Library of Gold (39 page)

“Where’s the book?” He put warmth into his tone. “Tell us, and we’ll leave you here. There’s only one other thing you have to do—give us a five-minute head start and go that way.” He nodded to a walk that skirted the rear of the buildings.

“You’re actually not planning to shoot me?”

“I’m sure you’ve figured out by now I’m a practical man. We’re in the middle of Athens. Dead bodies mean police questions. You’ll notice I haven’t unholstered my weapon.”

“You’ll try to find me later.”

“Why bother if I have the book?”

She peered at him a long time, then nodded agreement. “It’s in the Acropolis Metro station. I have the key to the locker.” She shook her arm, and he released it. As she slid a hand into her shirt pocket, a look of shock crossed her face.

Controlling his impatience, he said, “Maybe you put it into another pocket.”

Magus freed her other arm, and she frantically searched her trousers and then her other shirt pocket.

“It’s gone,” she said. “My billfold and cell phone are gone, too. I don’t see how all of them could’ve fallen out—”

“What else happened?” he asked instantly.

“Maybe Eva Blake or Judd Ryder took them somehow.” She looked away. “I met them. But I didn’t tell them anything. They don’t know the book is in a locker in the Acropolis station.”

With effort, he kept his voice calm, reassuring. “That’s good. You made a mistake, and then you corrected it by not giving more information. Where are they staying, and where are they going next?”

“I don’t know. I ran away from them.”

“That was smart, but then I’ve always admired your intelligence. I’ll bet you remember the locker number.”

“Of course.” She gave it to him.

“You’re certain that’s correct?”

“Of course I am.”

“As a reward, I have a little gift for you.” He smiled as her eyes widened. He took out a small blue bottle, flipped off the lid, and pressed the nozzle, spraying directly into her face.

She gasped and stepped away. Too late. He let her continue to walk, watching as she slowed and her knees buckled. He surveyed the parking lot and then the windows above. No one was in sight.

A fist against her chest, she sank to the ground, her oversize shirt billowing around her. Her legs spasmed. A quiet, unobtrusive death was one of the great advantages of the Rauwolfia serpentina derivative.

Glancing down the drive to Jerome, who nodded that all was well, Preston knelt over her, searching her clothes. He found a thick envelope inside her waistband and handed it up to Magus.

“Tell me what’s inside.” He continued to hunt but found nothing more.

Magus let out a low whistle. “She’s got one pack load of euros in here.”

Preston stood and took the envelope. “We’ve got to move fast. Watch for Judd Ryder and Eva Blake.”

The Acropolis Metro station was on Makrigianni Street, across from lively cafés and snack bars and next to the Acropolis Study Center. Scanning everywhere, Preston and his men rushed inside the sleek station and ran down an escalator. At the base, they hurried past casts of the Parthenon friezes and stopped at the electronic ticketing machines. Two more escalators down, and they found the lockers.

As a Metro train whined to a stop, Preston ran along the lockers, alternately studying the boarding passengers and reading locker numbers until he found the correct one. His men converged to stand on either side, blocking anyone from being able to see as he took out his knife and quickly jimmied the tall door open.

And stared inside. There was no black backpack. No
Book of Spies
. On the bottom was Robin’s roll-aboard, and on the shelf above lay her cell phone—open and turned on. Furious, he realized Ryder must have figured out they would use the cell to locate them. Ryder had
The Book of Spies
and was taunting him.

Preston grabbed the phone, slammed shut the locker, and turned. A bell rang, signaling the train’s doors were about to close.

“Run,” he ordered.

He and his men raced to different doors and leaped inside. Since they were underground, he could not call the other men he had brought to Athens and order them to watch the next stops. As the train pulled out, he noted his car was a little more than half full. Quickly he walked down the aisle, but he did not see Ryder or Blake. He spotted two backpacks—one was brown and the other green.

He checked Robin’s cell, hoping for Judd Ryder’s phone number. And swore. Ryder had wiped it clean. Blood pulsing with anger, he pushed through the door and entered the next car, determined to find them.

57

Fighting tension, Judd sat across the aisle and four rows back from Eva as the Metro sped north through the underground tunnel. He was alone in his seat, while she was sitting beside a boy of about thirteen, who wore a red-and-white striped Olympiakos soccer shirt.

They had seen Preston arrive at the lockers with two men. One of them, dark-haired and beefy, had walked up and down their car twice, eying passengers as if he knew exactly for whom he was searching. But besides having black hair, Eva’s face and hands were also darkened by makeup. Her eyes squinted, and a thin line of cotton slightly fattened her upper lip. Small changes could be transformational, and she now looked little like the sophisticated intellectual Judd had first seen in the British Museum. Besides his bleached hair and glasses, Judd had stuck folded cotton squares above his upper molars and had adopted a hangdog appearance.

At last the beefy man exited the car, but Preston entered, his tall muscular frame looming, his expression inscrutable. He gazed carefully at each passenger, walking slowly.

A stout woman in a black dress, her purse held firmly in both hands on her lap, spoke sharply to him in Greek. Ignoring her, he continued on, pausing at Eva’s row.

“Who are you looking for?” the boy asked Preston curiously in Greek-accented English.

Preston did not answer. He peered at the duffel bag under the youth’s legs but then turned to study an older couple bundled in trench coats. When he reached Judd, Judd was leaning his head against the cool glass window, his eyes heavy as he stared out into the monotonous tunnel. Finally Preston moved on again.

The men continued to walk through the car, slower each time, but they never seemed to identify Eva or him. Ten minutes later the Metro pulled into the Syntagma Square station, and Judd watched Eva lean toward the boy and whisper. He smiled and nodded. As the train stopped, they stood, and she preceded him out of the car. He was carrying Judd’s duffel.

Judd let the older couple and another passenger feed in, and then he left, too, keeping his place in the crowd.

Preston and his two men were standing at the exit, scrutinizing everyone again. As the train left the station, Eva and the boy chatted animatedly in Greek. Preston’s eyes flickered over them, then paused to stare a long time at Eva as they walked past. Judd found himself holding his breath.

But again Preston turned, and he checked the older couple in their body-covering trench coats. Finally he settled on Judd. Judd made no eye contact; it was a sure way to attract interest. Expression unchanged, Preston peered behind him, and with relief Judd stepped onto the escalator.

The station was as glossy and modern as the one at the Acropolis stop. It, too, was a museum, with ancient urns, perfume bottles, and bells on display in lighted glass cases. Judd hurried past them, following Eva and the boy up two more escalators and out into the city’s cooling night.

At the curb, Eva looked back at Judd through the crowd. Glancing carefully around, he nodded. She spoke again to the youth and then took the duffel bag from him. He walked away.

Watching a moment to make certain the boy was all right, Judd joined her at the taxi stand, and she handed over the bag.

“My God.” She beamed. “That was exhilarating.”

Her blue eyes were bright, and she chuckled. She looked very alive, as if she had hit the winning home run in the World Series. He suddenly realized how well she had handled events tonight, sliding unasked into the shadow of the marble block across from the Theater of Dionysus, not inflaming Robin further by admitting he had been the one who had shot Charles, and coming up with the idea to ask the Greek boy to help her onto the Metro train with the duffel with the excuse her back ached.

But then Eva had spent two years in a pickpocket gang. She knew what it was to set up and act in a movie, and what it was like to be under the constant threat of discovery. The two years in prison had taught her more—how to go deep inside herself to survive and, despite the circumstances, to take risks. Now she’d had her crisis of conscience and committed herself to the mission. He was not sure he liked what he saw now.

“You’re kidding, right?” he asked hopefully.

Her face broke into a smile, and she laughed.

He had been scanning as they stood in line, the rumble of Athens’s wild traffic beside them, filling all three lanes. Eva tugged his sleeve just as he spotted Preston and his two men hurrying toward them from the Metro station. There was no hesitation—the men had pinpointed them. They were drawing their pistols.

“Come on.” Judd pushed past the two people ahead of them.

A taxi was pulling up. He yanked open the rear door, and Eva threw herself inside. He tossed in the duffel and dropped in next to her as she told the driver in Greek to leave quickly. It was a one-way street, so there was no way they could do a U-turn. They would have to drive past Preston.

“Get down,” Judd snapped as the vehicle rushed off.

They fell low. Shots rang out, and rounds slashed through the doors and roof. Metal and plastic sliced through the air. The driver swore loudly, and the car hurtled faster. More bullets cut through the taxi, and then there was no feel of acceleration. Judd looked up just in time to see the driver collapse silently onto his side, sprawling across the front seat.

“Jesus.”

“What’s happened?” Eva asked quickly.

The vehicle slowed. It wove from side to side. Horns honked, and drivers shouted as they swerved their cars to get out of the way. The cars behind were signaling, trying to pass.

“The driver’s been shot. Stay down,” Judd ordered.

Preston was racing along the curb after them, his two men on his heels. They would reach the taxi much too soon.

Judd snatched out his Beretta. “Keep my door open until I get to the driver’s side.”

Her eyes wide, Eva nodded.

He opened his door. Hunching, he sprinted along the still-moving cab. Rounds crashed through the door and bit into the pavement around his feet, exploding needle-sharp shards. Suddenly hot pain sliced across his side and burned up into his brain. He fought dizziness.

As he rounded the hood, he saw through the windshield Preston had jammed his gun into the open passenger window of a tall SUV four cars behind, all rolling slowly, unable to pass in the fast traffic in the other lane.

As the three men took over the big vehicle, Judd jerked open the driver’s door, and Eva closed the one in back. Still running, he shoved the downed taximan across the seat, causing a scalding pain to split up from his side. He gave his head a quick shake and dropped inside. There was an open stretch ahead. He floored the gas feed, his door slamming itself shut. He pressed his forearm against the gunshot wound in his side, trying to slow the blood.

“Is he alive?” Eva leaned over the front seat.

“Get down, dammit.”

Behind them, one of Preston’s men had his pistol out the window of the hijacked SUV, aiming over the roofs of the vehicles between them. There was a vegetable truck in the other lane. Judd accelerated, overtaking it. He signaled. The truck continued its lumbering speed. He spun the steering wheel, forcing the taxi’s nose into the lane in front of the truck. The truck’s horn blasted. He heard a loud curse, but the truck gave way, and he slid the taxi into the slot just as the traffic light turned red. There were cars between him and it. No way to run the red light, and Preston’s SUV was coming up swiftly on the right.

“Grab the duffel. We’ve got to get out of here. My side of the cab.”

With the taxi still rolling, they stepped out and ran through the traffic. Cars swerved. More horns honked. As they reached the sidewalk, Judd tried to take the duffel.

But Eva held on to it, staring at his bloody jacket. “You’re wounded.” She looked around quickly. “I know where we are. This way.”

He holstered his Beretta, pressed his arm against the wound again, and followed as she moved swiftly among pedestrians. The noise of idling engines filled his head. Stores were alight, shoppers showing through the windows.

“Preston’s coming,” he told her.

She hurried inside a large store selling casual clothes. Racks and stacks of women’s jeans, shirts, and dresses marched back deep into the building. A saleswoman greeted them in English. Eva said hello and kept walking. Judd felt the eyes of the clerks looking after them.

As the stove’s front door opened and Preston and his men entered, Eva led Judd into a hallway at the rear. They ran past changing rooms. She turned a doorknob, and they were out again in the night, this time in a cobbled alleyway where trash cans and empty packing boxes were stacked against the walls.

Running, they passed doors.

“Open this one,” she told him.“I’ll do the next.” She leaned over and snatched up two pieces of broken cobblestone. “Prop the door.”

His door led into some kind a restaurant, the spicy odor of sauteeing garlic wafting out. He dropped the rock, leaving the door ajar. And met her as she nicked her rock into place. Without a word she ran again and opened a third door. They rushed inside to a short corridor where there were bathrooms. The noise of voices and clinking glasses assaulted them. They were in a bar.

Bolting the door, she took a deep breath. “How badly are you hurt?” She looked up at him, her face full of worry.

“I think it’s superficial.”

“I hope like hell you’re right.”

As they walked quickly into the long, crowded room, he chuckled. “Where did you learn a distraction technique like that with the doors?”