Tess Gerritsen - In Their Footsteps

Foch settled back for the ride, his gaze focused on the back of Wolf’s head. The smell of fuel and dried fish soon became nauseating. The ferry pitched and heaved on the water, and his lunch of dolmas and espresso was threatening to come back up. Foch rose from his seat and scrambled outside. Standing at the rail, he gulped in a few breaths of fresh air and waited for the nausea to pass. At last it eased, and he reluctantly turned to go back into the cabin. He headed up the aisle, past Wolf-

Or the man he’d thought was Wolf.

He was wearing the same ratty windbreaker, the same black fisherman’s cap. But this man was clean shaven, younger. Definitely not the same man!

Foch glanced around the cabin. No Wolf. He hurried outside to the deck. No Wolf. He climbed the stairs to the upper level. Again, no Wolf.

He turned and saw the island of Paros receding behind them, and he let out a strangled curse. It was all a feint! They were still on the island-they had to be.

And I’m trapped on this boat to Piraeus.

Foch slapped the railing and cursed himself for his own stupidity. Wolf had outsmarted him-again. The old professional using his bag of tricks. There was no point interrogating the man in the cabin; he was probably just some local dupe hired to switch places with Wolf for the ferry ride.

He looked at his watch and calculated how many hours it would take him to get back to the island via a hired boat. With any luck, he could be stalking them tonight. If they were still there. He’d find them, he vowed. Wolf might be a professional. But then, so was he.

From inside a nearby café, Richard watched the ferry glide out of the harbor and heaved a sigh of relief. The old bait and switch had worked; no one had followed him off the boat. He’d been suspicious of one man in particular-a balding fellow in nondescript tourist clothes. Richard had noticed how the man had scanned the boarding passengers, how his gaze had paused momentarily on Richard’s face.

Yes, he was the one. The bait was laid out for him.

The switch was a snap.

Once inside the ferry cabin, Richard had tossed his cap and jacket on a seat, walked up the aisle, and exited out the other door. By prior arrangement, Sofia’s brother-six foot one and with black hair-had slid into that same seat, donned the cap and jacket, and promptly cradled his face in his arms, as though to sleep.

Richard had waited behind some crates on deck just long enough for all the passengers to board. Then he’d simply walked off the boat.

No one had followed him.

He left the café and climbed into Sofia’s car.

It was a six-mile drive to the cove. Sofia and her brothers had Melina, the family fishing boat, ready to go, her engine running, her anchor line set to hoist. Richard scrambled out of the rowboat and up the rope ladder to Melina ’s deck.

Beryl was waiting for him. He took her in his arms, hugged her, kissed her. “It’s all right,” he murmured. “I lost him.”

“I was afraid I’d lose you. ”

“Not a chance.” He pulled back and smiled at her. With her black hair whipping in the wind, and her eyes the same crystalline green as the Aegean, she reminded him of some Greek goddess. Circe, Aphrodite. A woman who could hold a man forever bewitched.

The anchor thudded on deck. Sofia’s brothers guided Melina ’s bow around to face the open sea.

It started out a rough passage, the summer winds fierce and constant, the sea a rolling carpet of swells. But at sunset, as the sky deepened to a glorious shade of red, the wind suddenly died and the water turned glassy. Beryl and Richard stood on deck and gazed at the darkening silhouettes of the islands.

Sofia said, “We arrive late tonight.”

“Piraeus?” asked Richard.

“No. Too busy. We pull in at Monemvassia where no one will see us.”

“And then?”

“You go your way. We go ours. It is safer, for all of us.” Sofia glanced toward the stern at her two brothers, who were laughing and clapping each other on the back. “Look at them! They think this is a nice little adventure! If they had seen Gerard’s father…”

“Will you be all right?” asked Beryl.

Sofia looked at her. “I worry more about Gerard. They may be looking for him.”

“I don’t think so,” said Richard. “He was only a boy when he left Paris. His testimony can’t hurt them.”

“He remembered enough to tell you, ” countered Sofia.

Richard shook his head. “But I’m not sure what any of it meant.”

“Perhaps the killer knows. And he will be looking for Gerard next.” Sofia glanced back across the stern, toward the island. Toward Gerard, who had refused to flee. “His stubbornness. It will get him killed,” she muttered, and wandered away into the cabin.

“What do you think it meant?” asked Beryl. “That business about the short man with the briefcase? Was it just a payoff to Rideau, to keep him silent?”

“Partly.”

“You think there was something else in that briefcase,” she said. “Something besides money.”

He turned and saw the glow of the sunset on her face, the intensity of her gaze. She’s quick, he thought. She knows exactly what I’m thinking. He said, “I’m sure there was. I think the lover of our mysterious Mlle Scarlatti found himself in a very sticky situation. Two dead bodies in his garret, the police certain to be notified. He sees a way to extricate himself from two crises at once. He sends his man to pay off Rideau, asks him not to identify him to police.”

“And the second crisis?”

“His status as a mole.”

“Delphi?”

“Maybe he knew Intelligence was about to close in. So he places the NATO documents in a briefcase…”

“And has his hired man plant the briefcase in the garret,” finished Beryl. “Near my father’s body.”

Richard nodded. “ That’s what Inspector Broussard was trying to tell us-something about a briefcase. Remember that police photo of the murder scene? He kept pointing to an empty spot near the door. What if the briefcase was planted after that initial crime photo was taken? The inspector would have realized it was done postmortem.”

“But he couldn’t pursue the matter, because French Intelligence confiscated the briefcase.”

“Exactly.”

“They assumed my father was the one who brought the documents into the garret.” She looked at him, her eyes glittering with determination. “How do we prove it? Any of it?”

“We identify Mlle Scarlatti’s lover.”

“But our only witness was Rideau. And Gerard was just a boy. He scarcely remembers what the man looked like.”

“So we go to another source. A man who would know Delphi’s true identity-his East German spymaster. Heinrich Leitner.”

She stared at him in surprise. “Do you know how to reach him?”

“He’s in a high-security prison in Berlin. Trouble is, German Intelligence won’t exactly allow us free access to their prisoners.”

“As a diplomatic favor?”

His laugh was plainly skeptical. “An ex-CIA agent isn’t exactly on their most-favored list. Besides, Leitner might not want to see me. Still, it’s a chance we’ll take.” He turned to gaze over the bow at the darkening sea.

He felt her move close beside him, felt her nearness as acutely as the warmth of the setting sun. It was enough to drive him crazy, having her so close and being unable to make love to her. He found himself counting the hours until they would be alone again, until he could undress her, make love to her. And I once considered her too rich for my blood. Maybe she is. Maybe this is just a fever that’ll burn itself out, leaving us both sadder and wiser. But for now she’s all I think about, all I crave.