The Teeth of the Tiger - Tom Clancy [201]
"You have a message to call Signor Ryan when you get in. Your rooms are just next to his," the clerk told them, then he waved at the bellman, who guided them to the elevator.
"Long drive, man," Brian said, leaning back against the paneled walls.
"Tell me about it," Dominic agreed.
"I mean, I know you like fast cars and fast women, but next time how about a damned airliner? Maybe you can score with a stew, y'know?"
"You friggin' jarhead." Followed by a yawn.
"This way, signori," the bellman suggested, with a wave of his arm.
"The message at the desk, where is he?"
"Signor Ryan? He is right here." The bellman pointed.
"That's convenient," Dominic thought aloud, until he remembered something else. He let himself get moved in, and the connecting door to Brian's room opened, and he gave the bellman a generous tip. Then he took the message slip out of his pocket and called.
"Hello?"
"We're right next door, ace. What's shaking?" Brian asked.
"Two rooms?"
"Roger that."
"Guess who's just down from you?"
"Tell me."
"A British guy, a Mr. Nigel Hawkins," Jack told his cousin, and waited for the shock to subside. "Let's talk."
"Come right on over, junior."
That took no more time than Jack needed to slip into his loafers.
"Enjoy the drive?" Jack asked.
Dominic had poured his minibar wine into a glass. There wasn't much left. "It was long."
"You did all the driving?"
"Hey, I wanted to get here alive, man."
"You turkey," Brian snarled. "He thinks driving a Porsche is like sex, except better."
"It is if you have the right technique, but even sex can wear a man out. Okay." Dominic set his glass down. "Did you say ?"
"Yeah, right there." Jack pointed at the wall. And moved his hand to his eyes. I've seen the mutt. The reply was just nods. "Well, you guys get some sleep. I'll call you tomorrow, and we can think about our appointment. Cool?"
"Very cool," Brian agreed. "Ring us up about nine, okay?"
"You bet. Later." And Jack headed for the door. Soon thereafter, he was back on his computer. And then it hit him. He wasn't the only guy here with one of those, was he? That might be valuable
Eight o'clock came earlier than it should have. Mohammed was up, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, and on his machine checking his e-mail. Mahmoud was in Rome as well, having arrived the previous night, and near the top of 56MoHa's mailbox was a letter from Gadfly097, requesting a meeting site. Mohammed thought about that and then decided to exercise his sense of humor.
RISTORANTE GIOVANNI, PIAZZA DIS PAGNA, he replied: 13:30. BE CAREFUL IN YOUR ROUTINE. By which he meant to employ countersurveillance measures. There was no definite reason to suspect foul play in the loss of three field personnel, but he hadn't lived to the age of thirty-one in the business of intelligence by being foolish. He had the ability to tell the harmless from the dangerous, he thought. He'd gotten David Greengold six weeks earlier, because the Jew hadn't seen the False Flag play even when it bit him on the ass-well, the back of the neck, Mohammed thought with a lowercase smile, remembering the moment. Maybe he should start carrying the knife again, just for good luck. Many men in his line of work believed in luck, as a sportsman or athlete might. Perhaps the Emir had been right. Killing the Mossad officer had been a gratuitously unnecessary risk, since it courted enemies. The organization had enough of those, even if the enemies did not know who and what the organization was. Better that they should be a mere shadow to the infidels a shadow in a darkened room, unseen and unknown. Mossad was hated by his colleagues, but it was hated because it was feared. The Jews were formidable. They were vicious, and they