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“We’ll get the money,” Sam said. “Once I know the jet’s safe. And my crew.”
“They haven’t been in touch? Your pilot assured us he’d be in touch with you to straighten this entire matter out.”
Sam and Remi exchanged worried looks, Sam saying, “Can you at least show us the jet? How do I know it’s still there?”
The young guard stepped forward. “I’m sorry, Mr. Fargo, but until payment is made, I’m going to have to ask you and your wife to leave the airport. We would appreciate if you did so quietly.”
Sam didn’t know Italian law. Whether the lockdown of their jet was standard procedure for unpaid bills or manipulation by whoever had hacked their accounts mattered little, their inability to access their aircraft was going to make life a lot harder—probably the very reason behind it.
Short of storming the hangar—not an option with the number of armed guards stationed at the airport—he thanked them for their time. As he and Remi started to turn away, she reached over, placing her hand on Sam’s arm. “What about my medication?”
He looked over at his wife, her expression so open and vulnerable, he almost believed she was in dire medical need. Sam turned to the security guard, doing his best to appear worried about her health. “Can you at least escort my wife onto the plane to get her pills?”
The guard eyed Remi, then the woman behind the counter, who gave a slight nod. “Just make sure that’s all she removes,” the woman said.
“Let me get my cart,” the guard said. “I’ll drive you out there.”
When he returned with the electric cart, Sam started to follow Remi, but the woman held up her hand. “Sir, you’ll have to wait here. I’m bending the rules enough by allowing your wife onto the plane. Please don’t make me lose my job.”
He walked across the gray linoleum tiles to a row of hard plastic chairs to wait. Fifteen minutes later, the guard and Remi returned, Remi wearing what looked like a black silk scarf draped artfully around her neck.
“Grazie,” Remi said to him. She took Sam’s arm, and the two left.
Sam regarded the very long scarf around her shoulders, noting the Valentino label just visible in one of the folds. “No suit or black tie?”
“One slinky gown and the satphone was all I could manage without him noticing. The petty cash box was empty.”
“Hopefully, the crew took it. We at least know they’ll have enough to survive on for the next few days. Their credit cards are on the same business account as ours.”
“Where do you suppose they are?”
“Sitting in some air-conditioned hotel, sipping prosecco, attempting to contact Selma to get this straightened out. Which is what we need to do as soon as possible.”
“Sipping prosecco?”
“As tempting as that part of the plan is, we might want to hold off until we figure out what’s going on.”
The two walked out, the heat hitting them full force when they left the cooled building, waiting for the shuttle that would transport them to the parking lot. “I don’t get this,” Remi said, once they were in their car. She untied the dress from around her neck, tossing it into the backseat. “How could it happen?”
“Does it matter?” He backed out of the parking space, the wheels squealing on the slick concrete as he turned. “We move on.”
He paid the parking fee, waited for the cashier to wave him through, then pulled out into traffic, noticing a black Mercedes right behind him. He made a lane change. The Mercedes did the same. “Time to check that satphone.”
She turned it on and tried to make a call. “Nothing.”
No doubt about it. Whoever targeted them had covered all the bases. They were definitely pros, maybe someone with military or counterterrorism experience. Sam sped up to get around a van. The Mercedes did the
same. He checked his rearview mirror, just able to make out the silhouette of the man driving it, recognizing the flattop haircut. “Unlock that glove box and get your gun. We’re being followed.”
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Sam’s attempt to lose the Mercedes failed when a second car, also a Mercedes, this one dark blue, pulled up behind them. The two cars kept a steady pace.
Remi placed her gun in the center console, shifted in her seat to see who was behind them. “That’s the same man who followed us from Payton Manor to Chad’s mother’s house.”
He let up on the gas, hoping for a better view. When he looked in the mirror, he recognized Bruno’s ruddy face. Sam sped up. “You know what I find fascinating about this?”
“Fascinating? Not a word I’d associate with suddenly being destitute and being followed by whoever these people are.”