He’d agreed, and gave us a sweet two-story flat located in the north of the city in Municipio III, about two miles north of the old Urbe airport, a general aviation facility that made it pretty convenient for the rock-star bird. Even better, the house came with a dented four-door Fiat clown car in a roll-up garage.

No sooner had we moved our luggage in than Kurt had called, saying that Christine had used her credit card to check into the Hotel Imperiale. The strange thing was she’d used her card. Not the pay-as-you-go card. Stranger still, the pay-as-you-go card had also been used, once at a store in Venice, and today at a cab company—in Rome. Kurt was running down what the other purchase was for, but the Rome connection was enough smoke to get everyone’s blood pumping. Now I hoped Jennifer and Shoshana could find the fire.

Jennifer said, “What if she doesn’t want to talk?”

“If she stonewalls, go good cop/bad cop on her. Shoshana will have no trouble being the bad cop. If she really clams up, give us a shout. Brett and I will be right here for some extra intimidation. Either way, we’re getting something out of her.”

Brett said, “I see the little killer coming.”

The café we were in was a literal glass house built right on the sidewalk, allowing anyone to stop and stare as you ate your food. I don’t know who thought that was a great idea, but it allowed me to turn around and see Aaron and Shoshana walking past the metro station to the south, headed our way. They came abreast and I tapped on the glass, letting them see us.

They came inside, with Aaron saying, “Shoshana told me on the train you’d call. I didn’t believe her.”

“Well, I hadn’t planned on it, but circumstances with my higher command forced me to make a choice, and I figured Shoshana here would want a crack at the target. Get her off Jennifer.”

I glanced at her, proud of my jab, only to find her ignoring me, staring intently out the window instead.

I heard Jennifer say, “Pike, the target just walked out of the hotel. She’s headed north.”

I whipped my head around and saw Christine strolling up the street, carrying a large purse and looking like every other tourist out for an evening walk.

“Shit. Okay, okay, we follow her to see what she’s up to. If she’s just wandering around, seeing the sights, Jennifer and Shoshana will interdict on her line of march.”

Jennifer nodded, and I looked at Shoshana for confirmation. She was still staring out the window, and I saw the dark angel appear. In the span of an instant she went from smiling to radiating so much violence it was like feeling heat from a bonfire.

I followed her gaze, confused as to why Christine would provoke such a response, and then saw the engine driving her rage. Omar al-Khatami and the Lost Boy Jacob were on the street. And they were following Christine.

*   *   *

Walking up the avenue, tourist map in hand, Christine ran through her head what she was going to say to Chris on the phone, trying to develop an answer for every conceivable way he could try to avoid coming to the hotel lobby. She wasn’t leaving until she had her face-to-face. She was owed that, even if his answer was a blunt Go away.

She’d even considered threatening him with exposure, but she quickly discarded that idea. It wasn’t in her to be vindictive, and she knew she was just as culpable as he was. There was no way she could bring herself to expose their illicit relationship—especially since it had never been officially consummated.

And that was the ugly elephant in the room. Chris had paid for her to fly all the way to Italy, and she’d known all along there was a price. She was willing to pay it, in fact was looking forward to it, and then Chris had disappeared with nothing more than an email. It wasn’t like him, and, as much as she was afraid of rejection, she was secretly petrified that something was terribly wrong.

She reached the top of the famed Spanish Steps, the dying sunlight illuminating a mass of people in the square below, vendors scurrying among the crowd hawking flowers and chances to use a selfie stick. She paused, taking in the scene and wishing she had a camera.

She looked at her map, planning her route to Chris’s hotel through the shopping district beyond the square. She pinpointed her location, then went down the steps, trying to ignore the aggressive sales techniques. She reached the bottom and was literally cornered by two young men trying to sell her flowers, or maybe trying to get something else.

Mildly alarmed, she stuck her hand in her purse, saying, “No, no, no,” while she fished for her small bottle of pepper spray. She eventually convinced them, and they let her go on her way, but she kept her hand in her purse.

She walked down the first street she found, lined with high-end stores selling things she could never afford, but that wouldn’t stop her from looking.

79

Shoshana stood and I clamped my hand on her wrist, saying, “Don’t.”

She snarled something unintelligible and tried to pull her hand free. I feared she was going to run out of the café and launch herself onto Omar’s back. I torqued her wrist, bringing her back into her chair.

She fought me, leaning over the table in an effort to break free, knocking a glass of water to the floor. I said, “Shoshana, no. Not here. Not now. You can’t do anything on the streets of Rome.”

The dark angel glared back, wanting to hurt me. The twisted thing was greater than I’d ever seen, and I had no doubt she’d kill me if she could. Aaron reached over and touched her shoulder, then whispered something in Hebrew into her ear. Like a wave receding, the potential violence dissipated and Shoshana appeared. I let go of her wrist just as the waitress came over.

Speaking to the waitress, but keeping my eye on Shoshana, I said, “Sorry for the mess. Can we get the check?”

The waitress glanced at both of us, then dropped a towel on the floor. Brett said, “I got it. Please, the check.”

She left and I said, “Shoshana, you brought us here, now let me finish it.”

She bored into me, reading my intent in her peculiar way, then slowly nodded. Still looking at her, I said, “Brett, Jennifer, hit the street. Eyes on, loose follow.”

They stood and Shoshana said, “I go with them.”

I said, “No, you don’t. If there’s anyone who’s burned, it’s you. Brett and Jennifer are clean. He never saw them in the assault. Aaron and me, less so. We can probably get away with a limited action. You, on the other hand, are completely useless here.”

“I’m not going to sit here while that fuck walks the earth.”

Jennifer began configuring her phone and putting in her earpiece. Brett said, “What’s the end state?”

“Find a bed-down. Find the nest of vipers.”

“You providing backup?”

“Yeah, it’ll be me and Aaron. We’ll be on the street right behind you. First, I’ve got to get Knuckles and Retro’s asses down here, and to do that I need to get the rock-star bird to Venice. I just hope the pilot isn’t out boozing.”

Brett nodded in his calm way and turned to go. I touched his arm. “Don’t lose them. This is it.”

He said, “Have some faith. At least you don’t have Jennifer wearing a Rastaman wig.”

I smiled and said, “Keep an eye on her. When shit gets bad, she has a tendency to climb things like a cat running up a tree.”

He grinned at her and said, “She’ll only do that if I’m running away.” He returned to me. “And I’m not running away. We clear on the rules of engagement? He’s DOA, right?”

He was referring to a small rule the Taskforce had, called Dead or Alive, meaning the target was such a significant threat we were authorized to kill him instead of capture him. It wasn’t my call to make, and required a sanction from the Oversight Council. I was kicking myself for not setting that up beforehand, in the long discussions with Kurt. I made the decision anyway.