Rogue Asset (Rogue Warrior Thrillers Book 11), page 22
“Trade secret,” Renton said.
“Bullshit. We’re past that. And if we’re not, we end this conversation right now—”
The line went dead.
You have got to be kidding me… Did he actually just hang up on me? After everything we’ve—
His phone rang again. “Yeah.”
“Sorry. That just threw me, is all,” Renton said. “I’m not tight with anyone, with good reason. So… I got a little claustrophobic. Look… I’ll explain when you get back. Okay? For now, it’d just be a distraction you don’t need.”
It was probably as good as he was going to get, Bob knew. Renton didn’t make his decisions without thinking a few steps ahead. “Fine. You mentioned Alessandra’s email.”
“Yes!” The handler managed to make the single word sound relieved. “Her email, yes. That’s a significantly bigger problem than any of our worries.”
“It is?”
“It is. I believe she’s the reason you’re there in the first place.”
“Well… yeah, it was her idea to—”
“No, I mean she’s responsible for all of this. Alessandra is the person who hired the Ghost to kill her father.”
34
Well, knock me over with a feather.
Bob froze for a second, unsure of how to respond.
“Bob… you still there, bud?”
“I am. Just surprised.” He looked back towards the ballroom doors. “She’s about thirty feet away from me right now. How sure are you?” He’d been in the trade a long time, and Bob had long since concluded most people weren’t good enough liars to deceive him for long.
But he hadn’t seen a hint she was insincere. A few that she had ulterior motives, the issue of her mother being left out of the ceremony for one.
In case.
She didn’t want her there in case of crossfire.
Bob felt like a prize idiot. “What are the deets, Adam?” he said, pulling himself together and getting back to work.
“A string of deleted emails from months ago. She deleted them from her ‘sent’ folder but then never emptied the trash on her computer. About as easy as work gets, from my end.”
“And they outline…”
“How the ‘contractor’ will deal with her father very publicly at the wedding. How she’ll pay his fee in four installments, hidden in in a series of contracting invoices. The email they were sent to was ghosted from one of her family’s companies, which seems appropriate, and the actual link went to a pay-by-the-month service that has been discontinued.”
“So she hired him. But what about calling him off?”
“He warned her in his last email that it wasn’t possible. That was about six months ago. Then there is a string over the last three months with her becoming increasingly desperate, all going to different emails someone apparently found for her. All of them are her imploring the Ghost not to go ahead, even offering to let him keep the money anyway.”
“Let me guess: they all bounced.”
“You got that right,” Renton said. “He only makes himself available to accept the job, and payment is up front. She’d already wired the final payment before she tried to call the whole thing off.”
“So… maybe the Ghost doesn’t show, after all of this,” Bob reasoned. “He’s already been paid.”
“My contacts suggest this isn’t the first time someone has pulled out on him. He means what he says; once the contract is signed, a target is going to die. He’s not ‘ghosting’ her because he’s called the Ghost. More likely, from his perspective, once the deal is done, the deal is done. Let me ask, Bob…”
“Shoot.”
“During the ceremony, where are you supposed to be?”
“Front and center, standing behind the officiating priest, Father Bertolo.”
“So… right next to the target, then? I assume he’s giving his daughter away, per tradition.”
“Both dons are. It was one of her requests.” Bob hung his head for a moment. “So the Ghost could hit them both.”
“Okay,” Renton said. “Let’s say that’s the case. She realizes she can’t get out of it, but for some reason, she’s had second thoughts. Guilt, fear of being caught. Whatever. So she finds out this dude who owes them money has a big, potentially nasty friend. That’s you.”
“Then she sticks me in a position to get between them and the shooter, basically,” Bob said. “That’s where you’re going with this?”
“It is. You have to admit it makes sense. She knows, or believes, you won’t actually find the Ghost or who hired him, because he’s never been found before, and she’s the one who paid him. But she also knows you’re someone who will take risks for your friend, get involved with her and her people.”
In the end, he was just a convenient bodyguard, Bob realized. “Can you get into her other online profiles? See what else you can shake loose, Adam. When push comes to shove, I might need whatever evidence you can shake up, particularly if I have to confront her. Okay?”
“I’ll get to work. Ciao.”
“Later.” Bob ended the call.
He looked back at the double doors. She’d be expecting him to return. And he knew he had to confront her, with the wedding just a day away. He couldn’t afford any more big surprises.
As if on cue, one of the doors swung open, and Alessandra stepped out, cigarette case in hand. She took out a dark pink Sobranie, its gold filter grasped between glossy white nails. “You’re done with your call.”
“I am.” He had to handle it carefully, Bob knew. What had she told him back in Chicago about passing on bad news? “Say… are you up for a short drive?”
She was quiet for the first few minutes, but eventually impatience overtook her, as they waited at a stop sign for a slow procession of vehicles towing horse boxes to pass.
“All right, tell me, what was so important that we needed to leave my own wedding rehearsal?” Alessandra asked.
“Well… I’d like to think your part in the ceremony was mostly done and I’m not actually ruining anything.”
“And you would be correct.”
The horse boxes passed, and she checked both ways before stepping on the gas.
“It’s just that I remembered that advice you gave me in Chicago.”
“Eh?”
“That it’s better to tell someone difficult news when they’re driving.”
“You need me to keep my cool, eh? That is a bit worrisome,” she admitted.
There was no point softening it anymore; she was aware something was upsetting him. “I know that you hired the Ghost initially and paid him, leading to me being here.”
She stepped on the brake, the car shuddering, then glanced in the rearview mirror and realized there was a car behind them. She touched the gas. “This is quite a statement,” she said.
“That’s not a denial, because you know you can’t deny it, not really. Instead of making it worse by giving me some line of bullshit, can I suggest we just talk like adults?” Bob asked.
She flicked on the left-turn signal. “There’s a café in this village. We should talk properly.”
It took them another five minutes to find the place and park. It was a simple country inn, a gray slab of concrete and stone from centuries past with a rear garden filled by tables and their umbrellas.
A waitress came by immediately and took Alessandra’s drink order. “I’m sorry. I realize you don’t drink, but dropping that on me was a shock,” she said. “So a vodka and soda is needed for the nerves.”
“Just tell me the truth.” Bob wanted to cut to the chase. “Why? And if so, why cancel the hit?”
“It’s not so easy,” she said. “You make like this is an easy, matter-of-fact conversation, Bob. But… he is my father. He is a monster, as well.”
“Abusive?”
“To everyone. My mother. My brother, Roberto. When he was little, I used to try to make Giacomo angry on purpose. To keep his attention away from the boy.” Her head hung, and Bob suddenly realized she wasn’t just talking about beatings. “He was and is a filthy degenerate, a man with no morals or boundaries. Not age, not gender. He is an equal opportunity molester.”
He was the only one among them without a glimmer of humanity, Bob had to admit. There just seemed to be nothing there. Even his sociopathic former squadmate, Edson Krug, had had likes and dislikes, things he was passionate about. But Giacomo just exuded hatred and little else.
“Okay. So I can understand why you would want him dead. But then… why call it off?”
“The deal between the two families,” she said. “Peace in our lifetime. You don’t understand how much that means in terms of lives saved. That deal did not exist when I agreed to marry Johnny. Maybe that’s why it happened. Either way, if the two dons are killed before it is signed…” She let the thought trail.
“And either way,” Bob said, extending the idea, “you’re already married to the compliant Johnny, heir to Vito Grasso’s empire, and never have to rely on your father’s economic support again.”
She leaned back in her chair as the server arrived and dropped off her cocktail. She took a long swallow. “So… now you see. If you don’t stop the Ghost, two men I cannot stand both die. But peace between the families dies with them. And I could not let that be on my conscience. Are you going to tell him?”
“Who? Giacomo? Are you kidding!?” Bob exclaimed. “I’m pretty sure he and your brother – and maybe your fiancé, as well – have every intention of burying me in a shallow hole somewhere once this is all done. No, I won’t tell them. But I will tell your mother—”
“Bob!”
“—unless you’re willing to forgive the remaining fifty thousand, as we discussed. I go home safe and sound, and Errol Green’s debt is paid.”
Her expression fascinated him because he couldn’t really read it. She was clearly thinking it through, but there was a hardness there, a sense that she didn’t like losing out to leverage.
“You seem to have all the cards,” she said. “You know about Alen, you know about the Ghost. Either, I can be sure, would cause the wedding to be off and for Johnny to leave me. He cheats on me regularly anyway, by the way, in case you’re feeling judgmental about my choices.”
Bob shrugged. “Not my business, really, like I told you. Look… this isn’t going to be easy for you to understand because of where you come from, the issues that you’ve been forced to grow up with. But all of this bullshit – the wheeling and double-dealing, the violence, the extortion – it’s the same kind of shit that happens in the corridors of power back home. It’s the same kind of behavior that made me quit a career I believed in and set out on my own. And it’s the same kind of behavior that I try, now, to help people avoid. Now, you can choose to believe what you want about me because of my file or your judgments or whatever. But I’m here for one reason: to help someone. I’ve tried to make that what I do, helping people. I don’t want to upset your mother or your monstrous father or even you. But for that to happen, I need you to give a little back. You waive the fifty K; I help you prevent your father’s assassination. Quid pro quo. That’s how this is going to work. Then I go. And all the value judgments about your choices that worry you so? They become irrelevant to me because we will probably never see each other again. Am I clear?”
She nodded, chastened. Then she mumbled, “Are we really so bad?” before dipping her head and answering her own question. “Yeah, I guess we are.” She downed the last of her drink. “I think I feel the need for another.”
“Yeah,” Bob said, rising, “but I feel the need to get back to the city, and you don’t want to be hungover for the big day. Right?”
“Fine.” She got up. Then she frowned. “Wait… why are you going back into Padova? You wanted everyone to stay in the country tonight. I thought that was the plan.”
“It is. But between today and tomorrow, the church is sitting empty. If I were the Ghost and I wanted to pull off a hit, and I knew the location was empty the night before, I would make plans, check the place out, stash equipment and weapons, guarantee egress. All that fun stuff.”
“A security sweep.” She smiled demurely at that. “Even after everything we talk about, you are still fully on the job.”
Bob shrugged. “It’s what I do.”
35
Something was off, but Bob couldn’t place it.
He stood in the long central aisle of the church’s nave and stared at the rows of ornately carved wooden pews.
A few feet away, Sister Bernice, the mother superior of the associated convent, watched him nervously, her hands clasped ahead of her as if subconsciously praying. “Signore Singleton… I assure you there is nothing to worry about. We have been here every day—”
“All day?” Bob said. He doubted it.
“Of course. We have worked here for eight to ten hours—”
“So then not ‘all day,’” Bob snapped. He regretted his tone instantly. Alessandra’s duplicity had bothered him more than he wanted to admit. “Apologies, Mother Superior. I mean to say… not outside of working hours.”
“Well… no.”
“Thank you.” Something had changed; he just couldn’t see what it was. He’d never had the greatest visual memory, but it did tend to trigger when something was out of place.
And something was out of place. He walked up and down the aisle. “Did you work on these aisle sections recently?” he asked her, his voice disappearing into the church’s echoes.
“Just the four pews we were cleaning when you arrived earlier in the week,” she said.
“Who was here yesterday afternoon?”
“Only Sister Josephina and Sister Lucia, along with some of the brothers. But they were cleaning and polishing the washrooms near the entrance, outside the nave.”
“So it’s possible someone could have entered through the vestry back door without being seen?”
She pursed her lips and wrinkled her brow, clearly worried. “Signore Singleton… if you think there is something we should have seen, then I must apologize.”
He waved it off. “It’s not your responsibility to make sure the wedding is secure, Mother Superior, it is mine.” Well… me and Victor Tepi’s dozen men. From what he could discern, Tepi’s placement plan had every door covered on the day.
But that made it all the more likely that the Ghost would prepare something in advance, a distraction, perhaps, or another incident putting people at risk, to draw cover.
He stared down the aisle again. What is it? What am I missing? He turned and backtracked to the nave entrance, under giant stone arches. Then he walked back up the aisle again, slowly.
There.
He moved back one pew and checked again.
Then he crouched in front of its carved flower relief.
In the back fifteen rows, the giant flowers don’t have a central disc.
In the first fifteen rows, they do.
He called out to the mother superior, “Sister, did you add or remove anything from the pews?”
“No, signore, of course not.”
Bob took the multitool out of his jacket pocket and replaced the Phillips crosshead with a flathead. Then he used it to pry under the edge of one of the wooden discs.
It popped off immediately. Bob flipped it over. The back was naked, its tiny circuitry evident.
Neat little bug. He took his phone out, took a picture and sent it to Adam Renton.
He moved up to the next pew. Bob crouched beside its bug and raised his voice. “HEY THERE!” he barked into it. If someone was listening live, he knew, they had had a painful experience. There was no percentage in pretending not to have discovered it; they’d have heard his discussion with the nun, heard him pry it off.
There was nothing wiring them into the church’s electricity, which meant they were little more than passive microphones, perhaps with watch-battery-powered Bluetooth or another short-range wireless connection.
His phone rang.
“Go ahead, Adam.”
“What’s up? It’s” – Renton paused – “eight thirty in the morning here. I’m just getting up.”
“Did you see the image I sent over?”
“Yeah. It’s a squeaker… a type of listening device. It gets its name from the squeak it can emit if you get too close to it with another strong power source. They’re inexpensive, typically, but this looks like a custom job. Either way, their speaker is small enough that frequency interruption can cause an audible ‘burp’ or ‘squeak,’ so they’re only usually used because they’re relatively cheap. You can cover a big area on a small budget.”
“Power source?”
“Tiny internal cell, usually good for two weeks at most, as they have to be on constantly. I have to say, even though they make them with Bluetooth now, I haven’t seen too many of these in recent years. Mostly, it’s just government because the cost is enticing.”
Bob looked back down the aisle. “Would you say they’re ‘place forty of the things’ cheap? Because that’s what appears to have happened.”
“Sure.”
“Okay. I’ll talk to you later.”
“Not a problem.”
Bob ended the call.
“Is something wrong, signore?” the mother superior asked. “Can I help?”
“I don’t think so, Sister. This is going to take some discussion.” He headed back down the aisle, out of the nave to the lobby, and back out the front doors. It was sunny, the cool early November afternoon giving way to some unseasonal warmth.
“Mr. Singleton.”
His head swiveled right. Inspector Nick Boni was leaning against one of the exterior columns, hands in the pockets of his navy peacoat.
“Inspector, I’d love to have another heartwarming chat, but—”
“You need to go and inform your employers that their wedding ceremony is being listened in on, yes?”
It took a moment for the implication to sink in.
