He glanced at the clock. Four more minutes.
10
Arna Kerr didn’t go back to her hotel until close to eleven a.m. Since she didn’t sleep, the team didn’t sleep. It didn’t bother Ferguson, but Guns’ eyes were sagging when they met at the Cafe Apollo just down the block. Thera felt stiff and was noticeably cranky. Rankin just frowned at everyone, one hand over his ear. He was monitoring the bugged transmissions from Arna Kerr’s hotel room, listening to the capture from the mike he’d planted on the opposite roof. All he could hear was the sound of drawers being slammed and then the shower being started in the bath.
“So she takes the measurements of three public squares, and visits three different buildings belonging to the University of Bologna,” said Guns, trying to prop his eyes open with a long sip of coffee. “What’s the target?”
“Movie star,” said Thera. “The university is hosting a film festival next month. She went to a theater.”
“Who kills movie stars?” said Rankin.
“There’s too much time in between,” said Ferguson. “It has to be within a few days. Maybe even tomorrow. The cars were rented for two weeks.”
“I think he’s going after some Italian politician,” said Rankin. “Maybe the mayor.”
“T Rex costs too much money to bump off a mayor,” said Ferguson. “Besides, nobody takes politicians seriously in Italy.”
“Like you know how much he charges, right?” said Rankin.
“Has to be a lot if he’s got an advance man. Last I heard, taking down a CIA officer cost a million.”
“I’ll do it for half,” said Rankin, locking eyes with Ferguson. “Free, if I can pick the target.”
Ferguson laughed.
“All the spots she checked out were tourist spots,” said Thera.
“Not all,” said Guns. “There was the university art building.”
“Maybe some kid who flunked out of the university figures he got a bad deal,” said Rankin.
Ferguson put his coffee cup down as the waiter approached with a fresh one.
“Why don’t they just refill the cup?” said Guns.
“The dishwasher’s a union guy and gets paid on a per-cup rate,” said Ferguson.
“Did Corrigan get anything from the fingerprints?” asked Rankin.
“Nada,” said Thera. “They were narrowing down the credit card information when I last talked to him, but they hadn’t come up with anything significant. They have that address in Stockholm, but nothing else.”
“How does T Rex contact her?” asked Guns.
Thera shook her head.
Rankin realized the shower had been turned off in the room and pressed his hand against his ear. He heard some shuffling, and then Arna Kerr began speaking.
“It’s Italian,” Rankin said, handing the earphone to Ferguson.
“She’s getting a taxi to the airport,” Ferguson told them, getting up. “Pardon me while I go bid her a tearful good-bye.”
11
Arna Kerr was just putting her bag into the back of the cab when she heard Bob Ferguson calling her.
“You,” she said, before even turning to look at him.
“They say you’re checking out.”
He took her in his arms, kissing her gently. She resisted, but only for a moment.
“On your way over to my hotel, I hope,” said Ferguson.
“I have to go.”
“Didn’t sell enough drugs?”
“Plenty.”
“Stick around, you’ll sell some more. Maybe I’ll buy a few.”
He really was cute, she thought, cute enough to change her plans — a few more hours here wouldn’t bother anyone.
Or better, she could suggest they go down to Rome, or somewhere farther south, some little village somewhere that was still warm and sunny.
She had to go. He was too tempting.
“Duty calls,” she said, pushing him away gently.
“It’s almost lunchtime. Come get something to eat.”
“I have to go. I’m sorry.” She put her hand on the car door.
“A little
“Your Italian’s getting better.”
“Well, give me your card and tell where you’re going to be,” said Ferguson.
Arna Kerr hesitated. “I don’t think so.”
“No?” Ferguson ran his hand along the back of her arm. Even though she was wearing a winter coat, she felt a tingle all the way through to her spine. “Come on. Hang around.”
“If you give me your card,” she said, “maybe I’ll call you.”
“Didn’t I give you one already?” Ferguson asked.
She cocked her hand slightly, gesturing that if he had, she had lost it. Ferguson pulled one from his pocket.
“Call me,” he said, sliding her the card. “It’s a service. But they’ll get in touch.”
She took the card and smiled, then got in the cab. Ferguson gave it a friendly pat as it left — placing a small global positioning device on its rear fender to make it easier to follow.
12
Thomas Ciello paced back and forth in his small office on the second floor of Building 24-442. It was a relatively large office — thirteen paces by eleven and a quarter paces — and he had arranged the furniture so that he could stride in more or less a straight line. Building 24-442 was primarily located underground, so being on the second floor meant he had no windows. But this wasn’t a drawback as far as Thomas Ciello was concerned. On the contrary. The very blankness of the walls helped him focus.
Thomas Ciello was the chief analyst for Special Demands, a somewhat nebulous job title that matched his somewhat nebulous job description. In theory, he liaisoned between the team and the CIA’s “regular” research and analysis side, digging up background and other information necessary for missions. The reality was considerably more complicated, as Ciello often found himself gathering information on his own, through whatever source he could think of.
But analysts liked to say that the problem wasn’t so much obtaining information as making sense of it. Ciello was living that saying right now, as he tried to puzzle out what Arna Kerr’s work in Bologna meant.
She’d left vehicles and taken rooms in several parts of the center city; obviously T Rex’s target was there.
