“The FBI doesn’t know, and Sylvia’s not inclined to change that until we’ve got more answers. Either way, she’ll go to bat for them.”
“They deserve it.”
“I’ll call you when we find the Barak. Unless Litzman’s plans change, she’ll reach you sometime in the next forty-five hours.”
True to his word, Dutcher called five hours later. The Keyhole picked up the Barak docked in Valletta, Malta. She must’ve been running on fumes to get there.”
“And running hard,” Tanner added. “Whatever it is, Litzman’s on a timetable. How long ago?”
“She left about ninety minutes ago. By now she’s probably entering the Ionian Sea.”
Next stop, us.
31
Shortly before noon two days later the Barak sailed around the headland at Piran and into the harbor. Long and sharp-stemmed like the racing yachts around her, the Barak stood out in Tanner’s binoculars by what she lacked: sails. He scanned the decks, but saw no sign of either Susanna or Litzman, only crewman — two of whom he recognized from the Sorgia—hurrying about on deck.
The Barak drew even with Rive Tralana, the road bordering the spectator docks, and dropped anchor. Within minutes she was surrounded by three water taxis — dories with bench seating and long-shafted outboard motors.
A man appeared on the Barak’s deck. The cast on his hand immediately identified him as Gunter. He pointed to the nearest dory, then dismissed the others with a wave. The chosen taxi drew alongside and lines were tossed over the rails and secured.
Susanna walked out the aft door of the cabin. She wore a bright yellow summer dress and sandals. Tanner zoomed in on her face. A piece of white tape lay across the bridge of her nose and beneath each eye was a crescent-shaped bruise.
Tanner felt a pang in his chest, then thought, It might’ve kept her alive.
Accompanied by a pair of Litzman’s men, she climbed into the dory and took her seat. The taxi cast off, came about, and began heading toward shore.
Tanner reached for his phone and called Cahil, who arrived five minutes later. The dory was still waiting its turn to dock at the spectator pier. Cahil peered through the binoculars. “Just two escorts?”
“Yes.”
With plenty of time on their hands over the past two days, they’d come up with several plans for making contact with Susanna. That Litzman had ordered her escorted was unsurprising. At this late stage in the job — whatever that was — he was taking no chances.
“Let’s use that boutique on Via Rossi,” Tanner said. “You find the messenger, I’ll get a head start. It’s a safe bet her escorts would recognize me.”
Having changed into his planter’s hat, dark sunglasses, and Bermuda shorts, Tanner strolled up the street from the wharf, stopping frequently to snap a photo and check on Cahil’s progress.
As Susanna and her escorts — one of which he now recognized as Jurgen — climbed from the dory onto the pier, Cahil took up position behind them. Susanna walked up Via Cesare, stopping occasionally to peer into shop windows as her escorts loitered a few feet away.
Briggs saw Cahil gesture to someone across the street. A young boy of eight or nine scampered over. Cahil whispered to him, then pressed something into his hand. The boy sprinted down the street, then across to the opposite sidewalk, from where he came trotting back. Drawing even with Susanna he stopped and began tugging at the hem of her dress. “Money, signorina, please?” Pleadingly he clutched at her hands. “Please, pretty signorina …”
Jurgen stepped forward to shoo the boy away.
“Ah, pretty signorina, please …,” he said once more, then ran off.
Up the street Tanner watched through his camera’s viewfinder. Susanna covertly unfolded the note, read it, then stuck it into her pocket. She turned, said something to Jurgen, then started across the street with the two Germans in tow.
Walking fast now, Tanner got well ahead of them and turned onto Via Rossi. In the middle of the street he found the unisex clothing boutique he and Cahil had scouted the previous day. He pushed through the door.
At the tinkle of the bell, a young woman with jet black hair and pink hoop earrings walked over. “May I help you, sir?” she said in Italian.
“No, thank you, just looking.”
Tanner wandered the racks, selected several pair of shorts, then strolled back toward the fitting rooms. Through the front window he saw Susanna approach the door. She turned and said something to Jurgen, who shook his head. They went back and forth, Susanna gesturing angrily, until Jurgen shrugged. She pushed through the door.
Tanner stepped into the booth and closed the door, but left it unlatched. He hung his planter’s hat on the hook so the brim was visible over the top of the door, then dropped the shorts in a pile on the floor, covering his sandals and ankles.
A minute later Susanna slipped into the booth carrying a couple scarves and a hat. She shut the door and locked it. Without a word she took off her sunglasses, fell into Tanner’s arms, and lay her head against his chest. He could feel her trembling. She leaned back and brushed at her cheeks. “I thought you were dead,” she whispered. “There was so much shooting. Are you okay?”
“Just a little scuffed up.” He held her face in his hands and studied her bruises. “I’m sorry, Susanna. Does it hurt?”
She smiled back. “Of course it hurts; you broke my nose, for God’s sake. It worked, though. No one gave me a second glance.”
“What about your escorts?”
“They’ve done that before. It’s nothing. If something wasn’t right I would’ve felt a vibe. Believe me, I’ve lived on my wits with this group for nine months.”
Tanner nodded. “How’re you feeling?”
“I want this to be over, Briggs.”
“I know you do. Say the word and I’ll have you on a plane this afternoon. Bear and I can handle Litzman.”
“We’re back to this again? I already told you: I’m staying.”
“Stubborn like your father.”
“Stubborn like you — that’s what he used to say.”
“What can you tell me?” Tanner said. “We found the Sorgia, but we don’t know any details.”
“They killed the crew, didn’t they?”
“Yes.”
“Those poor men. The Barak met us just outside Tangier harbor and we all ferried over except for Jurgen and Hans. They came a few minutes later. I wondered what they were doing … something felt wrong about it. God, I want to get away from these people. I feel like I’m covered in this layer of... filth that’ll never come off.”
“Before you know it, you’ll be home safe. All this will fade.”
“We’ll be home, you mean.”
Tanner smiled. “Right. Anything else you can tell me?”
“I overheard a name, one I hadn’t heard before: Svetic.”
Another Bosnian surname, Tanner thought. Could this one be part of the Root kidnapping team? Briggs had decided to keep the kidnapping from Susanna; she had enough to worry about without adding a tangent he wasn’t even sure about himself. “Litzman’s been talking to this man — Svetic?”
“No, that’s not the feeling I get. I get bits and pieces … random snatches of conversations — rarely anything solid. A lot of this is gut feeling on my part.”