“Not that I know of,” he replied.

“Did you see her send or receive any faxes? Did she have a laptop at all that she might have used?”

“No.”

“Did you ever see her talking to anyone else? Maybe someone you didn’t recognize?”

“I never saw anything like that, but I did hear something.”

Harvath turned around to face Harris. “You heard something? What did you hear?”

“We spent a lot of time in my room, you know. Even though she had her own room, I kind of gave her one of my keycards, so she could-”

“You said you overheard something. What was it?”

“I came back to the room one time from the pool, and she was finishing up a phone call.”

“She was using the phone in your room?”

“Yeah. Why not?”

“That’s it,” said Harvath, jumping off the bed. He pointed the Browning at Harris. “Let’s go.”

“Where are we going?” asked Harris.

“Your place.”

Harvath called down to the front desk from Harris’s room, and they automatically assumed it was Neal Harris calling. Within ten minutes, a large white envelope was slid under the door, detailing Mr. Harris’s room charges to date. Meg quickly scanned the list while Harvath bound and gagged Harris. She came up with three calls, all to the same phone number. She recognized the city code right away-Rome.

63

Harvath spent most of the night talking to Gary Lawlor from their hotel room in Capri Town. In addition to everything they discussed, Lawlor agreed to arrange for the Italian authorities to hold on to Neal Harris for a little while, just to make sure his story checked out. When morning came, Scot and Meg were the first ones aboard the hydrofoil for Naples. Thankfully, the waters of the bay were, for once, perfectly calm.

They caught the morning Eurostar train for Rome and arrived an hour and forty-five minutes later. A cab took them northwest across the city to one of Rome’s quieter and less known areas called the Prati district. The phone number dialed from Neal Harris’s room on Capri belonged to a tiny fabric shop called Dolce Silvestri. Adara Nidal had placed three calls to the shop, each one lasting for several minutes. Harvath doubted that she was planning to do any redecorating.

As they turned the corner and looked for a place to have the driver drop them off, Meg said, “Scot, look! Dante Taberna De Gracchi! When Adara served us dinner, my plate was from this restaurant.”

Harvath signaled the cabdriver to keep going. Once he felt they were a safe distance away, he paid the driver and he and Meg got out of the cab. They walked back toward the fabric shop, found a secluded spot halfway up the block, and waited.

If this was a typical day of business, Harvath had no idea how the shop could stay open. No one entered and no one left.

The Eternal City of Rome, with its dark cobbled streets, baked like an oven. The temperature was almost unbearable. Late afternoon began to turn to early evening, and just when Harvath thought nothing was going to happen, a large black Mercedes crept around the corner and came to a quick stop outside the shop. When he saw the Middle Eastern driver, his antennae shot straight up. Three more Middle Eastern men dressed in business suits, got out and entered the shop, while the car sped away.

Minutes passed and then the shop lights were extinguished. A balding, heavyset man of undistinguishable origin, exited the shop, pulled a ring of keys from beneath his blazer, locked the door, and headed down the street away from Harvath and Meg.

“That’s a little strange,” said Meg.

“More than a little. He just locked his three buddies inside.”

“What do you want to do?”

“For now we’ll wait and see if they come back out.”

“And if they don’t?”

“Then you and I are going to have to figure out a way in.”

64

They had waited almost an hour when Harvath finally said, “Okay, now I really want to know what’s going on in there.”

“Do you have a plan?”

“Kinda, sorta.”

“That doesn’t sound good.”

“Believe me. You’re going to love it. We’re going to put your acting skills to the test.”

“I can’t wait.”

Harvath explained the plan as they walked. When they reached a nearby doorway, Harvath stepped inside while Meg covered the remaining couple of feet to the shop alone. She knocked on the door politely at first, and when no one answered, her knocking grew in insistency. There was no way anyone inside the small shop could have ignored it. The plan was to get one of the men to come and unlock the door. Meg had prepared a song and dance about how she was a decorator with a client who swore she had seen the perfect fabric in their shop. She would implore the man to allow her inside to make her purchase because she was returning to the States that night. As soon as Meg got one foot in the door, Harvath would spring from his hiding spot and force his way inside. The Middle Easterners might be innocent, but with the shop having received three phone calls from Adara and all of the additional suspicious activity of the past hour, Harvath doubted it.

Meg knocked her knuckles raw with no luck. No one even peeked out from within the shop to see what was going on. She walked back to Harvath and filled him in.

“Time for plans B and E,” he said as he stepped out of the doorway, removed the Browning from the holster at the small of his back, and walked toward the shop front.

“What’s B and E?”

“‘What’s B and E?’ So much for being the daughter of a Chicago cop. Breaking and entering. What else?” said Harvath as he took one last look up and down the street and then drew back the butt of the Browning.

“Wait!” said Meg.

“What is it?”

“What if there’s an alarm system?”

“First of all, I can tell from looking in the windows right here that there are no sensors anywhere in there, and secondly, we saw three people get locked in. You don’t turn on an alarm system when you’re locking people inside. Now stand back.”

Harvath swung the butt of the pistol and shattered a large pane of glass on the front door. He waited to see if anyone would come running from the back of the shop, but no one did. He reached inside, unlocked the dead bolt, and opened the door.

The shop smelled old and musty. Harvath and Meg made their way to the back and found a doorway to a small office covered by an old tapestry. The musty smell was replaced by the heavy odor of cigarette smoke, but there was no sign of another living soul. Boxes and bolts of fabric lined one wall of the office, while file cabinets and a large armoire took up another. A square table stacked with catalogs and surrounded by folding chairs sat in the middle of the room.

The natural light reaching this far back into the shop was quite dim. Harvath was about to flick on a nearby light switch when he saw a box of flashlights sitting on the very last file cabinet.

“That’s interesting,” he said as he grabbed a flashlight and flicked it on. “I never would have guessed the interior design crowd to be a big market for flashlights.”

“Rome does have its power outages.”

“Well, either these people are extremely prepared, or the flashlights serve another purpose. My guess is they serve another purpose. What do you say we find out?”

“I’ve come this far. There’s no way you’re getting rid of me now,” said Meg as she picked up a flashlight and helped Harvath search the room.

It didn’t take long for them to discover a loose panel in the back of the armoire. When Harvath put pressure on it and tried to slide it to the left, it moved. A chill rush of damp air swept up from the passage on the other side. He shined his light into the darkness and discovered a series of worn stone steps that looked as if they had been carved thousands of years ago. Warning Meg to be careful of the lip of the armoire, he climbed through the opening and down the steps.