He stared at the ceiling in the dark room, flirting with sleep but never quite passing over.
After his fateful call to Burgess’s contact exchange, Chris had dialed his home number in Silver Spring. Precautions were clearly useless now. The opposition had Greg. Burgess’s protective arm had not been long enough. Chris felt the knots of anxiety tighten in his stomach more with each of the three rings it took before the phone was answered.
“Hello,” said a male voice he didn’t recognize.
He pressed the receiver closer to his ear.
“Hello?” the voice repeated.
Locke hung up the phone struggling for breath. A stranger had answered his family’s phone, a stranger with an American accent. If it wasn’t one of Burgess’s men, then who was it? In that moment Chris wanted so much for this mess to be over so he could go back home again. But home would never be the same, not ever again. And now he had to consider the possibility that home didn’t even exist anymore. The Committee could have his entire family by now. Greg’s finger might have marked only the beginning of their madness. Whom could he turn to?
Uncle Colin has gone fishing.
They had gotten to Burgess. The big Brit had proved no match for the power of the Committee. But the girl was still alive, which meant her house in Falmouth might still serve as a refuge for him. As of now, Locke had no other destination available. Once in Falmouth he would begin to make new arrangements. The American Embassy offered an alternative, and what other did he have? He’d make sure more than one man was present in the room when he told his story. Someone would listen, someone would act. The Committee couldn’t possibly have gotten to everyone at the embassy, Chris thought, trying to convince himself.
His only other option was to stay in Rome and wait for Dogan. But that was out of the question with the dark man still lurking about. He had to leave the country as soon as possible and make contact with Dogan later, as Forenzo had suggested.
The hotel manager had obtained a return ticket on a charter to London and arranged for a car to take him to the airport in time for its departure the next morning. Forenzo had also given him an American passport with a picture that didn’t even resemble his face. It was just something to hand cursorily over to Customs officials in Rome. London would be another matter.
Locke reached the airport with his single bag in tow. The condition of his left hand had made taking a shower a difficult task and shaving not much easier. Accordingly, Chris felt grimy, and the tension that might have unwound in his neck and shoulders beneath the hot needle spray had stiffened into steel bands under his flesh.
He moved rapidly through the international terminal toward the charter’s departure gate, as planned with little time to spare. That meant little time to be spotted. But still he was alone, a single man with a bandaged hand easy to pick out of a crowd. En route to the gate he fell in stride with a number of other passengers who apparently were heading for the same flight. Locke tried to mix with them, doing his best to appear part of their conversations without drawing too much attention.
A girl in jeans up ahead was carting too many bags, and one slipped from her hand. Its contents spilled all over the floor, souvenirs by the look of it.
“Damn.” She moaned, dropping the rest of her bags in frustration.
She had started to gather up her spilled belongings when Locke drew up even with her.
“Need some help?” he offered, trying to make a much-needed friend for the moments ahead.
“Sure.” The girl glanced up. She looked to be in her mid-twenties with sandy hair that danced about her shoulders. She had radiant blue eyes and was stunningly attractive. Chris felt himself taken aback.
He did the best he could at retrieving her souvenirs of Italy with his one good hand.
“Hey, what did you do to yourself?”
“Fell down some stairs,” Locke explained, trying to look embarrassed.
“We got insurance for that kind of stuff. It says so in the brochure.” She started to reach inside her handbag. “I’ve got one here somewhere.”
“Don’t bother, please. It’s already been taken care of. Right now the only thing I want to do is get home to my own doctor.”
He dropped the last of the souvenirs back into the bag.
“Home sounds like it’s America for you too,” the girl told him.
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry I ever left,” she said somberly. And Chris realized he had fallen in quite naturally with her step as she moved for the gate. “Europe sucks. Boring as hell, if you ask me.” They had almost reached the perfunctory Customs station. “Hey, what’s your name?”
“Chris.”
The girl stuck out her right hand and the bag of souvenirs almost went tumbling again. “Chris, I’m Nikki. Got anyone to sit next to on the flight?”
“As a matter of fact, no,” Locke said, blessing his luck as he took her hand warmly.
“Glad to hear it.” Nikki squeezed her features into a tight mask. “I didn’t mean that. What I mean is that since you’re not with anyone, we can sit together.”
“I’d like that,” Chris said.
They passed through the Customs station where a woman was casually checking passports. Locke reached into his pocket for the one Forenzo had obtained for him, along with his ticket.
“Where did I put the damn thing?” Nikki was asking herself, letting all her bags slide to the ground. She gave up on the handbag and tried a pocket in the jeans jacket that was faded the same color as her pants. “Here’s the damn thing. God, can you imagine leaving it in the hotel or something?” she asked Locke.
“I’ve done that,” he told her, handing both passports to the Customs woman, “a couple of times.”
Boarding came ten minutes later right on schedule, and Chris carried one of Nikki’s bags onto the plane as well as his own. Her presence was a godsend to him. A couple, or what seemed to be a couple, traveling together aroused almost no attention whatsoever. If the Committee had people looking for him, their task would be more difficult now.
Once they had taken their seats, Chris’s attitude toward her changed. She had served her purpose and he wished now only to be left alone for the duration of the flight. He made himself smile through her constant chatter, occasionally responding just to assure her he was paying attention. It went on like that for some time before his words became terse and impatient. Finally he snapped at her after the drinks were served, and hurt, she became silent and lost herself between the standard set of earphones deposited on each seat.
Chris dozed briefly, awakening suddenly to a horrible thought. What if Nikki had been sent by the enemy? What if the plan was to have her kill him in midflight? Certainly for people capable of using a wine cork as a murder weapon, the means would come easy. He watched her stealthily through partially opened eyes, resolved to keep his vigil for the entire flight. And a weapon, he needed a weapon on the chance that—
No! No!
Locke shuddered inwardly. What was he becoming? Had he changed so much in order to stay alive? No, people couldn’t change that fast … unless they had it in them to begin with. Burgess had said he was right for the job because it was in his blood, part of the legacy his mother had left him. Maybe the big Brit was right.