that you remain in contact via mobile phone.
“As I said,” Griffin replied, “I’ll need assurance that my friend is alive.”
“Allow me to make the call.” The man punched in a number, waited a moment, then said, “Signore Griffin is here with me…Yes. It’s been explained.” He handed Griffin the phone.
Griffin held it to his ear, then “Tex? You’re okay?” He listened for a short time, then closed the cell phone. “I agree to your terms on one condition.” The guy said nothing, and Griffin continued. “Call off your trigger-happy watchdogs. If anything happens to any one of us, the deal is off.”
“Of course. There is one other stipulation. You have twenty-four hours. You will use this phone to communicate. The number is programmed in. If we lose communication with you, or you go beyond the allotted time, we will assume you have broken your end of the agreement. Your friend will die, and I can no longer guarantee your safety.”
“I can’t guarantee we’ll find it in that time.”
“That would be most unfortunate.” He looked at his watch. “It is a little after four P.M., and so, being in a generous mood, we shall expect the map by five P.M. tomorrow.”
Griffin dropped the phone in his pocket. “Anything else?”
