“I’d be honored,” replied Harris. “But I didn’t catch your-”

“Outstanding. I have a delightful friend that you absolutely have to meet,” said Meg as she latched on to Harris’s elbow and steered him over to where Scot Harvath was sitting.

“Neal Harris,” said Meg, “I’d like you to meet my friend, Scot. Scot, meet Neal Harris.”

Harris offered his hand to Harvath and waited for him to rise. Harvath stayed seated.

“Oh, you’ll have to excuse Scot,” said Meg. “He has a bit of a problem.”

“Oh, really?” said Harris, waiting for Meg to sit and then taking the empty chair next to Harvath. “And what might that be?”

Harvath had secreted his Browning beneath a linen napkin on his lap and now raised it just enough for Harris to see. “I have developed a real dislike for terrorist collaborators, Mr. Harris.”

“Terrorist collaborators?” cried Harris, seeing the gun.

“Keep your voice down,” whispered Harvath in order to heighten the intimidation factor, “or I swear I’ll kill you right here.”

“What the hell is going on?” said Harris, careful to keep his voice down.

“What’s going on,” replied Harvath, “is that you are in a lot of trouble, my friend.”

“First, I am not your friend. And second, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Well, let’s start with a very leggy, attractive brunette with rather strange eyes that you’ve been seen about the island with over the last couple of days.”

“Who? Penny? I hardly know her.”

“She told you her name was, Penny?”

“Short for Penelope. She’s British. From England.”

Meg shot Harvath a look.

“What was her last name?” demanded Harvath, jerking the Browning for added effect.

“Stratton. Her name was Penelope Stratton. Now what is this all about?”

“Your girlfriend is one very serious character,” said Harvath.

“She’s not my girlfriend. I just met her a couple of days ago. Is she somebody’s wife? Is that it? I had no idea. Honestly. She came on to me.”

“Please. You expect us to believe that?” said Meg.

“Yes! It’s the truth,” pleaded Harris.

“Why would she come on to a guy like you?” asked Harvath.

“It’s not my fault women like me.”

“Meg?” asked Harvath. “You like this guy? You find him attractive?”

“I have no idea what she saw in him,” answered Meg.

“Listen, Harris,” continued Harvath, “I’m going to give you one chance to get yourself out of this mess.”

“Mess? What mess? I have no idea what’s going on.”

“Whether you do, or you don’t, I don’t really care. Either way, if I don’t feel I’m getting complete and total cooperation from you, I’m going to shoot you in the head and drop your body in a shallow grave. Are you going to cooperate?”

“Of course, I will. She was great in bed, but-” said Harris, pausing as both Harvath’s and Meg’s eyebrows went up. “I mean she was a lovely diversion for the couple of days we were together, but I don’t owe her anything. As a matter of fact, screw her! I’m with you two. Especially this gentleman with the gun.”

“Spoken like a true romantic,” said Harvath, lowering the Browning.

62

Harvath knew that there wasn’t a chance in hell Adara Nidal was going to return to the Capri Palace. She knew they were on to her and most likely she wouldn’t even return to Capri. What they did have going for them was that, for once, they had surprised her. According to Harris, Adara-or Penny, as he continually referred to her-was planning to check out soon. She had said that she was about to change the world, but Harris said he thought she had some business deal cooking and was speaking metaphorically. Not only did he have no idea where she was going, he had absolutely no idea how literally she had been speaking.

Harvath cracked the fire-stair door and looked out into the hall once more. The coast was clear. While Harvath held the Browning on Harris, Meg slipped into the hall and walked toward the elevators. She picked up a house phone and dialed housekeeping.

“Housekeeping. May I help you?” said the voice on the other end of the line.

“Well, someone better,” said Meg, adopting a haughty tone. “I want fresh towels placed in my room, three-twelve, before I return from dinner.” Then she hung up before housekeeping could ask her name. While Adara Nidal might have told Harris her name was Penny Stratton, there was no telling what name she had used to register at the Capri Palace. The housekeeping operator was probably offended at having been hung up upon, but doubtless it wasn’t the first time it had happened, nor would it be the last. The Capri Palace was all about impeccable service, no matter how rude the guests. Harvath was sure that the towels would be sent right up.

Right up, was an understatement. Meg had had just enough time to hide herself in another stairway before the maid appeared. The woman knocked once at the door and announced herself before using her passkey to unlock it. She placed a wedge beneath the door to keep it open and walked back into the bathroom. Meg quietly exited the stairwell and made her way down to room 312 as quickly as possible. The maid was startled to see Meg standing in the room when she came out of the bathroom.

“Did you put my extra towels in the bathroom?” asked Meg.

“Yes, Signora.”

“Good.”

“Shall I turn down the bed for you?”

“No. I’ll do it myself when I am ready.”

“Yes, Signora,” said the maid as she gave Meg a wide berth and backed out of the room. Obviously, somebody in housekeeping had passed the word that the woman in 312 was not very nice. “Buona notte.”

The maid closed the door behind her, and several moments later there was a knock from Harvath. Meg opened the door, and Harvath shoved Harris into the room with the muzzle of the Browning. He sat him down in a chair against the wall as he began to tear apart the room. He was looking for anything Adara might have left behind indicating where she was going or what her plans were.

New clothes, many with tags still on them, hung in the closet. All of her cosmetics were new as well. Harvath found a bottle of Caprissimo perfume in the bathroom and popped his head out for a moment to show Meg. He continued his search under the bathroom sink, behind the dresser, inside and underneath drawers, all throughout the closets, under the mattresses, and behind the headboard. He even looked for loose pieces of carpeting. There was nothing.

Going back through the room a second time, Harvath noticed several foreign newspapers stacked on the desk, all folded over to the same story. Le Monde, Der Spiegel, The Times of London, and The International Herald Tribune each carried a piece with more or less the same headline, “Israeli and Palestinian Leaders to Meet on Peace.” In light of the failed U.S. attempts at brokering a lasting peace, the European Union had organized a meeting in Italy to try and calm the tensions in the region before they erupted into war. Just like the Americans, they had chosen a serene, bucolic setting similar to Camp David-a sixteenth-century villa called the Villa Aldobrandini, in the hilltop town of Frascati, just outside Rome. Attending would be the Israeli prime minister and, of course, chief Palestinian negotiator Ali Hasan. That was it!

Harvath now knew what Adara Nidal had planned and could pretty much figure out why; all he needed now was how.

After tearing apart the room for a third time, Harvath sat on the edge of the bed and turned on the TV. He handed Meg the newspaper articles, and she immediately came to the same conclusion.

Harvath used the remote to select the automated-checkout feature. He clicked on charges and noticed that the room had not been billed for any faxes or phone calls.

“Did your girlfriend have a cell phone?” asked Harvath without looking at Harris.