Path Of The Assassin

The woman moved right in front of Harvath and placed both of her hands upon his shoulders. He tried to avoid her, but it was no good. Her wrists were weighted down with gold bracelets and designer shopping bags and as she reached one of her hands out for Meg, she continued, “Isn’t this a small world? Or should I say island? What am I talking about? It is a small island. Don’t you just love Anacapri? This is where I always stay when I come. I mean I might go over to Capri Town, but this is where anybody who is anybody stays.”

Unfortunately, the woman had one of those voices that really seemed to carry. The commotion had been enough to turn Adara Nidal’s head and now she was staring right into Harvath’s eyes.

“Sorry, we’ve gotta run,” said Scot as he and Meg untangled themselves from the American woman and picked up their pace.

“Where’s the fire?” asked the woman as Harvath and Meg took off after Adara, who was already way ahead of them and closing in on the idling taxi.

Harvath half pulled his gun, but knew that the flood of tourists would make it impossible to get off a clean shot. He slid the Browning back into the holster, grabbed Meg by the wrist, and spun her back in the direction they had come. There was no way they could beat Adara to the waiting taxi. Their only chance was to catch it when it came onto the main road at the bottom of the hill.

They ran back to the stone steps and down into the piazza. Crossing the tiny square, Harvath steered Meg to the front of the cabstand and, in a move that would have made even the most seasoned New Yorker jealous, elbowed out a crowd of drunk Germans and hopped into their cab. The driver started protesting immediately, and it wasn’t until Harvath fished out a large Euro note that the man agreed to forget about their jumping the line. By that time, Adara Nidal’s cab had already come down the hill and had swung onto the main road heading south.

Meg instructed their driver in Italian to follow the other cab.

“What’s going on?” asked the old man, who was at least seventy if he was a day, as he pulled away from the piazza.

“Don’t worry about it. Keep driving,” responded Meg.

Despite his age, the old islander did a good job of keeping up, but not good enough. Adara Nidal’s cab made a hard right and their driver missed it. He continued south and had to swing an even harder right up what looked like a one-way street to get back behind her.

They were now headed toward the very western edge of the island, with two buses and several cars separating them. Harvath had to hand the old man another large banknote to convince him to risk passing the other vehicles. The roads of Capri had not been designed with high-speed chases in mind.

The driver made several attempts to move out from behind the bus in front of them, only to have to jerk the wheel back hard to the right because of an oncoming vehicle in the opposite lane. Slowly, he began to make some progress as he threaded his way forward.

Meg asked the driver what was at this end of the island that caused so much traffic. After passing another car, the man responded, “Grotta Azzura.” The Blue Grotto.

Harvath kept peeling off notes, crumpling them into balls, and throwing them into the front seat as he urged the driver to go faster. Though they had passed both buses and several of the cars, Adara Nidal’s cab was far ahead and disappeared every time it took one of the many curves in the winding road.

Holding on to the seat in front of him, Harvath stood in the open-air convertible and tried to keep track of her cab. He wondered why she would be racing toward the Blue Grotto. It had to be Hamdi. Maybe he had anchored the Belle Étoile off the grotto and was sending a launch to pick her up. Then the road forked and their driver veered to the right, away from the heavy stream of traffic. Harvath almost lost his balance. He couldn’t see the other cab anywhere, only a high cloud of dust hovering over the road in front of them, which hadn’t escaped their clever driver.

There was also a road sign. Harvath now knew where Adara Nidal was headed. Eliporto di Capri-Capri Heliport.

Before the taxi had even come to a complete stop at the gate of the heliport, Harvath was already out and ru

The one thing Harvath did know was that he had seen that helicopter before. He had seen it in Ari Schoen’s surveillance photos sitting on the helipad of Marcel Hamdi’s megayacht, the Belle Étoile.

61

When Harvath and Meg returned to Anacapri, they headed right for the Capri Palace. Past a cascading fountain surrounded by votive candles, they entered the luxuriously appointed, snow-white lobby and headed left toward the bar.

Heavy columns throughout the room supported a multiarched ceiling and created a multitude of private sitting areas. A short mahogany bar with four stools stood alone in a far corner, while a brace of dark wooden ceiling fans quietly stirred the air overhead. White couches and loveseats were scattered throughout, fronted by thick, low-slung mahogany tables. Lamps, their shades festooned with delicate gold tassels, added to the air of elegance.

Harvath and Meg proceeded past a large grand piano and out onto the flower-filled terrace. After they found a table, a waiter quickly appeared to take their drink orders. An evening cocktail at one’s hotel was a tradition on Capri, and as Scot and Meg settled in to wait for the man who had been seen dining with Adara Nidal, their only hope was that he would actually show up.

The sun began its slow descent into the ocean, casting a glow of burnt orange over the Capri Palace’s terrace. Large white candles, nestled in sand and set in large glass hurricane lamps, were lit and placed strategically around the terrace. The waiters began setting up a buffet table, and when Meg asked them what they were preparing for, one of the waiters explained that it was the manager’s weekly cocktail party for hotel guests. Harvath began to think that their luck might be changing.

As the slow parade of guests began to file out onto the terrace, their man appeared. He was wearing a white linen suit with a pink-and-white-checked shirt. His hair was perfectly coifed, his goatee neatly trimmed, and it was obvious from the way he carried himself that he had no self-esteem issues.

“Is that him?” asked Meg quietly.

“He certainly fits the description,” said Harvath as he discreetly eyeballed the man. “You know what to do.”

Meg slinked across the terrace and got into line right behind the man at the buffet. As he picked up a complimentary glass of champagne and a few canapés, he noticed the attractive blond behind him, and that’s when Meg began to make small talk. “What a beautiful sunset this evening. Don’t you think?”

“Very lovely,” he answered. As Meg reached for a canapé, the man noticed she wasn’t wearing a wedding ring. “Are you staying at the hotel? I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Neal Harris.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Harris. Where’s your lady friend this evening?” asked Meg, offering neither her name nor her hand.

“My lady friend?”

“Oh, don’t play coy with me,” said Meg flirtatiously. “We’ve all seen you and that goddess with those incredible eyes.”

“Yes, that goddess” said Harris, glad that people had noticed him and the woman. “She does have the most beautiful eyes. Actually, I was hoping she’d already be here. I haven’t seen her since this afternoon.”

“Well, so much the better. You can join me for a drink while you wait for her.”