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When they returned to Capri Town from Anacapri, Harvath was not in the best of moods. His feet were sore from his new shoes, and he hadn’t eaten since Naples. Meg suggested that they drop their shopping bags in the hotel and give the Piazzetta a shot. Harvath reluctantly agreed.
They found an outdoor table, several rows in, against the wall of one of the busy cafés, partially obscured from view by a row of potted trees.
After several hours of people watching and several tiny cups of high-octane Italian coffee, Harvath decided a new approach was in order. They drifted from disco to disco and high-end hotel lobby to high-end hotel lobby, hoping to get lucky. The sun was coming up when Harvath and Meg made one more fruitless trip to the marina, then finally headed back to the hotel to get some sleep.
57
When Meg awoke, Harvath was already gone. She had only slept a couple of hours, so her guess was that Harvath hadn’t slept at all. Knowing him, she concluded he had waited until she had fallen asleep and had gone back out on his own. Meg knew exactly where she would find him, though.
She took a shower and put on a fresh change of clothes. The complimentary buffet breakfast was already underway when Meg entered the hotel’s main dining room. She selected some food from the buffet and then took a table near the window, where she asked the waiter for coffee. Her mind was turning over and over, trying to figure out how they could track down Adara Nidal and what might happen if they didn’t.
After Meg had finished her breakfast, she asked the waiter if she could have one of the plastic pitchers full of coffee to take upstairs to her husband, who wasn’t feeling well. The waiter was more than happy to oblige. Meg fixed a tray with some extra food, and when the coffee arrived, took everything up to the room.
Back in the room, she wrapped the food in paper napkins and placed it, along with the plastic jug of coffee and a cup, into one of their fancy shopping bags with silk cords that could be drawn shut at the top. Carefully slinging the bag over her shoulder, she put on a pair of sunglasses, walked downstairs, and exited the hotel.
She turned right and headed past the bus terminal and taxi stand into the main square. Having learned from her training with the Delta operatives the importance of varying your routine, she decided to take another route to the marina. Instead of heading straight through the Piazzetta and back past all the high-profile boutiques, Meg turned left and went a different direction. She passed under an archway and onto a tiny thoroughfare. From the map she carried, it looked to be an easy yet roundabout way to get down to the water. She now remembered how difficult Capri’s windy little streets were to navigate, even with a map.
About fifty meters in from the Piazzetta, Meg stopped next to a restaurant called, Al Grottino, to once again check her map. As she was unfolding it, one of the little motorized luggage carts came careening down the narrow alley, and Meg had to jump to the other side to get out of the driver’s way. It was then that something on the door of the restaurant caught her eye.
It was a small sticker proclaiming that the restaurant was a member of Italy’s prestigious Unione Ristoranti Del Buon Ricordo. Meg’s heart began to race. She crossed back over and read the menu posted outside, and when she found what she was looking for, her heart pounded even faster. Trying not to draw any attention to herself, Meg made her way as quickly as possible to the Marina Piccola.
58
When Meg got to the marina, she spotted Harvath sitting in a blue-and-white-striped canvas beach chair beside the water.
“I hope you brought some coffee,” said Harvath, who was surveying the coastline with his binoculars as Meg approached from behind. “The restaurant here doesn’t open for another hour.”
“I’ve got coffee and something even better,” she said as she unslung her shopping bag and took the empty beach chair next to him.
“Coffee first,” he said as he pulled the binoculars away from his face. His eyes were red and bloodshot.
“I’ll talk while you drink,” said Meg as she handed him a cup of coffee and then pulled the food she had brought for him out of her bag.
Harvath took a sip of hot black coffee and then opened up a croissant and placed some of the prosciutto inside. As he took a bite of the sandwich, he said, “I’m thinking about renting a boat. I’m not convinced Hamdi is going to moor the Belle Étoile on this side of the island. All of the bigger yachts are definitely here, but if he wants his privacy, he might choose a more secluded spot.”
“I think I have something else we should run down first.”
“Meg, the clock is ticking. For all we know, Hamdi and the Belle Étoile are already here and we’ve been wasting our time looking in the wrong spot.”
“What if I told you,” said Meg, opening a small container of yogurt, “that I think I found one of Adara’s haunts on Capri?”
“I’d be all ears,” said Harvath as he raised the binoculars back to his eyes and once again sca
“And eyes. Listen to me,” she said as she pulled the binoculars away from him, gaining his undivided attention. “Remember the plates she served di
“Kind of. They were odd little hand-painted jobs with some kind of cartoon and Italian writing.”
“Exactly. Do you know what the writing said?”
“Mine said something about Pollo alla Romana, Frascati, and something else with the picture of a chicken in a toga. They looked like kids’ plates to me.”
“They were far from kids’ plates. Mine was Bavette ai Gracchi, from the Dante Taberna De Gracchi-a very good restaurant in Rome near Vatican City. Do you know what Adara’s had?”
“I didn’t get a good look from where I was sitting.”
“Well, I did. It had a lobster outfitted like a gladiator, but that’s not the most important thing. Across the top it read, ‘Risotto con aragosta e l’olio di tartufo’-‘lobster risotto with truffle oil.’”
“The same meal she served us?”
“Yes. The Italian writing on your plate was the name of the restaurant in Frascati that served the Pollo alla Romana.”
“Meg, back up. I don’t get this.”
“It’s the plates. Each one represents the specialty of the house for a different restaurant in the Buon Ricordo organization.”
“What’s ‘Buon Ricordo’?”
“It’s an exclusive club of restaurants that celebrate Italian cuisine.”
“So what does this have to do with Adara?”
“I didn’t see where her plate came from, but on my way down here I figured it out.”
“Don’t tell me. Capri?”
“You got it. There’s a Buon Ricordo restaurant called Al Grottino right off the Piazzetta.”
“And the specialty of the house?”
“Lobster risotto with truffle oil,” answered Meg.