The Overseer (20 page)

“Erase the files.” Another order from the operative.

“That would
definitely
bring in security,” he said, getting to his feet.

“Which might not be such a bad idea.” Again she moved to the curtains, motioning for him to join her. She pointed through a thin strand of light to the courtyard and asked, “Do you recognize him?” Xander’s eyes widened. He started to lean closer, Sarah quick to pull him back. “I’ll take that as a yes. That’s why we might want to call in security.”

“That’s the man from the station.”

“We can be out of here in less than a minute; no security works that fast. It might be enough, though, to get in the way of our two friends.”

Five seconds later, Xander typed in the erase command and watched as a small red dot appeared at the top-right-hand corner of the screen. He switched off the console and grabbed his case. Sarah was already in the corridor.

C
HICAGO
, M
ARCH
3, 2:14
A.M.
Chapmann watched as the area beyond his glassed-in office continued to swirl with frenzied activity, the lights on his phone flashing in an equally manic rhythm. It had been like this for the past eleven hours—since yesterday at 3:07
P.M.
, when the computers had reached 2.5 billion, the gambit having drawn in three other investment houses during the run. By 3:14, hints that something was wrong had elicited the first calls from the other houses.
“What the hell is going on! There’s no indication the market
…” When Helpurn’s computers had crashed two minutes later, revealing the betting strategy as nothing more than an enormous software glitch, all hell had broken loose. Helpurn naturally was beyond salvation; having to sell two weeks’ worth of bad trading positions would finish them.

That, however, was nothing compared to the grain market itself. Overinflated, it was now highly volatile. Prices would fluctuate, then dive. By tomorrow morning, farmers would begin to hoard the grain that they had held on to, the few reserves that had not fallen prey to their greed. And with hoarding would come the question of distribution. The supply lines out of the United States would be pulled back. Cargill and ConAgra would be sent reeling. The tremors would be felt at every level.

Just as Sedgewick had predicted. A week when the world would have to reconsider the stability of a major American market.

All in the cause of an experiment.

Chapmann continued to stare. And wonder. Had he really understood?

 

Sarah ushered Xander out into the hallway, pulled the door shut, and once again maneuvered the lock with the two strips of metal. As before, a dull glow hung about the empty expanse. The bolt engaged just as the echo of footsteps rose somewhere off to their left; the main entrance was no longer a possibility. Sarah led him down the corridor, Xander inclined to glance over his shoulder every few seconds, ready to find a large angry figure hurtling toward them. About fifty feet from Pescatore’s office, the hallway took a sharp right-hand turn, sending them farther away from the central courtyard from which they had entered the building. Behind them, shouts cascaded throughout the corridor, voices confounded by the locked door Sarah had left. A hand pounded against the door’s frame, its thumping in counterpoint to the rapid patter of their own feet racing silently along the stone floor. Another turn and they pushed through a thick swinging door, its metal hinges letting out an excruciatingly high-pitched shriek. For a long moment, all sound seemed to vanish. Then, with a sudden explosion of voices, the clatter of running feet erupted.

Xander, visibly shaken, looked to Sarah, who was now scanning the small alcove in which they found themselves. To their left, a broad stairwell lead up, its wide oaken steps flanked by an ornate banister with elaborate carvings for support. The voices grew in volume as Sarah moved toward a large curtain hung curiously underneath the rising steps. She yanked it back and found a second set of stairs leading down, stark by comparison, narrow stone slabs, smooth and uneven from centuries of use, with only a thick piece of rope extending along the wall for support. The clamor nearly upon them, Sarah motioned for Xander to follow; she grabbed at the railing and started down. The heavy draped material swung back behind him, shrouding the stairway in near darkness.

The last few steps were less hidden, leading to a series of underground tunnels. Together, they stood in an open area, eyes as yet unaccustomed to the series of bare bulbs, each one dangling on the end of a frayed cord.

And then, for a frightening moment, Xander watched as Sarah’s eyes become transfixed by the glare of the light, her head twitch almost imperceptibly, her breath shorten. He thought she might pass out, her face suddenly ashen. He grabbed her. Their eyes locked, hers so distant.

“
Jessica
?”

The word was barely audible. He knew the bulbs had triggered something—something he wanted to understand, something he needed to tear her away from.

But there was no time. The swinging door screamed again, the sound of angry voices pouring into the alcove not fifteen feet above them. Xander froze. Everything seemed to stop. His forehead felt as if it would burst, the blood thundering through, pounding with abandon. Every breath, each word from above rang in his ears as if spoken directly to him. And still Sarah stood motionless.

With a sudden flurry, the voices began to fade, grow more distant. They had decided on the second floor. Not taking the time to consider their good fortune, Xander pulled Sarah toward one of the tunnels, its curved ceiling forcing him to slouch as they darted along. Dazed, she followed, but with each passing second, he saw her sense revive. After several snakelike turns, they arrived at another open area, another set of stairs, another thick piece of rope leading up.

Now it was Sarah who took control. She grabbed his arm and flattened him against the wall. Before he could respond, her hand was over his mouth, her eyes screaming at him to keep silent. She listened intently, all memory of the recent episode clearly forgotten. Faint at first, then louder, the sound of a lone pair of feet shuffling along the tunnel floor began to rise in the distance. Urgent and controlled, the monotonous beat of the approaching steps provided an eerie backdrop to the sound of Xander’s stifled breath. They continued to stare at each other, fully aware of who was in pursuit. Whichever way he had managed it, the man with the beard had somehow slipped through the chaos on the floor above, discovered the curtained stairway, and chosen expertly which path to follow. With a quick jerk of her head, Sarah motioned for Xander to move up the stairs, bringing her finger to her lips to make certain he maintained absolute silence.

Half a minute later, both stood within an alcove identical to the one in Pescatore’s building, the only difference a rectangular window that offered a welcome view of the front courtyard. Somehow, they had arrived only a few yards from the arched entryway that had originally brought them from the main street. Xander started for the swinging door, stopped in mid-movement by Sarah, who grabbed him by the coat. She would not tempt the squeal a second time. Instead, she held him motionless, both waiting to hear the sudden cessation of steps, the rapid ascent of the stairs.

But none came. Nothing but the sound of footsteps racing by, tracking past the staircase and deeper into the maze of tunnels. There had been no shift in pace, no silence to indicate a change of direction, not even a momentary pause to consider options. Their would-be pursuer had plodded on without a thought for the stairs. Sarah knew they had little time to make their escape. Two minutes at most before the man below would recognize his mistake and double back. They could only hope he was not in radio contact with his comrade at the bench.

With her hands still enmeshed in Xander’s coat, Sarah waited until the sound of the steps receded entirely. Then, positioning herself by the window, she unlatched the lock and slowly pushed the window out, this time no screaming hinge to bring unwanted visitors. The courtyard was empty. No signs of inner turmoil from the building directly across from them. No security men perched by the main entryway to apprehend the suspected thieves. And no sign of the bearded man’s companion. They had been lucky again. Hoisting herself up onto the ledge, she swung her legs out into the cold and let herself fall the five or six feet to the clump of frozen bushes nestled against the building’s facade. Turning back to Jaspers, she reached up to take the case from him and watched as he deftly maneuvered the ledge and leapt to her side. His agility surprised her.

Adjusting clothes, brushing off dried leaves, they moved swiftly to the archway, back through the redbrick passageways. They said nothing. It had been ten minutes. Ten minutes of choked-back breath, of small pools of perspiration gathering under their heavy coats, of unspoken fear and exhilaration. Ten minutes running from shadows, allowing the game to play them, and all for the single disc that lay innocently within an unassuming leather attaché case. As they moved, the murmur of voices, the appearance of others no longer caused alarm. Still, Xander clutched at Sarah’s arm, aware that she was in control again, he happy to acquiesce, follow along, vest her with all responsibility. He had found the files. She would find them a safe place.

Emerging to the street, they cut across the square and opted for the wide avenue of the Via Cavour, its crowds now a safe haven from the two men who they knew would not be far behind. Blending gracefully into the flow of bodies, the Fabrizzis walked arm in arm, his knuckles growing whiter by the second from the nervous strain of the case in his hand. His mind was focused anywhere but on the bustle all around them. Xander was shaken, but, for the first time, he felt neither confusion nor disbelief. Instead, he felt only outrage—outrage at the destruction, at the callous indifference to a colleague’s life, at the abuse rained down upon him and his work. And, perhaps most telling, outrage at the men who could transform the woman at his side into someone—something—so petrified within the world they had created. He would not soon forget the hollow terror of her eyes in the tunnels. He would not let himself.

Still lost in his thoughts, Xander found himself standing in front of a small building, its central wall a single sheet of glass. It took a moment for him to recognize the building for what it was—a small café, packed with locals and tourists taking a morning cappuccino. A bell jangled as they pushed through the door, Sarah leading the way to a table nestled in an ideally cozy corner—far enough from others for discretion’s sake, close enough to warrant no special attention.

“I seem to go in circles with you,” she smiled, a casual lilt to her expression, which Xander found impossible to mirror. She seemed entirely at ease. He sat amazed.

“Really?” He nodded, then stopped. “I don’t understand.”

“Hotel rooms, cafés. It’s become a pattern.” She adjusted her coat and added, “And try to look a little more comfortable. We are in Italy.”

He brought the case to his lap as a waiter approached. “Whatever that’s supposed to mean.” Countering with something that barely resembled a smile, Xander asked her, “Cappuccino?”

A grin accompanied her reply. “
Sì
.”

“
Due
,
prego
.” The waiter nodded and moved off to another table. “Your Italian is improving.”

“
Grazie
,
bello
. Your mood isn’t.”

“Funny that, but I’m expecting two large men—”

“They won’t come in here.” She leaned across the table, as if explaining something rudimentary. “It’s too obvious. They’ll have expected us to keep running. That’s why we didn’t.” A knowing smile creased her lips. “So enjoy the coffee when it comes.”

Xander accepted the rebuke. Of course she knew what she was doing. It was foolish for him to think otherwise. It was simply a bit unnerving the way she managed every situation with such ease, such composure. Perhaps that was why the episode in the tunnel remained so vivid. “What happened back there?”