“Sir, that makes no sense. Have you seen this place? I couldn’t pick a worse location to pass explosives. You’d have to transfer them about forty times from plane, train, and boat, and then do the reverse to get back out. Why not meet in the countryside?”

George Wolffe leaned in, saying, “Tell him what we’re hearing. Let him know the assessment.”

That caused me to sit up. “Boss?”

Kurt said, “Pike, we’ve got intercepts from Syria. ISIS is talking about an attack in the next two days. One that will cause ‘unimaginable harm to the heart of the infidel.’ If the timeline’s correct, they don’t have the space to get to America and set up an attack. They’re going to do it there, on the Continent, and it’s going to be close to Venice. You’ve got the only anchor. Their hotel room.”

I sat back, reflecting on what he’d said. In my heart, I believed that waiting in Venice was a waste of time, but I didn’t know. If I was wrong, and the Lost Boys did meet Omar here, I’d be responsible for their killing spree.

The easy answer would be to just sit back and follow orders. Rotate the team through the hotel and run random patrols around the area, hoping to hit the jackpot. If the attack succeeded, I would have followed orders like a good soldier and it wouldn’t be my fault.

At least that’s what I told myself. Right up until Shoshana came into my mind’s eye, with her saying someone would pay for her being alive, and I was responsible for that, when I’d chosen her over the Lost Boys. She was determined that it wouldn’t be an innocent civilian, and she was headed to Rome. It wasn’t much on the logic train, but it felt right, and it was enough to snap me out of my cowardly desire to just sit back and follow orders.

“Sir, I think they’ve already made linkup. I think I missed them with the Prairie Fire call for Shoshana. I let Omar get away, and at the same time let the Lost Boys slip through.”

He said, “Pike, that’s bullshit. We didn’t know what Omar was up to until after your hit. We didn’t know he was involved with the Lost Boys. Don’t put that on yourself.”

“The Lost Boys were still in Venice. I could have stopped them.”

“And Shoshana would be dead. You made the call, and I stand by it. Shit, you’re not the only game in town. I could have pulled Johnny’s team out of Istanbul, but I didn’t because I felt the same way you did. I didn’t think the timing was critical, and pulling Johnny would have destroyed the mission he’s executing. In hindsight, I should have, because his pissant target is just a financier—like Panda in Nairobi—but I didn’t.”

I appreciated the sentiment, but it didn’t alter the facts, or my culpability in them. I said, “Let me go to Rome. I can beat the woman’s train. She’s connected. She’s a thread to the target. We have two days, and the Lost Boys aren’t here.”

I saw him slowly shaking his head and pressed forward. “Sir, you saw the tapes. Jacob was following her. If she’s in Rome, maybe he is too. Maybe that man with her is the contact for Omar. Maybe that’s why they came to Venice.”

He looked behind him and said, “George?”

I waited. George leaned into the screen, saying, “I don’t know. Pike, how will you even find her? All we have is a name.”

“She’s no terrorist mastermind. Whatever she’s doing, she’s an unwitting linkage target. She’ll pay with the same credit card. You can track that and tell me the hotel. Best case, she’s there with the man in the picture. Even better, she’s there with the Lost Boys.”

He said, “Why don’t you leave a footprint in Venice? If all you’re going to do is interview the female?”

“I need my team. It’s all or nothing. If I split forces, I won’t be able to conduct an operation at either location. If I find something in Rome, I won’t be able to action it. Yeah, I’m just interviewing a woman, but I have to be prepared to find Jackpot.”

I saw him rub his face and knew I was losing the argument. I backpedaled, remembering I had a team I could call on if I needed it, and they were already headed to Rome. “Okay, okay. I’ll leave a two-man element here with eyes on the hotel. If I find something in Rome, I’ll pull them in. If they trigger in Venice, I’ll haul ass back here. Will that work?”

George said, “Can you execute with that timeline?”

I gave him the truth. “Probably not. You’re asking me to split my forces until neither is capable.”

He took that in, then said, “You feel strongly about this? Rome is the thread?”

“Yes.”

He looked at Kurt and said, “Let him go.” He returned to the screen, saying, “Billings hates his ass, which probably means he’s right. We could use a little Pike magic on this. We’re getting too close to the flame.”

Kurt said, “Okay. Get in the air. I’ll shoot you the credit card report as soon as I can.”

I said, “Yes, sir,” and reached my hand up to shut off the VPN, but Kurt cut me short.

He said, “Pike, if this decision is wrong, and we miss an attack because you’re in Rome, we’re done. There will be no justification.”

I paused, my hand over the disconnect button for the call. I said, “Sir, there never is. Shoshana told me someone would pay for my time spent rescuing her. She knew the implications, just like we do. If it’s any consolation, she said it wouldn’t be me.”

I saw his eyes narrow, and he said, “Shoshana? What do you mean it won’t be you? What the hell does she have to do with this?”

“Nothing. And everything. She’s hell-bent on preventing the Lost Boys from killing anyone. She feels it will be on her head. And she’s in Rome.”

“Rome? Doing what?”

“Making sure the payment for her rescue is given in terrorist blood.”

77

Christine Spalding dropped her carry-on suitcase and flopped on the bed, exhausted from trying to find her way in a foreign country. The farthest she’d ever traveled was to Washington, DC, as a child, and the adventurous excitement of flying to Venice had fallen away, leaving the grimy smear of trying to work her way through train stops and foreigners who wanted nothing more than to pick her pocket. Or worse.

The decision to purchase a train ticket to Rome had been a monumental one, fraught with unknowns, not the least of which were Chris’s actions to begin with. She had a paid ticket to the United States, courtesy of him, and would have used it, if only he’d bothered to say good-bye. She knew what she was, and had no illusions about her role in Chris’s life—even as she fantasized otherwise—but his dropping her cold before any consummation of the relationship just seemed weird. Downright odd.

She’d decided to follow him. She knew it would be against his wishes, but, Lord, she’d flown all the way to Italy because he’d asked. The least she was owed was an explanation. She didn’t care if the excuse was the wife, the church, or a simple illness, as the email stated. She just wanted some closure. After the enormous effort she’d put into getting here—vacation time off from work, buying clothes, the emotional distress of figuring out a foreign country—she deserved to know.

She lay on the bed, pondering her next move. She knew the hotel he was using, and could call it directly. If she could figure out how to make a damn call in Italy. Truthfully, she didn’t have the energy to sort through the dialing procedures, talking to people who didn’t speak English, and even if she had, she wanted to make the call from his lobby. Where he couldn’t say no. Where he’d have to at least face her. She knew he had the ceremony tomorrow, and would probably be busy, but she was at least owed a face-to-face from the coward.

She’d already mapped the hotel, and it was only about a half mile away, across the Tiber River near Vatican City. She’d found herself a cheap boutique hotel right near the Spanish Steps and the best shopping in Rome. Proud of her use of the Internet, learning how to operate in a country foreign to everything she’d known, she was gaining confidence.