Separation of Power

CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

Milan, Thursday morning

The transatlantic flight went well with one exception; neither A

For Rapp, there was also a second reason why the elation was somewhat tempered. Before he could get on with his new life he had to confront his past, and not just anyone from his past, but someone with whom he had been romantically involved. Just being in Milan brought back a deluge of emotions. Most of them were good, but there were some bad ones too. Italy was his favorite place in the entire world. The history, the architecture, the smells, the people, even the dirt, it was all so real.

Getting through customs at Malpensa Airport proved to be relatively easy. as the testosterone-charged Italian customs officials were more concerned with A

Not in Italy, though. If anything the people added to the passion and history of the ancient country. There was genuine willingness to co

He was right. As they turned onto the Via G. Mengoni, Mitch practically had to restrain A

"Oh my God! I think that is the most beautiful church I've ever seen."

The cabdriver nodded proudly and answered, "And one of the biggest." A

"Duomo!"

"I have to see it. Can we see it?" She turned to Mitch. "Can we see it right now?"

Rapp laughed at her obvious excitement. "It's a short walk from the hotel. Only four blocks. After we take a nap this will be our first stop." "Nap?" she asked incredulously. "I'm not taking any naps, I'm too excited."

Rapp smiled and shook his head. It was nice to see her this way. Maybe this would work out for the best. If they stayed out all day she would collapse around di

the alit alia flight pulled up to the gate at Linate Airport. It was one of more than a dozen Alitalia flights that would arrive from Rome throughout the day. Of the two major airports that service Milan, Linate handled mostly domestic flights. It was located just two miles from the center of the city, whereas Malpensa 2000 was more than thirty. The flight had left Rome shortly after nine in the morning and had taken less than an hour and a half to make the journey north. When the door opened a steady stream of business people marched off the plane. An unremarkable man near the middle of the group sca

On his first visual pass of the crowd he saw the man he was to meet, but instead of making his way over to him, he continued with the others toward the main terminal. This was Marc Rosenthal's second flight of the day. The first had left Tel Aviv well before sunup. After his meeting with the director general of Mossad he had wasted no time in moving his assets into position. Within hours he had two of his people on their way to Milan, each on different flights, and each stopping in another country before entering Italy. One was to obtain weapons and transportation and the other was to establish surveillance with the target. Freidman had given him the go-ahead to use one of the safe flats in Milan despite the fact that officially Mossad had nothing to do with the operation. Rosenthal had told Freidman that the alternative was to use a hotel; a less than ideal situation, since it was highly likely the Italian authorities would be investigating Donatella's disappearance and possible homicide. In a perfect operation they would take her out without a single witness, but that could not be counted on. There was always the chance that some neighbor, co-worker or passerby might notice several men who seemed out of place. At some point the description of those men would be checked against the security tapes at the local hotels. If they found any matches the next step would be to check the security tapes at the airports, and so on and so on.

When Rosenthal reached the main terminal he continued through the baggage claim area without stopping and walked out onto the curb. Along with the other travelers he got in line at the taxi stand. He noted the number of people in line ahead of him, tried to gauge who might be traveling together and who was traveling alone, and then he counted out the waiting cabs. Rosenthal marked the one that he would most likely be riding in and kept an eye on it. When his turn came, he took one last look around and climbed into the official white taxi. In fluent Italian he told the driver to take him to the Grand Hotel. It was not where he was staying, but that was none of the driver's business.

It was a su