He clicked in a fresh magazine and put an additional one into his right pocket. “What about a light?”
Carmen stepped over and shuffled a few items around before producing a small tactical flashlight.
“Perfect.” He placed it in his other pocket. “What about a lock pick kit? We’re going to need a Plan B if those locks were changed out.”
Carmen opened her coat again, pulled out a zippered leather pouch, and held it up in the air.
“Great. All set.”
Carmen closed up the case, which had reinforced steel ribs in its outer shell as well as a triple-locking system. Zane often remarked that not even an RPG blast could open a Delphi equipment case.
After spending ten minutes surveying the Stephansplatz through a crack in the curtain, Zane determined the square was clear. As best he could tell, no one looked out of place, nor was anyone positioned outside the front entrance except those who had a reason to be there.
As was their custom, the two operatives left the hotel separately. Zane exited the building first and stood under the awning of an Austrian jeweler across the plaza. He pretended to scroll through his smartphone while using his peripheral vision to take in that end of the square. After making the appropriate check-offs, he sent Carmen a short encrypted text. Precisely thirty seconds later, the Italian beauty strode out of the hotel and into the crowded square.
By prearranged plan, they made their way separately through the crowd before meeting in front of the main entrance to the Stephansdom.
“Don’t you think we’re engaging in a bit of overkill?” Carmen asked as they began walking together.
“I wondered that same thing myself, back in London. That is, until the two uglies showed up and followed me into the Tube.”
“And you think they’re here now?” Carmen asked in a skeptical tone, stepping aside to avoid a couple that almost ran into them. She glanced back at them briefly before continuing.
“No, I don’t. I doubt they picked up my trail again after that. I did more checking and double-checking than I have in years, particularly after meeting with Sterling.”
“Which means you arrived here clean?”
“Yes,” he said, glancing up at the majestic Stephansdom as they passed in front. Even though he was in work mode, he couldn’t help but note how stunning the ancient church was at night, its individual towers and 450-foot Gothic spire illuminated by spotlights. He looked back at Carmen and said, “I’m certain I wasn’t followed. But I still believe it’s possible they’re here.”
“Really?”
“I don’t think they followed me, but it’s not unreasonable to think they might have been able to piece together the route that Higgs took after leaving Renaissance.”
“Then why didn’t they hit him while he was here?”
“I mean piece it together after the fact. I’ll tell you more later, but one piece of information Scotland Yard passed along is that the assassin removed Higgs’s cell phone from his body after killing him. And we both know there may have been information on that phone which would lead them back here. It’s also possible that they knew all along he was in Vienna but just couldn’t pinpoint exactly where.
“It’s unlikely Higgs used his phone much at all prior to sending that text to Rupert Sterling. I believe that’s what revealed his location, and in the end that’s what sealed his fate.”
Carmen nodded in agreement.
After migrating through the crowd, they turned down a side street and walked two blocks to the restaurant Carmen had made reservations at. It was a small, Hungarian eatery she had been to when she was younger, nondescript and yet classy. There were a few tables outside with heat lamps, but she had requested an inside table next to the window.
Upon entering, they were greeted by a man whose shaggy brown hair and handlebar mustache might have been more at home on the set of a Viking film. As he led them to their table, he ignored Zane, focusing his attention instead on Carmen, trying to impress her with his limited Italian.
The tables of the restaurant were scattered around in what could only be described as a decorated catacomb, with brick arches encircling the entire space. There was a crowded bar in the rear, already filled with revelers. As usual, his Italian partner had made a brilliant choice.
A young waiter, his blond hair combed over with enough gel to lubricate a car engine, appeared at the table as though suddenly teleported into their presence. “Good evening,” he said in German.
“Good evening,” Zane replied in English. “Yes, we would like to hear about your specials.” He winked at Carmen and turned back to the waiter. “We’re going to be here for a while.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
After a long dinner of chicken paprikash and grilled duck in beet sauce, the two operatives returned to Stephansplatz and spent a few minutes walking back and forth across the crowded square. They stuck close together, giving the appearance of a smartly dressed Viennese couple out for an after-dinner stroll.
As he surveyed the dozens of faces that crossed their path, Zane was reminded of how misleading Carmen’s looks were. The average man saw only the beautiful face, long black hair, and attractive figure. But beneath that was a toughness that had taken many an attacker by surprise. Her frame was not large, but she had the speed and cunning of a cheetah.
But while Zane acknowledged Carmen's beauty and respected her toughness, the thing that impressed him the most was her heart. Through their time together, he had learned that she genuinely cared about the welfare of others. Case in point was the current operation. Zane was already convinced that Carmen would eventually see the Higgs case as more than just a murder investigation, although it was certainly that. She would see this as an opportunity to bring closure to a young American who was grieving the death of her father.
The Oracle had once said that Carmen’s intoxicating mix of personality traits and physical prowess was the result of having an Italian father and American mother. He had met Carmen at an intelligence and security jobs fair in Orlando, Florida. The two had instant chemistry, and the old master was immediately impressed with the complete package that Carmen Petrosino brought to the table. The young Italian had pursued a degree in mathematics from Università degli Studi di Firenze, and graduated with honors. She had also played soccer as a youth, which in turn led to her lifelong involvement in physical training.
It was that spectrum of experience that caught the Oracle’s eye. He knew that there were smarter candidates at the event, and probably a few who were more physically gifted than the Italian, but none that possessed her combination of skills. But it was Carmen’s family, in particular her parents, who sealed the deal. Her father was one of the most respected men in Florence, and he came from a family that had not a whiff of controversy. As one Delphi researcher put it, if there were an Italian candidate for best family in the world, it might be the Petrosinos. Carmen’s American mother came from a similar background, growing up in Missouri in a family that some described as salt of the earth. The future Mrs. Petrosino met her husband at a biochemistry convention in Paris, and the rest, as they say, was history.
Carmen had told the Oracle she had always wanted to live in the US, at least for a while, so that she could get a sense of her mother’s country. The Oracle was more than glad to give her that opportunity. And it was a decision he had never regretted. Other than Zane Watson, he had no better operative than the Florentine beauty.