Chapter 436: Antonio Called Lorenzo

"It will take a few hours."

"You have a few hours." Antonio rose and went to the window. The olive grove stood very still in the late sun. "And the depot in Naples. Move what is in it. Not far. Somewhere we can reach."

"Understood."

"One more thing. I want to know who Luca has been speaking to. Everyone. Phones, meetings, favors he’s called in."

"That will be difficult."

"I did not say it would be easy." Antonio turned from the window. "I said I wanted to know."

The aide bowed his head slightly. "I’ll begin now."

"Go."

When the door had closed, Antonio stayed standing at the window. His hands were clasped behind his back. His breathing was even.

He allowed himself exactly one moment to think about the girl.

She had been sixteen when it began. Pale and anxious, with a mother who watched her too closely and a father who had gone looking for help. Antonio had seen the opening and taken it. It had seemed, at the time, like a small and necessary thing, a thread to hold. He had never intended it to become what it became.

He pushed the thought aside. It was not useful.

He crossed to the desk and picked up the phone.

...

Lorenzo answered on the second ring. His voice was hoarse.

"Antonio."

"Lorenzo. Is there news?"

"None." A sound like a man dragging a hand down his face. "My teams have been through every property on the coast between here and Terracina. Nothing. No cars, no lights, no men. It’s as though the ground swallowed them."

"And your wife?"

"Camilla hasn’t left Isabella’s room in two days. She sits on the bed and holds one of her dresses. I can’t get her to eat." Lorenzo’s voice cracked. "She keeps asking about Dr. Armani. She called him the night Isabella left, and he wouldn’t give her a straight answer. She can’t let it go."

Antonio went still. "Grief makes people look for someone to blame."

"Maybe."

"Armani is a physician, Lorenzo. He is not a suspect."

"I know. I told her that." A long breath. "I don’t know what to do, Antonio. I don’t know how to help her."

"You find your daughter," Antonio said. "That is how you help her."

"I’m trying."

"Then try harder. Widen the search."

There was a pause. "Widen it where?"

"The whole southern coast. Down to Calabria. Every villa, every fishing house, every vacation rental held under a shell name." Antonio kept his voice level. "I will send you thirty of my own men by tonight."

"That’s three hundred kilometers of coastline."

"Then use three hundred men."

"Why now?" Lorenzo asked. "Yesterday you told me to be patient. Yesterday you said the hunt had to be careful."

"Yesterday I believed he was running." Antonio paused, choosing each word. "Today I believe he has stopped. A man who has stopped is a man who is digging in. He is searching for something. Leverage, I would guess. Some way to bargain with you once he’s ready."

"Leverage," Lorenzo repeated slowly.

"Yes. And the longer he has, the more he finds."

Silence. Antonio waited. He could hear Lorenzo breathing and, faintly behind him, a clock striking the half hour.

"You’re right," Lorenzo said at last. "I’ve been too slow. Send your men. I’ll have them briefed within the hour."

"Good."

"Antonio." Lorenzo hesitated. "Does your son know any of this? What we’re doing?"

"No," Antonio said.

"You’re certain?"

"Dimitri has his own affairs. He is not interested in your daughter, and he has said so plainly." Antonio paused. "He does not know."

"Good. I don’t want him involved."

"Nor do I."

"Thank you," Lorenzo said. It sounded as though it cost him something. "For all of it. I don’t forget what you’ve done."

"We are old friends," Antonio said. "Find her."

He ended the call and set the phone down very gently.

He sat for a moment with his hand flat on the desk. He had lied to Lorenzo twice in a single conversation, and he had done it so smoothly that the man had thanked him afterward. It was not the first time. It was, he thought, the first time it had given him no satisfaction at all.

...

The second call came at three.

He took it standing, because he had been standing for an hour.

"Signore," the aide said. "The safe at Dr. Armani’s office."

Antonio went still. "Go on."

"The unit your people installed logs every opening. It registered a code entry at eight oh six this morning. The safe was open for approximately six minutes."

"Armani opens that safe on the first of every month. Not before."

"Yes, Signore. And the contents have been checked. The two reserve cartons are gone."

For a moment Antonio did not speak.

"Gone," he said.

"Yes. No shipment was logged. No request for transfer. They were simply removed."

"And Armani?"

"We called his office. His line has been busy since noon, then unanswered." The aide paused. "We sent a man to look. Armani is there. He is alone. By the man’s account, he is very frightened. But he insists nothing has happened."

Antonio closed his eyes.

Armani would not have taken the cartons for himself. He had neither the courage nor the reason. He had not moved them to a pharmacy or shipped them anywhere, because he would have asked first. He had given them to someone.

And only two men in the world had ever known where Armani kept his reserve.

"Do nothing to him," Antonio said. "Not yet."

"Signore?"

"I want him watched. Day and night. Who goes in, who comes out, who he calls. He is not to be touched, and he is not to be warned." Antonio opened his eyes. "If he is afraid, let him stay afraid. A frightened man tells you things."

"Understood."

"And the safe. I want to know what else it recorded in the last month. Every opening, every code."

"I’ll have it within the hour."

"Find out who has been in that safe," Antonio said. "Find out before tonight."