Sign of the Cross

sitting out in the open, waiting for you to notice it. That’s just not how it works.’

But in this case Boyd was wrong, for the answer they were looking for was within their grasp. In fact, it was lying on the table in front of them.

31

Opened in the 1930s, the Grand Hotel Reale used to be the most elegant hotel in town. Nowadays the hand- painted frescoes that once enhanced the lobby were tarnished, the result of fingerprints, tobacco stains, and years of neglect. Payne noticed the outside of the hotel was faded, too, as he and Jones scurried alongside the building to reach the back entrance. A few minutes later they were inside Barnes’s room, slipping a pair of his socks over their hands to conceal their fingerprints. After that it didn’t take long to find something of interest.

‘Well, well, well,’ Jones said. ‘Look what we have here.’

Payne turned and saw him kneeling on the floor, holding a 9 mm Beretta in his sock glove. After checking the safety, Jones put the barrel under his nose and took a whiff, trying to determine if it had been recently fired. ‘Found it under the bed,’ he said. ‘Smells clean.’

‘The gun or the sock?’

Ignoring the question, Jones handed him the weapon. ‘I wonder why he had it?’

Payne took it in his sock-covered hand. Suddenly he looked like a performer in a twisted puppet show who was about to kill Kermit the Frog. ‘Who knows? He was traveling alone in a foreign country. He might’ve brought it for protection.’

Jones shrugged as he continued looking through the room.

‘Speaking of protection, I’m going to borrow the Beretta. Just in case.’

‘Fine with me. But I don’t want to see you borrowing his watch or his wallet. We’re here for his film and nothing else.’

Payne nodded as he dug through Barnes’s suitcase. It was filled with shirts, shorts, and a wide variety of toiletries. ‘And once we find his film, what are we going to do?’

‘We’ll leave. For some reason I got a bad feeling about this place.’

Smiling, Payne held up a Ziploc bag and jiggled it. ‘If that’s the case, then let’s get going.’

Payne tossed the bag to Jones, who inspected the three canisters of thirty-five-millimeter film. ‘If we’re lucky, one of these will show yesterday’s crash scene.’

‘And if we’re unlucky, we might see Donald sunbathing in a thong.’

‘Good God, I hope not. I don’t think the CIA will give us hazard pay for that. In fact, I don’t think they’ll… shit!’

Confusion filled Payne’s face as he tried to determine what the CIA’s bowel movements had to do with anything. ‘What does that mean? You don’t think they’ll — ’

Shit! When Payne heard the noise, he finally understood what Jones was talking about. It was the sound of a key going into the lock and the squeaking twist of a doorknob.

‘Oh shit!’ Jones repeated. ‘Shit! Shit! Shit!’

Thinking quickly, Payne pushed Jones toward the door and urged him to block it. Meanwhile, Payne scoured the room for a barricade, hoping to find something that was sturdy enough to keep the visitors at bay — at least until he could figure out an alternative.

‘The bed,’ Payne blurted. ‘Let’s move the bed.’

He leapt over the mattress, then pushed the entire thing forward, a task that was harder than it looked. The bed’s legs dug into the hardwood floor like talons, causing a screech that sounded like 10,000 fingernails being dragged across a chalkboard.

‘Polizia!’ shouted one of the men in the hall. He punctuated his statement by pounding on the door with such force that Jones could feel the vibrations in his chest. ‘Aprire!’

‘We know you’re in there!’ screamed another in English. ‘Open up, or we’ll shoot the lock!’

Jones’s eyes doubled in size when he realized his crotch was currently at lock level. In desperation, he yelled, ‘If you shoot, the hostage gets it!’

‘The hostage?’ Payne whispered. ‘Quit teasing them and give me a hand.’

Jones walked across the room and helped Payne tip the antique dresser on its side, wedging it between the foot of the bed and the closest wall. It eliminated any chance of the door being opened without a stick of dynamite. A fact that bothered Jones.

‘Great!’ he growled. ‘Now we aren’t getting out and they aren’t getting in.’

‘Of course we’re getting out. Just relax. Have a little faith.’

But Jones wasn’t the only one losing patience. The policemen were getting pissy, too. They emphasized this fact by slamming into the door with a makeshift battering ram. The sound echoed through the room like a Civil War cannon, even though it had no effect on the barricade.

Jones said, ‘Now what? The door’s the only way out, and they have it covered.’

Boom!

‘Don’t worry, we’re not going through the door. We’re going through there.’

He followed the path of Payne’s finger and realized he was pointing at a stained glass window in the bathroom. ‘No way, Jon. We’re too big for that. Especially your fat ass.’

Payne stared at the window for several seconds. ‘I’m pretty good with spatial relations, and I’ve come to the conclusion that we can fit. My ass included.’

Boom!

‘No way,’ he argued. ‘Besides, we have company.’

Jones pointed to movement behind the window. A shadow in the shape of a human head. Someone was trying to see into their room. Someone who was about to get the shock of their life.

‘No problem,’ Payne bragged. Then, without warning, he launched himself toward the window, kicking his legs in front of him in a martial arts leap. The glass shattered on contact, sending multicolored shrapnel through the air like an explosion at a Skittles factory. The cop on the other side got a mouthful of glass and a taste of Payne’s shoe. Unfortunately, his face stopped Payne’s momentum, preventing him from making it all the way through the window. A moment later he crashed to the tiled floor as glass fell around him in a melodic song.

Jones rushed to his side. Laughing, he said, ‘Damn, Jon. You need to work on your landing.’

He took a moment to catch his breath. ‘I think you’re right.’

‘Out of curiosity, why didn’t you use the desk chair to break the window?’

Payne sat up and tried to shake the glass out of his hair. ‘My parents used to drag me to church every week, and I used to sit there wondering what it would feel like to jump through the stained glass window and run toward freedom. Never had a chance to try it until now.’

Boom! The sound of the battering ram brought them back to reality.

Quickly they scurried through the window and over the unconscious cop, somehow reaching the Ferrari without being seen. While waiting for Jones to unlock the car, Payne noticed he was leaking blood in about twenty places — mostly scrapes on his arms and legs. Suddenly his dream of jumping through a stained glass window didn’t seem too bright.

‘Do me a favor and stop at the first store you see. I need to patch up.’

‘No problem. There should be plenty of stores between here and Perugia.’

‘Perugia? What the hell’s in Perugia?’

‘Oh, didn’t I tell you? When you were looking for maps at the bus station, I found out where Boyd was heading. The guy behind the counter knew exactly who I was talking about before I even showed him a picture, like he’d been asked the same question a hundred times before.’

‘And?’

‘And Boyd was going to Perugia, a small city about two hours from here.’

They drove fifteen miles outside of Orvieto before they found a gas station that met Payne’s medical needs. He went to the bathroom to wash out his cuts while Jones went into the store and bought some bandages and whatever else he could find. Five minutes later he came into the men’s room, carrying a first aid kit and a copy of the local paper.

‘Hurry up,’ Jones said. ‘We’ve got somewhere to go.’