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Then I called an Uber for the airport.
By the time I got through security at Heathrow, I realized that carrying the ring everywhere was going to be a pain in the ass. When I put it through the X-ray machine and waited for it to come out the other side, I had a mini panic attack that someone was going to steal it.
The box itself was a problem – bulky and tight in my pants pocket. Plus, I had no idea if leaving it in the house at Lake Como was safe.
I mean, I assumed it was…
But I’d also assumed I would be engaged before I left for Italy.
I was trying to figure out what to do when I passed a gift shop and saw the perfect solution.
A bunch of silver chains were on display near the register – nothing expensive. I realized one of them would be perfect for carrying the ring: I could wear it around my neck and never have to worry about it being lost or stolen.
I quickly paid for a necklace, unclasped it, and slipped the chain through the ring. Then I put it around my neck and fastened it back together.
Perfect.
The metal was cold at first, but after a few seconds, it warmed up and I barely noticed it. Even when I did – if the necklace shifted and the ring moved against my skin – it was a comforting presence.
A reminder of what I had waiting for me when I came home.
I shoved the ring box into my carry-on bag and boarded my flight, finally feeling better about what had happened yesterday…
And the unfinished business I had when I got home.
I would ask Rachel to marry me as soon as I returned. I didn’t know how we would get around her distrust of my job, but I knew we would figure it out.
Before the plane took off, I wished to God I could have texted her. I even considered breaking the rules and calling her from the burner.
But I stopped myself.
I told myself I wouldn’t be gone that long.
Three weeks was nothing.
Little did I know.
83
The second mission did not go as planned.
I flew into Milan at 12:20 PM. Milan Malpensa Airport was the biggest in Northern Italy and had a large short-term parking deck. I went to the top level and found the dark blue Fiat 500X mini-SUV with the license plate listed in the dossier.
As promised, the keys were sitting on top of the left front tire. The engine was still hot despite the cold day, so the car likely had just been parked a few minutes before.
Rather than inspect the guns where witnesses could see, I got behind the wheel. The parking lot ticket was sitting on the dash, and it was just as I had thought: the car had only entered the garage 10 minutes ago.
I drove to the exit and paid the three-euro fee. Then I drove for ten minutes until I hit a stretch of forested highway. I pulled onto the grassy side of the road, got out, and went to the hatchback to check on the guns.
They were hidden in the back, in the spare tire well. They were the same as last time: a .300 Win Mag with a suppressor and scope, and a suppressed Glock 22. The only difference from the ones in Norway was that these were standard black. The others had been white to camouflage them against the snow.
I only looked at the guns in their hiding place; I certainly didn’t remove them so passing motorists could see. I would drive to an isolated area and double-check the guns’ accuracy later.
Once I was satisfied everything was there, I replaced the panel, closed the rear door, got back behind the wheel, and set off for Lake Como using Google Maps to guide me.
Van der Linden had his estate on the eastern side of Lake Como, near a town called Lezzeno. I would be staying on the western side of the lake near the town of Sala Comacina, about an hour from the airport.
As I drove, I pondered the difficult job ahead of me. Though my rental house was almost directly across the lake from van der Linden’s estate, the distance across the water was a full mile.
