“From the top of the hotel.”
“Gesù e Maria.”
Borgia managed to calm her and listened as she relayed the events more clearly. There had been a party of sorts, a business gathering to launch one of HW’s new funds. Hadrian Lester had gone off to speak with an Arabian sheikh. She didn’t know who the man was or what they had discussed. Lester had returned twenty minutes later looking as if he had been severely beaten. Worse was his mood. He had been distant, inconsolable, utterly bereft, as if something terrible had befallen him.
“A sheikh? You’re sure?”
“Yes.”
“Was it Tarek?” he asked, even though he was certain Tarek Al-Obeidi was elsewhere.
“I don’t know,” she answered unsteadily. “I don’t think so.”
Borgia told his sister to find a friend and stay with her. He would call back shortly. He ended the call and gestured to the paratrooper. Two more minutes. He dialed the number for Kruger. The call went to voice mail immediately, indicating that the phone was powered off. Kruger never turned his phone off when working.
Hadrian dead. Kruger MIA. Something was wrong.
Next a call was made to the Singaporean minister of defense, General Teck Koo.One of us.General Teck answered promptly. Borgia related that a man who did some work for him had gone missing in Singapore. No reason for concern, but he was hoping Teck could check if he was in the custody of the authorities. A small problem: he doubted that the man had valid identity papers on his person. He offered a brief physical description. A word about his nationality. And, finally, if Teck did locate him, could he see that the man was released in the shortest of delays. After a labored silence, Teck agreed.
Borgia ended the call. He refused to panic. Setbacks. Nothing more. Had not Caesar lost a quarter of his legions before conquering the Germanic tribes? He drew a breath, though not entirely successful in camouflaging his anxieties.
“Everything okay?” asked Sabbatini.
“My sister. She fears her husband may be having an affair. She is distraught.”
“Women.” Sabbatini shrugged. A subject about which he knew too much.
Borgia managed a laugh, even as the enormity of the problem hit home and his bowels turned to water. Sabbatini clapped him on the back. The men watched the last crates being loaded onto the aircraft.
“We will be in Lampedusa by eight. A routine supply run. By midnight, all will be in place.”
The men clasped hands. Years of discontent. Months of plotting. The day had finally come.
“Just a few more hours,” said Borgia.
“And you?”
“Leaving in the morning.”
“Be careful.”
“You’re not going to wish me luck?”
“Buona fortuna,”said General Massimo Sabbatini. “Or should I say, ‘Break a leg’?”
Chapter 54
Umbria
The call came three hours later as Luca Borgia was driving through the Umbrian foothills, approaching the Castello dell’Aquila.
The number appeared on his automobile’s information screen.
Relief.
“Kruger?”
Chapter 55
