Meanwhile, the Italian investigation into the bombing was moving ahead at a snail’s pace. The plastique explosive had been isolated but its chemical “tag” — a kind of fingerprint that would indicate where it had been manufactured — had not yet been identified. The truck that had blown up had been stolen from a town about five kilometers away; the police had no leads in the theft.
So if it wasn’t Kiska, who was it?
Ferguson took the laptop into the bathroom with him so he could watch the feed from the video bugs covering the hall outside Rostislawitch’s door and listen to the audio bug while he shaved. Rostislawitch had finally finished his shower and was now talking to himself, complaining about Kiska.
Ferguson didn’t want it to be her because she’d saved his life. Was that really it?
If she was T Rex, he’d have to take her, and of course she wasn’t going to just come with him, and then Parnelles’s wish would come true. He’d have his pound of flesh, and maybe some problems with the Italians, but those problems he wouldn’t mind.
But maybe Rostislawitch wasn’t the real target; maybe the car bomb was “just” a car bomb, or even a feint to throw them off the trail. Imperiati’s other target was due tonight, the keynote speaker at the dinner Rostislawitch and Thera were going to.
Ferguson listened as the Russian turned on his television. A middle-aged woman came down the hallway near his room, stopped, and went back to her room. She emerged with a sweater a few moments later. Ferguson watched her, planning what he would do if she was T Rex.
But she wasn’t. She got in the elevator at the end of the hall and descended to the lobby.
At 6 p.m., Ferguson called the Cube for an update. It was the first time in recorded history that he had checked in precisely at the time he was supposed to, at least according to Lauren DiCapri.
“If I’d known it was an occasion, I’d’ve worn a tie,” he told her.
“What are you wearing now?”
“Nothing but a smile. Tell me what’s going on.”
Lauren’s update consisted largely of two facts: Rankin and Guns still had no idea where the Iranian had gone, and Parnelles and Slott were both angry with the world.
“You especially,” she added. “They can’t figure out why you won’t admit Kiska Babev is T Rex.”
“If I did admit that, what then?” said Ferguson. “You think she’ll just fly home with me?”
“Knowing you, sure.”
“Listen, is Ciello around?” asked Ferguson.
“As a matter of fact, he wants to talk to you. First, though, the Brits are also kind of mad at us. Hamilton had some sort of hissy fit, claiming that Rankin and Guns screwed up his surveillance.”
“I’m sure that’s bullshit.”
“No doubt. But he’s on his way back to Bologna.”
“It’s a free country, I guess. You giving me Ciello, or what?”
A slight hush descended over the line as she made the connection. There was a low tone, followed by Thomas Ciello’s slightly hyper soprano.
“Ciello here.”
“So how’s the
“I don’t have a jalopy, Ferg. I take the bus.”
“Just joking, Ciello. What’s going on?”
“That Fibber guy. Good stuff. Too much stuff. But very good stuff.”
“Yeah. You didn’t give him your Social Security or your bank account number, did you?”
“No, why?”
“Just checking. What do you have?”
Kiska did, in fact, use her cousin’s identity for several credit cards and bank accounts. Ciello had not finished unraveling everything, but he had managed to figure out the pattern Kiska used, alternating credit cards and then getting new accounts.
“There’s still a lot I have to dig out. But one thing I thought you’d like to know. Well, two things.”
“Give me three if you want.”
“One, she was in Peru last August. The Vice President was killed. The murder hasn’t been, um, pinned to T-Rex, but it does have some similarities. Because, you know, he’s important.”
“That’s it?”
“Number two, she was in the Czech Republic right before coming to Bologna. The local police raided a warehouse where plastic explosives were stored.”
“Was the FSB involved?”
“I don’t know. Not in the news story, but of course they might not be mentioned. I sent a text message to our embassy there. They haven’t gotten back to me. Anyway, the point is, some of the explosives were missing afterwards.”
“Good work, Thomas,” Ferguson said, though neither item was all that useful. “Keep at it.”
“I will. Say, Ferg?”
“Yeah?”
“Does this Fibber really have an uncle who inherited ten million dollars but can’t collect it?”
7
Thera examined her face in the mirror. Her eyes were drooping, her cheeks pinched.
She wished she could go to bed, sleep for three days, then get up and take a walk around Bologna without looking over her shoulder. She wished it were spring, not the start of winter. She wished she could simply look at the art and enjoy the food without worrying that someone with a gun or a bomb was nearby.
She wished she could make love to Ferg, and not think about the consequences.
Did she?
Yes, certainly. Though the way he acted about sex, the way he so casually used it as a tool, it was a good thing making love to him was just a fantasy.
Thera ducked her face to the sink. A little makeup and she’d be back on her game.
Several blocks away, Rostislawitch was examining his own face in the mirror, having just finished shaving. In the back of his mind, he was replaying his meeting with the Russian FSB agent, the blond she-wolf who’d tried to intimidate him in the back room of the cafe.
Before their meeting, he’d decided he would have nothing more to do with Atha. Now he was angry, insulted that he had been suspected of treason — even though, of course, the charge was correct.
More important, he wasn’t sure what to do.
Replaying the meeting, he realized that the woman hadn’t identified herself or who she worked for, but she didn’t have to. Her arrogance was as clear a sign that she was with the FSB as if she had worn a badge on her tight-fitting blouse. Like the KGB before it, the Russian Federal Security Service was used to bullying people, making demands instead of requests, insisting on getting its way. Its agents assumed the rest of the world would bow down to it in all matters, large and small. They were a law to themselves.
Loathe them, yes. But be careful. They would not simply fade away.
The question was not how much they knew about what he had planned to do, but what they
Rostislawitch opened the drain and let the water run out of the sink, then wiped his face with a towel. If the choice was between running away and returning to a trap, the obvious thing to do was run away.
