The Pursuit (6 page)

T
he most wanted man in Belgium wasn't thinking about who might be pursuing him. He was enjoying a croissant, a selection of fresh fruit, a yogurt, and a hot cup of coffee in his leather seat in the first-class compartment of the Thalys high-speed train to Paris. He'd arrive at Gare du Nord station in forty minutes. This, Nicolas Fox thought, was the civilized way to break out of jail.

He wasn't worried about being spotted by any police officers that might be waiting to greet the train. The authorities were frantically searching for a fugitive, and he didn't look like one. A person's appearance, Nick had learned, was as much about attitude as facial features and build. The Ray-Bans and the relaxed, unhurried gait of a man preoccupied by the email on his phone were all he'd need to become essentially invisible. He would blend into the crowd on the train platform and let the stream of humanity carry him out into the city.

Nick sipped his coffee, settled back in his seat, and fantasized about what his reunion with Kate O'Hare would be like. He wouldn't mind if they were both naked.

Kate flew to Heathrow Airport in London but intentionally missed her connecting flight to Los Angeles. She wasn't going to leave Europe until Dragan Kovic was out of business, and she and Nick had recovered the smallpox.

She hadn't heard from Nick yet, but before she'd left Antwerp, she received a text from her father in Amsterdam. He was boarding a flight to Los Angeles. His successful escape gave Kate some peace of mind and some assurance that Nick had also got out of Belgium safely.

Kate's idea of airport shopping was Sunglass Hut and See's Candy, so she was surprised to discover Caviar House & Prunier as she walked through the terminal. She was wondering how many people cracked open a $400 tin of fish eggs for an in-flight snack, when her cellphone vibrated, announcing the receipt of a text message. It was a street address in Bois-le-Roi, France, from “Dr. Richard Kimble,” the hero of the classic TV series
The Fugitive.
Nick was safe and waiting for her.

She looked up the address on Google Maps and booked the first available flight to Paris. Ninety minutes later, she arrived at Charles de Gaulle Airport, where she rented a compact Citroën with a stick shift and drove the seventy-five kilometers south to Bois-le-Roi.

It was nightfall by the time she reached the tiny village, located where the dense Fontainebleau forest met a bend in the Seine. The streets were narrow, potholed, and uneven. Her car bumped along past old homes made of stone, their windows bordered with heavy shutters that had protected the inhabitants over the centuries against harsh weather and even harsher invaders.

Kate passed through the village and continued down a road that was little more than a rutted path. It ended at a property ringed by a low, rough wall cobbled together out of sharp jutting rocks and bricks and mortar. She drove through the open gate, her tires crunching on the loose gravel, and gaped at the house in front of her. Low-slung and sprawling, it was mostly stone with a leaf-strewn, sagging tiled roof. Smoke curled out of the two lopsided chimneys, and flickering candlelight glowed behind the windows.

Kate thought the picture would be complete if the Seven Dwarfs were standing in front of the house singing “Heigh-ho, heigh-ho!” It was a house that belonged in a children's storybook. It was cozy and warm and inviting.

The front door opened and Nick stepped out. He was casually dressed in a cable-knit sweater and khaki slacks. Classic attire for the country gentleman welcoming a visitor to his bucolic home.

Kate got out of the car and walked toward him. The fairy-tale image of the Seven Dwarfs faded and was replaced with the Big Bad Wolf luring Little Red Riding Hood into his lair.

“You're the woman of my dreams,” Nick said.

“I bet you say that to every woman who breaks you out of jail.”

“Only the FBI agents.”

“I feel like I've given myself completely to the dark side.”

“Not completely,” he said, “but I have plans to finish the process.”

“Do those plans involve a glass of wine?” Kate asked.

“I have an excellent burgundy.”

Kate shucked her jacket and took the glass of wine from Nick. “I hadn't expected to find you in a country cottage. I've always thought of you as more black glass and chrome.”

Nick looked around. “It's a pleasant refuge. It's actually one of my favorite places.”

Kate tasted the wine. “Is this home?”

He settled his hands at her waist and pulled her close. “Home is an elusive concept for me.” He took her glass, set it on an end table, and kissed her. The first kiss was feather light. The second lingered. The third kiss was full-on passion. When they broke from the third kiss, Kate was unbuttoned and missing her underwear.

“So soft,” Nick murmured, his hand on her breast.

Not so much him, Kate thought. He was the opposite of soft. He was…holy moly.

Kate had no idea what time it was when she awoke next to Nick in the huge four-poster bed, only that it was a new day. A gentle breeze drifted through the half-open windows, rustling the curtains and carrying with it the woodsy scent of the forest.

She sat up and looked at the white plastered walls, the hardwood floors, the thick, rough-hewn wood beams across the ceiling, and the collection of meticulously detailed ships in bottles displayed on shelves around the room.

“What is this place?” she asked.

“Just one of my little European hideaways.”

“How many do you have?”

“I try not to keep much cash in banks. I know how easily they can be broken into. So I put most of my money into real estate. It's hard to steal a house, though I've done it.”

“I'm sure there's nothing you haven't stolen.” She picked up a ship in a bottle off the nightstand and examined the elaborate galleon. “Did you steal this as well?”

“My neighbor's hobby is making those, and he can't stop. His home is full of them so he gives them away to everybody in town. The rest end up here. I don't mind. He looks after the house and the Jag for me while I'm away.”

She put the bottle back on the nightstand. “ ‘The Jag'?”

“I've got a restored 1966 Jaguar E-Type convertible in the barn.”

“Of course you do.”

“If you're nice to me I'll take you for a ride.”

“I have to be nice
again
?”

He kissed her bare shoulder. “If you want to go for a ride.”

Being
nice
to Nick was now at the top of Kate's list of favorite things. It was even ahead of parachuting out of a plane. Being
nice
to him had rewards for her that could only be described in terms of volcanic eruptions.

“Okay,” Kate said, “but we have to speed it up. We have work to do.”

“Honey, you can't put a time limit on perfection. And it's too late to recover the diamonds, if that's what you're thinking. The loot was split up immediately after the heist, and the diamonds are being recut, so they'll be unidentifiable. Most of them will end up back in Antwerp soon, bartered and sold by the same merchants that they were stolen from.”

“It's not about the diamonds,” Kate said. “You were right. That wasn't what Dragan was really after. It was a vial of smallpox. We have orders from Jessup to find Dragan Kovic, recover the smallpox, and discover what he's plotting.”

“That's serious,” Nick said, taking a lingering look under the bed linens at Kate. “Give me ten minutes, tops.”

“Deal.”

Kate dug into her breakfast of hot chocolate, fresh croissants, and cheese. “That ran longer than ten minutes.”

“Not my bad,” Nick said. “I could have been done in
three
minutes.”

“I had a concentration problem. My mind kept wandering back to how we're going to find Dragan.”

“Finding Dragan is going to be easy. After a job, most of his gang goes back to their home turf in Serbia, and he hides out in Italy. That's where he does all his business and where the corrupt authorities, under the finger of the Naples and Turin mafia, protect him. I know that he's somewhere on the Amalfi Coast, so that's where we'll go and make ourselves obvious.”

“What will you do when you meet him?”

“Offer to join the Road Runners, of course,” Nick said. “Working on the inside is the only way we'll find out what happened to the smallpox and why he wanted it.”

“What makes you think he'll take you back?”

“It's either that or he'll kill me.”

“And if
that's
what he decides to do?”

“You'll stop him,” Nick said. “That's your role in this charade. You'll be my bodyguard, partner in thieving, and sex therapist.”

“Works for me,” Kate said.

Nick and Kate arrived in Sorrento, Italy, that night. It had been a five-hour journey to get there. It took one hour to drive by limousine from Bois-le-Roi to the airport, two hours to fly by private jet to Naples, and finally forty minutes by yacht to cross Naples Bay. The yacht was graciously provided by the Hotel Vittorio Sorrentum, the world-class five-star resort where Nick had booked a suite with bay views.

Sorrento was an ancient resort town perched high atop the peninsula's sheer cliffs and squeezed between craggy mountains and a deep gorge. The temperate Mediterranean climate, combined with a unique location that was easy to defend and hard to attack, made Sorrento the perfect getaway for the wealthy, the powerful, and the detested of ancient Greece and the Roman Empire. It was a place where they could sip
limoncello,
gorge on pasta, and engage in their favorite debaucheries without worrying too much about their own safety. Dragan Kovic's presence here proved that was still the case.

The Hotel Vittorio Sorrentum, where Nick and Kate were staying, was two hundred years old and built atop the ruins of a Roman emperor's villa. The hotel was perched on the edge of a high cliff overlooking Naples Bay, the yacht harbor, and the swimming docks below. Their suite had elaborate frescoes on the ceiling, was furnished with antiques, and had a long veranda facing the moonlit sea. Two shot glasses filled with ice-cold
limoncello,
Sorrento's famous lemon liqueur, were waiting for them on a silver tray on the dining table when they came in.

“Criminy,” Kate said. “What did this cost? Couldn't you have just gotten a room? Did we really need a suite with a view? How am I going to explain this to Jessup? What am I going to do about form HB7757Q?”

“Tell Jessup the suite came with complimentary
limoncello.
”

Kate knocked back her
limoncello.
“The Hampton Inn gives you free breakfast.”

“I don't think there's a Hampton Inn in Sorrento.”

“Just saying.”

Kate looked out the window at Mount Vesuvius in the distance. “Do you think Dragan has heard you're here?”

“He knew before we arrived. I registered in the hotel under my last alias, Nick Sweet, the one Dragan used to find me in Hawaii.”

“Then he'll know that you want to be found.”

“We're playing a game. The next move is his. Let's stretch our legs and take a walk through town.”

“Let me get my tourist essentials and we'll go.”

Kate removed a Glock and a combat knife from her suitcase. Nick had acquired them for her from his disreputable sources before they left France.

She put the wrinkled blue blazer on over her blouse to hide her gun and slipped the knife into an ankle sheath.

Nick was wearing a perfectly ironed white linen shirt and tan slacks.

“Nice shirt,” Kate said.

He tugged on one of his sleeves. “Handmade by Jean Philippe, Singapore.”

Kate tugged on her blazer sleeve. “T.J.Maxx, Tarzana.”

They took the elevator down to the lobby, walked through the lush flower garden, and emerged onto Piazza Tasso, the town square that spanned the deep gorge that for centuries cleaved Sorrento in half. The plaza was defined by a bright yellow baroque church, cafés, and bars with crowded outdoor seating. Corso Italia, Sorrento's central thoroughfare, was closed off to vehicle traffic at nightfall and was jam-packed with people out for a stroll.