Finally, one of the bellmen checked the envelope on the flowers and then went behind the bell desk. Michael could tell he was checking a computer screen by the reflection of light on the man’s face. A moment later, he came from behind the desk, picked up the flowers, and headed for the elevator. Michael put his newspaper aside and stayed right behind him.
The bellman nodded a greeting to Michael as the doors closed. Michael smiled back. At the fourth floor, the bellman exited and Michael did the same. Keeping a little distance between himself and the bellman, Michael followed. When the bellman stopped outside room 408 and knocked, Michael passed by. The bellman nodded and smiled. Michael did the same.
Michael rounded a corner and stopped. Carefully, he looked back. He saw the bellman knock again before getting out a ring of keys on a chain. He opened the door and disappeared for a moment. When he reappeared sans flowers, he was whistling softly. He closed the door and walked back to the elevators.
When the bellman was gone, Michael walked back to room 408. He didn’t expect the door to be unlocked, and it wasn’t. Looking down the length of the corridor, he saw a cleaning cart. Taking a deep breath and blowing up his cheeks momentarily to bolster his courage, Michael headed toward the cart. It was positioned next to a door held open by a doorstop.
Michael knocked tentatively on the open door. “Scusi!” he called out. He heard a television playing in the background. Entering the room, he saw two middle-aged women in brown dress uniforms making the bed. “Scusi!” Michael called, considerably more loudly.
The women responded as if shocked. Both perceptively blanched. One recovered enough to run over and turn off the television.
Marshaling his best Italian, Michael asked the women if they could help him. He explained he’d left his key in room 408, and he needed to make an immediate telephone call. He wanted to know if they would be so kind as to open his door to keep him from having to go down to the front desk.
The women exchanged a confused glance. It took Michael a moment to realize that they spoke very little Italian. He explained his supposed predicament again, speaking slowly and distinctly. On this occasion, one of the women got the message, and to Michael’s relief held up her passkeys. Michael nodded.
As if to make up for the communication difficulties, the woman pushed past Michael and practically ran down the hall. It was all Michael could do to keep up with her. She unlocked room 408 and held the door open. Michael thanked her as he stepped over the threshold. The door closed.
Michael exhaled. He didn’t realize he’d been holding his breath. He backed up to lean against the door as he surveyed the room. The drapes were open, and there was plenty of light. There was more luggage than he expected, although all but two of the bags were still zippered or latched as if they had yet to be opened. Unfortunately, there was no silver box visible on the bureau, the desk, or the nightstands.
Michael could feel his pulse racing. He was also perspiring copiously. “I’m not good at this,” he whispered. He desperately wanted to find the silver box and leave. It took all his willpower to stay in the room.
Pushing off from the door, he went first to the desk. Centered on the blotter between two laptop shoulder bags was a room key for 408. After a moment’s hesitation, Michael picked it up and pocketed it. Rapidly, he searched the laptop bags: no silver case. It took only a moment for him to go through the desk drawers. Save for the hotel stationery, they were empty. Next was the bureau. It too was empty, except for laundry forms and plastic laundry bags. The small drawers of the nightstands were also empty. He checked the bathroom, but no silver box. Looking into the closet, he saw a safe and breathed a sigh of relief. The door was ajar and it was empty. He checked the pockets of a man’s jacket hanging on the rod: nothing.
Turning back into the room, he eyed the unlatched suitcases. They were on luggage stands at the foot of the bed. Approaching each in turn, he raised their lids and ran his hand around their peripheries. He encountered various and sundry objects but no silver box. He then carefully lifted the clothing to search more thoroughly. Suddenly, he heard voices, and to his horror, it sounded like American English. He stood up, frozen in place. In the next instant, he heard the worst sound he could have imagined. It was the sound of a key being thrust into the door lock!
twelve
3:45 P.M., Monday, February 25, 2002
“What on Earth?” Stephanie questioned. She was standing in the doorway to their room. Daniel peered over her shoulder.
“What’s the matter?” Daniel asked.
“There are flowers on the bureau,” Stephanie said. “Who in God’s name would be sending us flowers?”
“Butler?”
“He doesn’t know we’re here in Turin, unless you emailed him.”
“I didn’t email him,” Daniel said, as if it were totally out of the realm of possibility. “But with his intelligence connections, maybe he knows. After having me investigated, I wouldn’t put it past him. Or maybe Monsignor Mansoni communicated that the sample had been delivered.”
Stephanie walked over to the arrangement and opened the envelope. “Oh, for goodness sake. It’s just the hotel management.”
“That’s nice,” Daniel said indifferently. He went into the bathroom to use the toilet.
Stephanie moved over to her suitcase that was perched on the luggage stand. She had a pair of walking shoes tucked along the left side. Lifting up the unlatched top to the bag, she hesitated. A linen shirt she had painstakingly packed back in Boston was mildly amiss, with its edge folded over. With her finger, she righted the fold. As she feared, a crease remained, even after she tried to smooth it out with the palm of her hand. Mumbling one of her private vulgarities to herself, she started to reach for the walking shoes when her eye caught an article of lingerie, which was also slightly disarranged and which she had packed with equal care.
Stephanie righted herself and stared down at her open suitcase. “Daniel! Come in here!”
With the sound of the toilet flushing in the background, Daniel’s face appeared in the bathroom doorway. He was holding a towel. “What’s up?” he questioned with raised eyebrows. He could tell from the sound of her voice that she was mildly perturbed.
“Someone has been in our room!”
“We already knew that when we saw the flowers.”
“Come over here!”
Daniel slung the towel over his shoulder as he walked over to stand next to Stephanie. He followed her pointing finger and looked down at her open suitcase.
“Someone has been in my bag,” Stephanie said.
“How can you tell?”
Stephanie explained.
“Those are pretty subtle changes,” Daniel said. He patted her patronizingly on her back. “You’ve been in your bag yourself before we went out. Are you sure you’re not having a minor attack of paranoia, thanks to the Cambridge break-in?”
“Someone has been in my bag!” Stephanie repeated heatedly. She pushed his hand away. With her jet lag and being overtired, she felt instantly frustrated that Daniel was being so dismissive. “Look in your suitcase!”
Rolling his eyes, Daniel opened his unlatched bag on the stand next to Stephanie’s. “Okay, I’m looking in mine,” he reported.
“Anything amiss?”
Daniel shrugged. He was far from the world’s neatest packer, and he had rummaged in his bag earlier when retrieving clean underwear. All at once, he froze, then slowly raised his eyes to Stephanie’s. “My God! There is something missing!”
“What?” Stephanie clutched Daniel’s arm as she looked into his bag.
“Somebody took my vial of plutonium!”
Stephanie swatted Daniel’s shoulder. He responded by protecting himself in an exaggerated fashion from further blows, which never came.