Adriana hesitated as she approached the center of the plaza just outside the marina docks. She’d been instructed to place the cylinder inside a dried-out fountain in the middle of where a row of shops and boutiques came to a corner. The fountain featured a cherub with a harp. She imagined the hole in the sculpture’s mouth spat forth water into the reservoir, but for some reason, there was no water in the giant bowl. Adriana wondered if there was some sort of significance behind using the fountain or if it was just a good place to hide something for a short amount of time. It didn’t matter, she reminded herself. Just make the drop-off and get her father back. That was all the mattered. Well, that and killing the man responsible for all this.
Something flashed in a fourth-story window in a nearby condominium. Her eyes narrowed as she tried to focus on what it was. Had she seen movement? Or was it just her paranoid mind playing tricks on her? Her movements slowed as she neared the fountain. Her head swiveled back and forth as she scanned the horizon and the different vantage points surrounding the drop point. Nothing moved. Even the boats seemed to sway and bob more calmly in spite of the breeze. It was one of those moments where everything seemed to pause in time.
She reached the fountain and swallowed. Adriana raised the cylinder in her right hand, in case anyone was watching. She knew someone had to be. Then she placed the object carefully in the bottom of the basin and stepped back, putting both hands up. She looked around, wondering what would happen next. It was her hope that someone would magically appear with her father in tow. Or maybe he would present himself in a window or doorway. But that didn’t happen. Instead, her phone began to ring.
“Where is he?” she asked after pulling the device from her pocket.
“You have done well. I must say, I am impressed. I didn’t think you could do it. I mean, I thought you could, but let’s be honest, I didn’t really believe it was possible.”
“I don’t care what you believe. I did what you asked. Now give me my father.”
His response sent a shiver through her spine. “You can go find him yourself.”
“You promised—”
“Adriana, I know you better than you think. You want to kill me. And I can’t say I blame you. But honestly, renting a boat to come after me? Don’t be silly. I see everything.”
She gritted her teeth but said nothing.
“I admire your persistence, though. And you were right to assume I’d extract the painting by boat. Very astute of you. I’m sending my man to come get it now.”
Across the plaza, a man in a black turtleneck and matching pants appeared. He wore aviator-style sunglasses in spite of the impending darkness, probably to keep his identity safe.
“Where is my father?” she insisted.
“Oh, he’s safe. For now. Of course, that could change at any moment. He’s in the tower of Saint François, not far from where you are right now. If you hurry, you might just get to him in time.”
Anger boiled inside of her, mingling with fear. She watched the man in black approach the fountain, pick up the painting, turn around, and walk over to a white yacht nearby.
The Belgian continued. “In case you were considering following him and not saving your father, I’ll make that decision easier for you.”
A thunderous boom erupted from the other end of the pier. It was followed instantly by a bright yellow then orange light that flashed through the plaza. The concussion nearly knocked her over, and Adriana instinctively put her hand up to shield her eyes. Across the water, between several other boats, her vessel blazed amid roiling black smoke and dark orange flames.
The boat, the drone, her entire plan, was burning away before her eyes. She heard the yacht’s engines engage and noticed a crew of four men already untying the craft from its mooring. Less than a minute later, it was idling out into the harbor toward the breakwater.
“I’d suggest you not just stand there,” the Belgian said, interrupting her shock. “Your father’s life hangs in the balance.”
She hit the red button and ended the call, spun around, and took off at a dead sprint. Adriana knew the location. She’d seen it once before on a previous vacation to Nice. But the place had to be closed to tourists. That was good and bad. It would take her a few minutes to break in. She hoped doing so wouldn’t trigger any alarms.
But that was a risk she had to take.
18
Adriana pumped her legs hard. Her knees raised high and pushed down with as much energy as she could muster. She flew up the narrow stairs of the bell tower two at a time, ignoring the burning in her thighs with every step. From the street, the cream-colored tower didn’t appear to be that tall. But by the time she’d climbed three stories and still hadn’t reached the top, she started to wonder if it would ever come to an end. The short space between steps didn’t help the feeling of infinite climbing.
She finally made it to the top, lungs on fire and quads feeling like they’d been worked over with a steamroller. Adriana didn’t bother to see if the wooden door leading into the clock’s gear house was locked or not. The one downstairs had been, and she’d made quick work of it. No alarm went off, not that she’d have noticed. Her father’s life was in danger. Police, she could worry about after.
The old door gave way easily as she plowed into it with her shoulder and twisted the creaky knob. Inside the gear house, it was nearly pitch black, and she had to turn on her phone’s light to take in the surroundings.
Huge metal gears ticked and turned near the wall. The room smelled of dust, wood, and iron. Above, an old bell was attached to the clock, tolling every hour to remind citizens of the passing time. Over near an open window, she noticed something on the floor, sticking out from behind one of the gears. It was a leg.
Adriana rushed over to the mechanism and found a man with a thick black beard and mustache. There were a few smudges of gray mixed in, but Diego had aged well.
“Papa!” She knelt down next to him, putting her hand on his chest.
He was dressed in a stained white T-shirt, a pair of khaki chinos, and was barefooted. His hands were tied to one of the gear’s spokes. Every minute, the spoke turned a little more, stretching out his arms. His feet were bound by another rope that was wrapped around a concrete column in the corner. It was a sinister invention. The Belgian had tied her father in such a way that at the stroke of half past the hour, the clock’s gears would tear him apart. She noticed a dingy white bandage on his left wrist but for the moment was more concerned with the execution mechanism.
“Hello, Daughter,” he said in Spanish, only smiling briefly as the gear connected to his hands turned a little more and pulled his limbs upward. “I don’t mean to be rude, but could you cut me out of this? I’m afraid in a few minutes it’s going to get rather uncomfortable.”
She nodded and smiled. Her fingers found the knife on her belt, unsheathed it, and made quick work of the ropes, freeing him before the device could do any damage. Adriana braced his back for a moment, helping him sit up before she cut the ropes on his legs and then untied the knot.