Path of the Assassin

CHAPTER 60

The open-air taxi brought them to the small yet bustling heart of Anacapri. Perched on a low hill above the town square was the five-star Capri Palace. It was accessible via a series of steps followed by a short walkway winding past the lower half of the hotel swimming pool. Glass windows along the walk, much like a large-scale aquarium, allowed people to peer through the water and watch the guests as they swam above.

Stores around the piazza sold everything from sandals, sunscreen, and beach towels, to local ceramics, film, and postcards. Harvath and Meg secreted themselves just inside one of the shops that had a good view of the hotel’s imposing white façade. Meg pretended to look for postcards while Harvath studied the tanned faces of the throngs of tourists milling around the piazza. They were everywhere — like ants crawling over an enormous hill of sugar. Harvath thought about using his binoculars to try and catch a glimpse of the guests around the pool, but being downhill from the hotel made it impossible. They needed to get closer.

He got Meg’s attention, and they stepped out into the street. The sun was extremely strong. The whitewashed buildings surrounding the piazza seemed to bounce the sunlight back with twice its brilliance. Walking past the cabstand, Harvath noticed a narrow side street that wound up the hill and ended right next to the hotel’s designer-clothing boutique. A taxi idled in the makeshift cul-de-sac.

As Harvath studied the sea of people once more, one in particular caught his eye. She was tall and thin, yet very toned. Her skin was a rich copper color, and though she wore a large straw hat and sunglasses, Harvath knew her right off by the way she moved. She was not one of the many casual tourists out strolling. This was a woman with a purpose and destination.

He grabbed Meg’s left arm and flicked his eyes in the direction of Adara Nidal. It took Meg a moment, but then she spotted her too. Neither of them dared utter a word as they proceeded up the stone steps toward the Capri Palace. Harvath reflexively reached beneath his shirt at the small of his back. He grabbed the butt of the Browning nine-millimeter and prepared to draw, and that was when everything fell apart.

The element of surprise was ruined when the blond woman from the perfume shop the previous evening appeared out of nowhere and squealed, “If it isn’t Capri’s most adorable newlyweds! How are you kids? Are you having a fabulous time here, or what?”

The woman moved right in front of Harvath and placed both of her hands upon his shoulders. He tried to avoid her, but it was no good. Her wrists were weighted down with gold bracelets and designer shopping bags and as she reached one of her hands out for Meg, she continued, “Isn’t this a small world? Or should I say island? What am I talking about? It is a small island. Don’t you just love Anacapri? This is where I always stay when I come. I mean I might go over to Capri Town, but this is where anybody who is anybody stays.”

Unfortunately, the woman had one of those voices that really seemed to carry. The commotion had been enough to turn Adara Nidal’s head and now she was staring right into Harvath’s eyes.

“Sorry, we’ve gotta run,” said Scot as he and Meg untangled themselves from the American woman and picked up their pace.

“Where’s the fire?” asked the woman as Harvath and Meg took off after Adara, who was already way ahead of them and closing in on the idling taxi.

Harvath half pulled his gun, but knew that the flood of tourists would make it impossible to get off a clean shot. He slid the Browning back into the holster, grabbed Meg by the wrist, and spun her back in the direction they had come. There was no way they could beat Adara to the waiting taxi. Their only chance was to catch it when it came onto the main road at the bottom of the hill.

They ran back to the stone steps and down into the piazza. Crossing the tiny square, Harvath steered Meg to the front of the cabstand and, in a move that would have made even the most seasoned New Yorker jealous, elbowed out a crowd of drunk Germans and hopped into their cab. The driver started protesting immediately, and it wasn’t until Harvath fished out a large Euro note that the man agreed to forget about their jumping the line. By that time, Adara Nidal’s cab had already come down the hill and had swung onto the main road heading south.

Meg instructed their driver in Italian to follow the other cab.

“What’s going on?” asked the old man, who was at least seventy if he was a day, as he pulled away from the piazza.

“Don’t worry about it. Keep driving,” responded Meg.

Despite his age, the old islander did a good job of keeping up, but not good enough. Adara Nidal’s cab made a hard right and their driver missed it. He continued south and had to swing an even harder right up what looked like a one-way street to get back behind her.

They were now headed toward the very western edge of the island, with two buses and several cars separating them. Harvath had to hand the old man another large banknote to convince him to risk passing the other vehicles. The roads of Capri had not been designed with high-speed chases in mind.

The driver made several attempts to move out from behind the bus in front of them, only to have to jerk the wheel back hard to the right because of an oncoming vehicle in the opposite lane. Slowly, he began to make some progress as he threaded his way forward.

Meg asked the driver what was at this end of the island that caused so much traffic. After passing another car, the man responded, “Grotta Azzura.” The Blue Grotto.

Harvath kept peeling off notes, crumpling them into balls, and throwing them into the front seat as he urged the driver to go faster. Though they had passed both buses and several of the cars, Adara Nidal’s cab was far ahead and disappeared every time it took one of the many curves in the winding road.

Holding on to the seat in front of him, Harvath stood in the open-air convertible and tried to keep track of her cab. He wondered why she would be racing toward the Blue Grotto. It had to be Hamdi. Maybe he had anchored the Belle Étoile off the grotto and was sending a launch to pick her up. Then the road forked and their driver veered to the right, away from the heavy stream of traffic. Harvath almost lost his balance. He couldn’t see the other cab anywhere, only a high cloud of dust hovering over the road in front of them, which hadn’t escaped their clever driver.

There was also a road sign. Harvath now knew where Adara Nidal was headed. Eliporto di Capri — Capri Heliport.

Before the taxi had even come to a complete stop at the gate of the heliport, Harvath was already out and running. The roar of the powerful Eurocopter AS365 Dauphin was deafening as it quickly lifted off. Through the Plexiglas window of its plush nine-passenger-capacity cabin, Harvath thought he could see Adara smiling at him, but he couldn’t be sure. The navy blue bird with its gold logos was flying directly west, into the sun.

The one thing Harvath did know was that he had seen that helicopter before. He had seen it in Ari Schoen’s surveillance photos sitting on the helipad of Marcel Hamdi’s megayacht, the Belle Étoile.