saying that he had found the right tunnel, but he ran into a dead end, and he thought if he could find another entrance, it would lead to the right chamber.”
“This e-mail, it was on your computer when it was stolen?”
“Oh my God.”
Griffin handed her his personal cell phone. “You need to call him now, and tell him to leave his house, office, or wherever else he’s known to hang out. Then have him meet up with us somewhere not even remotely associated.”
“What if-”
“No time for what-ifs,” he said, urging them toward the door. “If we’re lucky, we buy your friend a bit of time while they search for us. Let’s not make it too easy.”
They were just exiting the stairwell into the main lobby, when Sydney saw a man at the registration desk. She put her arm out, stopping Francesca and Griffin from moving forward. “Time for Plan B. I’m sure I saw that man on the train.”
“What is Plan B?” Francesca asked.
And Griffin said, “In this case, I’d say the service entrance.” They turned back into the stairwell, wandered through a hallway then through a side door, exiting into a narrow street that was blocked by a delivery truck unloading towels and linens to the hotel. Griffin gave Francesca a secure phone to call her contact, and when she finished, he asked, “Where are we meeting your friend?”
“A cafe not too far from here. We can walk.”
The streets at the center of town were narrow, cobbled, and filled with pedestrians, small cars, and scooters. The cafe was about five minutes from the hotel. The inside was dark, and Sydney’s eyes hadn’t yet adjusted to the change in lighting. Francesca led them to the back, where they took a seat at a table, but had a clear view of the door. About ten minutes later, a man walked in, his features silhouetted by the light from outside. Francesca stood, called out his name, and that’s when Sydney realized the identity of the professor’s so-called colleague.
Xavier Caldwell.
The missing student from UVA.
31
Francesca rushed forward, so relieved to see Xavier that she nearly knocked over the table as she embraced him. “You’re okay. Thank God.”
“Of course I’m okay. Why wouldn’t I be?” He looked past her to the two agents, before holding her by her shoulders and searching her face. “What is going on? Where’s Alessandra? I’ve been trying to call her for two weeks.”
Francesca wasn’t sure how to tell him, wasn’t sure how he’d react. She would have liked more time, and hated that she had to break the news this way. “She’s…she’s been murdered.”
His face blanched, and she reached up, grasped his hands from her shoulders, then guided him to the table. “That’s impossible,” he finally said. “She was fine when I last saw her. She said-She told me-I can’t believe it.”
“I didn’t believe it at first, either, but it’s very real, and these people with me are working to find out who killed her.”
“Who are they?” he said, as he took a seat at the table.
She gripped his hand tighter, knowing he wouldn’t like this news any better. “Government agents.”
“What?” He tried to rise from his seat, and she pulled him back down.
“Don’t worry. They’re on our side.”
“The government’s never on our side.”
“You have to trust me,” Francesca said. “Trust me that they’re here to protect us and everything will be fine.”
“Alessandra’s dead. How can everything be fine?”
“Because she wanted this as much as you. You honor her by continuing with what she started.”
He gave a slight nod, seemed to calm, then turned his attention to the two agents, his expression guarded. “Who are you?”
Sydney held out her hand, and said, “Sydney Fitzpatrick, FBI. I’m here because my friend was killed looking into Alessandra’s murder.”
“This friend was an agent?” he said.
“A forensic anthropologist.”
He shook her hand, said, “I’m sorry about your friend.”
“Thank you.”
“And you? Who are you?”
“Zachary Griffin. I was a friend of Alessandra’s, and she asked me to help her. Unfortunately, I was too late.”
Xavier covered his face with his hands. “I shouldn’t have left her. Maybe I could have done something…”
Grief was better than blinding distrust, Francesca figured, and she turned to Griffin. “I think we could all use some coffee.”
He left to order the coffee.
“Xavier, I need you to listen to me,” Francesca said.
“Can’t I have a few moments?”
“We don’t have time. A friend of theirs was kidnapped by these people. Your life is in danger. All our lives.”
“What do you mean?”
“The people who came after Alessandra and Sydney’s friend? They’re after me, and they stole my computer. It had the e-mail you sent to me. Griffin thinks you’re in danger.”
“Why come after me?”
“Because they want what I have, what we’re looking for-and they’re willing to kill anyone who gets in the way of their plans.” There, she said what she hadn’t been willing to admit before. It did little to ease her guilt over the needless deaths. No, not deaths. Murders-something neither she nor Alessandra had foreseen. Alessandra’s murder had been totally unexpected, as had the attack up at the Passegiata. And while she couldn’t bring Alessandra back, she could damned well find the answers and thereby ensure that Alessandra hadn’t died in vain. But after the murder of the taxi driver, she realized that every step she took from that point on was as dangerous as walking on the highest, crumbling cliff with nothing but jagged rocks below. And now everyone she encountered on that walk was subject to the same torturous death, whether they were truly involved or not. “If you come with us, your life is in danger. I can’t ask that of you.”
“But if I
“I think so.”
“Then I go with you. For Alessandra,” he said, his voice catching.
“For Alessandra.”
He looked away, brushed at his eyes, and just when Griffin returned, said, “I think I’ll go see what’s taking that coffee so long.”
Xavier got up, walked to the front, then made a right toward the restroom instead.
As soon as he disappeared around the corner, she turned to Griffin and Sydney. “I would rather he didn’t come. He’s too young. He hasn’t even graduated college yet.”
“I think,” Griffin said, “that we can arrange for safe passage home, once we get him out of Naples. Until then, he’s probably safer with us than without.”
“All right,” she said, as the waiter arrived with their coffees. She dusted hers with cinnamon, then sipped at the steaming foam, trying to relax, telling herself that all would be fine. But then, they still had the tunnels to negotiate, and she looked at Xavier’s backpack, and the laptop she knew was within. And suddenly panic set in. She reached for the lanyard around her neck, worried that she’d lost the flash drive. But no, it was there.
That thought quickly fled to worse thoughts when, several minutes later, Sydney said, “Xavier is going to come
