Path of the Assassin

CHAPTER 58

When Meg got to the marina, she spotted Harvath sitting in a blue-and-white-striped canvas beach chair beside the water.

“I hope you brought some coffee,” said Harvath, who was surveying the coastline with his binoculars as Meg approached from behind. “The restaurant here doesn’t open for another hour.”

“I’ve got coffee and something even better,” she said as she unslung her shopping bag and took the empty beach chair next to him.

“Coffee first,” he said as he pulled the binoculars away from his face. His eyes were red and bloodshot.

“I’ll talk while you drink,” said Meg as she handed him a cup of coffee and then pulled the food she had brought for him out of her bag.

Harvath took a sip of hot black coffee and then opened up a croissant and placed some of the prosciutto inside. As he took a bite of the sandwich, he said, “I’m thinking about renting a boat. I’m not convinced Hamdi is going to moor the Belle Étoile on this side of the island. All of the bigger yachts are definitely here, but if he wants his privacy, he might choose a more secluded spot.”

“I think I have something else we should run down first.”

“Meg, the clock is ticking. For all we know, Hamdi and the Belle Étoile are already here and we’ve been wasting our time looking in the wrong spot.”

“What if I told you,” said Meg, opening a small container of yogurt, “that I think I found one of Adara’s haunts on Capri?”

“I’d be all ears,” said Harvath as he raised the binoculars back to his eyes and once again scanned the water for any sign of the two-hundred-fifty-foot Belle Étoile.

“And eyes. Listen to me,” she said as she pulled the binoculars away from him, gaining his undivided attention. “Remember the plates she served dinner to us on?”

“Kind of. They were odd little hand-painted jobs with some kind of cartoon and Italian writing.”

“Exactly. Do you know what the writing said?”

“Mine said something about Pollo alla Romana, Frascati, and something else with the picture of a chicken in a toga. They looked like kids’ plates to me.”

“They were far from kids’ plates. Mine was Bavette ai Gracchi, from the Dante Taberna De Gracchi — a very good restaurant in Rome near Vatican City. Do you know what Adara’s had?”

“I didn’t get a good look from where I was sitting.”

“Well, I did. It had a lobster outfitted like a gladiator, but that’s not the most important thing. Across the top it read, ‘Risotto con aragosta e l’olio di tartufo’ — ‘lobster risotto with truffle oil.’ ”

“The same meal she served us?”

“Yes. The Italian writing on your plate was the name of the restaurant in Frascati that served the Pollo alla Romana.”

“Meg, back up. I don’t get this.”

“It’s the plates. Each one represents the specialty of the house for a different restaurant in the Buon Ricordo organization.”

“What’s ‘Buon Ricordo’?”

“It’s an exclusive club of restaurants that celebrate Italian cuisine.”

“So what does this have to do with Adara?”

“I didn’t see where her plate came from, but on my way down here I figured it out.”

“Don’t tell me. Capri?”

“You got it. There’s a Buon Ricordo restaurant called Al Grottino right off the Piazzetta.”

“And the specialty of the house?”

“Lobster risotto with truffle oil,” answered Meg.