"This is not proper procedure. This is not America."
"You're telling me. Stand by. I'll get back to you." She broke transmission, surged to her feet. "How fast can we get there?"
"Knowing the meanderings of red tape, faster than your Italian counterpart will."
"Then let's move. I'll get clearance on the way."
CHAPTER TWENTY
She was a pleasure to watch, Roarke thought, while he relaxed with a brandy as they raced through the sky above the Atlantic. Raw energy in motion, he decided.
She used a headset, keeping her hands free for a coffee cup or a notebook or a second 'link if she had two transmissions going at once. She paced, up and down, up and down the short, narrow aisle in the cabin of his fastest transport, snapping out orders, chewing out data, vocally flogging anyone who tossed up an obstacle to her goal.
She spoke to Feeney, to her commander, to someone in the United States consulate—whose ears would probably leak blood for the rest of his natural life—to the Italian police captain who continued to hold up his hands, still empty of the proper paperwork. She contacted a lawyer who specialized in international law, waking him without regret or mercy and shoving him into the fray.
"Data port's down?" She raged at the Italian cop on the next transmission. "What the hell do you mean your data ports are down?"
"Such things happen, Lieutenant. We should have them back in an hour or two."
"You'll waste an hour or two. You can get oral or e-authorization now."
"I must have the proper documentation, in hard copy, with the authorization stamp and seal. This is the law."
"Let me tell you my law, amigo. You screw up this apprehension and I'm frying your balls for breakfast." She cut him off, kicked the base of the nearest seat.
"We're halfway there," Roarke told her. "You've done all you can do and terrified a number of minor bureaucrats. You should sit down and get some sleep."
"I don't want to sleep."
"Sit down anyway." He managed to snag her hand, tug her into the seat beside him. "Shut down, Lieutenant. Even you can't alter the laws of physics and get us there any faster." He draped an arm around her, drew her head firmly down to his shoulder.
"I need to update the commander."
"When we land. Just rest and imagine Julianna's face when you walk into her suite. And think of all the Italian ass you get to kick."
"Yeah." She yawned. "There's that." On that pleasant thought, she slid into a shallow sleep.
* * *
"Jet-copter?" Eve stood staring at the small, sleek, four-person transpo with blurry vision. "You didn't say anything about having to do the last leg in a jet-copter."
"And you slept easier for it." Roarke boosted himself in behind the controls. "Eight minutes from port to port. A great deal less time than ground transpo on Italian roads, in Italian traffic, through the hillsides, around the lake—"
"All right, all right." She sucked in a breath. "Everybody has to die of something."
"I'll try not to take that as an insult to my piloting skills. Strap in, Lieutenant."
"Believe me." She snapped on her safety harness, checked its tension twice. "I hate going up in these things."
"I can't think why." The instant he got clearance, Roarke shot the copter up in a vertical, slicing up two hundred feet in the time it took Eve's stomach to execute the first of a serious of stylish somersaults.
"Cut it out!"
"Sorry, did you say something?" On a rollicking laugh, he punched the jets and arrowed into the pink-streaked sky.
"Why do you think that's funny?" She gripped the sides of her seat with fingers that dug in like steel claws. "You sadistic son of a bitch."
"It's a guy thing. We really can't help ourselves. Christ, look at that sky."