“And why would he want that?”
“Because he knows you’ll try to confront him alone. And when you do, he’ll kill you.” Cameron’s tone softened again. “Please, darling. Tell me where you are. Tell me where Drexel is. I won’t tell Walton or Buck, I swear it. I’ll help you myself. Just don’t do this alone.”
Tracy’s eyes welled with tears. She looked at her watch. In six more seconds he’d be able to trace the call.
“Goodbye, Cameron. And good luck.”
She rang off, ripped the battery out of her handset and hurled it into the fire.
“YOU’RE LATE.”
Frank Dorrien scowled at Jeff Stevens. They’d agreed to meet at the Café Italia on Locarno’s Piazza Grande at noon. It was now 12:03.
“Hardly.” Jeff glanced at his Patek Philippe and sat down. In linen trousers and a loose, short-sleeved shirt, topped off with a panama hat, Jeff was perfectly dressed for the warm weather. Unlike the general, who’d turned up in a twill shirt, a heavy tweed jacket and brogues with socks.
Jeff thought, If the man got any more English they’d put him in the British Museum.
“What do you mean ‘hardly’? Late is late,” Frank snapped. “You do realize it’s entirely your fault we’re in this situation as it is? Time is running out, Jeff.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“Sorry won’t save Tracy. Or any of the other people Drexel and his Group 99 cronies are right now planning to kill.”
“Jesus, Frank, I get it, OK?” Jeff’s voice was breaking. “I fucked up. I thought Tracy and I . . .”
He left the sentence hanging.
Frank Dorrien took a sip of his tea and grimaced. It was lukewarm and disgusting, like every cup he’d had since he got to Italy. Unconfirmed sightings by British agents of Alexis Argyros near the Italian Lakes had been enough for James MacIntosh to fly Frank out there.
If Apollo was in Northern Italy, chances were that Drexel was there too. Although the Greek Group 99 leader was a target in his own right.
Ironically it was Frank Dorrien who had insisted that Jeff Stevens be brought along too.
“Absolutely not.” Jamie MacIntosh was still smarting over Jeff’s ill-advised decision to disappear with Tracy. “Mr. Stevens has made it quite clear where his loyalties lie. And it’s not with us.”
“I don’t care about his loyalties,” Frank said bluntly. “He’s still our best chance of finding Tracy Whitney. And she’s still our best chance of finding Drexel.”
In the end, reluctantly, MacIntosh had agreed. The Americans had lost control of Tracy Whitney completely. Having Jeff Stevens on their team, combined with this new intelligence on Argyros, put MI6 in the driving seat once again.
If only we knew where we were going, Frank Dorrien thought bitterly.
“Argyros has gone to ground, for the time being at least,” he told Jeff. “Right now our priority has to be finding Tracy.”
“Agreed,” said Jeff. “Where do you suggest we start?”
There were times when Major General Frank Dorrien could cheerfully have strangled Jeff Stevens.
“Where do I suggest . . . ? You’re the one who’s supposed to be able to outthink her, remember? Although after her little stunt on the train I’d say that theory’s seriously in doubt.”
Jeff looked miserably at his shoes.
“Think, man. Drexel’s here, somewhere. Tracy finds him. She thinks she’s the only one who knows he’s here, but she’s wrong. Argyros is right behind her.”
“Or ahead of her,” said Jeff. “Maybe Argyros has already found Hunter.”
“Maybe. And maybe he’s killed him. Or maybe, he never had any intention of killing him. Maybe he’s here to meet Hunter as a compatriot. A friend. A co-conspirator. Maybe they’re planning their next Neuilly together.”
Jeff shivered. “Let’s hope not.”