Speaking haltingly, Rosa told him all she knew of the scientist, where his hotel room was, and how they had found the ticket.
As she spoke, Hamilton finally realized that the scientist must have gone to Naples to retrieve the bag Atha had already obtained. He paid Rosa off, called Rostislawitch’s hotel room just to be sure he wasn’t there, then made his way out to the airport.
16
“I’m here,” said Ferguson, answering the sat phone.
“Ferg, it’s Lauren DiCapri.”
“I was expecting Attila the Hun,” said Ferguson. He spotted the light from the Naples-bound train in the distance, and began jogging toward the ticket machine.
“We think Atha called Rostislawitch’s phone a little while ago.”
“Think?” Ferguson started to take his credit card out to pay for the ticket, then realized the train was a lot closer than he’d thought. No way was he climbing aboard this one from the back — he turned and began sprinting for the stairs leading to the platform.
“We don’t have a voice sample to match it, but he said he was Atha. He said he wasn’t feeling well and would talk to him tomorrow sometime. The thing is, we traced the call to Libya.”
“Good.”
“Not good. Rankin and Guns are on their way to Tunis. That’s where the helicopter—”
“Tell them to divert.”
“OK. I thought you’d want—”
“It’s all right,” said Ferguson, taking the steps two at a time. “Listen, I’ll call you back. I have to make this train.”
Downstairs on the platform, Artur Rostislawitch waited for the train to pull in. He hadn’t decided what to do with the material once he got it. Disposing of it properly was not a simple matter. Short of bringing it to a proper disposal station, which couldn’t be done for obvious reasons, the best solution was to burn the material in a very hot fire. But the fire had to be very hot, like that generated by an iron-smelting plant. He wasn’t sure where he could find one, or how he would talk his way in.
The train doors opened. Rostislawitch stepped inside. The train was about three-quarters full with early- morning commuters bound for the city, and he had to go to the middle of the car to find an open seat. He found a spot next to a pretty-looking woman wearing too much perfume. He attempted a smile; she gave him a frown in return.
When Rostislawitch looked up, he found the conductor staring at him expectantly. He reached into his pocket for his ticket and handed it to the man, who turned it over, then shook his head.
“It’s not stamped,” said the conductor. Rostislawitch had forgotten to validate the ticket at the entrance to the platform.
“I must have forgotten,” Rostislawitch muttered in Russian.
The conductor, of course, didn’t understand.
“Whether you are a tourist or not, you must validate your ticket,” said the conductor. “Do you speak English?”
“I can speak English.”
“You must validate your ticket,” explained the conductor. “How can you be a tourist at this hour?”
“I was to visit a friend, but arrived too early, then realized—”
“Enough,” said the conductor. “Next time, make sure to stamp the ticket at the yellow box.”
Thera looked at the arrival board, then walked back toward the cafe diagonally across from the left luggage area. The shop had just opened, and the cup of Cafe Americano — espresso with enough extra water to make a cup’s worth — was piping hot. She sat down, fanning it with a napkin. According to her watch, she had ten minutes before Rostislawitch’s train would get there.
Her sat phone rang. Thera grabbed it from her purse.
“You’re kind of obvious there,” said Ferguson.
“Where are you?”
“On the train.”
She jerked her head around. He didn’t know where she was; he was just guessing.
“Ferg, where are you really?”
“I’m on the train to Naples, in the next car from Rostislawitch. We’ll be there in five minutes. He’s going to have to hang out for a while; the left baggage place doesn’t open until eight. Plant a couple of bugs so we can watch, and meet me at the south door. OK?”
“The bugs are already in place.”
“So get the hell out of the station.”
“I wasn’t going to let him see me.”
“By the south door.”
“OK.”
17
Rankin and Guns were about five minutes from touching down in Tunis when Lauren DiCapri called Rankin and told him about the phone call Atha had made. There was no possibility of diverting at this point; Misratah was several hundred miles away. The navy lieutenant piloting the Seahawk helicopter told Rankin he’d have to not only refuel, but ask permission from his commander to fly them there.
“You’ll get permission,” Rankin told him. “That won’t be a problem.”
“How long is it going to take us to get there?” Guns asked.
“Top speed, once we’re in the air, two or three hours.”
“It’d be better if it were faster,” said Rankin.
“It’d be better if this were a jet,” said the pilot. “But it’s not.”
18
Rostislawitch tried consciously to slow himself down as he walked from the train to the luggage office, but he was brimming with nervous energy. He walked directly to the left luggage area even though he knew it would be closed. Then he paced for a few minutes, and went back toward the platforms. He remembered that he hadn’t had anything to eat, and decided to get some breakfast, not because he was hungry but to have something to do. He left the station, walking along the edge of the sidewalk as he surveyed the neighborhood around the station. The city was now wide-awake: trucks jostled to find an opening in the traffic; businessmen walked with a determined pace to their offices; sidewalk vendors growled at beggars as they set up their wares.
The thing that Rostislawitch noticed most was the smell — the scent of garbage mixed with diesel and the sea. Naples was a dirty city, dirtier than Moscow, which even Rostislawitch thought was a filthy place.
He found a large cafe near the intersection two blocks from the train station and went inside. Sitting at a
