Chapter Twenty-Seven #2
There was a lot of rustling. Over the rustling she could hear Rafer ask why they were being taken outside.
Smart guy, she thought. He was helping her.
He was telling her they were leaving. She went to the window and peeked out.
Jacko and Rafer were walking with their hands over their heads.
Rafer looked okay. Jacko was limping. His trouser leg was soaked in blood.
The men holding them at gunpoint were dressed in black slacks and black T-shirts and appeared fit.
Lots of muscle. One of them held the bag filled with sausage.
He dropped the sausage bag, shoved Rafer and Jacko against a black Jeep Avenger, and searched them.
“No weapons,” he said in Italian. “Just phones.”
The phones were tossed into some shrubs near the castle entrance, everyone got into the Jeep, and the Jeep drove off.
Gabriela raced down the stairs and ran to the front door. The Jeep was gone. There was the faint sound of traffic in the distance. She went back into the house, hurried to the garage, and was relieved to see that Jacko had left the keys in the Fiat’s ignition.
Forty-five minutes later, Gabriela drove fifty feet past Tartoni’s gated driveway and pulled onto a patch of hardscrabble dirt and grass that was backed up by woods.
She left the car at the roadside, entered the woods, and bushwhacked her way to the wood’s edge, where she had a clear view of the house and drive court.
There was no activity, but the black Jeep Avenger was parked in front of one of the garage bays.
Gabriela stared at the house for several minutes, thinking that since the Avenger was here, there was a good chance that Rafer and Jacko were inside.
A man in a black T-shirt and black slacks stepped out of the house from a side door and walked to the car. He took a grocery bag out of the car and carried it into the house. Sausages, Gabriela thought. God forbid they would forget the sausages.
She checked her watch. She’d give Rafer and Jacko an hour to save themselves and then she’d go to plan B.
Plan B wasn’t totally thought through. She couldn’t bluff her way into the house to scope things out because there was a good chance Tartoni would recognize her.
Even though she was presumed dead, her photo might have been circulated among the Kings.
And she couldn’t go in like Attila the Hun because she didn’t have any weapons or Huns.
She picked up the sound of a car moving through the forested part of the driveway.
Not yet visible from her vantage point. She crouched down so she was better hidden in the undergrowth, and she waited for the car to appear.
In moments a black Mercedes sedan drove out of the woods and into the sunshine.
It continued on, and it stopped at the mansion’s front door.
A man got out of the passenger side. He turned, and Gabriela was able to see his face.
It was Teddy Searl. A second man got out of the back seat.
Harry Bench. Of course, Gabriela thought.
The associates that were mentioned in the cellar.
Rocky was probably also in Italy. A meeting of the minds.
This was bad. Rafer would have ID on him. Harry Bench would discover it and assume Rafer somehow was on the trail of the rest of the art treasures. And he’d probably remove Rafer’s fingers and toes, one by one, until he told him the golden coffin’s location.
Gabriela took her phone out of her pocket. Harry Bench was about to get a call from the dead. She gave everyone fifteen minutes to make introductions and then she tapped in Bench’s number and waited.
“Yes?” Harry answered.
“Ciao,” Gabriela said. “Are you enjoying Italy?”
“Who is this?”
“It’s Gabriela Rose. And I have many things to do today, so let’s dispense with the pleasantries. I have something you want, and you now have something that I want.”
There were several beats of silence during which Gabriela thought Bench was collecting himself, facing the realization that she wasn’t an unrecognizable pile of ashes.
“Go on,” Bench finally said.
“I need forty-eight hours to get in touch with my colleague. When I locate him and the object of your desire, I’ll be back in touch.
In the meantime, I expect you to take very good care of the men you have in your possession.
If anything unpleasant happens to either of them, you can kiss the golden coffin goodbye. ”
“Understood,” Bench said. “Forty-eight hours.”
Bench closed his eyes for a moment, regaining his composure. If Gabriela Rose had delivered that message to him in person, he would have killed her on the spot, with his bare hands.
He saw the house in Selpan go up in flames. He heard the explosion and saw the results. He couldn’t imagine what went wrong. How had she survived that inferno? Was she even human? And now her ex-husband was here in Valgenico. In the castle! No doubt looking for the rest of the haul.
Tartoni was standing next to Bench. “What was that about? What’s happening in forty-eight hours?”
“Nothing,” Bench said. “Unhappy employee.”
Bench wasn’t going to share this news with anyone.
His partners were already spooked that they’d caught the two men in the castle.
And in the basement no less. Rafer Jones and Jackson Bartolli.
Rafer Jones was a prize catch. Bartolli was new to Bench.
His driver’s license said he was Italian. Possibly just a local hire.
Bench had intended to take his man, Marko, with him to the wine cellar and have a discussion with Rafer Jones.
Marko’s English wasn’t perfect, but his skills of persuasion were top-shelf.
Now the plan would have to change. He couldn’t risk something going wrong with the wine cellar interrogation and ending up with a useless, dead hostage.
Tomorrow they were supposed to meet with the buyer, Vladimir Alexi Oleski. It was the culmination of years of planning. There was a fortune at stake, and it was already compromised by the loss of the Rosetta Stone.
After leaving London, Bench had made a quick trip to Milan to personally break the news to Oleski that the Rosetta Stone had been returned to the British Museum.
Oleski had been apoplectic, throwing a two-hour fit of slobbering, murderous rage.
Bench had heard rumors of Oleski’s temper, but he hadn’t witnessed it firsthand until the Rosetta Stone visit.
Bench had managed to eventually calm Oleski down and even shared a glass of wine with him before leaving for New York.
Nonetheless, it was an experience he didn’t want to repeat.
So, now there was some bad news and some good news, Bench thought.
The bad news was that he didn’t have the golden coffin that had been promised to Oleski.
The good news was that he had Rafer Jones in his possession and hopefully that was enough incentive for Gabriela Rose to finally give up the coffin.
Bench dialed Oleski and got his personal assistant. After the usual pleasantries, Bench explained that the meeting was going to have to be postponed.
“Perhaps one day next week,” Bench suggested.
“Impossible,” the PA said. “Everything is in place for the transaction. It will need to go ahead as planned. And Mr. Oleski expects all the principals to be present as requested.”
The line went dead, and Bench swore in three languages. The last language was English. Shit, shit, shit!
He was now forced to return to Milan, and what should have been a mutually joyous occasion would be marred with a tense explanation that the golden coffin was delayed in transit.
The prized coffin would be delivered to Oleski’s warehouse in just a couple more days, he’d tell Oleski, and he hoped to God that was true.
Gabriela hung up on Bench and returned to the Fiat.
She was living a bad dream. Not the least of which was a car that might fall apart at any moment.
She rattled and chugged back to the hotel, gathered up everyone’s things, and checked out.
Too easy to find her if she stayed in Valgenico.
She drove south to the small town of Stella Gardo and registered in a budget hotel under one of her assumed names.
She needed help. This wasn’t something she could accomplish on her own. Marcella could arrange for whatever weapons were necessary, but Gabriela needed more than guns. She needed Attila and a couple Huns.
The most obvious answer was to go to the police.
No chance in hell would that work, she thought.
Tartoni was a wealthy, respected, generous member of the community.
She was an American who spoke sketchy Italian.
Even worse, she was trying to rescue two men who may or may not even have been in Tartoni’s wine cellar.
And she really didn’t want to explain why they were in the castle and dug up Scalucci’s body.
The remaining option she had was even more complicated than working with the police.
She could make a deal with the devil. She could ask Ahmed for help.
She knew in her gut that he had skills and resources that were terrifying but necessary to getting the job done.
And he had skin in the game. He wanted the golden coffin.