Collateral Damage - Marc Cerasini [15]
Morris had provided an exact address for Mangella's chic new eatery, but Jack found the place difficult to miss. Volare sat halfway down Mulberry, inside an old building that obviously had been gutted and reconstructed with a two-story-high facade of glass framed by gleaming chrome.
The restaurant wasn't open, but Jack spotted a tall man entering through the front door. He wore sunglasses and a dark suit, had a pallid complexion, and wore his white-blond hair long, just past his shoulders.
Jack watched the place a few more minutes from across the street. Then he moved to enter the restaurant.
Volare's interior was large and airy, with a ceiling high enough for an authentic Italian racing plane from the 1930s to be suspended above the perfectly placed tables. On the ground floor, double doors to the kitchen were set in a shiny chrome wall beside an Art Deco chrome-plated bar. Jack spied an upper balcony with silver rails and a spiral staircase that flowed down to the main dining area. There were no tables on the balcony, only a single door at the end of it.
For a moment no one appeared. Then a smiling woman exited the kitchen. "How can I help you?" she asked.
Elegant and waiflike, the thirty-something woman spoke with an unidentifiable European accent.
Jack forced a smile. "My name's Jack Bello, of Gardenia Cheese in Vermont. I was wondering if I could speak with Mr. Mangella about sampling our excellent product?"
For the briefest second the woman glanced at the door on the balcony. "I'm afraid Mr. Mangella is quite busy. Perhaps..."
"I'm only in town for the day, and I just need a moment of his time," Jack insisted.
The woman's smile faded, but she relented. "I'll see what I can do. Wait here, Mr. Bello."
She turned on her heels and walked through the kitchen doors. Jack immediately moved through the dining room and ascended the spiral staircase. He crossed the narrow balcony and paused at the door. Carefully he tried the knob, but it was locked. Then Jack pressed his ear against the door. He heard voices inside.
"The changeover has been made," a man said. "I'm catching a noon flight to Milan, out of JFK."
Jack strained to hear the other speaker's reply, but the second voice was so soft and raspy, he couldn't make out the words.
"Don't worry," the first man said. "I'll stay in Europe indefinitely. My assets here will lose their value after this, so I don't anticipate returning..."
A harsh cry rose from the dining room. "Hey, what the hell are you doing up there?"
Jack looked down and saw the bald man with gold teeth, the one in the cab who'd tried to murder him this morning. The urge to shoot him was strong, but Jack had to play it smart. He was here for information, not revenge. So he tamped down his rage.
But the cold play was blown anyway. Gold Teeth recognized Jack, too.
"Dominick! Petey! We've got trouble," he cried, reaching for the police special tucked in his belt.
Jack quickly turned and slammed his shoulder against the locked door. It broke inward, and he stumbled across the threshold into a tiny office with a cherrywood desk and Tiffany lamps.
Jack scanned the room for an escape route. There were no windows, only another door on an adjacent wall. Standing by that door was the pale man with the white-blond hair and the dark suit — the man Jack had spotted entering the restaurant a few minutes ago. His sunglasses were gone now; his strangely pinkish eyes blinked in surprise.
Behind an open laptop, an extremely portly man struggled to his feet, face flushed with outrage. "Who the hell are you?" he demanded.
Jack shifted his gaze to Fredo Mangella behind the desk. "My name is Jack Bauer. I'm an agent in the Counter Terrorist Unit. I need to speak with you..."
Jack heard clanging footsteps, as several men surged up the spiral staircase. He leveled his Glock at Mangella.
"Call your men off," he demanded. "I'm not here to arrest you. I just want to ask you some questions."
Fredo Mangella remained silent, considering Jack's words. There was slight movement, a drawer opening. Then