“I’m not supposed to ask any questions,” said Heifers as the cars sped down the block and turned toward the highway.
“Which is good because I’m not going to give any answers,” said Ferguson.
“But I just—”
“No buts. You ask me no questions, I tell you no lies.” He patted the Marine captain on the shoulder. “Tell the car behind us to get out in front at the next turn.”
“You sure?”
Ferguson just laughed. Heifers, who was in touch with the others via radio, passed along the instruction.
They’d gone two miles on the highway when Ferguson leaned forward again. “Take a right and get down that exit,” he told the driver. “Wait until the last second.”
“But you said—”
“Right here. Don’t tell the other cars.”
Heifers started to protest.
“Relax, Captain. I’ve done this before.” Ferguson turned and watched the road, making sure they weren’t being followed.
“Looks clear, Ferg,” said Thera, who’d been watching herself.
“Yeah. But that street looked clear when they tried shooting us up, too.” Ferguson leaned into the front. “Straight. Then two more blocks, you take a left. We’re not going to the hotel.”
“Where then?” asked Heifers.
Ferguson shook his head. “When we get there, I’ll let you know.”
Ferguson’s directions took them out of the city and down along the coastline five miles, to a small motel overlooking the sea. He’d considered taking Rostislawitch to the American air base, where he could provide much better security, but decided it might spook him worse. The scientist was still unsure whether he was doing the right thing or not.
Ferguson jumped out of the car as soon as they pulled up. He went inside and rented two rooms, checking and scanning them himself before letting Thera, Rostislawitch, and the two Marines in.
“Actually, we should get back to the base,” said Heifers.
“Sorry, Captain, you’re with us for a while.”
“Can we call our men at least and tell them we’re OK?”
“Corrigan will take care of that,” Ferguson told him. “Don’t worry. No one’s going to accuse you of going AWOL. Park the cars over there,” he added, pointing across the lot. “Away from our rooms, but where we can see them.”
The two rooms Ferguson had taken were on the top floor of the two-story motel. Built in the 1970s, the hotel was similar to many American motels, with the rooms opening directly onto an exterior balcony or walkway. They had a good view of the highway and surrounding area, and while there was only one entrance from the road, there were trails down the hillside that would make it easy to escape by foot.
The motel did not, however, have room service, and Ferguson was still not comfortable enough to let anyone go for food, even though there was a place just down the highway. The truth was, the attack on the street had caught him off-guard. If Kiska had orchestrated it — and Corrigan’s belated warning that she was in town certainly made that seem likely — then Ferguson not only had been wrong about her but had everything lined up in his head out of whack.
The two men in the car who had fired at them looked to be local street thugs, not very good with guns, or maybe not paid enough to make sure they hit what they were theoretically aiming at. But turning on the gas in the building beforehand — he realized now that he had smelled it, which perhaps accounted for the split second of alertness that he did manage — that was a T Rex move. The assassin must have known that they were in Naples, and at the train station. He — or she — had then calculated that they would go somewhere nearby. The plan had to have been made at least a half hour before they were actually on the street, and the order to go must have been given by someone watching them. Someone Ferguson hadn’t seen.
Ferguson knew he wasn’t omniscient. Even the best ops got blindsided occasionally; his father had. In truth, Ferguson knew he’d probably been caught off-guard like this dozens and dozens of times on every mission.
He still didn’t like it.
Then again, the master assassin was slipping, as well. Was the legend overblown, as most legends were, or was Rostislawitch merely very lucky?
Maybe a little of both.
Thera had Rostislawitch sit in the chair near the desk. She pulled up his pant leg and examined the line of cuts on his shin. They weren’t serious. She went into the bathroom and wet a washcloth to clean them.
“Artur, how are you feeling?” Ferguson asked Rostislawitch in Russian.
“Fine.”
“She doesn’t speak Russian very well,” Ferguson said. “Would you mind if we used English?”
“She’s a beautiful woman,” said Rostislawitch, still using Russian.
“Yeah, she is,” said Ferguson.
“Is she your lover?”
“I wish.” Ferguson smiled. “English?”
Rostislawitch nodded.
“We have some people tracking Atha, but to be honest, he’s pretty clever,” said Ferguson. “If you help us, I have a way that we might be able to find him. If we do that, we can get the bacteria back before it does any harm.”
“How?”
“From what I’ve seen of Atha’s background, he’s not an expert on biological warfare.”
“He knows nothing.”
“What if we told him that what he took is missing a key ingredient? Then we offer to supply it to him.”
“It doesn’t work that way,” said Rostislawitch. “The bacteria — it makes an infection, like any disease; once it’s in your system, it is the same as having food poisoning.”
“That’s not my point,” said Ferguson. He looked out the window, watching the parking lot. Heifers and the other Marine were watching from the other room.
“There has to be something you could tell him,” said Thera. “What if you planned to modify the bacteria in some way before they were used?”
“A specialist would know.”
“Atha is not a specialist,” said Thera.
“He’ll have specialists with him. He is working with scientists, at least one. They had questions only a scientist would know to ask.”
“Well, you have to try something,” said Thera. She rose abruptly, angry with him: not because he had been planning to sell the bacteria to Atha or even because he had been foolish enough to let the Iranian take it, but because he was giving up.
“She’s prettier when she’s mad,” said Ferguson in Russian.
“I know this is part of an act,” answered Rostislawitch.
“It’s no act,” said Ferguson.
“What are you saying?” asked Thera. “I don’t speak Russian. Use English.”
“I told your friend you’re both acting.”
“I’m not acting, Artur. You said yourself, a lot of people could die.” She tossed the washcloth into the bathroom, then turned to Ferguson. “I need air.”
He didn’t want to let her go outside, but the look on her face made it clear she was determined. If it was an act it was a good one, because it fooled him, too.
“Be real careful,” Ferguson told her. “Here, swap guns.”
His fingers lingered on hers for a moment as he took the small Czech hideaway. But that was the only luxury he allowed himself, and Thera quickly left.
“A game,” said Rostislawitch in Russian. “Good cop, bad cop.”
