Dead Ringer Page 20

  Thomas smiled. “If I’m lucky, you won’t see me again, ever. Just came back on special assignment.”

  “You responsible for all the bodies?”

  “I had help.”

  “You must be slowing down. You use to do this kind of thing all by yourself.”

  Stabler was inside the computer in seconds.

  Thomas looked over his shoulder. “Find anything?”

  “In here?” Stabler asked, and then shook his head. “Not yet. But he’s dirty. I hacked his and Reid’s financial records when Paul called earlier. This baby should seal his coffin.”

  “It’s already sealed. One of the body bags out there belongs to Monroe.”

  Monroe’s records would have enough damaging evidence to hang him and Reid, had they survived.

  If he knew Paul Redford, when he finished with the crime scene he’d classify the two men as heroes who died defending the compound from terrorists.

  The Langley team would report whatever Paul Redford told them.

  Thomas didn’t care. They’d dealt with the two men responsible for Shaul Lobel’s death, saving taxpayers the cost of a trial and incarceration. Justice served.

  Thomas found the agent in charge. “I’m leaving. You’ve got the con.”

  He took Monroe’s car, parked in the back of the cabin, and headed to the airfield. With luck, the weather would allow them to takeoff. On the way, he called Fergus. “Meet me in London tomorrow morning. I’m coming home.”

  “I’ve been trying to reach ye,” Fergus said. “Traci and Daniel are missing.”

  “When?”

  “Fourteen hours ago, in Naples.”

  “Have you notified the authorities?”

  “I was about to when you called. I waited to see if ransom was involved.”

  Thomas swallowed the lump that almost choked him. His greatest nightmare had just come true. “Call them. I’m on my way.”

  28

  Naples, Italy

  Thursday, July 6

  Mercy gazed through the porthole as the launch pulled away from the yacht, the sea like liquid gold reflecting the morning sunlight. A temporary respite from the rain. Nearby ships bobbed gently in the bay’s calm waters.

  Ricco and his thugs reached the wharf, disembarked, and headed for the airport. She glanced at her watch. 9:30 AM. The countdown had begun.

  Twelve hours max to get Daniel to safety.

  Thank God, he had healed from the surgery. However, that didn’t ease her apprehension. Only six years old—too young for such a dangerous task. But the alternative was too horrible to comprehend. Having him fall into an enraged Ricco’s hands would be unthinkable.

  In the light of day, her plan seemed more ominous than it had last night. It put Daniel into a different kind of danger, alone in the ocean. Once he was in the water, she couldn’t help him. God had provided a calm sea. She could never have sent him out in a storm.

  Daniel was an excellent swimmer, better than most grown men, better than she was, but still...she paced and prayed, unable to handle the terror alone.

  She glanced again at her watch. The minutes slipped away too quickly. Time to commit to a course of action or abandon the plan altogether. But there really was no choice. It was the only way to get Daniel off the ship.

  Inhaling a shuddering breath, she called Daniel away from the television. Hands around his waist, she lifted him to the bed so he could see through the porthole. “I need you to be very brave, Daniel. Do you see the white ship with the candy-striped deck chairs, the one closest to us? Do you think you could swim that far and climb aboard?”

  “Y-Yes, Mummy. But I want to stay with you.”

  She swallowed, took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. “Danny, this is important. There are some very bad men on this ship, who plan to hurt you. I need you to swim to safety. Contact the police. They’ll help you find your father. Can you do that?”

  His eyes widened. “Yes. I’m a good swimmer.” He was so little, and so brave.

  Her throat constricted. “I know you are.”

  If anything happened to him, how could she live with...? Best not to think about that now.

  She decided to wait until after the noon meal. It would waste three precious hours, but she’d notice yesterday that the guards started drinking after lunch. They wouldn’t be as alert. She didn’t want to run the risk of them spotting him in the water.

  When she and Daniel finished eating, she asked the porter for a plastic baggie to keep the half sandwich Daniel didn’t finish. The porter gave her a quizzical look but brought one later and picked up the tray.

  As soon as he was gone, she found pen and paper in the lamp table drawer and quickly wrote a note.

  HELP! URGENT!

  My name is Traci Wallace and this is my son, Daniel. We were abducted by a man named Ricco Rossellini and taken aboard a yacht, The Fleeting Fortune. Send help. Contact Thomas Wallace.

  She listed Fergus’s cell phone and the satellite phone numbers at the bottom. Fingers trembling, she sealed the note inside the plastic bag. Using Traci’s name made sense. She was a celebrity and that would lend an added sense of urgency to the message. No one would be rushing to rescue Mercy Lawrence.

  At the bottom of the closet, she found three life preservers. Two large, one small. She pulled out the smallest and slipped it over Daniel’s head, securing the buckles on the chest, making sure they wouldn’t come open. She placed the note in the life preserver’s waterproof pocket. She zipped it closed.

  “Mummy, I don’t need this.” He fingered the life preserver.

  “I know it will slow you down. But I think you need to wear it. Just in case.”

  He nodded, resigned, but not happy.

  With shaky hands, she removed the top bed sheet and carried it to the porthole. She tied one end under his arms, and showed him how to untie it, giving him time to practice twice. “Swim to the boat. If there is no ladder, yell for help until someone pulls you on board. Give the note to an adult. Keep asking for the police until they come, or the people take you to the police station.”

  He smiled and patted her cheek. “I’ll come back for you.”

  Taking his hands in hers, she shook her head. “No, Danny. Only if you bring your father, or the police, with you. You are not to come back here alone. Do you understand me?”

  His gaze searched her face, and he gave a solemn nod.

  She pulled him close for a final hug. “I’m very proud of you, Daniel. Always remember that I love you very, very much.”

  He climbed onto the bed.

  She helped him through the porthole and then lowered him into the water.

  Tears she’d held back flowed as his tiny fingers untied the sheet, and he swam away.

  Vision blurred, she watched the small orange blob make its way across the water.

  Time crawled until finally, activity on the target vessel indicated they saw the boy in the water, and they pulled him onboard.

  Mercy tasted blood. Without noticing, she’d bitten into the fist she’d held clenched against her mouth. One thought calmed her.

  Daniel was safe.

  Now all she had to worry about was dealing with Ricco when he arrived from London, empty-handed.

  By God’s grace, perhaps the police would arrive before Ricco.

  

  At six-thirty, a knock sounded on the stateroom door, and Mercy jumped. Distracted with getting Daniel out of harm’s way, she’d lost track of time.

  “Just a minute.” She dashed to the bathroom, turned on the shower, returned to the sitting room, and opened the door. She’d left cartoons on the television to avoid suspicion from the steward.

  The porter they’d had since she came on board, maneuvered inside, a heavy tray on his shoulder. “Where is the boy?”

  She busied herself clearing the table. “In the shower. Leave it. He’ll be out in a minute.”

  “Bring him out. I’m supposed to make sure you are both here.” His thick Itali
an accent made him sound perpetually angry.

  Dread kicked down her spine. The longer she concealed Daniel’s absence, the better her chances. She turned, feigning anger, and planted her fists on her hips. “I am not dragging my son from his bath so you can take a head count. Really, where else could he be?”

  His scowl deepened and he hesitated a fraction of a second, deciding whether to push it or not. He mumbled something that sounded like curses, and left.

  She paced the cabin, her nerves taut as a fishing line with a hundred pound marlin on the other end. If the police didn’t arrive before Ricco returned, she would be dead. Eyelids feeling like eighty-grit sandpaper, her fertile imagination envisioned a thousand ways her next meeting with Ricco could go, none of them pleasant.

  Too restless to sit still, she took a shower and changed clothes. The hot water soothed her frayed nerves, but the relief was only temporary.

  At ten-thirty, the launch returned.

  What could be keeping the police?

  She held her breath, listening as Ricco shouted words too far away for her to understand, but she felt the force of energy in the air as he stomped down the passageway towards her.

  Courage she’d never known swept through her, and she realized she wasn’t afraid of this man. Not now.

  His hold over her had been broken.

  Daniel was beyond Ricco’s reach now.

  He could only threaten her with Heaven.

  Not that she wanted to die, but her fate had always been in God’s hands. She crossed her arms and stood waiting for him.

  Ricco kicked the door open, his eyes bright with fury. He strode across the room, followed by the tall man with the icy blue eyes.

  Ricco grabbed both her arms, his fingers digging into her flesh, and shook her like a rag doll. “I warned you, Traci. Where’s the boy?”

  She lifted her chin. “He’s gone. You can’t touch him.”

  Ricco turned to the tall man and screamed. “We’ll see about that. Lorenz, search the ship. Find him.”

  She stood her ground. “It won’t do any good. He’s been gone since noon. He’s safe in the hands of the police.”

  His arm came back and he delivered a stinging slap that sent her reeling across the room, bouncing onto the sofa. One side of her face numbed. He charged across the room and took both sides of her shirt in his hands, jerking her to her feet. “I want those pictures, Traci.”

  Her hand went to her jaw, and she wiggled it. Feeling returned with stabbing pain. “There are no pictures. They never were in my procession. I’m not Traci Wallace. This entire fiasco since I left Bermuda has been a horrible case of mistaken identity.”

  He pulled her closer. “I don’t think so.”

  She shook her head. “My name is Mercy Lawrence. I live in Houston, Texas. I can’t deny the uncanny resemblance, but no matter what you do to me, I can’t tell you where to find the pictures.”

  With one quick jerk, he ripped her shirt down, exposing her right shoulder, pinning her arms to her side. He stared at her for a moment. His pupils dilated, and something she didn’t understand passed across his face. Shoving her back to the sofa, he eased into a chair across from her, and exchanged a look with Lorenz. “It’s...true. What you’re saying.” Ricco shook his head, his gaze roamed around the room and then landed back on her shoulder. “You’re not Traci. You don’t have the tattoo.”

  “Tattoo?”

  “A small silver scale, we both shared the same astrological sign, Libra.” He opened his shirt and revealed the sign on his own shoulder. “We got them the same day on Capri.” He lowered his head, resting it in his hands, and then raised it again to look at Lorenz. “Traci...she is dead.”

  A shudder of relief washed over Mercy. Ricco believed her. She pushed herself upright and pulled her shirt together. “What makes you think Traci’s dead?”

  He didn’t answer the question. “Lorenz, stay with her.” He stood and walked to the door. He turned and glared at her. “I’ll decide what to do with you later.”

  The door bounced against the frame, the lock broken.

  Within minutes, the groan of the anchor lifting filled the cabin, and the ship headed out to sea.

  

  Wallace Island, the Aegean Sea

  Friday, July 7

  Thomas left the house and headed for the beach, unable to bear the cavernous rooms that no longer echoed with Daniel’s laughter or were brightened by Mercy’s smile.

  Frank stopped him. “The weather is getting worse, boss. We need to wait until this blows over.”

  “I can’t wait, Frank. I’ll give you an hour to work out a flight plan to take us over or around the weather. Then we go. Regardless.”

  His chest was hollow, empty like the house. He wasn’t sure he could fill it again if anything happened to Mercy and Daniel. Only one burning need remained. To find his family and bring them home.

  A dark sky hung overhead. Gray clouds boiled above, damp and alive with expectancy from the coming squall. Waves pushed in, battering the shore.

  Wind whipped his hair and clothing, but he pushed farther down the coast. Emotions caused his brain to stop functioning—his head stuffed with intense feelings that stifled his powers of reason. If he’d been here, instead of traipsing off to save the world, Mercy and Daniel would still be safe at home.

  He’d grilled Fergus endlessly for details on their disappearance, but in the final analysis, there were no clues to follow. All they knew was Ricco Rossellini fit the description of one of the men his family left the carnival with. Twenty-four hours ago. They could be anywhere.

  Heavy rain pelted his head and face, soaking his shirt and trousers, plastering them against his skin. He ran, screaming into the wind, pushing himself faster and faster until he ran out of beach. He reversed and returned to the villa, headed to the shower. When he finished, the hour was up. A rap sounded at the door. “What do you want?” he shouted.

  It was Frank. “The plane’s ready.”

  “So am I. Have you notified Fergus?”

  “Yeah. He’s waiting in the foyer.”

  “Then let’s roll.”

  In the entryway, Fergus moved into step beside him.

  “We’re flying to Naples. I’ll check in with the Italian police on the way. Either way, we’ll tear that city apart until we find my family.”

  “Ye don’t think she just left with Rossellini? It’s happened before.”

  “Not this time, Fergus. Not this time.”

  On the flight to Naples, Thomas rose and walked back to the stateroom, too anxious to sit still.

  Maggie had texted a message she was sending an e-mail attachment. He had no time for business but sat down at the computer station in the stateroom. He might need to make a copy. It would be simpler from the desk. The printer paper tray was empty, and he opened the desk drawer.

  In the center compartment, he spotted a tiny black thumb drive. He rose and took it to Fergus. “This yours?”

  The Scot glanced down. “Not mine, lad. The puppy found it under yer bed. Traci put it away for safe keeping.”

  Thomas bounced the USB drive in his palm. It didn’t belong to him. He returned to his seat and connected it to his laptop.

  It took a minute for the file to open. Pictures of Ricco Rossellini and most of the terrorists on the ten-most-wanted list moved across the monitor—al-Qaeda leaders relaxing aboard Ricco’s yacht. Traci must have taken the photos. Why hadn’t she turned them over to the authorities? Or to him?

  The pictures brought up a link to a video. Thomas clicked on the site and Traci’s face appeared. “Thomas, if you’re watching this you know what I stumbled onto. I wanted to give it to you, but you were in Edinburgh, and you’ve been so angry you wouldn’t take my calls. I hid it on the plane, knowing you would find it.

  “I’ll meet you back on the island after I finish this photo shoot for Harper’s. We need to talk, Thomas. About us and where we go from here. You won’t believe this, but I do truly lov
e you. I always have.”

  The screen went dark.

  He sat in silence for a long while.

  These were the photographs Mercy told him Ricco had been after.

  Traci hid them, knowing Ricco couldn’t get access to the plane. Smart girl. And probably the reason she went into hiding. She should have come to him. Despite their differences, he would have protected her.

  Paul Redford could take this information and use Rossellini to capture the entire network.

  Thomas saved the file and sent it to Paul on his secure line. The fasten-seatbelt light came on. He returned to the cabin and buckled up for landing.

  Rain beaded on the aircraft’s window as they taxied onto the Naples Capodichino Airport runway.

  Frank pulled into terminal two as the satellite phone rang.

  He picked up the phone. “Thomas Wallace.”

  “Mr. Wallace, this is Captain Galluzzo with the Naples Police,” he said in surprisingly good English. “We have your son.”

  Thomas’s breath caught. “Is he all right?”

  “Si, he is fine.”

  “My wife...?”

  There was a pause.

  The captain cleared his throat. “The boy had a note. We’ll discuss it when you get to police headquarters.”

  “I’m at the airport now. I’ll be there as fast as the weather and your traffic laws allow.” He disconnected and signaled to Fergus. “The police have Daniel. Make sure a car is waiting as soon as we’re off the plane.”

  29

  Naples, Italy

  Thursday, July 6

  They made the trip from the airport in twenty minutes despite the foul weather.

  Lightning flashes through the tinted windows brightened the police station as they pulled to the curb. The building sat in the middle of the block, almost indistinguishable through sheets of rain, an old structure with nineteenth century Italian architecture, the stones gray in the dimming light. Steps rose four feet from the sidewalk to the entrance. Lighted basement windows faced the street.