“Tell them to keep an eye out for a Giordano Orsini.”
“Orsini? Who the hell is that?”
“I think it’s Jordan Orr’s birth name. Have the FBI flag him in case he tries to get back into the US. And he has an injured right eye.”
“Will do, but they’re pretty fixated on some Muslims for the explosion.”
“What explosion?” Tyler heard sirens wailing, getting closer. “Never mind. You can tell me on the plane. Can you have the pilots fly the Gordian jet down here from Rome? We’ll meet them at the Naples airport.” Tyler and Grant had made the right decision leaving their passports in the plane. The last thing they needed was a hassle getting back into the US.
“Sure. I’ll get on it.” Miles hung up.
The sirens got the attention of the resident priest, who brought Tyler a shirt from the church’s donation pile. A minute later, two EMTs carrying a stretcher came into the cloisters. Grant handled the priest, while Tyler dealt with the EMTs. They didn’t speak much English, but they made it clear that they’d been expecting a heart-attack victim, not somebody with a bleeding wound.
He eased Stacy onto the stretcher with the EMTs’ help. She looked in bad shape, but still beautiful.
As they strapped Stacy down and rebandaged her, the motion woke her.
“What’s happening?” she said.
“You’re going to the hospital.” He held her hand. “We can’t come with you.”
The police might get involved, and then there would be questions and delays. Tyler and Grant needed to get back to the US and help stop whatever Orr had in mind.
“I wish I could go with you,” Stacy said, her voice a thin reed. “You get him for me.”
“We will.”
“Tell my sister I love her.”
“You’ll tell her yourself.”
“Kiss for luck?”
Tyler smiled. He leaned down and kissed her softly. Her lips burned with heat, but they welcomed his touch.
He pulled away and said, “You won’t need luck. You’ll be fine.” Given her condition, he wasn’t sure about that, but what else could he say?
“The luck isn’t for me,” she said. “It’s for you.”
She slipped into unconsciousness. Tyler and Grant followed her to the ambulance and stayed there until she was safely on her way.
Then, before the polizia arrived, they walked to the nearest busy street and hailed a cab. Within two hours, they were winging their way toward Washington, hoping they could find Orr before he detonated his nuclear weapon.
MONDAY
SIXTY-SIX
Twelve hours later, Tyler was in his father’s ICU room getting his ribs wrapped by a nurse. He didn’t know if they were broken, because he’d refused an X-ray. His father was still intubated and continued to float in and out of consciousness during his recovery. Even lying there unconscious, with tubes hanging out of him, General Sherman Locke looked powerful, as if he would wake up any moment, rip the sensors off, and take charge.
Tyler had slept fitfully on the plane ride home. He felt guilty about leaving Stacy behind, his father wasn’t out of danger yet, and Orr still preyed on his mind. If Orr got away only to cause a catastrophe on American soil, Tyler would never forgive himself.
Just before the Gordian jet landed in DC, he received an update from Aiden, who had been researching any info he could find on Orr’s birth name. Aiden had discovered a Giordano Orsini from Connecticut who would be the same age as Jordan Orr. Orsini’s parents had been killed in a car wreck when the boy was ten, and the short newspaper article intimated that the crash might have been a murder-suicide. At Tyler’s request, Aiden was following up to see if there was more to the story, but it was really in the FBI’s hands now.
When the nurse was finished, Tyler put his shirt back on. At least on the plane he and Grant had been able to get a fresh change of clothes, but they both still stank. The compression bandage eased the ache in Tyler’s chest, but he’d turned down painkillers. Not only did most meds leave him nauseated, but he didn’t want his senses dulled. He could stand the pain until he was sure they had Orr in custody, assuming the one-eyed wonder was stupid enough to try to get back into the country.
Before he had tried to get some rest on the flight, Tyler had a long talk with Miles about Sherman’s escape from the warehouse and how he saved Carol Benedict and the two Muslim fall guys. The body found in the building’s wreckage still hadn’t been identified but was assumed to be one of Orr’s accomplices. Tyler told Miles about Gaul in the hope that the FBI might be able to use the link to track down Orr.
Grant knocked on the door.
“Hey,” he said. He glanced at Sherman’s inert form. “How’s he doing?”
“Still out.”
“Well, if you have a minute, I’ve got two FBI agents here. I’ve told them what I know, but they want to talk to you.”
“Sure. Will you keep an eye on my dad?”
“No problem.”
Tyler left the room and found a man and a woman in pressed suits standing outside. Only FBI agents could look so fresh at 6 A.M.
Tyler held out his hand. “Tyler Locke.”
“Dr. Locke,” the man said, “I’m Special Agent Riegert, and this is my partner, Special Agent Immel. Is your father going to be okay?”
“We think so.”
“Has he said anything?”
“He can’t. He’s got a tube down his throat. Where’s Carol Benedict?”
“She’s already on her way to Naples to see her sister.”
Tyler was itching for news about Stacy’s condition, but he hadn’t been able to get an update from the hospital because he wasn’t a relative.
Riegert flipped open a notepad. “Your friend Mr. Westfield told me quite a story. Care to give me your side?”
On the way back, Grant and Tyler had agreed to tell most of the tale but to leave out the parts that made them seem like criminals themselves, such as the incident in Munich and the heist at the Athens museum.
Tyler told the agents about the ferry puzzle, their investigation leading them to Gia Cavano, and the fight in the tunnels under Naples.
Despite the same story from both Grant and Tyler, Riegert and Immel were clearly skeptical.
“And you don’t have this geolabe any more?” Immel said.
Tyler shook his head. “It’s underwater in the Midas chamber.”
“And you don’t have any visual record of this chamber?”
“We did, but Orr got away with it.”
“You mean the man you’re also calling Giordano Orsini?” Riegert asked.
“Yes. Any luck finding him?”
“We’re looking into all possibilities right now, Dr. Locke.”
