Read Online Gun Metal Heart by Dana Haynes - Free Book Online Page B

moved between San Jacopo and the Hotel Criterion. Made the same trip every day. In a Hyundai.”
    Daria looked startled. “Good lord. Neither fast nor armored. Terrible transport.”
    Diego motioned toward the sea of bobbing heads before them. “Engineer’s old. Walks with a cane.”
    Daria absorbed that. “The Serbs could have snagged this Gabriella Incantada anywhere between San Jacopo and the hotel. Anywhere along the SS67, really.” She had a basic familiarity with the highways that feed into most northern Italian cities. “Meaning the engineer isn’t the only target.”
    Diego said, “Nope,” and tossed the lidded cup into an iron garbage can filled to more than overflowing. “Something they want at the hotel, too.”
    â€œWhen do you expect Skorpjo to hit?”
    â€œThis afternoon. Rental on the Hyundai expires tomorrow.”
    Daria would have liked more time for surveillance. “Then let’s see what there is to see. Shall we?”
    *   *   *
    Thirty paces behind them, a Serb soldier in a muscle shirt, hair slicked back, watched the two of them pass and took pains to ignore them.
    When they were out of earshot he spoke into a microphone worked into the leather bracelet attached to his wrist.
    â€œGot the Mexican. He’s with a chick: five-six, black hair. Hot. This Daria of yours?”
    His earpiece crackled. Major Arcana said, “Yes. My Daria.”

 
    Nine
    Daria decided to do a solo reconnaissance of the Hotel Criterion de Medici. If the Serbs had taken Guzman, then they would know about Diego. The Mexican held himself as taut as razor wire. He didn’t exactly melt into crowds.
    They stopped at a new hotel—one Diego hadn’t used before—rented two rooms and stored Daria’s duffel and her shopping bags. Next they hit an electronics shop and bought two cheap mobile phones with prepaid plans and plugged into each other’s speed dial. “If Guzman’s watching, he’ll see me and know the game is rigged. We’ll meet you back here, or I’ll call.”
    Diego nodded. He didn’t argue. She kissed his gouged cheek. “Be good.”
    Daria located the alley. With no big-name retail outlets and no museums down there, the going was much less crowded. Daria slipped into a bookstore and emerged moments later with a tourist’s map of Florence. She slid the stolen pair of sunglasses over her raven-black eyes. Leaving the crowds behind, she held the map up to partially obscure her face and walked cautiously into the alley.
    The buildings facing the alley were uniformly three stories tall, and the alley itself was narrow and curved in an S-shape. It was impossible to get a good angle on the hotel because of the tightness of the quarters. There was room for precisely one car in front of the hotel’s revolving doors, and a uniformed youth stood at attention, ready to move any guest’s vehicle to a valet parking garage.
    The building directly to the left of the hotel—as you faced it—was under renovation. The façade was covered in a huge swatch of porous gray cloth that billowed slowly and rhythmically, with the effect of making the mummified building appear to be breathing.
    A van parked half a block from the derelict building bore tinted windows and the logo of a painting company. Daria paused as she passed the van. She tucked the map under her arm, leaned one hand on the side of the van, and raised one foot to fiddle with her ankle strap.
    *   *   *
    Men waited inside the van. They were Americans. Former CIA operatives Owen Cain Thorson, Derrick Saito, and Jake Kenner. Kenner was at the wheel, with Thorson in the shotgun position. Saito sat in back, manning the camera monitors.
    Thorson willed himself to sit still. Sweat beaded on his brow. The windows were darkly tinted. The van was equipped with a tall, narrow side mirror, slightly wider at