Jeffery Deaver: The Burial Hour

Ercole then said, ‘Ah, there is a possible target for Fatima: the military archive, Caserma Nino Bixio.’

‘I don’t know that it’s still open,’ Spiro said. ‘But, even if not, there would be residents and tourists nearby and bombing a state building would get the attention of the world.’

Rossi was already calling the SCO team.

Rhyme looked at the digital clock: 12:50.

An hour and ten minutes until the attack.

Amelia Sachs was pushing Ercole’s poor Mégane to the limit once more, though this time not speeding; the unfortunate lower gears were struggling to ascend the steep slope of Monte Echia.

They breached the top and saw ahead of them two dozen tactical officers from the SCO, as well as a number of regulars from the Police of State and the Carabinieri. The Naples Comune Police was present too, along with soldiers from the Italian army.

Towering Michelangelo, the tactical force commander, gestured angrily for two police cars to back up and let Sachs pull closer. He smiled as Sachs jumped from the car and they played the Dirty Harriet/Make My Day game again.

She rigged her headset, and she and Ercole walked into a square beside the large red stone building that was the archive. At the western edge, where a sheer cliff descended to the street below, there were tourist stations — a sketch artist who’d do a portrait of customers with Vesuvius in the background, vendors of gelato and flavored shaved ice, a man behind a pushcart, selling Italian flags, limoncello liqueur in bottles the shape of Italy, Pinocchio dolls, pizza refrigerator magnets, maps, and cold drinks.

Though the day was sunny, the temperature moderate, the area was largely deserted.

Now that Rhyme had told her of Stefan’s analysis of the phone call between Fatima and Gianni, she too was aware of the sounds that he’d identified — the pigeons, the gulls ganging over a garbage bin nearby, cars downshifting to make the summit, as she’d just done. Much dimmer were the other sounds — the ships at the docks in the far distance, south toward the volcano, the scooter repair shop, other vendors, tourists, children in a parochial school yard.

She and Ercole joined in the search, and the Forestry officer told Michelangelo that they would survey the vendors and the customers, since the police soldiers had the archives covered.

‘ Sì, sì! ’ the massive man said and plunged toward the archives with his men, his face registering disappointment, as if peeved that there was no one yet to shoot. The big, dun-colored building was not, in fact, open at the moment, but there were many alcoves and shadows and doorways where a bomb might be hidden — and that would kill or injure dozens, as Dante Spiro had pointed out.

Ercole and Sachs canvassed up and down the streets, she displaying the picture of Fatima, he asking if anyone had seen her, adding that she would be dressed in Western clothing and without the head covering, most likely. Since the photo, though, depicted the woman in hijab, the tourists and vendors surely thought that terrorism might be involved and they gazed at the picture with the eager intent to remember seeing her.

But none had.

The two walked up and down the winding street, stopping at residences and questioning people they passed, while uniformed police officers and Carabinieri swept the cars lining the curbs, some using mirrors on poles to look beneath them for the explosive.

And how much time?

Sachs’s phone showed: 1:14.

Forty-five minutes till the attack.

They returned to the top of the plateau, where Michelangelo was talking to a Carabiniere, obviously a commander, to judge from the medals and insignias on his breast and shoulder. His hat was quite tall.

The tactical commander saw Sachs and shook his head, ringed with fuzzy, red hair, with a grimace. He returned to the search.

She called Rhyme.

‘Found anything, Sachs?’

‘Nothing. And, you know what? This doesn’t feel right.’

‘As in, it doesn’t seem like a target?’

‘Exactly.’ She was looking around her, as wind stirred up shrapnel of crisp food wrappers and plastic bags and newspapers and dust. ‘The archive’s closed and there just aren’t that many people around.’

Rhyme was silent a moment, and then: ‘Odd. Gianni said the target would be crowded today.’

‘It ain’t going to get more crowded in forty minutes, Rhyme. And no press. No reason for any press.’

Then: ‘Ah, no. Goddamn it.’

Sachs’s pulse quickened. This was his tone of anger.

She gripped Ercole’s arm and he stopped quickly.

Rhyme was saying, ‘I made a mistake.’ He was then speaking to the others in the Questura — Charlotte McKenzie, Spiro and Rossi — but she couldn’t hear the words.

He came back on the line. ‘Monte Echia isn’t the target, Sachs. I should have known that!’

‘Didn’t Stefan identify it right?’

‘He did fine. But I didn’t pay attention to what Gianni told Fatima. He didn’t say he was at the target. He said he could see the target. He was standing there and looking it over.’

She explained this to Ercole, who grimaced. They caught Michelangelo’s attention and Sachs gestured him over. The man stalked closer and Ercole told him about the mistake.

He nodded and spoke into his microphone.

Sachs was staring over the vistas. ‘I can see the docks, Rhyme.’

He was on speaker and Spiro had heard. He said, ‘But, Detective, they are filled with security. I do not think she could get close.’

Ercole said, ‘We see the Partenope walkway and street. It is somewhat crowded.’

Then Sachs’s eyes slipped to the stony island in front of Via Partenope. ‘What’s that?’

‘Castel dell’Ovo,’ he answered. ‘A popular tourist attraction. And there are, as you can see, many restaurants and cafés.’

Spiro said abruptly. ‘That could be it. Gianni told Fatima to get behind a stone wall before the explosion. Yes, the castle has dozens of alcoves where she can hide.’

‘And look!’

Two large buses were just then pulling up in front of the bridge that led to the island the castle was on. People in suits and elaborate dresses began to climb out. On the side were banners.

‘What do they say?’ Sachs asked Ercole.

‘It’s publicity for a fashion event here. Some designer or clothing company.’

‘And there would have been a press announcement, so Gianni would have learned it started at two o’clock.’

She told those in the Questura what they were looking at.

‘Yes, yes, that has to be it!’ Rossi said.

Sachs tugged Ercole’s arm. ‘Let’s go.’ Into the headset she said, ‘We’re headed there now, Rhyme.’

She disconnected and they jogged to the Mégane, which she fired up and put into gear. Michelangelo and the tactical officers were jogging back to their vehicles.

Sachs skidded in a U-turn and sped down the switchbacks to the street beneath the mountain. She swerved onto the concrete, steered into the skid and floored the accelerator. Sachs was blustering her way through an intersection when she glanced in her rearview mirror, wondering how close Michelangelo was, when she saw a flash of yellow and orange flame.

‘Ercole, look. Behind us. What happened?’

He turned as best he could and squinted. ‘ Mamma mia! A fire. At the bottom of the road we just came down, there’s a car on fire. Sitting in the middle of the street.’

‘Gianni.’

‘He’s been watching us! He’s running guard for Fatima. Of course. He broke into a car, I’d guess, and rolled it into the road, then set it on fire.’

‘To block the police. They’re trapped on the mountain now.’