Read Online The Wolf by Lorenzo Carcaterra - Free Book Online

indifference to the long wait for luggage, making a show that she wasn’t in a rush to get anywhere. The backpack also was a tip-off. Not the fact that she had one, since practically anyone under the age of twenty-five getting off a plane had one. It was the way she carried it—or tried to. She made two attempts to get it on her back and each time found it too cumbersome a task to manage, resting it against her leg, always with the pocket side facing in. The backpack was not stuffed to the gills like those carried by others in her age group. Young adults treat them as suitcases and jam in as much as weight regulations allow. Instead, hers was thin and clean, as if it had been purchased the day of the flight. The redhead also gave off the look of privilege: she was clearly someone accustomed to having her bags, light or heavy, carried by other hands. And then, of course, there were the shoes.
    A young woman of her background and breeding would have topped off the designer jacket and form-fitting jeans with a pair of fashionably expensive flats, or maybe a new pair of Nikes. She even might have gone with flip-flops, if she were seeking convenience. But it would be unlikely for her to choose a pair of Timberland boots.
    The footwear was what first caught Frantoni’s eye. It told him Rome was not her final destination. She was on the move to another city, a place where the terrain would be more hospitable to the boots she had chosen. They also would give her more traction in the event she needed to move quickly, to evade authorities or run clear from the heat and debris of an explosion. Frantoni was also aware that Timberland boots are a desired commodity among young terrorists, often given to them as gifts on the day of a crucial mission.
    He pulled a BlackBerry from the rear pocket of his jeans, hit a button and waited through two rings. “If she reaches for her luggage,” he said, “have them set off the fire alarm. Make sure they make enough noise to scare the hell out of the passengers. The more confusion, the better my chance to grab her before she can do damage. If it looks like I can’t get to her in time or if she’s holding a secondary device, take her out. Head shot only. If she goes down, she stays down.”
    Frantoni slipped the phone back into his jeans and walked toward the redhead. She had her back to him, eyes on a brown leather satchel snaking its way down the baggage wheel, inching within reach, her right hand poised to grab it. Frantoni brushed against her and smiled. “This is always the longest part of the trip,” he said.
    The redhead gave him the slightest of nods, attention focused on the satchel now less than a dozen feet away. He followed her eyes, turned his head, spotted the satchel and then looked back to the young woman. “Is that yours?” he asked.
    The woman nodded.
    “Allow me,” he said, sliding toward the approaching satchel.
    “I can manage,” she responded in a firm voice.
    Frantoni turned toward the woman, inches from her face. He grabbed her right arm with his left hand and held it. “I insist,” he said, his voice taking on a harsher tone.
    He held onto her, turned his body slightly, pulled the satchel off the carousel and dropped it by his left leg. “I also insist you not make any sudden moves. As fast as you think you can run, I run a lot faster. And I would prefer to walk you out of here than leave you dead on a filthy floor.”
    “Who the hell are you?” she asked. She was frightened but shielded it with an air of defiance. “What do you want?”
    Frantoni moved close enough to kiss her and said in a low voice, “I need to know how you planned to set off the device. I need to know if there’s a timer on it and if there’s a backup, in the event something happened to you. Give me that in the next thirty seconds and there’s a chance we’ll walk out of here alive, along with everyone else in the terminal.”
    “What if I don’t know anything about a device?”