Brad Thor - Path Of The Assassin

It was a small sticker proclaiming that the restaurant was a member of Italy’s prestigious Unione Ristoranti Del Buon Ricordo. Meg’s heart began to race. She crossed back over and read the menu posted outside, and when she found what she was looking for, her heart pounded even faster. Trying not to draw any attention to herself, Meg made her way as quickly as possible to the Marina Piccola.

When Meg got to the marina, she spotted Harvath sitting in a blue-and-white-striped canvas beach chair beside the water.

“I hope you brought some coffee,” said Harvath, who was surveying the coastline with his binoculars as Meg approached from behind. “The restaurant here doesn’t open for another hour.”

“I’ve got coffee and something even better,” she said as she unslung her shopping bag and took the empty beach chair next to him.

“Coffee first,” he said as he pulled the binoculars away from his face. His eyes were red and bloodshot.

“I’ll talk while you drink,” said Meg as she handed him a cup of coffee and then pulled the food she had brought for him out of her bag.

Harvath took a sip of hot black coffee and then opened up a croissant and placed some of the prosciutto inside. As he took a bite of the sandwich, he said, “I’m thinking about renting a boat. I’m not convinced Hamdi is going to moor the Belle Étoile on this side of the island. All of the bigger yachts are definitely here, but if he wants his privacy, he might choose a more secluded spot.”

“I think I have something else we should run down first.”

“Meg, the clock is ticking. For all we know, Hamdi and the Belle Étoile are already here and we’ve been wasting our time looking in the wrong spot.”

“What if I told you,” said Meg, opening a small container of yogurt, “that I think I found one of Adara’s haunts on Capri?”

“I’d be all ears,” said Harvath as he raised the binoculars back to his eyes and once again scanned the water for any sign of the two-hundred-fifty-foot Belle Étoile.

“And eyes. Listen to me,” she said as she pulled the binoculars away from him, gaining his undivided attention. “Remember the plates she served dinner to us on?”

“Kind of. They were odd little hand-painted jobs with some kind of cartoon and Italian writing.”

“Exactly. Do you know what the writing said?”

“Mine said something about Pollo alla Romana, Frascati, and something else with the picture of a chicken in a toga. They looked like kids’ plates to me.”

“They were far from kids’ plates. Mine was Bavette ai Gracchi, from the Dante Taberna De Gracchi-a very good restaurant in Rome near Vatican City. Do you know what Adara’s had?”

“I didn’t get a good look from where I was sitting.”

“Well, I did. It had a lobster outfitted like a gladiator, but that’s not the most important thing. Across the top it read, ‘Risotto con aragosta e l’olio di tartufo’-‘lobster risotto with truffle oil.’”

“The same meal she served us?”

“Yes. The Italian writing on your plate was the name of the restaurant in Frascati that served the Pollo alla Romana.”

“Meg, back up. I don’t get this.”

“It’s the plates. Each one represents the specialty of the house for a different restaurant in the Buon Ricordo organization.”

“What’s ‘Buon Ricordo’?”

“It’s an exclusive club of restaurants that celebrate Italian cuisine.”

“So what does this have to do with Adara?”

“I didn’t see where her plate came from, but on my way down here I figured it out.”

“Don’t tell me. Capri?”

“You got it. There’s a Buon Ricordo restaurant called Al Grottino right off the Piazzetta.”

“And the specialty of the house?”

“Lobster risotto with truffle oil,” answered Meg.

Al Grottino was still not open when Harvath and Meg arrived, so they killed time in a local bookstore, where Harvath bought a detailed topographical and coastal map of the island. If they came up empty at the restaurant, then the next move was renting a boat.

Meg was confident that Al Grottino would turn up something. A restaurant was much different than a perfume shop. People didn’t wear sunglasses at dinner, even on Capri, and what’s more, patrons were in a restaurant a lot longer than a shop, so chances were that someone in the restaurant would remember Adara Nidal. As a matter of fact, there was a very good chance that she had made a big impression.

Meg was even more certain when the restaurant was finally opened for lunch. The outgoing owner greeted them at the door, guided them deftly down several steps, and sat them at a table in full view of any passersby who might be considering his restaurant for lunch. There was nothing like a nice-looking young couple to draw in other customers.

The tiny restaurant had a beautiful arched ceiling and walls dotted with several small alcoves filled with different colored bottles of Capri wine, all artistically lit from behind. Harvath noticed the walls were also covered with photographs of the owner and what appeared to be numerous Italian celebrities. It was obvious that he was proud of his restaurant and took an active role in its operation.

On top of everything else, the man was very friendly and loved to speak English. It was not hard to draw him into gossipy conversation, especially about the famous people who came to eat in his restaurant.

The owner insisted on starting Harvath and Meg with a Caprese salad while they talked. When the dish arrived and Harvath took his first bite, it was easily the best mozzarella he had ever tasted. The owner could see the look on his face and was very pleased. He bragged about how he had a special source on the island for all of his cheese. Meg, clever woman that she was, brought the owner back around to talking about his clients. She shared with him that a woman they had met while out to drinks one night had recommend his restaurant. The minute she described Adara the man’s eyes lit up.

“Che bella donna!” he exclaimed. “She has the eyes of silver, just like you say. The most beautiful woman who has ever come to eat at Al Grottino, after you of course, Signora.”

“So you know her?” took up Harvath, acting casual and only mildly interested.

“She has been here many times.”

“The lady must enjoy your cooking very much.”

“Oh, very much,” replied the owner. “Many times she asks me for my recipes and how can I say no to such a beautiful woman?” He shot Meg a quick, flirtatious glance. “The only thing I ask is that she not begin her own restaurant here on Capri. No one would come to see my face anymore.”

Now Meg got back into the conversation. “She is such an elegant woman. Don’t you think?”

“Very elegant and very beautiful,” said the owner.

“Does she own a villa here? I would imagine it is quite impressive.”

“No. No villa. She comes to visit and stays in the hotel.”

“Of course. The Quisisana,” said Meg with a smile.

“No, the Capri Palace in Anacapri. Last night she was here for dinner with a very handsome American man-”

“We’ll have to keep our eyes out for them. We’re staying at the Capri Palace also. I might know the man she was with,” said Harvath as he described Marcel Hamdi from Schoen’s surveillance photos.

“No. This man, he’s tall like the woman, bello, but blond hair. We say in Italian, con un pizzo,” said the owner, rubbing his chin.

“Ah, with a goatee,” said Meg.

“Ecco. It’s your first time to Capri?” asked the owner, changing the subject.

“My first. She has been here before,” said Harvath as he nodded to Meg.