Day, she thought as Griffin nudged them back along the corridor toward the one-way entrance.
They walked as casually as possible past the group of Germans, and she saw Sydney glance up at the ceiling, which was dominated by a large clock made entirely of vertebrae and phalanges, its hands perpetually on midnight.
“The symbol of eternity,” said Francesca. “But look closely at the hands. You’ll see the bone clock is made up of Roman numerals, I, II, III, IV, V, VI. Note that the Roman numeral six is at the top? Midnight is actually six o’clock.”
“I wonder what the meaning is behind that,” Sydney asked. “Midnight that isn’t really midnight? A clock that isn’t really a clock?”
“Find anything?” Griffin asked Francesca, the tone of his voice telling her that he completely doubted the veracity of their visit.
“Nothing.”
“Good,” he said as they strolled casually past their shadows, who were now making a show of consulting their guidebooks. “Then your research is over and we can get on with our lives.”
“Forgive the bad pun,” Sydney said, quickening her pace to match theirs, “but other than the guys following us, this is one dead end. I think we should get the hell out of here.”
“I agree.”
Francesca glanced behind her. Their two pursuers had dropped the pretense of reading their guidebooks, and were now pushing their way toward them. She had a bad feeling about this, something that intensified when Sydney said, “You know what really bothers me? Those are not the guys who came after us on the Passegiata.”
“You’re sure?” Griffin said.
“I tend to notice guys who are shooting at me,” she said. “How many different groups are after us?”
“More importantly, how’d they know we’d be here?” he said, pushing through the door.
They hurried down the stairs, and Francesca thought that the Via Veneto might offer some protection since it was filled with people waiting for the bus or out for a late afternoon stroll.
Griffin turned to Francesca. “You have any ideas how we can lose them around here?”
She pointed across the street. “Via dei Cappuccini,” she said, indicating the smaller street that intersected with the Via Veneto. “It leads right to the Via Sistina. Maybe we can lose them in the crowd, or down the Spanish Steps.”
“Let’s go.” They crossed over to Via dei Cappuccini, which sloped a short way downhill where it ended in the Via Sistina, a narrow street, with shops, hotels, and plenty of pedestrians.
As they turned onto the busy street, Francesca looked back and saw the men following at a brisk pace about thirty yards behind them. “They’re still on us.”
And Sydney said, “Tell me you have a plan?”
“When in doubt,” Griffin said, “Plan B.”
“I hate Plan B.”
“You don’t even know what it is.”
“And that’s usually the problem,” Sydney replied as they crossed to the opposite side of the street.
“You have a mirror in that purse?” he asked Francesca.
“Yes.”
“Get it out.”
She dug it from her purse just as they approached the Piazza della Trinità dei Monti with its huge Egyptian obelisk overlooking the Piazza di Spagna—the famous Spanish Steps. Tourists and Italians were descending the sweeping stairway, and at first that was where Francesca thought Griffin intended to take them. But just as they reached the end of Via Sistina, Griffin put his hand on her shoulder. “This way,” he said.
They made a hard left onto a dark, narrow street that intersected in a sharp V at the end of Via Sistina. Not a pedestrian in sight. Only parked cars and trucks.
Griffin handed Sydney the mirror, then grabbed Francesca’s hand, holding tight as they raced up the street, not stopping until they reached a set of steps jutting down from a building facade. In the deepening shadows, Francesca saw a gigantic gargoyle face that seemed to be swallowing the door at the top of the short flight of stairs. Griffin shoved Francesca behind the landing. “You, don’t move,” he ordered her. To Sydney, he said, “Watch the street. Let me know when they’re almost on us.”
“And then what?” Sydney asked, as Griffin ducked behind a delivery truck.
“Time to find out who they are and what they’re planning.”
And for the second time in as many days, Francesca wondered if she’d made a very big mistake. One that might cost her her life.
26
Sydney crouched behind the truck beside Griffin, holding the mirror out just far enough to view their surroundings without being seen. A few seconds later, she saw the two men who were shadowing them. “They’ve stopped at the end