“Really? So, tell me, what is it that—”
Silvio sighed, then shuddered as she reached down between their bodies and slipped him inside her.
“I will, Silvio,” she purred. “I’ll tell you exactly. But not now. Ohhh, Silvio, not now.”
She arched her back as he came up to meet her, and stayed with him like this until the sounds he made told her he was close. Then, she purposely slid off him before he finished, and moved forward onto his chest until her wet thighs were on either side of his head. And as she had hoped, he did what she wanted without protest or prompting. Dominica was sure of him now; sure there would be no need for coercion — for the threat of criminal proceedings as she had planned — to obtain his assistance. Silvio Festa would do whatever she asked, because he wanted to please her.
Chapter Thirty
Andrew had been stunned by the abduction, stunned by the swiftness of it. Raina had been on his arm one minute and gone the next. Actually, in less than a minute, he had calculated. From the time she saw the man with the glasses to when she vanished in the narrow street couldn’t have been more than forty-five seconds. Andrew had been wandering Rome’s dark streets for much longer than that, now. He turned a corner and found himself in front of Police Headquarters on San Vitale. He stood blinking at the whirling roof flashers on the Fiats that pulled up with the evening’s collection of drunks, prostitutes, and petty thieves — wondering what he would tell the police if he went inside.
“Excuse me, but I was having a clandestine meeting with a Russian woman when she was abducted.”
“You actually witnessed this abduction?”
“Well, sort of, I mean, I chased the car, but—”
“You didn’t witness it.”
“No.”
“What was this meeting about?”
“My father’s espionage activities.”
“Your father’s espionage activities—”
“Well, you see, she was his lover; but he was recently murdered, and now, I’m trying to—”
Andrew zipped his jacket against the cold, shoved his hands deep into the pockets, and walked on, deciding en route to return to the hotel and call Fausto.
The two had been in Suite 610 for over a half hour now. Fausto had bawled Andrew out for not calling him before leaving the hotel. Andrew had briefed him on events that led to his meeting with Raina, and running on adrenalin, he was still pacing, and still talking.
“Where? Where would they take her?” he wondered.
“Soviet Embassy, most likely,” Fausto replied in his heavy accent. He was slouched in a club chair, and gesturing to another, gently added, “Andrew, maybe you should sit down.”
“Let’s go there and ask to see her,” Andrew pressed on, ignoring Fausto’s suggestion.
Fausto shook his head. “They’d deny she was there,” he replied. “We wouldn’t even get through the gate.”
“Damn. I finally had a way to go with this. I mean, Raina had connections. We were going to meet in Moscow and—” He threw up his hands. “I might’ve stopped them if that Frenchman hadn’t clobbered me.”
“You might have stopped a bullet,” Fausto suggested sagely.
Andrew’s fervor cooled in acknowledgment. He dropped into a chair opposite Fausto, thinking about what had happened to McKendrick.
“You’re sure he wasn’t one of them?” Fausto asked.
“The Frenchman?”
Fausto grunted.
“I don’t know. I don’t think so,” Andrew replied. “What’s it matter anyway?”
“I was thinking, they might be watching you, too,” Fausto replied. “If they are—” He paused, and swung a glance to the phone. “Did the woman call you?”
Andrew nodded.
Fausto’s brows went up.
“But we didn’t talk about a meeting,” Andrew said, seeing his reaction. “And she didn’t identify herself. Besides, I checked the phone.”
Fausto nodded sagely, pulled himself from the cushions of the club chair, and went toward the phone.
Andrew swiveled on the chair, watching him. He smiled when Fausto lifted the receiver, replacing it with one of the bananas from the bowl on the credenza.
“You’re wasting your time,” he said genially.
Fausto unscrewed the mouthpiece, and let the diaphragm drop into his palm. No bugging device. No wires. He peered into the hollow plastic shell. Same result. He shrugged, then glanced around the room.
“I checked the rest of the place, too,” Andrew said, knowing what he was thinking.
Fausto sat puzzled for a moment, then considered the diaphragm in his palm. He turned to the lamp on the nightstand, and began tilting the diaphragm at various angles, so its surfaces caught the light.
Andrew’s curiosity got the better of him. He stood, and crossed to Fausto. “What’re you doing?”
“Aspetti.”
Fausto was holding the diaphragm steady now, adjusting the angle just so. “Ah, look.”
Andrew leaned closer and saw the legend KIZ/1MCR inscribed in the metal casing. “Yeah—” he said, not understanding.
“Koehler Industries, Zurich — one-thousand-meter range cellular relay,” Fausto said slowly, relating each word to the legend. “That’s your bug.”
“You replace the diaphragm in any phone with this diaphragm, and it’s bugged.”
“Diaphragms,” Fausto said, emphasizing the plural as he unscrewed the earpiece revealing another. “One in each end of the handset — to hear both sides of the conversation. They’re the best on the market. And, perhaps you’ve noticed, not easily detected by the untrained eye.”
Andrew broke into an embarrassed grin.
“They work in tandem with a recorder or relay unit,” Fausto went on, reassembling the phone and leaving the bugs in place. “Better if they don’t know we found them,” he explained. “Capisco?”
“Capisco,” Andrew echoed.
Fausto’s face suddenly clouded with conern. “You called me from here—”
Andrew nodded grimly. “I didn’t do anything right, tonight. I probably should have gone to the police.”
Fausto shook no. “What makes you think their inquiries wouldn’t be met with denials? Remember, an Embassy is sovereign territory. It can’t be searched.”
“Legally,” Andrew said, his eyes brightening with an idea.
“Che pazza!” Fausto snapped, knowing what Andrew was thinking. You’ll get shot on sight—legally.”
“Maybe I could get in on the pretext of business,” Andrew went on undaunted. “Make up a story about the Arabians. You know some problem that—”
“Forget it,” Fausto interrupted. “Nobody does business at this hour. Besides, they know you were with her. They’d see right through your pretext.”
Andrew took a deep breath and let it out. “I guess you’re right,” he said, suddenly hit by exhaustion. “What do you think’ll happen to her?”
“I don’t know. I’ll need some time to — how you say—scavasto.” He made a churning gesture with his hands while he searched for the word. Then, literally translating the Italian, said, “Excavate.”
“You mean, do some digging.”
Fausto nodded. “Get some rest. Sell some horses. I’ll call you,” he said, adding, “so to speak.”
“Thanks.”
Fausto patted him on the cheek and left.
Andrew fell facedown across the bed. Thirty-two hours had passed since he left Houston, and aside from a catnap on the plane, he hadn’t slept. He lay on his stomach, staring at the intricately woven patterns in the oriental rug until he fell asleep.