Ghost Ship

“Yeah. I’ll be fine. They might have seen us walking near each other, but there’s nothing they can hold me for. Just go.”

“All right.” Sam revved the engine. “Wait… I don’t want to lose you again.”

“Then don’t.”

He smiled. “When this is all over, I promise I’ll find you again!”

She kissed him on the lips. “You’d better.”

Sam placed her dark helmet on, covering his face. He revved the engine, dropped the clutch, and with screeching tires, he took off up the series of ramps, and onto Strada Provinciale 61— the only road out of Vernazza.

Chapter Thirty-One

Tom watched the obsidian black Ducati sports cruiser race out of the carpark.

The Polizia surrounded the carpark, getting ready to breech it.

Tom exhaled. Sam had made it out just in time. “See, Genevieve, even without his memory Sam’s resourceful as hell. He’ll be in La Spezia in fifteen minutes.”

“I give him ten minutes on that bike.”

“You might be right. I’ll call the pilot, make sure they’re ready to take off.” He picked up his cell phone and pressed redial on his last call. It rang out. He frowned. Tried a second secure number. It just kept ringing.

Genevieve met his eye. “What is it?”

“The Globemaster III’s been compromised!”

Her face made an incredulous grimace. “How? I thought it was guarded by a team of SEALs?”

“No. Most of them were already on their way here. There’s only a skeleton crew on board. They weren’t expecting company.”

Genevieve said, “What do you want to do about? Are you going to contact the Secretary of Defense?”

“No. That’s the only person who knew where Sam was heading…”

“You think the Secretary betrayed Sam?”

“I doubt it, but one thing’s for certain, she’s compromised his position.”

Genevieve nodded. It made sense. Tom had called the Secretary and said they were headed to the rendezvous point at the airfield at La Spezia, and now the Globemaster III had been compromised. “Okay, so we need to intercept Sam before he gets there. Do you have any idea how we’re going to catch him without transport?”

Tom glanced at the ascot green Lancia Montecarlo. It was the only car in the street. An old man had stepped out of it, lifted the hood, and was trying to persuade its engine to start. “Yeah, I think I’ve got an idea…”

Chapter Thirty-Two

Tom stared at the car.

The Pininfarina designed — and built — two-door Lancia Montecarlo was a rear-wheel drive, mid-engined, two-seater sports car. Montecarlos were available as fixed head "Coupés" and also as "Spiders" with solid A and B pillars, but a large flat folding canvas roof between them.

This one was a Spider with the top down, and it looked beautiful.

Tom’s father had owned an American version of the identical car when he was growing up. It was badged as The Scorpion, since General Motors had already used the name Monte Carlo for one of their other cars.

With each turn of the ignition the piston would fire, struggle, and eventually conk out as the twin exhaust pipes spat out near-blue exhaust fumes.

Tom grinned.

The owner had left the manual choke out, starving the carburetor of air, and causing it to stall.

Tom gestured to the owner, “May I try?”

The old man’s face took on a puzzled expression.

Tom said, “I’m a mechanic… I help…”

The Italian man threw his hands down with a wave. “It’s no good…”

Tom climbed in, disengaged the choke, and turned the ignition. The starter motor turned, but the engine failed to fire.

He frowned.

Genevieve said, “I thought you were good with cars.”

“Yeah, so did I.”

The Italian cursed. Some words, Tom reflected, were universal no matter what language they were spoken in.

He gave it another try.

This time the engine caught, and roared into life.

Genevieve opened the passenger side door and climbed in.

The owner waved his arms and shouted at them. “What are you doing?”

Tom said, “I’m sorry… we’ll bring it back… I promise!”

The owner blocked them from leaving by standing in their way.

Tom said to Genevieve, “I don’t know how to speak Italian… do you know anything that might get us out of here?”

“Leave it to me.”

“You speak Italian?”

She grinned. “A little.”

Genevieve withdrew her Israeli Uzi and gestured it toward the old man.

The Italian dived out of the way.

Tom dropped the handbrake, released the clutch, and floored the accelerator.

The Lancia Montecarlo raced off.

Tom turned to Genevieve. “We just stole a man’s car and you threaten him with an Uzi?”

She shrugged. “Hey, it got him out of our way didn’t it?”

“Yeah… but…”

She dismissed his tone. “We’re doing this to save Sam’s life, remember?”

“And that makes it okay?”

She grinned. “You bet it does.”

Chapter Thirty-Three

Catarina gripped the metallic suitcase and moved quickly, exiting the carpark onto the back of Via Visconti.

She heard shouting coming from the Polizia who cordoned off the carpark, slowly stopping anyone from entering or leaving.

She headed south, toward her apartment.