Dead Ringer Page 17

  A salty, warm breeze tossed Thomas’s hair as he exited the restaurant with his friends. It was late and there were only a few cars left in the parking lot.

  When they reached Heim’s car, Shaul stepped in front of Thomas, laughing. “Wait, Wallace. I know you’re not used to opening your own car doors, not without a chauffeur to do it for you.”

  Thomas laughed as Shaul opened the rear door.

  Almost simultaneously, a light flashed from the rooftop across the street and a whiz singed the air.

  Thomas recognized the sound immediately.

  The bullet caught Shaul in the back and he fell into Thomas’s arms.

  Thomas caught him before he hit the ground and felt the warm wetness of blood on his hands.

  Time and sound stopped.

  There was no blast of gunfire.

  There was no sound from Shaul.

  An awful slow motion encompassed Thomas as he dived to the cement, wrestling his gun from the shoulder holster with one hand, holding on to Shaul’s body with the other. His movements were like swimming in molasses.

  Sound exploded around him. Shouts and angry bursts of gunfire broke the silence.

  Thomas focused on the warehouse roof across the street where the shot came from. He pumped off two shots, but the shooter had gone.

  The few patrons left, streamed from the restaurant scattering in all directions, away from the gunshots. A siren sounded in the distance. Someone had called for an ambulance.

  Thomas eased Shaul’s body to the pavement and leaned against the car. Unfamiliar wetness on his face made him touch his cheek. He wiped blood with the back of his hand, bringing away a red smear.

  Shaul had taken a bullet meant for him.

  A man in a dark suit shoved Thomas aside. “I’m a doctor. I’ll do what I can until the ambulance arrives.”

  Thomas raced towards the warehouse, Moshe right behind him. They found the unlocked door leading to the roof. Thomas stormed up, taking the steps two at a time. He stopped at the top to catch his breath. He eased the door open, waved Moshe to one side. No need to take chances. He threw the door open and stepped to the side, his weapon in hand, but the rooftop was empty. He moved to the parapet and looked down below.

  The shot had come from this position. The assassin had removed the shell, leaving nothing behind. A professional. Probably used a drag bag to lay on while waiting for the four men to emerge from the restaurant.

  Tel Aviv’s crime scene people would scour the area for evidence, but it didn’t look promising.

  Below, cops and agents stood in silence, faces grim, as an ambulance drove away. They would continue to search the area, but they all knew it was wasted time. Still, it had to be done.

  Whoever pulled the trigger hadn’t planned to hang around. He left the scene within minutes of the assassination.

  23

  Wallace Island, the Aegean Sea

  Tuesday, July 4

  Mercy gazed around the breakfast table. “Anyone want to go shopping? Daniel and I are accompanying Fergus to pick up supplies in Naples. It’s farther than Izmir...but I want to take Daniel to a carnival and do a little sightseeing.”

  “No, thank you,” Nanna said. “I’ve reached the age where carnivals are no longer appealing.”

  Katy’s mouth turned down. “I’d love to go, but I have three patients today. Just my cotton-pickin’ luck to miss out on the fun.”

  “I’m sorry,” Mercy said. “We’ll bring you back some cotton candy, if they have such things at an Italian carnival.”

  “Yeah, that helps a lot.” Katy snorted. “I miss an opportunity to get Fergus to myself for a day, and you offer me cotton candy as a consolation prize.” She grinned. “It’s my own fault, so I shouldn’t complain.”

  “Poor Katy.” Mercy patted her hand. “Next time I’ll give you advance notice. Don’t work too hard. We’ll be home rather late.”

  On the two-hour flight to Naples, Daniel bounced in his seat asking questions about the rides.

  The changes she encountered since Thomas Wallace charged into her life boggled the mind. Until she arrived on Wallace Island, the trip to Bermuda was her first time outside the states. Since then, she was becoming a world traveler, with a private jet at her disposal. Unbelievable.

  Fergus demanded she let one of the soldiers accompany them, insisting that though they’d caught Edda, didn’t mean the threats to her life were no longer in play. Whoever hired Edda was still a mystery.

  Mercy couldn’t argue with Fergus’s reasoning. The hulking presence of Hamish, a very nice man, screamed bodyguard and drew attention she preferred not to have. A bodyguard was overkill, but she couldn’t risk putting Daniel in jeopardy.

  She wanted Daniel to experience a small fair near the bay, with rides, games, and fireworks. But she also thought they should see a little bit of Naples, first.

  Fergus left to take care of the shopping list. “Give me a call when yer ready to leave. I’ll pick ye up at the carnival entrance. Do ye have cash and yer cell phone?”

  With a mock salute, she said, “Yes, Dad. We’ll be ready after the fireworks are over.” She took Daniel’s hand.

  Hamish waved a taxi to the curb.

  Mercy leaned into the window. “Do you speak English?”

  “Si, signora.”

  “We want to see the local sights. Can you do that?”

  He gave a smiling, vigorous nod. “Si, si, signora.”

  While the taxi waited nearby, they visited the dock at Castel Nuovo, one of the symbols of Naples.

  Daniel skipped along beside her, holding her hand, Hamish trailing behind.

  Later they joined a small tour group to visit the city’s palaces and churches. She couldn’t help but gape at the architecture of the century-old buildings.

  When the tour ended, they strolled to the Piazza del Plebiscito, where they ordered authentic pizza at a waterfront restaurant. The Pompeii ruins were on her bucket list but not today.

  By five o’clock, they’d finished sightseeing and returned to the carnival to watch the fireworks. Confetti rained down as they passed through the crowded fairway, much of the crowd in masks. Excited children pulled their parents to the next ride or the next game.

  She and Daniel strolled unhurried through the maze, enjoying the smells of popcorn mixed with exhaust from the rides.

  After sunset, they found seats in the stands to watch the fireworks—brilliant splashes of colored rockets exploding to music. The bursts of light, with their beauty and excitement, kept Daniel popping up and down in his seat, clapping his hands, and pointing. When the last flash of color drifted from the sky, Daniel leaned against her, exhausted.

  Mercy lost sight of Hamish in the crush of the crowd after the fireworks. She and Daniel made their way to the front entrance to wait for Fergus and give Hamish a chance to catch up. Her gaze searched the cars parked out front, but there was no sign of either man when they stepped onto the sidewalk.

  Mercy reached for her cell phone, and a firm grip clamped on her arm, taking the phone from her hand. “Don’t cause a scene, Traci. I wouldn’t want to have to hurt the boy.”

  She twisted away, trying to loosen the hold on her arm.

  Ricco Rossellini’s grasp tightened. His steel grip cut off the circulation in her arm. “My car’s this way.”

  

  Tel Aviv, Israel

  Tuesday, July 4

  By the time Thomas and Moshe came back to the parking lot, most of the police and agents had gone. Crime scene specialists were still there with cameras and tape measures. A few police were still questioning witnesses from the restaurant and taking down license numbers in the parking lot and nearby streets.

  Heim was on the phone with the hospital.

  Thomas caught his attention. “Shaul…?

  The Mossad chief shook his head.

  Heim and Moshe returned with Thomas to his hotel room, and he ordered coffee from room service.

  Moshe paced, almost incohere
nt with grief and anger.

  Room service arrived and they sat at a small table near the window, curtains drawn.

  Guilt haunted Thomas. Except for happenstance, he would be dead, and a good agent would still be alive. He sensed no blame aimed at him from Heim and Moshe, only grief for their loss. That didn’t relieve Thomas’s feeling of responsibility. He poured the coffee, passed the cups around, and looked directly at Heim. “You know the shot was meant for me.”

  Heim nodded.

  “I’m assuming the same person or persons were responsible for tipping off the terrorists about Aref. Would you agree?”

  “What does your gut tell you, Thomas? Who in your organization would do that?” Heim asked.

  Thomas had a moment of clarity, a moment of pure, perfect, knowledge. Part experience, part a student of human nature. “Before I answer, what four agents did Clint Monroe bring with him to Tel Aviv?”

  “Four recruits is all I know. I was introduced to them, but I don’t remember their names.”

  “Was one of them a blond kid named Brad Reid?”

  Heim nodded. “Yeah, I remember him. Cocky, smart-mouthed little snot.”

  Facts were what agents relied on, but Thomas also respected his instincts. They’d proven correct more times than not. He looked across the table at Moshe. “I think Clint Monroe and Brad Reid are the leaks, and they’re perhaps involved up to their eyeballs in this, but I have no proof. They were staying at this hotel. Let’s see if they’re still registered.”

  After a short conversation with the concierge, Thomas turned to Heim. “They checked out tonight.” He handed the phone to Heim. “Can you see if the plane is still in Tel Aviv and if so, have the authorities hold it?”

  Heim brushed away the house phone and pulled out his own, punching in numbers as he disappeared into the bedroom. He returned a few minutes later. “I think you’re on to something, Thomas. They left about an hour ago, giving them plenty of time to shoot Shaul and get to the airport. They’re long gone from Israeli airspace, so I can’t turn them back.”

  “We can always locate them when we need to. I was hoping to find the rifle in their procession. There are a few things we need to verify, in the meantime.”

  “Do we bring Paul onboard? Let him know what we suspect?” Heim asked.

  “I think we have to.” Thomas stood and paced across the room. “We’ll check Monroe’s finances. Paul can do that quickly. He has people at Langley who can find the needle in the haystack.”

  “And if he doesn’t find anything?” Moshe asked, his face grim and lined.

  “Then we look elsewhere for the leak. However, I’m confident we’ll find a money trail. If Monroe is our guy, he strikes me as more muscle than brains.”

  Heim sat back down at the table. “There are video cameras throughout the city. My people are already checking the videos for suspicious characters in the area. We may be able to track one or both of them to the restaurant, or at least put them in the area.”

  Once again, Thomas picked up the house phone, this time he punched in Paul Redford’s room number.

  

  Paul Redford didn’t want to believe Clint Monroe was involved in the compromised mission, but after the death of Shaul Lobel, he couldn’t afford to be wrong. He and Clint went back a long way. As young recruits, they went undercover in Venezuela before and after the Granada invasion and later in the Middle East before the first Gulf War. They’d been forced to learn fast. That was the only way they’d survived.

  Clint had been adamant about keeping Brad Reid.

  Aware of Clint’s shortcomings, Paul knew the man’s ruthlessness and materialism. He wore only designer labels, drove a high-end automobile, and lived in a house above his pay scale. His wife came from Boston old money, which could explain Clint’s expensive lifestyle. Now, Paul had to wonder if the wife’s wealth accounted for Clint living beyond his means. And there were rumors the Monroes’ marriage was on the brink of divorce.

  Paul hadn’t told Thomas that this wasn’t the first mission compromised in the last year. It was one of the reasons he brought Thomas on board for this assignment and tried to contain who knew the details.

  Clint knew Thomas was headed out on an assignment because of the training camp recertification. But Clint couldn’t have known Thomas’s destination, or about Aref. Monroe wasn’t privy to any list of agents on foreign soil. It was the closest held secret at Langley. Men’s lives depended on it remaining that way.

  He decided to let Thomas and Mossad handle the investigation for the present. If the FBI became involved, everything would go on public record. He didn’t want that. Once he knew what evidence they had against Monroe, he would decide to call in the FBI. Or not.

  Mossad wanted a scalp to hang on the wall for Shaul Lobel’s death. If it turned out to be Clint, God help him. Paul couldn’t hold back Heim Rosen if he tried. And he wouldn’t try. Not to protect a traitor.

  Clint’s fate hung on what his financial records revealed.

  With a resigned breath, Paul picked up the secure phone and asked for the head computer geek at Langley.

  

  What was left of the morning hours for sleep Thomas spent tossing fitfully, trying to dull the guilt. He should have seen it coming, have taken steps to prevent it. But that was part of the covert world. One never knew when and where the kill shot would come.

  He finally gave up on sleep and went to Mossad headquarters. The debriefing had come to a halt after the agent’s death.

  Thomas and Moshe hung out in Heim’s office to await word from Paul.

  When Thomas could no longer stand the confinement, he grabbed his jacket. “I’m going for a walk. Call me when you have news.”

  Pedestrians crowded the streets of Tel Aviv, reminding Thomas of New York City, minus the skyscrapers that eclipsed the sun. It also lacked the high stress, hustle-bustle of the Big Apple.

  As he walked, Thomas’s thoughts were of Shaul. He’d been a good agent, and seeing him last night open and carefree, revealed a side of the Israeli far from the serious-natured agent Thomas had come to know.

  Now Shaul was dead. He had no wife and children, but he left behind parents and seven siblings, Shaul the youngest.

  Jewish custom dictated the burial service be held as soon as possible, and the funeral was set for tomorrow morning. The service would take place at the gravesite.

  A Hebrew friend once explained their burial customs. Jewish families didn’t use traditional funeral homes. They had something called chevra kadisha, a burial society that prepared the body according to Jewish customs.

  Caskets had no embellishments, just a sheet used to cover the body after it had been prepared. Soil from Israel was sprinkled on the body and the casket closed. It would remain closed during the funeral service.

  After burial, the family set aside a week for sitting shiva, their period of mourning.

  But it would take more time than that for Thomas to forget Shaul Lobel’s sacrifice. His phone buzzed and he read the text message.

  Return to office. p r has info u wanted. It is as u suspected.

  Videos placed Brad Reid in the area of Shaul’s shooting before and after. And Monroe’s financial information revealed large cash deposits that ran a tortuous route back to several known terrorist bank accounts.

  24

  Naples, Italy

  Tuesday, July 4

  Mercy and Daniel sat in the backseat of the Rolls-Royce between Ricco and a tall henchman who looked more like an executive than a kidnapper.

  She put a protective arm around Daniel and pulled him close.

  He hadn’t yet realized the danger they faced.

  Clouds formed overhead and rain splattered the vehicle’s tinted window, blurring the trees and vendors along the narrow roadway.

  Fear settled over Mercy like a cold blanket of snow, freezing her reflexes and numbing her mind. Not for herself. For Daniel. Even when Thomas had taken her from Bermuda, it hadn’t taken
long to realize he intended no physical harm.

  Not so with Ricco Rossellini. Hidden behind a handsome face and charming smile, his eyes held the same black, merciless depths as a shark.

  Mercy would willingly turn over anything to protect her son…her son. Funny, she had begun to think of Daniel that way. His very life depended on her now. Most frightening of all, she felt certain that whether she could give Ricco the information, or not, he would kill them both.

  “Mummy, where’s Fergus?”

  “He’s probably still shopping. We’ll catch him later.”

  Daniel accepted her explanation without question.

  The car moved easily through the streets of Naples, which was crowded with cars and people. Yet she couldn’t scream or call attention to her plight because of Daniel. “What did you do to Hamish?”

  Rossellini looked puzzled.

  “The bodyguard.”

  “He’s well enough. Probably just waking up with a bad headache.”

  “What do you want, Ricco?”

  “You know what I want. I want the photographs you took.”

  “What If I told you I don’t have any photos and don’t know where they are?”

  “I wouldn’t believe you, of course.”

  “Where are you taking us?”

  Ricco placed his finger under her chin and turned her face to him. “We’re going on a long, lovely cruise, cara mia. You do remember our cruises, don’t you?”

  She jerked her head away. “Take the boy back. I’ll go with you wherever you want.”

  He leaned close and whispered in her ear, his breath hot on her neck. “You’ll go with me whether I take the boy back or not.”

  “You don’t need him, Ricco. Let him go.”

  “Ah, but I do need him for leverage. To keep you in line, cara mia. You’ve proven to be most untrustworthy.”