was on conspiracy theory.”
Hell. Dumas said Santarella was looking up something about a prince. “Like I said, what would either have to do with the smuggling of bioweapons?”
“Good question. Clearly the professor is hiding something.”
He hated to admit she was right, but she was. He’d been bothered by the same thing, something he might have taken more heed of had he not been so distracted by Sydney’s presence—which was another reason to get her on that plane tonight.
“Of course,” Sydney continued, “you could always ask her.”
“If I knew where she was.”
“You mean Dumas lost her?”
“She was looking up information on a prince,” he said, ignoring yet another smug look from her, “as well as something to do with the columbaria.”
“When I was in her office, I saw a lot of stuff on her walls that had to do with the columbaria.”
“What sort of stuff?”
“Maps, diagrams, photos, notes. I gathered it was sort of a specialty. What she was here to study. Maybe if we—if you stopped by her studio, you might find something that would give you an indication on where to look.”
The thought bore merit. “Even if we did find something, how would we even know what we were looking at? It would have been nice to have an expert solidly in our own court. Someone we could trust without question.”
Sydney walked over, picked up her travel bag, then placed it by the front door. “Too bad I’m leaving. I actually do have a go-to man when it comes to digging up obscure bits of information. If anyone can put a spin on some long-forgotten columbarium, Doc Schermer can.”
“Doc Schermer?”
“My ex-partner Carillo’s current partner.”
“May I ask you something, Special Agent Fitzpatrick?”
“Fire away.”
“Back in Quantico, when I mentioned that this case was not to be discussed with anyone, at what point did you disobey that directive?”
She gave a light shrug. “Couple hours into it when I called Carillo from my dorm room.”
“Figures,” he said, wondering how it was he’d so totally misjudged her. Then again, maybe had he given her free rein as she’d insisted, they might be further along.
Or she might be dead.
He’d had a number of good reasons for keeping things from her. Even now it was a risk. But like it or not, she was involved, not likely to change her mind, and he could use the help. Unlike Professor Santarella, Sydney Fitzpatrick knew most of the risks, was well-trained by the Bureau, and any knowledge she and her fellow agents brought to the table was a plus. He looked at Giustino, said, “I need two calls made before we move out. First, bring in someone to cover for you here. I don’t want this unmanned while Tex is still out there.”
“And the second?” Giustino asked.
“Call the airport and cancel Fitzpatrick’s flight,” he said, ignoring her catlike smile.
Sydney rolled up the cuffs on her ENEL coveralls, trying to make them look more like they fit her, when they belonged to Giustino, who stood about four inches taller. When she finished, she smoothed out the uniform, and Griffin, also in ENEL coveralls, nodded.
“Not to worry,” he said. “No one will pay much attention.”
She could only hope, she thought as they walked across the street to the van where Giustino, dressed all in black, was waiting.
The moment she slid into the front passenger seat, Griffin said, “Do me a favor, Fitzpatrick. When we get to the American Academy, don’t say a thing.”
“Like the four words of Italian I know are going to do much good?”
“You sure you want to do this?”
“Absolutely.”
A little after ten, they drove to the academy, the ENEL electric company logo still on the van, a perfect cover for their plans this evening. Griffin dropped Giustino off around the corner from the entrance, then waited a short way down the street. About five minutes later, every light at the academy went out.
They waited a couple of minutes before Griffin drove up to the electric gate and parked. It was still open, which meant it would remain that way until Griffin called Giustino to restore the power.
“You don’t think we should have waited longer?” Sydney asked him.
“Trust me. The utility companies are notoriously slow. He’ll be grateful to see us.”
And sure enough, as the two of them, small toolboxes in hand, walked up to the open gate, the guard hurried toward them, smiling as he waved them through, saying, “Non ha perso tempo!”
Griffin rattled off something in Italian so fast that Sydney recognized only ENEL. Whatever he