The Italian Divide (40 page)

Meantime, she’d have to be more vigilant. She was sure that Qing would try to find her; and Ascona was a small town.

Ascona

I
t was a long, torturous ride for Craig from the airport in Munich to Ascona. Traffic was heavy, and he was constantly encountering road repairs. Craig also made a couple of sudden stops and detours to satisfy himself that he wasn’t being followed. At five minutes past eight on Tuesday evening, he reached Ascona.

After parking in a public lot on the edge of the Ascona shopping area, just across the bridge from Lecarno, he strolled around the town as a tourist might on a comfortable summer evening, following his three left-turns rule to make certain he didn’t have a tail. Satisfied no one was following, he walked on the via Albemarele promenade along the lake lined with open-air restaurants one next to another, about twenty altogether. Most of them were crowded. The promenade was also jammed with pedestrians. A few ducks were swimming in Lake Maggiore. No one paid any attention to Craig.

He checked his watch. It was nine o’clock. Hopefully, Elizabeth was in her hotel room at the Eden Roc. Craig walked along the lake to her hotel. From the outside, it looked simple, not elegant. That changed the moment Craig entered the polished marble floor lobby and a smartly dressed concierge asked, “May I help you?”

Craig glanced around at the freshly painted beige walls, glass cases filled with luxury goods, and guests dressed perfectly in expensive clothes, the women with striking jewels. All of that confirmed what Elizabeth had said about the Eden Roc. It had a quiet, dignified elegance.

He told the concierge he was here to see Simone Morey. The man picked up a phone, dialed, and handed it to Craig.

“I’m downstairs,” he said. “What’s your room number?”

“404.”

“I’m on my way up.”

Once he got into her room, he took out a piece of paper and pen from his pocket, and wrote, “Have you checked for bugs?” and handed it to her.

She looked annoyed. “That’s insulting.”

“Okay. Okay. I’ve trained you well.”

“You’re infuriating. My life didn’t begin with you.”

“Sorry. It’s just that—”

“You never give me any credit.”

“Only trying to be careful. I’m sorry. I spent a long day in the car.”

“Wow, you’re strung really tight. Are you hungry?”

“Starving.”

“I’ll order some food from room service. Meantime, go stick your head under a cold shower. It’ll relax you.”

“Before I do that, I want to congratulate you on your Parelli article. What fabulous journalism, and you completely devastated Parelli. I’m in awe of that. Truly I am.”

She smiled. “Thank you. Now go shower.”

While they ate, and drank Rion Chambolle Musigny, Craig asked her about her interview with Luciano—and complimented her some more on the article.

Until they finished eating, Elizabeth refused to talk to Craig about Zhou. “You need an hour off.”

By then, he was feeling more mellow. Craig moved away from the table and walked over to the window. The curtains were drawn tight. He opened them a crack and peeked out at the swimming pool below and the lake stretching out as far as he could see.

He cut across the room to the door, opened it and glanced into the corridor. It was deserted.

“Let’s talk about Zhou,” he said.

Elizabeth picked up her wine glass and moved away from the room service table. They settled in comfortable orange leather chairs facing each other.

“I assume you have a plan to kidnap Zhou,” she said.

“A good one, but it could get a little dicey. Zhou knows that Barry Gorman is Craig Page.”

She looked chagrined. “How in the world does he know that?”

Craig explained about Tyler.

“What a traitor,” she said.

“Well, anyhow, I called Zhou from Washington and spoke to him as Barry Gorman. We set a meeting at his house Thursday morning at ten.”

“Where he’ll no doubt have a handful of assassins on hand to kill you.”

“For sure. So I have to grab him before he can kill me.”

“From his house?”

“Exactly.”

“How much do you know about the layout of the place?”

“Now who’s being insulting?”

“Touché.”

“I had Giuseppe send someone to visit the place. He gave me the layout of the whole inn. Zhou will no doubt be staying in the largest room on the top floor. Hopefully, there won’t be an locals in the house when we move in, but we don’t know for sure.”

“So what’s the plan?”

“Gee, you’re impatient. President Worth and Betty gave me four special ops troops for this operation. The strange thing is that Worth wanted to know all of the details of the operation, and he wants Betty to keep him informed, even on minute details in real time.”

“So he can abort?”

“That’s what he said, but it’s more detail than I’ve had to give other presidents about an operation. I guess each one’s different,” he added thoughtfully.

“You still haven’t told me the plan.”

“I’m picking up the four special ops troops Thursday morning at 2 a.m. somewhere outside of Ascona. Tomorrow, I’ll find a good place to meet them. We’re moving in on Zhou an hour later. Zero hour is 3 a.m. The five of us go into the Zhou’s house, and use tear gas, and grab him.”

“It’ll be risky for you,” she said grimly.

“I know that. If I don’t make it, I want to be buried near Francesca and her mother.”

“You’re going to make it, Craig. You never talked like that before. Don’t do it now.”

“Okay.”

“Will I have a role in this?”

“A major one. I remember you know a lot about boats. So here’s what I want you to do.”

Stresa

W
hen Elizabeth woke up at 7 a.m. Wednesday morning, Craig was already out of her bed and gone from the hotel. She had breakfast from room service.

As she ate, she thought about everything Craig had told her last evening. Suddenly, she understood what was happening. She was convinced that between Craig and Zhou, only one of them would get out of Ascona alive. She didn’t dare call Craig to tell him what she thought for fear Zhou would pick it up and that would spoil everything. Besides, nothing Craig could do about it. She just hoped Craig was the one who survived.

She put on a tourist outfit of khaki shorts, New York Yankees tee shirt, sneakers, and a wide brimmed hat.

From the moment she left her room, she looked around anxiously. No sign of Qing or anyone else Chinese.

At the dock, in the center of the promenade, she boarded a public ferry to Stresa at the southern end of the lake.

As they cut across the lake in the cool morning air, under a blue sky, a young couple from New York tried to strike up a conversation with her.

She said, “Yes, I’m from New York. But I’m getting too much sun.”

She left them to go to another part of the boat. Over her shoulder she heard the stringy blonde say to her husband with a sandpaper beard and stomach hanging over his belt, “Some people sure aren’t friendly,”

Elizabeth didn’t care. She didn’t want to make any new friends today.

When she got off, she wandered around the dock for a while until she saw a large white sign with red letters, “Marcello’s boats. Short-term and long-term rentals.”

“I’m looking for Marcello,” she said to a short squat man in his sixties with a leathery weather beaten face. He was wearing a sea captain’s cap, jeans, and black leather boots.

“I’m Marcello.” “Who are you?”

She recalled what Craig had told her to say and she repeated it, “Giuseppe rented a boat from you, the Matterhorn, for twenty-four hours. He asked me to pick it up.”

Marcello was snarling. She had a pretty good idea what was bothering him. She had to play it tough.

“You have a problem?”

“I didn’t know I was going to turn my best and fastest boat over to some girl.”

Exactly what she suspected. The men who operated on the seas were convinced you needed a penis to operate a boat. It was the same in New York or Italy.

“Giuseppe paid you a lot of money to rent that boat. He won’t be happy if you don’t give it to me.”

“Too fuckin’ bad. Let him get his ass down here and take the boat himself.”

“You figure I won’t know how to handle it. That I’ll ruin your boat.”

“Never met a girl yet who knew how to control a boat.”

She took a deep breath. Marcello wasn’t easy. Craig had given her Giuseppe’s phone number in case of an emergency. She considered calling Giuseppe, but rejected it. She’d be damned if she’d do that. This was her part of the job. And she intended to do it herself.

She reached into her bag and pulled out a wad of euros. “Tell you what. I’ve got 5,000 euros here. You take the Matterhorn and you give me your next fastest boat. We’ll race across the lake and back. If you win, you get the 5,000 euros and I don’t get the Matterhorn. If I win, I keep the money and I get the Matterhorn for twenty-four hours just as you promised. How’s that sound?”

He puckered up his lips and eyed her with hostility.

Finally, he smiled.

“You got balls, girl. I’ll say that for you. Let’s race.”

He gave her the black Laguna. It looked like a powerful boat, but it didn’t seem as if it would be a match for the sleek white Matterhorn. He pointed to the town of Pallanza on the other side of the lake. That would be the midpoint of the race.

“Over and back,” Marcello said.

As they climbed into their boats, Elizabeth was wondering if she’d done something stupid. She could not only lose 5,000 euros, but she might not get the Matterhorn. What’s more, she was afraid that it would be too late to call Giuseppe. Male pride would prevent Marcello from relenting after he whipped her in the race.

This is great, she thought. She would be blowing Craig’s operation before it even got out of the gate. And all because of her own vanity.

“Start first,” Marcello called to her and she took off.

By the time she was midway across the lake, passing the three Borremei islands, she had the Laguna opened up to full throttle. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw she was leading by a couple boat lengths. She was pushing her boat hard. It was vibrating but keeping up the speed.

By the time the two boats reached Pallanza, turned around, and headed back to Stresa, people in other boats and on the shore were watching them. She was still in the lead by a couple of lengths. She glanced over her shoulder at Marcello. He looked relaxed, a cigarette dangling from his lips.

A sick feeling hit her in the pit of her stomach. What if Marcello was toying with her? What if he could pull ahead any time he wanted to?

She tried to banish those thoughts and gripped the wheel hard. As they reached the middle of the lake, passing Isola Bella, she still had the lead.

Suddenly, she heard a roar behind her. Marcello had opened up the Matterhorn. As he passed her, he tossed away his cigarette and laughed.

She had been right. He had been playing with her. She felt miserable. Craig would never forgive her for blowing his operation. She would never forgive herself.

When she eased into the dock, Marcello had already tied up the Matterhorn and had a cigarette dangling from his lips. She tied up the Laguna. Humiliated, she took the five thousand euros and held it out.

He shook his head. “Keep your money, girl. You never had a chance. I equipped the Matterhorn with engines that could outrun the carabinieri. She’s my pride and joy. So you better take good care of her.”

“Do you mean I—”

“You proved you can operate a boat. So take the Matterhorn and get the fuck out of here before I change my mind.”

She never expected this. “Thanks Marcello. I really mean that.”

“Don’t get sappy.”

She pulled away from the dock. As she passed the Borremei islands, her speed was up, but she had plenty left. She realized Marcello wasn’t kidding. This beauty was one helluva boat. Marcello had said it could outrun the carabinieri. The question she wondered was whether it could outrun the Swiss police as well. She hoped she wouldn’t have to find out.

Ascona

A
t four in the afternoon, she pulled into slip number nine, which Craig had reserved for the Matterhorn, in the dock at the intersection of via Albemarle and via Borgo. The galley had plenty of food, so she decided to follow Craig’s instruction and remain in the boat until Craig came with his package.

She looked out of the back of the boat. It was about ten yards along the wooden dock from the road to the boat. Craig had told her to be at the wheel at 3 a.m. ready to take off. Once he covered those ten yards with his package, he’d yell, “Go.”

Then she’d open up the Matterhorn on the way to Stresa.

*     *     *

At five minutes before eleven p.m., Wednesday evening, Craig parked his rental car on the side of a deserted dirt road outside of Losone, Switzerland, a few miles from Ascona along the Maggiore River. He got out of the car, looked up at the full moon in a clear sky, and cursed. He would have preferred a dark sky, but he didn’t have a choice. This was the only night to get Zhou.

Five minutes later, Craig saw a red and white ambulance approaching. On the side were the words Red Cross. It stopped next to his rental car. Giuseppe climbed out.

“This ambulance looks like the real thing,” Craig said.

“It is.”

“How’d you get it?”

“When you’re in law enforcement, your files contain the names of all kinds of characters.”

“Let me guess. You brought a car thief with you into Switzerland to steal it from the Red Cross.”

Giuseppe laughed. “I wouldn’t put it that way.”

“Then how would you put it?”

“We borrowed it for a few hours from a Red Cross facility in Locarno. They won’t miss it. However, I’m not expecting you to damage it. The Swiss can be finicky about stuff like that. They’re meticulous people. Even a scratch on one of their vehicles gets them upset.”