James Grippando - Born to Run

“Yes, please.”

She glanced at the Greek. “And who else should I say is calling?”

“It’s a surprise,” said the Greek. “I’m an old friend.”

She ran her finger across her lips, zipping them. “Your secret is safe with me.”

“That’s what they all say,” said the Greek.

She didn’t seem to know how to take his meaning, but she smiled anyway, dialed the room, and announced that Mr. Swyteck was in the lobby.

“Yes, ma’am,” she said into the telephone, then hung up.

“Miss Sofia would like you to come to her room,” she said.

Jack wasn’t surprised. Being on the run, she probably felt safest in the room.

“Then we’ll go,” said the Greek.

“First floor,” said the desk clerk. “Chopin Room.”

That was another cool thing about the hotel. All of the rooms were named after famous composers.

At least she’s not in the Salieri Room , thought Jack.

The hallways were narrow, and there were numerous abrupt turns. Hotel San Pietro was actually several old mansions linked together into a single hotel, which made getting to your room a bit like a trip through a maze. They passed the library and the dining room, and if Jack hadn’t been to the hotel before, he would have had no way of knowing if he was headed in the right direction. The old floorboards creaked beneath the carpeting in the hallway as they passed the Bach and Beethoven rooms. Finally, they reached the Chopin Room.

The Greek stepped aside so that he could not be seen through the peep hole. Jack knocked three times. The door didn’t open, but he heard Sofia’s voice.

“Is that you, Mr. Swyteck?”

“Yes, it’s me.”

Jack heard the rattle of the chain lock, the deadbolt turning. The door opened.

“Please, come in,” she said.

Jack stayed where he was. “I have someone with me.”

Her concern was immediately evident, as if she knew who it was.

The Greek stepped behind Jack. “Hello, Sofia.”

“Demetri!” She gasped, and then slammed the door shut.

The Greek leaned into Jack’s back, letting him feel the gun in his right kidney. It was still hidden inside the Greek’s coat pocket.

“Tell her she shouldn’t be afraid,” he said in harsh whisper. “Tell her to let us in. Go on. Tell her! ”

“Sofia, it’s okay,” said Jack, speaking to the closed door. “I’ve worked something out with…Demetri,” he said, repeating the name Sofia had used.

There was no reply. The Greek nudged Jack with the gun.

“It’s all a misunderstanding,” said Jack. “Please, let us in. This is all going to work out.”

The lock clicked. The doorknob turned. Slowly, the door swung open, but Sofia was nowhere to be seen. She appeared to be shielding herself behind the door.

“Come in,” she said, still out of sight.

Jack entered first. The Greek was right behind him. The door slammed shut, and in a lightning-quick blur, both Jack and Demetri were hit from behind with the force of a charging bull. Jack went down first, and Demetri fell right beside him, both men facedown on the floor. The man sitting on Jack’s kidneys felt like a rhinoceros, and the gun at the base of Jack’s skull felt big enough to drop an entire herd.

“Move and I’ll blow your head off,” the man said.

Jack’s right cheek was pressed to the silk rug, and out of the corner of his eye he could see that the Greek was in the same predicament.

“You’re early, Vladimir,” said the Greek.

The man named Vladimir got off Jack’s back and stood over him. The Greek remained pinned beneath the other man.

Vladimir said, “Your deadline was last Tuesday.”

“You gave me another week. It’s only been five days.”

“And what did you do with the extra time?” said Vladimir. “Nothing, except cook up a plan to run from the country with your ex-wife.”

“That’s not true!” said Sofia.

“Quiet!” said Vladimir.

Sofia cowered in the corner. Jack didn’t have a good vantage point from the floor, but he could see that her hands were bound behind her back. He also noticed that behind the long, drawn draperies was a set of French doors that led to a courtyard-presumably the intruders’ point of entry.

Vladimir began to pace-not the quick steps of a nervous man, but the slow and confident gait of a man in control.

“We’ve been watching you, Demetri. We know you went to visit Sofia’s bakery. We followed her to Miami. We saw her go to Swyteck’s law office. We watched you show up an hour later. Did you really think you could run from us?”

“Of course not. That’s why it makes no sense for you to say I would even try.”

“Except that now you must believe anything is possible, no? Now that you have the son of the future vice president to help you.”

“I’m not helping him,” said Jack.

“Shut up!” said Vladimir. He stopped pacing, and silence hung over the room. Finally, he said, “This is how it’s going to be. Demetri, you are coming with me.”

Vladimir gave a nod, and his partner got up and lifted the Greek to his feet. He patted the old man down, found the gun in his pocket, and threw it on the bed. Then he shoved him face-first against the wall and put the gun to the back of his head.

Vladimir said, “Sofia and the lawyer stay here with Mika. I give Demetri twenty-four hours to pay what he owes. If he comes up with the money, I shoot him. If he doesn’t, I kill him any way I choose. And Mika shoots Sofia and the lawyer.”

“Can’t we talk about this?” said Jack.

“We’re done talking,” said Vladimir.

He pushed the Greek toward the door, then stopped before opening it.

“Twenty-four hours,” he said. “Mika, if you don’t hear from me before then, you know what to do.”

Jack listened as the door opened, the men filed out, and the door closed.

Mika locked it and took a seat in the reading chair. “Let’s decide,” he said.

There was smugness in his tone, and Jack didn’t bite. Sofia did.

“Let’s decide what?” she said.

He released the ammunition clip from his pistol, then shoved it back into place for effect.

“Who will I shoot first?”

Ortanique on the Mile was bustling, and Andie sat alone at an outdoor table for two. A brightly painted, seven-foot statue of a flamingo stood guard on the sidewalk beside her. She was halfway through her second mojito-Ortanique’s were numero uno in Miami-and she already knew what to order. It was creative cuisine with a Jamaican flair, and everything was exceptional, but the special West Indian bouillabaisse with lobster and Key West shrimp in a curry broth was a lock.

Andie had spent all day preparing for an undercover role. She’d been looking for ways to stay busy ever since Thursday’s phone conference with the Washington ASAC. He’d told her things about Harry that she probably would have been better off not knowing, and ever since she’d been cool to the idea of spending too much time around Jack. She worried about a slip of the tongue. Saturday was their standing date night, however, and she’d decided to keep it. She’d called that morning to tell him that it was going to be a crazy day and that she would just meet him at the restaurant at seven.

It was now after eight o’clock. Andie dialed him once more on her cell, and for the seventh time, her call went straight to voice mail. Desperate, she dialed Theo. He picked up from behind the bar at Cy’s Place, the jazz club he’d named after his sax-playing uncle.

“Theo, do you have any idea where Jack is?”

“Last I looked, he was right here on the shelf next to Mr. Bacardi.”

It took her a moment to realize he was talking about Jack Daniel’s.