Covert One 2 - The Cassandra Compact Read Online Free PDF Page B

responsible. But none of the words made any sense except one: Bioaparat.
     
    Howell refolded the page and tucked it away. He drained the remains of his brandy and signaled the bartender for a refill.
     
    “Is everything all right, signore?” the bartender asked solicitously as he served up the drink.
     
    “Yes, thank you.”
     
    “If there's anything you need, please don't hesitate to ask.”
     
    The bartender retreated before Howell's icy gaze.
     
    There's nothing you can held me with, old boy. You're not the one I need.
     
    __________
     
    When Smith opened his eyes, he was startled to see grotesque faces gazing down at him. As he pulled himself back, he discovered that he was slumped in the recess of a doorway to a mask and costume shop. Slowly, he staggered to his feet, instinctively checking for injuries. Nothing was broken, but his face stung. He passed a hand across his cheek and his fingers came away bloody.
     
    At least I'm alive.
     
    He couldn't say that about the killers who had tried to flee in the gondola. The explosion that had caused the craft to disintegrate had also taken its occupants' identities to eternity. Even if the police corralled eyewitnesses, they would be worthless: professional killers were often masters of disguise.
     
    It was the thought of police that got Smith moving. Because of the holidays, all the shops along the canal were closed. There were no people around. But the telltale sound of the police launch Klaxon was growing louder. The authorities couldn't have helped but connect the massacre at St. Mark's with the explosion in the canal. Witnesses would tell them that the assassins had run in that direction.
     
    Where they'll find me... The same witnesses will connect me to Danko.
     
    The police would want to know about Smith's relationship to the dead man, why they had met, and what they had talked about. They would seize on the fact that Smith belonged to the American military and the interrogation would become even more intense. Yet, in the end, Smith could tell them nothing that would explain the massacre.
     
    Smith steadied himself, wiped his face as best he could, and brushed off his suit. He took a few tentative steps, then walked as quickly as he could to the end of the sidewalk. There, he crossed a bridge and slipped into the shadows of a boarded-up sequero, a gondola construction yard. Half a block up, he entered a small church, drifted among the shadows, and emerged through another set of doors. Several minutes later, he was on the promenade next to the Grand Canal, lost among the throngs that moved ceaselessly along the waterfront.
     
    St. Mark's Square was cordoned off by the time Smith reached it. Grim-faced carabinieri, submachine guns held at port arms, created a human barrier between the granite lions. Europeans, particularly Italians, were well versed in what to do in the aftermath of what was clearly a terrorist attack: they looked straight ahead and kept on moving past the scene. So did Smith.
     
    He crossed the Bridge of Sighs, passed through the revolving doors of the Danieli Hotel, and made straight for the men's washroom. He splashed cold water on his face, then little by little slowed his breathing. He looked in the mirror above the sinks but saw only Danko's body, jerking as the bullets struck it. He heard the screams of passersby, the shouts of the killers as they spotted him racing toward them. Then the terrible explosion that had vaporized them...
     
    All this in a city that was one of the safest in Europe. What in God's name had Danko brought with him that would merit destruction?
     
    Smith took a few more moments, then left the washroom. The lounge was empty except for Peter Howell, tucked away at a table behind a tall marble pillar. Without a word, Smith picked up the brandy balloon and drained its contents. Howell seemed to understand.
     
    “I was beginning to wonder what happened to you. You took off after those bastards, didn't