Painting on a friendly smile, she made her way downstairs, the bright lights of the foyer making her squint. Pina was a short, middle-aged woman wearing a housekeeper’s uniform.
“Il signor Santini è dovuto uscire di corsa,” Halston said. “Mi ha chiesto di aspettare, ma è passata più di un'ora.”Mr. Santinihad to run out. He asked me to wait, but that was over an hour ago.
Pina gave her the once-over while Halston offered a pleasant smile.
“Il signor Santini non lascia donne qui,” said the housekeeper “¿Cómo lo conoces?”Mr. Santini doesn't leave women here. How do you know him?
“Lo conozco del trabajo.”I know him from work.
Before Pina could reply, Halston continued. “Tengo que irme. Es hora de prepararme para ir a trabajar. Sai com'è il signor Santini…”I have to go. Time to get ready for work. You know how Mr. Santini is…
Halston set the wine glass on the counter. “Limpiaré esto antes de irme. Por favor, dile que siento no haber podido esperar más.”I'll clean this before I leave. Please tell him I'm sorry I couldn't wait any longer.
Halston trotted upstairs. In the bedroom closet, she dressed as quickly as she could, then returned to the kitchen. Pina was drying the wine glass with a dish towel.
“Arrivederci,” Halston said without waiting for a response.Goodbye.
She closed the front door behind her, hurried to the gate. It opened, she walked through, strode down the street, and hopped on the scooter.
What an epic fail.
Back at the hotel, she returned the scooter, went to her room and changed into jeans and a black sweater. The hotel clerk summoned a taxi and Halston was whisked to the airport.
Not only had she failed Bulgrov, she’d gotten caught by the housekeeper. She didn’t need to fess up about the wine, nor the housekeeper, but there was no way she could avoid telling him she’d found no thumb drive.
At nine-thirty that morning, she boarded the plane, eased into her first-class seat, and released a sigh. A lot had happened in a short amount of time.
Twenty minutes later, the jumbo jet taxied down the runway and lifted into the air. Anticipation had her staring out the window, counting the hours until the plane touched down at Dulles. She was eager to walk through the doors at Langley and thank her handler in person. She couldn’t wait to walk on American soil, eat American food, maybe even sneak away from the embassy to meet a friend or two.
Was that really Caroline Austin in the framed photo on Mr. Santini’s shelf?
Even more than any of that… who is this Santini guy, and where in the hell was that damn thumb drive?
2
I’M HIT
GABRIEL
At seven o’clock in the evening, Gabriel entered the furnished home he’d been renting on 16thStreet in northwest DC, dropped his leather duffle on the sofa, and stared out the floor-to-ceiling window. When he eyed his reflection, he didnotlike what he saw.
I failed. Fuckin’ failed.
The last several days in Italy had been a blur. Now, he had the blood of a dead Russian on his hands. The irony? Hewasn’tthe one who had killed him.
According to Z, Misha Laskin had been one of the good guys.
Even though Gabriel didn’t discuss top-secret missions over the phone, Z needed to hear it sooner than later. And directly from him. He pulled his phone from his pocket and turned it on. Seconds later, it blew up with several texts and a dozen missed calls.
Ignoring those, he dialed Z’s number, pressed the phone to his ear.
“Where the hell have you been?” Z barked.
“Take it down or you’ll be talking to no one,” Gabriel growled.
“I sent a car for you, but the driver said you were a no-show.”
“I had my own vehicle, and I needed to drop Angelo.”
