Brad Thor - Path Of The Assassin

The first place on their list was the Carthusia perfume showroom at number 10 Via Camerelle. Harvath had agreed with Meg that it would seem less suspicious if she asked the questions and he looked like the bored husband being dragged around on a day of shopping.

Meg approached the counter, where an attractive, very tastefully dressed blond woman in her late forties was patiently waiting as a salesgirl made a phone call to one of the other shops on her behalf.

“May I help you?” said a second salesgirl who came around behind the counter from the showroom floor. Her English had a heavy Italian accent, and “help” sound more like “elp.”

“Yes,” said Meg, who pretended to be looking over the merchandise. “I am looking for a certain type of perfume.”

“Of course. We have many lovely perfumes. What are you looking for?”

“We had dinner with a woman who was wearing it. I think she said it was called Caprissimo?”

“Yes. This is a very nice perfume, but unfortunately we do not have it in this shop.”

“Do you ususally sell it here?” asked Meg.

“Yes, but right now we are out of it.”

“But they might be able to find it for you,” offered the blond lady standing next to Meg. “They’re calling the other shops for me right now. If you pay for it here, they’ll deliver it to your hotel.”

“Certainly,” returned the salesgirl. “You pay now and we will have it brought to the hotel. Are you staying at the Quisisana?”

Harvath shot Meg a look, but it was unnecessary. She would not needlessly divulge what hotel they were staying at. “Actually, we’re not. The woman who wore the perfume was very kind, and without our knowing it, paid for our dinner last night. I was hoping you might know who she is or possibly where she is staying so we could repay the favor.”

“Are you on your honeymoon?” interrupted the blond woman with a wide smile.

Meg looked at Harvath and he grinned. “Yes, we are,” she replied as she slid her left hand behind her back, hiding her naked ring finger.

“I knew it! I just knew it,” proclaimed the woman. “You two are just too adorable.”

“Thank you for the compliment,” said Meg, who turned her attention back to the salesgirl. “I’m sure you would know this woman if I described her. She is very beautiful, with long black hair.”

“Signora, you have just described over half the women in Italy,” replied the salesgirl.

“She is tall and has the most beautiful eyes. They look like silver. I’m sure very few women in Italy have eyes like that.”

“I do not know this woman. Maybe she has been here to buy perfume and she was wearing sunglasses. Maybe another girl in the shop was helping her. I’m sorry.”

Meg was disappointed. She sensed that this was going to be a losing battle, but she didn’t want to give up. It was one of the only leads they had. “Perhaps one of your colleagues assisted her. It would mean so much for us to repay her kindness. Would you ask your associates for us? We would be happy to wait.”

“Signora, tonight it is only two of us. Me and Francesca. During the day we have three different girls, sometimes others to help on the weekends. I cannot ask all of them. It would be too difficult. I am sorry. You understand I am sure, yes?”

Yes, Meg understood, but she didn’t like it. The blond woman could see the disappointment written on her face and said, “Why don’t you find a nice table at one of the cafés on the square and see if she walks by when everybody’s doing the passeggiata-the evening stroll? Anybody who is anybody on Capri eventually walks through the Piazzetta.”

The idea that Adara Nidal might just casually parade by them was about as far-fetched as tracking her down based on where she bought her perfume. Harvath and Meg thanked the woman and the salesgirl, and then left the shop.

They visited all of the other locations on their list only to find that no one they spoke to remembered ever having waited on a woman matching Adara’s description. The salespeople were always very apologetic and said that many of their customers wore sunglasses, even in the evening. This could account for their not remembering the stranger who had supposedly picked up Meg and Scot’s dinner check. They were repeatedly told that this was not unusual on Capri and that they should enjoy the mystery of it. One older gentleman went so far as to say the angels above had blessed their marriage with a complimentary meal. When pressed, they all returned to the same suggestion the blond woman at their first stop had made-to park themselves at a table on the Piazzetta and wait.

When they returned to Capri Town from Anacapri, Harvath was not in the best of moods. His feet were sore from his new shoes, and he hadn’t eaten since Naples. Meg suggested that they drop their shopping bags in the hotel and give the Piazzetta a shot. Harvath reluctantly agreed.

They found an outdoor table, several rows in, against the wall of one of the busy cafés, partially obscured from view by a row of potted trees.

After several hours of people watching and several tiny cups of high-octane Italian coffee, Harvath decided a new approach was in order. They drifted from disco to disco and high-end hotel lobby to high-end hotel lobby, hoping to get lucky. The sun was coming up when Harvath and Meg made one more fruitless trip to the marina, then finally headed back to the hotel to get some sleep.

When Meg awoke, Harvath was already gone. She had only slept a couple of hours, so her guess was that Harvath hadn’t slept at all. Knowing him, she concluded he had waited until she had fallen asleep and had gone back out on his own. Meg knew exactly where she would find him, though.

She took a shower and put on a fresh change of clothes. The complimentary buffet breakfast was already underway when Meg entered the hotel’s main dining room. She selected some food from the buffet and then took a table near the window, where she asked the waiter for coffee. Her mind was turning over and over, trying to figure out how they could track down Adara Nidal and what might happen if they didn’t.

After Meg had finished her breakfast, she asked the waiter if she could have one of the plastic pitchers full of coffee to take upstairs to her husband, who wasn’t feeling well. The waiter was more than happy to oblige. Meg fixed a tray with some extra food, and when the coffee arrived, took everything up to the room.

Back in the room, she wrapped the food in paper napkins and placed it, along with the plastic jug of coffee and a cup, into one of their fancy shopping bags with silk cords that could be drawn shut at the top. Carefully slinging the bag over her shoulder, she put on a pair of sunglasses, walked downstairs, and exited the hotel.

She turned right and headed past the bus terminal and taxi stand into the main square. Having learned from her training with the Delta operatives the importance of varying your routine, she decided to take another route to the marina. Instead of heading straight through the Piazzetta and back past all the high-profile boutiques, Meg turned left and went a different direction. She passed under an archway and onto a tiny thoroughfare. From the map she carried, it looked to be an easy yet roundabout way to get down to the water. She now remembered how difficult Capri’s windy little streets were to navigate, even with a map.

About fifty meters in from the Piazzetta, Meg stopped next to a restaurant called, Al Grottino, to once again check her map. As she was unfolding it, one of the little motorized luggage carts came careening down the narrow alley, and Meg had to jump to the other side to get out of the driver’s way. It was then that something on the door of the restaurant caught her eye.