The Burial Hour (Lincoln Rhyme 13)

"Ercole, look. Behind us. What happened?"

He turned as best he could and squinted. "Mamma mia! A fire. At the bottom of the road we just came down, there's a car on fire. Sitting in the middle of the street."

"Gianni."

"He's been watching us! He's running guard for Fatima. Of course. He broke into a car, I'd guess, and rolled it into the road, then set it on fire."

"To block the police. They're trapped on the mountain now."

Ercole was calling in this latest development.

On speaker she heard Rossi say he would get more officers and a fire brigade to the base of the mountain to the cast

le.

"Looks like it's just us, Ercole."

No longer an uneasy passenger, he stabbed his finger toward the road and cried, "Per favore, Amelia. Can you not go any faster?"

Chapter 65

Like a hockey player swerving around the goal, the Megane veered onto Via Partenope and screeched to a stop, deftly--and narrowly--avoiding a gelato vendor, two fashion models in neon-green dresses and, by inches, a Bugatti coupe, which Sachs believed was worth just north of a million dollars.

Then she and Ercole were out and sprinting to the promontory that tied Castel dell'Ovo to the mainland.

Sachs called, "Fatima's in street clothes, remember."

"Si."

"And remember your target. You've got to stop her instantly."

"Upper lip. Si. Three bullets."

Sirens cut through the air--the fire trucks headed to clear the way from Mont Echia, and the urgent wail from reinforcements, Police of State and Carabinieri heading to the castle now, to join Sachs and Ercole in the search for Fatima Jabril.

It was 1:30.

What a fat target this was: To the left of the massive castle, on the island, there were shops and restaurants and docks, today filled with tourists and locals enjoying the sun and the promise of Neapolitan food and wine and a lazy voyage in a sailing or motorboat upon cerulean Naples Bay. The site was plumped up all the more by the hundred or so fashion industry glitterati. A tent had been set up in the shadows of the towering castle.

Add the many tourists, and there had to be a thousand people here.

Sachs jumped as her phone rang, thinking of the bomb, which would have a cell-phone-activated detonator; that her sensitivity to ringtones was unreasonable didn't calm her heart.

"Rhyme."

"Where are you?" he asked.

"On the promontory to the castle."

Spiro's voice. "Yes, yes, Detective. We see you. CCTV."

Two uniformed officers--guards at the castle--approached. They had apparently been briefed by Rossi or Spiro and the pair, a blond woman and dark-haired man, hurried to Ercole, who confirmed their identities, as if the badges and weapons left any doubt.

Sachs said into the phone, "Evacuate the place, Rhyme?"

Rossi spoke. He explained that they had decided against that approach, at least for now; the castle and the island on which it sat were accessed only by the narrow strip of land, like a bridge, they were moving over now. Panic would create a deadly crush, and more would die from a leap into the water or onto the rocky shore. "At five minutes until two, perhaps we will have no choice. But that will be certain death for a number of people. We will be closing off the entrance now."

Sachs, Ercole and the two castle guards walked quickly over the promontory and into the throngs on the island. The officers were scanning the grounds and docks where hundreds of pleasure craft bobbed lazily at their slips. Looking for a slim, dark-haired woman, probably by herself, dressed in Western clothing and carrying a package or purse or backpack. Of course, Sachs reflected, here they were in a region brimming with slim, dark-haired women, dressed Western.