"I don't yet know where where she was killed, but her body was found at the Smithsonian. One of the guys that came after me was wearing a Smithsonian security uniform, and he stepped out of the very building located next to said crime scene. Makes me wonder if she wasn't killed inside, and the body moved. Another part of me wonders if this security guard wasn't stationed there as a means of watching who might come poking around about her death." she was killed, but her body was found at the Smithsonian. One of the guys that came after me was wearing a Smithsonian security uniform, and he stepped out of the very building located next to said crime scene. Makes me wonder if she wasn't killed inside, and the body moved. Another part of me wonders if this security guard wasn't stationed there as a means of watching who might come poking around about her death."

"And you walked right into it?"

"There were extenuating circ.u.mstances."

"You don't think the guy was stupid enough to kill her in front of some security camera?"

"We could only hope," she told him. "Actually I'd be happy just to trace her last steps. Pull those security tapes, see if she's wandering around, admiring the artwork, or if she's there for a purpose."

"Or if she's there at all."

"Which is why we need to look into this congressman connection."

"Call me when you get to Rome. Let me know where you're staying."

10.

The moment Tony Carillo disconnected with Sydney, he called his friend Michael "Doc" Schermer, who was literally the go-to guy when it came to discovering obscure information. "You at your desk?" he called his friend Michael "Doc" Schermer, who was literally the go-to guy when it came to discovering obscure information. "You at your desk?"

"Yeah."

"Guess who I just heard from?"

"Your soon-to-be ex, who realizes she made a big mistake and is begging your forgiveness, but you told her to pound sand, because you just came into a major inheritance, and the girls are lined up outside your door?"

"Whatever you spiked your coffee with, save me some. And no. Fitzpatrick just called. She's on her way to Italy."

"And what's she doing there?"

"Being that she's an upstanding agent, she couldn't discuss it with me, for fear I'd end up in front of the OPR tribunal alongside her," he said, referring to the Office of Professional Responsibility, the Bureau's internal affairs watchdogs. "So you can see my dilemma."

"So what is it you can't discuss with me, for fear I'd be drawn and quartered alongside you?"

"You mean the part about the amba.s.sador to the Holy See's daughter being murdered, after having her face and prints removed to prevent her ID? Or something about a possible affair with a congressman and the pontification of whether or not the death was related?"

"First," Doc Schermer said, "I'm impressed you can use pontification pontification in a sentence. Second, in light of the case matter relating to the pope, I'm wondering if you did it on purpose. Third, if I'm going to get fired, I'd rather it wasn't for a bad pun. So what is it you're not really asking me?" in a sentence. Second, in light of the case matter relating to the pope, I'm wondering if you did it on purpose. Third, if I'm going to get fired, I'd rather it wasn't for a bad pun. So what is it you're not really asking me?"

"To find out everything you can on this congressman. I want to know every skeleton in his closet, and every committee he's ever sat on. I want to know about the girl and what she's involved with. And last but not least, I could use a legit reason to get on a plane to D.C. ASAP, so I can get the Bureau to pick up the tab. If I'm going to be unemployed soon, I'd rather not be out the airfare."

"I'm sure I can dig up an old case for you that needs follow-up in the D.C. area," he said, and Carillo heard the click of his keyboard as Doc Schermer started typing. "Give me the names of all the involved..."

Sydney looked around her apartment, trying to figure out all she'd need for the trip. Everything except her work clothes was still in boxes. Her indecision on where to look for an apartment was now costing her time, and she wished she'd just let Scotty pick out a place. A few minutes later her contact at Homeland Security called her back.

"What's the good word?" she asked Levins.

"Your guy's flying to Rome, Fiumicino, via Dulles at seven P.M P.M."

"What are the chances you can book me on that flight in the seat next to him?"

"Can't. But I can put you in the row right behind him."

"Works for me."

"Ciao. And you owe me. Credit card number would be a good start. I'll think of a proper extortion after you get back."

Perfect, she thought, looking around at all the boxes, searching for the one marked "Important Papers." Time to pull out her d.a.m.ned pa.s.sport.

Zach Griffin's seat was near the rear of the plane, far enough back to be able to see what was going on up front, and the best way he knew of scanning and profiling each pa.s.senger on board. It was one of the reasons he was always the last to board, when circ.u.mstances necessitated public transportation. He preferred knowing whom he shared a plane with, because he didn't like surprises.

And he didn't like finding unexpected pa.s.sengers seated one row behind him.

He stopped at his seat, eyed Sydney Fitzpatrick, who occupied the middle seat right behind his. "What are you doing here?" he asked.

"Good to see you again, too." She smiled.

He didn't smile back. Instead, he looked at the twenty-year-old kid sitting next to her in the aisle. He dug a few bills out of his wallet and waved them in front of the kid's face. "Yours if you switch seats with me."

The boy shrugged, grabbed the bills, and got up to switch seats.

Zach swung his bag in the overhead bin, then sat next to Fitzpatrick, who sat with her hands folded on top of some file folder in her lap. He eyed it, then her. "What the h.e.l.l are you doing on this flight?" he asked.

"I'd ask you the same, but I figure it has something to do with this." She opened the folder, then slid out a section of a newspaper, the article and accompanying photograph on Alessandra Harden, while making sure no one else could see it.

"How did you discover who she was?"

"How was it you didn't?"

"Besides the obvious?" he asked, referring to the victim having no face. Or fingerprints. "We had a suspicion, but needed confirmation. Hence the need for your services. As you can appreciate, they are no longer needed."

Sydney tucked the article back in her folder. "Well, here's the thing. A couple guys tried to Ten X me last night, and, just a quirk of mine, I tend to take those sort of things personally. The way I see it, with one of them still at large, it's in my best interest to figure out what the h.e.l.l is going on."

"It would have been in your best interest to fly home on the plane we'd provided. Had you done so," he said, keeping his voice low, "and not involved yourself in something you shouldn't have been nosing around in, you wouldn't have been made into a target."

"Well, it's a little late for that now, isn't it? And speaking of being in my best interest, how is it I had to learn from someone else that my very good friend, whom I personally personally recommended for your case, was killed. What if her parents had decided to hold a local service?" recommended for your case, was killed. What if her parents had decided to hold a local service?"

"Like I said, on the off chance it was something more than a hit-and-run, we didn't want you there for the obvious reasons."

"The off chance?" she whispered. "Had you informed me of everything from the beginning, last night's events could have been completely avoided."

He glanced over at her, saw she was staring straight ahead, doing her best to keep her temper in check. "You're welcome to get off the plane."

"Not going to happen."

"How'd you get permission to fly out?"

"Simple. I called the security officer at HQ, told him I had hankering to go to Italy, because I got a real good deal on a flight, but only if I leave now. He told me I knew the drill. Leave my gun at home, and see him when I get back for a security briefing. Italy's not way up there in the countries of concern, you know."

"So you lied." That was something he hadn't expected, not based on her background.

"Bent the truth a little. I'm thinking about visiting the Vatican. You?"

Griffin buckled up his seat belt as the flight attendant made her rounds for the preflight check. "Haven't decided yet. But wherever I go, it'll be without you. You lost your friend, and for that I'm sorry. But that makes you emotionally involved. It's something I can't afford." He leaned back, closed his eyes. "So how was it you found her?" he asked.

"The crime scene photograph. The red sandstone. Looked it up on the Internet and discovered the Smithsonian was built with it. From there it was basic. Looked up vehicles towed in the area, found one that was connected to a missing person, who happened to be a student in a history cla.s.s she a.s.sists with," she said, patting the folder on her lap. "Their professor confirmed it this morning."

Impressed by her powers of observation and deductive reasoning, he was still bothered that she'd found the connections so easily, primarily because it had put her in danger. Even so, she'd handled herself well, better than the two agents he'd a.s.signed to follow her. "Sorry about losing you last night."

"Yeah, well, it all worked out in the end."

"Except you let the second guy get away." He opened one eye, smiled at the dark look she gave him. "Would've been cleaner had you gotten him, too."

"Win some, lose some."

He laughed. Sydney Fitzpatrick was nothing like he'd been led to believe. That didn't mean he was keeping her on, but at the very least, it was going to make his flight less tedious.

The plane touched down at the Leonardo da Vinci Airport in a smooth landing, and the moment the seat belt lights were shut off, the pa.s.sengers rose from their seats and started digging for their carry-ons. Zach retrieved his and Sydney's, then they both remained seated, waiting for the pa.s.sengers in front of them to depart. Sydney unzipped her bag, dropped in the folder of the conspiracy report, then sat back to wait, thinking that Griffin might actually let her in on his investigation after all.

That illusion lasted until he said, "When we get off the plane, you're going back on the next flight to the States."

"You can't order me," she told him. "I'm on vacation."

"Watch how fast I get you ordered back."

She didn't doubt for a second that he could do it. "At least let me see Bernini's Daphne and Apollo at the Villa Borghese. Not letting an artist see Bernini is like...like not letting a cop shoot a gun."

"That's the lamest a.n.a.logy I've ever heard."

"I'm sleep deprived."

"Fine. Daphne at the Villa Borghese tomorrow. And then you're out of here. Where are you staying?"

"I haven't gotten that far."

He took out one of his business cards, wrote the name of a hotel on it and below that a number, then handed it to her. "This place will be perfect. Modernized and secure. And the number is my emergency contact number while I'm here. And I mean emergency. When I get off this plane, we are simply two pa.s.sengers who chatted on the flight over. You do not know me, and I don't know you."

"Fine. But I guess you'll never know if I get on that return flight."

He glanced over at her. "Good point. I'm booking, paying for, and personally delivering you to that plane. Come to think of it, I'll deliver you to your hotel room."

"What hotel are you staying in?"

"I'm not."

The row in front of them started forward, and the two of them followed the other pa.s.sengers to pa.s.sport control.

The terminal at Leonardo da Vinci was crowded with travelers speaking a babel of foreign languages. Following Griffin's lead, she dug her pa.s.sport out, then stepped into the line for nonEuropean Common Market pa.s.sengers, careful to listen as he was questioned, though she was certain he wasn't giving accurate answers.

"Business or pleasure?" the short and rather sour-faced pa.s.sport control officer asked in English, eyeing his pa.s.sport, then him.

"Business."

"Nature?"

"Newspaper. A series on vacationing in Italy."

"Destination?"

"Rome."

"Length of stay?"

"A week."

"Fast writer?"

"Very."

"Thank you." He stamped Griffin's pa.s.sport, then waved him through.

Sydney went through the same drill, but when he asked her the nature of her visit, she nodded toward Griffin and said, "I'm ill.u.s.trating his articles." Her return ticket was for a week as well, since Levins had booked it to match Griffin's.

As they walked off, Griffin said, "Quite the cover story."

"No worse than yours."

If she had any hopes that Griffin might forget about babysitting her until her plane, they were crushed as he took her by her arm and led her to the Alitalia departure desk. "When is the next flight back to..." He glanced at Sydney, then the attendant as he said, "San Francisco."

The woman tapped at her keyboard, eyeing her screen. "The soonest we can get you on a connecting flight via New York is tonight-"

"She'll take it."