Douz Festival—his cue that it was safe—he moved to the doorway.
Unfortunately, the guard had locked the door, which meant time wasted while Marc took out the necessary equipment from his bag, and hacked the electric door code. Finally the lock disengaged and the door opened. The room was the size of a walk-in closet, with a desk, chair, and closed-circuit TV monitor, showing not only the entrance and exit, but also the remote airstrip and the warehouse that was the focus of their op. He took a moment to view it, determining the best position to set up. Each screen flashed to a new view after several seconds. Intel always appreciated, he thought, resuming his search for the schedule of deliveries.
Of course the damned schedule wasn’t anywhere easy, or out in the open, and it was damned hard to keep so low in such a small confined space that was surrounded by windows on all sides, even if the glass was mirrored one-way, not allowing anyone from the exterior to see readily within. Outside, Lisette and Rafiq continued their pretended bickering over the direction they were allegedly trying to travel for the festival. While they kept the guard distracted, Marc eyed the room, knowing that the security schedule was probably in the locked cabinet. Just in case, though, he tried the desk drawer, hoping the guard was the lazy sort.
He wasn’t.
The drawer was empty.
The cabinet was secured with a standard key lock, and Marc took a pick from his tool bag and slid it into the keyhole, teasing it until the tumblers clicked. He pulled open the door, reached in, just as the phone rang.
He froze. Listened. Heard the guard excuse himself as the phone continued its ringing.
Marc grabbed the clipboard, shut the cabinet door, then scrambled beneath the metal desk, just as the guard stepped up to the door, punched his code in the lock. Marc slid a knife from his boot as the door opened.
From his position, he could see the reflection of the security monitor in the glass from the window. One camera was apparently positioned directly outside, and in it he saw Lisette glance at Rafiq, who was slowly reaching for the gun hidden in his waistband. Lisette gave the slightest shake of her head. Gunshots would draw immediate attention and jeopardize the entire operation, especially if there was a dead guard on the ground.
Think of something, he willed. And then, in the monitor, he saw Lisette walk up to the guard shack, calling out, “Allo?”
The guard turned toward her and said, “Un moment, s’il vous plait.”
“I’m not sure,” she said loudly, “but I think my husband is having a heart attack.”
The guard looked out the window, saw Rafiq clutching his chest. He hesitated, but the phone continued ringing. “I must get this,” he said, signing his own death sentence, because there was no way the guard could answer the phone unless he came to this side of the desk.
Rome
From just up the street where Sydney sat with Dumas and the professor, Griffin had parked where he could watch them. Twice he’d seen the small gray car pass slowly, then disappear around the bend. It was the same car he’d seen parked up the road from the ambassador’s residence, and it began following Dumas’s vehicle the moment it took off from the academy. He called Giustino to run the vehicle’s license plate through the carabinieri database.
“The plate is, how do you say? Cold?”
“Not a good sign,” Griffin said.
“What is happening?” he heard Giustino say into his earpiece.
“Nothing. The car’s left the area.” He glanced at Dumas, saw him shaking his head, handing something back to the professor.
“Perhaps the occupants of your vehicle were only sent to follow the professor and report her whereabouts?”
“I’d believe that, except for what happened when someone from Adami’s crew followed me the other day, and the fact the professor has what they no doubt want.”
“And Monsignore Dumas is with them.”
Another fact that bothered Griffin. Why was Dumas there?
“Where did you say you followed them to?” Giustino asked.
Griffin had parked his SIP van on the other side of the equestrian Garibaldi statue, as though taking a noon break. Consequently he had an excellent view of the wall across the street, where Dumas sat with Fitzpatrick and the professor. Only in Rome would it be possible to enjoy a day outdoors under the November sun. “To the Piazza Garibaldi.”
There was silence on the other end.
“What do you make of the location?” Griffin asked.
“I