Bringing the chopper in for a direct landing had been a risk, but a risk she accepted to save time — and time was something more valuable than the bullets in her handgun. They didn’t know what they were looking for or who might be at this location. They might find nothing or they might find everything they needed to finally bring this ugly business to a close.
Scott was right about needing to get the facts of the situation from Kathy. She was an eyewitness to everything that happened after the attack on Sea Shepherd. Only Kathy knew what happened on the fishing boat, and only Kathy knew how Angel ended up with a bomb strapped to her chest.
Scott was about to turn down a side path when she stopped in front of him. “About Kathy,” she said, “I—”
“There’s something I need to tell you first,” Scott said.
She breathed in. She’d had her moment of weakness. “What is it?”
“It’s about Kathy and what happened before.” Scott pinched his brows together and Edie could tell he was having difficulty finding the right words to tell her something. “I need to—”
She put a hand out to silence him as her headset tweaked. “Go for lead,” she said.
“Captain, we’re working our way to the outer paths and vendor stalls. Buildings next.”
“Copy that,” she said. “Agent Evers and I are nearing the fountain.” She started walking. Turning to Scott, she said, “If it’s about you and her, I already—”
“That’s something for another time — and you’re wrong. Dead wrong,” Scott said. “This is something I should have told you earlier. It’s about the first time I saw Blake.”
He paused and into the silence, she said, “Go on.” She couldn’t believe he was lying to her face about Kathy. Kathy had told her all about her night with Scott long ago and she was okay with it.
“I was drunk, falling down drunk, and it was dark. I got mixed up about what berth the Shepherd was in and that’s how I ended up on the Bardot.”
The drunk part was something Edie understood, knowing it was the way he spent his shore leave before she’d cured him of it. She leaned toward him, her expression empathetic but raw too. “That’s not news.”
“I don’t know what you think,” he said, reaching out and gripping her hand. “I followed Kathy onto the Bardot that night, and not for the reasons you’re thinking. I thought she was going to Sea Shepherd and it was easier than asking for help.”
The not wanting to ask for help part was something Edie understood too. His ex-wife had done a number on him, left him in a state of mind where he really thought he deserved a bullet.
Edie looked away from him to clear her thoughts, knowing it was the wrong time for all the emotions she was feeling to come to a boil. But how could she not feel? How could she keep it all bottled up inside even for another day, another hour, another minute, when there might not be another hour or even a tomorrow?
Breathe, just breathe, she told herself.
“Look,” Scott said, “Kathy was on the boat that night. I don’t know why. I don’t remember seeing her with Jones or Blake. Those two were alone in the ship’s galley when I stumbled into it.”
The fountain was right in front of her, down the path, and she walked quickly toward it, turning her eyes everywhere but at him.
Reaching the fountain, she said softly, “I love you, Scott.” She knew her timing was all wrong, but also knew she needed to say it out loud at that moment. When she heard nothing but silence in response, she turned on her heel, expecting him to be right behind her, but he wasn’t.
Her heart beat faster as she scanned for him, her eyes whipping back to a woman with long black hair, who was fast retreating with Scott chasing after her. She was wearing a long, see-through gray jacket over a black dress with a bulky bag over her shoulder. She was on the other side of the fountain and seemed to be heading directly for the exit.
“Lock it down,” she screamed into her headset. “Block the exits.”
Chapter 7
By the time Scott skidded around the fountain and bounded up the stairs and into the building, Edie was well behind him, shouting wildly to block the exits. He didn’t know where the crowded hallway he entered would lead him, but he knew the face he’d seen. That face was one he’d never forget.
Behind him, he heard more shouts and there was Edie’s voice, but distantly. He keyed his microphone, said, “It’s her. Alexis Gosling. I’m certain.”
Earlier he’d been trying to puzzle together why Blake or Gosling would be going to the gardens. He’d wondered if the gardens were a rendezvous point, a drop or a pickup site or a terror target. He’d been worrying about hidden bombs and potential dispersal of whatever infectious agent they’d brought to Malta. Now, all he could think about was catching up to the woman in the wig.
His long legs carried him quickly, and he seemed to gaining fast on Alexis, closing the lengthy lead she had on him. As he dodged his way in and out of the crowd, she pushed and shoved her way through. Just when he thought he might catch her, she grabbed onto the shoulder of a man who didn’t get out of her way fast enough and used it as leverage to propel herself forward. After clambering over a table and scattering arts and crafts everywhere, she scrambled wildly toward the exit.
Trying to keep up, Scott stumbled over hand-carved wooden bowls and other goods that were knocked from the table, going to his knees, his headset smashing against the cement floor and breaking into pieces. He fought the instinct to retrieve the headset and continued on, hurtling over the table and sprinting to the exit.
Passing through the doorway, he unholstered his gun, keeping the weapon out in front of him, raised and pointed up, quickly discovering the exit spilled him out into a parking lot running alongside Castille Street. By the time he got to the street, Alexis was in the back of a waiting taxi that was driving away. He ran up the street to try to flag down another taxi, only steps behind the slow-moving vehicle caught in traffic.
He was about to fire at the rear tire when a flash of white, a vehicle coming out of the traffic circle, caught his eye. Malta’s white taxis were the only ones you could catch off the street and this one didn’t have a fare yet. As the taxi stopped at the crosswalk, he got into the backseat. “Segua quell'auto,” he said pointing.
The driver looked nervously from his gun to his face, prompting Scott to holster the weapon. “Segua quell'auto,” he repeated, adding, “Polizia di Stato.”
The driver either didn’t care or didn’t believe that he was a police officer. Thinking quickly, Scott reached into the inside pocket of his sports coat for his emergency fund. Three hundred euro notes got the driver’s attention. A fourth caused the driver to stomp on the gas and chase the other taxi down Triq San Paul.
As they raced along, Scott tried to guess at the destination. The President’s Palace was only six blocks away. Other sites on the VIP itinerary were close as well, including the University of Malta, the National Library of Malta and others. But the quick left turn onto Saint Lucia’s Street was a surprise, as was the screech to a halt two blocks later at the pedestrian-only section of Republic Street.
“Damn it, Edie,” he whispered to himself as he jumped out of the cab and started running. “Hope you’re following and close.”