The Good Thief. Judith Leon
heavy and her eyes burned, she didn’t skip anyone.
The annoying ring of her landline phone shocked her awake. She lurched upright, her hand knocking her empty cup onto the Oriental carpet.
What time is it? The last time she remembered looking at the clock it had been eleven-thirty. It was now one-thirty in the morning.
She snatched up the phone receiver. Allison was again at the other end. “I know it’s very early for you,” Allison said. “I apologize.”
“No problem, Allison.”
“We have new information. Do you know Samantha St. John?”
“Athena alum?”
“Yes. She works for the CIA. Sam’s been on this mess from the beginning. She accessed CIA satellite intel tracking the plane carrying Teal. The plane lost altitude and three people parachuted from it well before landing in Britain.”
Lindsey sucked in a sharp breath. She saw herself only a day ago terrified as she stood at the open door of the plane with Marko holding her. Her heart went out to Teal. The poor girl, young and frightened and forced to leap from a plane.
“Obviously,” Allison continued, “one of the three had to be Teal. They were likely picked up in the ocean south of Ireland. Authorities are searching, Lindsey, but you need to put this information into your calculations. I didn’t want to wait until morning.”
“I agree. I want to be in the loop at all times.”
They hung up, but Lindsey was too awake now to go back to sleep. She returned to her list of possible sources. Ten names. Ten chances to find Teal, each less promising than the one before it. Her references were geared for art, not human trafficking. Beatrix just had to come through.
She went to the bedroom closet. To each of her contacts, she presented different but appropriate personas. For Beatrix it would be tailored and professional. And it was cold in Geneva. She started sorting through her outfits.
With her strategy in place, she set the alarm for 5:45. She needed to be at Novak Sicurezza Internazionale by seven in the morning to explain to K-bar, who was always at work before anyone else, that she needed a couple of days off.
Novak Sicurezza Internazionale, or NSI, occupied the two top floors of a lovingly renovated four-story building four winding blocks from the Uffizi Gallery. Views from K-bar’s fourth-floor office were of the Ponte Vecchio, the river Arno, and the city’s red-tile roofline. Other NSI offices looked onto the Campanile di Giotto in the Piazza Duomo.
Her father allowed her to kiss his cheek. He smelled of expensive cologne—like nutmeg—and was dressed, as always, in an impeccable Italian suit, this one a charcoal gray that complemented the white streaks in his dark-red hair. His eyes, like hers, were also gray. She only resembled her mother, Lindsey often thought, in personality: artistic, empathetic and enthusiastic, not the natural daredevil that K-bar was. Loretta Novak had been a textbook illustrator. She’d died in an auto accident seven years ago, when Lindsey was twenty-one. The shocking loss had made Lindsey’s relationship with her father even more complicated. And the emptiness still sometimes felt unbearable.
“So you are back safely and soundly from Naples,” he grumbled.
“And with the recovered Artemisia on its way by special courier to its rightful owners.”
K-bar dropped into the brown Italian leather swivel chair behind his desk and leaned back, making the leather creak. K-bar Novak was engraved on his gold nameplate. His employees might be surprised to know his name was Anton, but they all knew the story of how a young Special Forces commander with a few too many beers in his belly had chased a man out of a house of prostitution wielding his KA-BAR knife. Big-screen hero, her father. When she was young, she’d called him both “Daddy” and “K-bar,” but the latter had stuck at some point.
“So. To what do I owe the honor of your appearance this early on a Monday morning?” he asked.
“I need to take a couple of days off.”
“More art business? You know, I was counting on you to bring in the Berlin telecom account. They’ll need advice and staffing for all their operations in Guatemala and Honduras. I don’t have anyone as persuasive as you, Lindsey.”
“Damiano can handle it.”
Her father said nothing. She loved working for NSI and knew K-bar expected that one day she would take over the entire security business. But for now, he also accepted that she had another passion and never interfered when she asked for time off. She would let him think it was another art recovery deal. He had no idea she took on operations for Athena or served now and then as a courier for the U.S. government.
“Okay. But keep me informed. By the way, how did Savin work out?”
“Marko’s very…take-charge. But it all ended well. I actually went skydiving with him yesterday.”
K-bar’s eyebrows shot up. “Marko, huh? He’s a good man on assignment, Linds. I’ve never employed better. But skydiving with him? I never can figure why women can’t see when a man is just on the make.”
Lindsey took a deep breath to keep from blushing. “It’s not a problem. Really.”
“Easy to say. Marko is a typical Italian male. New woman every month. Then when it doesn’t work out for one reason or another, he’s off again. Women are attracted to Marko Savin like barflies to beer.”
She laughed but felt even luckier that she hadn’t gone to bed with Marko. On some level, she’d sensed what K-bar was saying. “I agree that a woman would have to be nuts to get involved with him. Don’t worry. I just considered it a chance to do something exciting that I’d never done before.”
“You liked the skydiving?” He gave her a challenging look. It was always a question, always a test for him.
“Fabulous,” she said, her voice firm.
“Sure you’d like it. Nothing after the Athena Academy would be too much. I’ve always been glad your mother and I sent you. It made you tough. You’ve always managed affairs of the heart just fine.”
“Right. I’m a ‘no tears’ kind of woman.” She was skilled at walking away from anything sticky. Distancing herself. She was good at that.
He frowned and leaned forward, arms on the desk. “You sure this is just an art thing you’re doing, Linds?”
She laughed. “If I told you what it was about, I’d hafta kill ya.”
She stood, wanting to kiss him on the cheek again, but knowing the gesture would only make him uncomfortable, she left.
Chapter 7
Lindsey resisted the urge to tell the cabdriver once more how urgently she needed to be on time for a meeting at the Place des Nations. Beatrix expected her in five minutes, but they were stuck in traffic on Geneva’s Pont du Mont Blanc. The cabbie couldn’t change that miserable fact.
At 8:00 a.m., a half hour later than planned, she’d hurried aboard the private jet in Florence. In Geneva, she spent another fifteen precious minutes connecting with a taxi. It was now 12:55. If she didn’t make it on time, Beatrix could use that as an excuse to avoid seeing her.
A young girl’s life shouldn’t depend on making transportation connections, Lindsey thought as the taxi burned fuel going nowhere fast.
The bridge spanned the southern tip of Lake Geneva where the lake flowed into the Rhone River. A thick layer of ice created by winds gusting off the lake covered benches on the quay on the north shore in white. The famous Jet d’Eau geyser was, of course, turned off for the winter. Everything seemed pewter-colored, the buildings, the lake, the sky, the peaks of the Savoy Alps beyond Geneva. Despite the warmth of the cab and her black Cossack-style coat and boots, Lindsey shivered. The gray, cold day mirrored her mood.
Her cell phone rang. Beatrix. Lindsey