He tromped down the stairs and out onto the sidewalk, preoccupied with new doubts about Natalie. Steven thought he was a good judge of character, but you never knew. He’d have to be on guard in case she had mischaracterized her involvement and had simply engineered circumstances to get him to decrypt the Scroll. It had been sheer luck he’d remembered a parchment with the labyrinth symbol on it, although there was no telling how many documents like it were in circulation. Could be only that one, or could be dozens.
He rounded the corner and approached the car, still parked in the same place. Steven was startled when the trunk popped open. Soundlessly interpreting the unspoken instruction, he tossed the duffel into the boot and closed it before moving to the rear door, which Natalie had swung ajar for him.
“Took you long enough,” she complained.
“Yeah, well, I had some odds and ends that needed tidying up,” he responded, watching her face closely for any sign of reaction. She looked at him blankly, obviously annoyed by his glib rejoinder. If she knew anything about the breakin, she was an Academy Award-level actress. He detected nothing but impatience to get going.
Steven regarded her exotic face, noting again in the close proximity that she smelled like a small slice of heaven. Whatever that was, it was a winner, he mused. Or maybe it had just been an awfully long time since…
Best not to go down that road.
“We need to get to a computer so I can check my e-mail and send the program to my office so they can hammer on it. Any ideas?” he asked.
“There’s an internet café up two blocks,” Frederick said. “We passed it earlier.”
Natalie gave Frederick a thumbs up. He pulled into traffic, which was now heavy from the evening rush hour.
Across the street, a whippet-thin man with heavy acne scars marring his hard-chiseled face murmured into a cell phone as he lit a cigarette and pretended to consider a pair of chocolate leather women’s riding boots in a shop window. He took in the car and the license plate, as well as the heavily-tinted windows and the way it rode low, and passed the information to his associate.
“I think it’s him. I trailed him from the flat. I wish we had some photos so we could be sure,” the man muttered into the mouthpiece between puffs.
“We’re trying to get access to the motor vehicle database for a license photo, but there’s nothing else I’ve been able to find. The man obviously isn’t much for social media. Pity. Facebook’s made everything easier…”
The man glanced around and then moved to the street as a motorcycle pulled to the curb. He tossed his smoke into the gutter and climbed on, and the driver gunned the engine before slamming it into gear and pulling into the clogged traffic a dozen car lengths from their quarry.
CHAPTER 13
Steven and Natalie entered the internet café, which was filled with students and tourists, and approached the bored, heavily tattooed and pierced girl behind the shabby counter. Steven wondered what circus she was planning to join — with fluorescent blue hair, four nose-piercings, a chain of skulls inked around her neck, a perpetual sneer and an attitude that rivaled the most arrogant baristas in town, there was little chance of her winning the title of Miss Florence Congeniality. Italy invented dismissive annoyance, and it was practically a rite of passage to be shown just how little you mattered by a whole phalanx of shop workers and restaurant staff eager to make the point. Their hostess had taken the leitmotif to heart. In spades.
Steven negotiated for the use of a computer, and soon he’d verified that the dealer had sent him a scan of the ancient document. He opened the large file and studied it — there in the lower right-hand corner was the identical crest to the Scroll’s. There could be no mistake. He typed a rapid series of keystrokes, and in an instant the bits and bytes were winging their way to the office, along with the program to decrypt it. Once they had paid for their internet time, Steven held the door open for Natalie. Frederick had pulled the car around the block because there were no spaces. Natalie fiddled with her phone while clutching the satchel as they made their way back to the car. Steven leaned over to her and whispered in her ear.
“Don’t look back, but I think we’ve picked up a tail.”
Natalie’s expression didn’t change. She edged closer to him as she walked easily by his side.
“Should we duck into this café? It’ll buy us time and we can confirm it. I’ll call Frederick and ask him to go round the block and eyeball the exterior,” Natalie suggested, and then without waiting for an answer, dialed Frederick’s number. She murmured a few words of explanation into her phone and then palmed it.
They swung into the busy café and moved to the back of the long room, which featured faux bohemian décor, replete with black and white photos of beat poets adorning the walls. Jack Kerouac glared from one; Allen Ginsberg scowled from another. Steven felt as though he’d been transported to the late 50s-era Greenwich Village, which was oddly incongruent with modern Florence, yet the place was packed, and the din of animated conversation filled the air along with the rich aroma of coffee. Natalie’s phone chirped while Steven scanned the room as though looking for a table, his eyes darting to the front door and picture window seemingly as an afterthought.
Natalie hastily fielded the call and hung up.
“Looks like two men. Professional. Staked out on either side of the front entrance, roughly twenty yards apart. Frederick doesn’t think we’ll be able to shake them. Any ideas before I have him start shooting?”
Steven studied Natalie and realized she wasn’t joking.
He glanced around the back bar to the kitchen area and then grabbed her hand.
“Come on.”
They pushed through the stainless steel double doors, past several puzzled servers, and found themselves in a frenzied dishwashing area next to a bank of ovens. The supervisor approached them and fired off a burst of staccato Italian, demanding to know what they were doing. Steven, pretending to be a tourist, merely shrugged apologetically as his eyes scanned the back of the kitchen and landed on a corridor leading into the depths of the building. He peered down the hall and saw an exit door, no doubt the delivery entrance, and elbowed Natalie gently. He hoped those following him didn’t have a larger team than the two out front.
Steven glanced back over his shoulder in the direction of the dining room and saw a man struggling past the wait staff, the doors momentarily swung open by a woman carrying a tray filled with dirty cups. The irate kitchen manager made as if to physically remove them from his little kingdom, and Steven had to make a split decision.
“The back. Now. They’re coming,” he whispered, and Natalie ran towards the rear exit, Steven in tow. The dishwashing staff stopped what they were doing and stared as the odd couple raced for the garbage area.
Steven hit the door with his shoulder, wrenching the lever handle as he did so, and they spilled into a small alley. They heard a commotion from the kitchen behind them. Steven didn’t wait to confirm that it was their pursuer. He darted down the street and spied a large, centuries-old building under refurbishment, the rear entrance barred by a slab of flimsy particle board held in place with a chain. It looked like there was just enough room for them to get in. Steven gestured to Natalie, who hurriedly slipped through the opening. Steven quickly followed, and they found themselves in a dimly lit, gutted area undergoing renovation. The construction crew had long since gone home, and the only sounds were the rumble of traffic from the far end of the building where it faced onto a major boulevard. They hastily pushed past the hanging construction tarps and ladders towards the street noise, probing their way through a maze of half-finished rooms and halls cluttered with bags of plaster and wood planks.