Celeste was rigidly standing behind him. She said dully, “No, Ferrol, they’re not. They’re gone.”
He wheeled around panic-struck. “Gone? You mean dead?”
She spoke mechanically, without emotion. She was all cried out. “They’re not dead. They’re gone. Ferruccio couldn’t take it anymore. I couldn’t take it. They’re sick. They needed to be seen by specialists. They needed to go home. It was his idea, but I didn’t stop him. He waited until the night before last when the staff went home and Gunar was asleep. He drugged them and carried them to his car. He said he could make the trip to Calabria in twenty-six hours if he drove straight through. Gunar saw Ferruccio’s car was gone. I told him that he was taking a few days off. Ferruccio’s going to stay with his ex-girlfriend, Cinzia, a few days. He’s worked out what he wants to do. You and I need to work out what we’re going to do.”
He had been listening, but he’d also been thinking, thinking fast and thinking hard. He wanted to howl. He wanted to pummel her. There was a pair of scissors on his desk. He wanted to bury them in her chest.
His cell phone buzzed with an alert.
He glanced at it and fumbled for the TV remote.
“What?” she said. “What’s happening?”
A Spanish television anchor was talking rapidly, saying something about breaking news from Italy. The shot changed from the studio to a sunlit plaza in front of a Carabinieri station. An officer was standing at a podium bristling with microphones.
“My name is Major Roberto Lumaga, the commanding officer of the Carabinieri station in Reggio Calabria. I’d like to make a statement and then I will take a few questions. We can confirm that there has been a significant development in the case of the Andreasons, the American family who disappeared four years ago from their holiday villa in Filarete. The two girls, Victoria and Elizabeth Andreason, have been returned to the villa. Both of them are being evaluated by medical doctors at the Morelli Hospital. At this time, we have no information about the location or the fate of their parents, Jesper and Elena. The girls have obviously been traumatized and we are interviewing them slowly, in stages, so as not to put them under unnecessary stress. Their Italian grandparents and American grandfather are with the girls and are assisting in their recovery.”
Ferrol slumped into his chair and buried his head in his hands.
“It’s over, Ferrol,” she said, putting a hand on his shoulder. “It will be all right. Ferruccio’s not going to say anything. He’s not going to tell anyone about us. He’s going to take his money and start over in South America.”
He brushed her hand aside.
“It’s not over,” he said. His voice had the hardness of cold steel. “Do you love me?”
“Yes, I love you.”
“Then why did you betray me?”
“I didn’t betray you. I helped Ferruccio help Victoria and Elizabeth.”
“No, no, no, it was a betrayal. But you can redeem yourself. We are going to get them back. You are going to help me get them back. They don’t need a specialist. I have the medicine to treat them. I need to study them. I need to understand why they got sick. You don’t want to get sick, do you, Celeste?”
“Of course, I don’t, but—”
“No, no, listen to me. Don’t speak. You’re going to help me. If you don’t, I’ll have no choice but to kill myself. I’ll kill myself in front of you. I’ll do it in a brutal way. You know I don’t want to die. You know how much it scares me. If you love me, you’ll save me. Will you save me, Celeste?”
She crumpled to the floor and began to sob. “I love you. You know I love you.”
“Then will you save me?”
“Yes,” she said, raising her head. “I’ll save you.”
36
Present day
At 5 a.m., Marcus was just beginning to sober up in his Madrid hotel room. His empty bottle of Scotch was in the trash receptacle. He hadn’t slept a minute all night; he couldn’t get Abril’s face out of his head. She was dead because of him. The bomb had been for him. He’d been pacing around his little room fully dressed, shifting from the chair to the bed and back again, waiting for daybreak so he could channel his anger into finding Victoria and Elizabeth. And getting revenge.
He was finishing shaving when he thought he heard something from the street below. He parted the curtain and recognized the black and gold insignias on the sides of the tactical vehicles. A serpent intertwined with a warbird. The GEO, Grupo Especial de Operaciones. The special operations group of the Spanish National Police were here, and it didn’t take a genius to realize they were here for him.
He grabbed Celeste Bobier’s wire transfer and shoved the sheet into his pocket, gathered up his phone and wallet, put the Do Not Disturb sign on his door, and slipped out.
He knew the drill. They’d be flooding both staircases and the elevator. He couldn’t get past them. The best he could do was hide. He took the closest staircase and ran down one flight to the mezzanine level. There were a couple of dingy meeting rooms, but there was no place to conceal himself. He found an unlocked service closet with stocked shelves and an empty laundry cart, which he quickly filled with towels and bed linens before climbing in and covering himself. He waited.
Police in green uniforms and ballistic vests wielding SG-550 assault rifles banged on his hotel-room door. When there was no answer, they used a pass key. It only took seconds to satisfy themselves that the small room was empty. The squad leader had them fan out for a wider search of the premises. Soon, an officer was entering the service closet. Marcus heard the crackle of the radio, saw faint light filtered through the canvas of laundry cart, and held his breath.
