Blonde Ops (24 page)

“Pickpockets,” whispered Sophie.

I'd seen small groups of them wandering around when I'd gone out with Taj and Dante, but they had stayed away. Not so here—but then again, the plaza bustled with tourists taking pictures and buying overpriced souvenirs. I clutched my pack tighter to me and followed Kevin as he pushed past them, muttering something in Italian I was sure wasn't complimentary.

One of them, a boy, maybe twelve, shouted something back. I had no idea what he'd said, only that it couldn't be good. But somehow, it didn't sound so terrible in Italian.

“And in church too!” Sophie laughed.

Kevin grinned warmly at her. “Technically, we're not
in
the church.”

“But it is holy ground,” I said, and I wondered if this kind of thing went on during the public masses, or was there some honor code? Honor among thieves? Would they stay away from the First Lady's photo shoot?

We joined the other
Edge
staffers and Taj, who had already gathered in the square near the steps to St. Peter's Basilica. The photographers were starting to set up for the shoot.

A clutch of Swiss Guards stood in attendance not far from Mrs. Jennings. These guys were dressed more plainly but still oddly; all they needed to do was trade their floppy berets for tall hats and they'd look like pilgrims. They didn't seem formidable, although the tall sharp pikes they carried looked real enough. Still, what use could a spear be against some nut with a gun?

I walked up to Candace. “I can see why you were worried,” I whispered. “They're not even armed!”

“Oh, they are,” she said. “And so are we.”

Good to know, but maybe I was catching her nervousness. I wished we had more agents with us. Chuck Norris would be even better.

“
Fatti gli affari tuoi, America!
” a group of protesters shouted. They waved signs and shook their fists.

“What are they saying?” I asked Candace.

“They're saying that America should mind its own business,” she said. Her hand moved to her hip—where her gun was holstered under her jacket.

Suddenly the group pushed forward toward the barrier of Swiss Guards. Three of them moved fast, stepping up and blocking the rush with their pikestaffs. One of the protesters tried to go around them. Candace's hand now went under her jacket to her gun. My heart leapt into my mouth. I hated violence and didn't want to see anyone get hurt—but suddenly two more guards seemed to materialize from nowhere and grabbed the man by his arms. That sent the rest of the protesters back, although they continued to shout.

More guards appeared and grimly escorted the group out of the square. Watching the retreating protesters, I tried to calm the nervous flutter in my stomach. All these deadly weapons underlined the very real danger I was living with, and I didn't like it.

“Another close call.” Candace shook her head. “Let's get this over with and get out of here.”

She barked orders to the photographers to finish setting up. Ugi and Joe both prohibited me from touching their precious stuff. I'd done all that I could to help, so I moved out of the way and was on my own again for the moment. I looked around, wondering what I should do, when I saw Taj striding over to me.

“Come on,” he said, “they're busy. I'll give you a tour, I've been here before.”

I caught Candace's eye and motioned that I'd be walking around with Taj. She gave a brief nod and went back to hounding Aldo and Angelo.

Priests, nuns in habits, older ladies with lace-covered heads, shabby-looking teens, and wary-eyed guards moved to the shade of the columned cloister that ringed the plaza. We walked to the obelisk in the center.

“It looks Egyptian,” I said.

“It is. The Emperor Caligula had it moved to Rome—you can imagine the things it's seen. But look, it's also a sundial and calendar. It's supposed to be quite accurate.”

I followed the long, dark shadow as we walked a wide circuit around the obelisk, past more tourists and splashing fountains. It was getting warm.
Wouldn't it be nice to slip off my shoes and stick my feet in that cool water for just a minute.…

“Bec!”

I turned.

Dante?

He ran across the square to reach us. Good eyes, to find us in this crowd, but I guessed my pink hair, especially in the bright sunlight, was a dependable homing beacon. I could never be a ninja—I was too visible.

“Hello,” he puffed. It was a long run and a hot day.

“No deliveries today?” Taj's voice was sharp.

Dante's eyes darkened and the muscles in his jaw tensed. “My day off.”

“What are you doing here?” I asked, “and how did you find us? Wait, don't tell me. Another cousin?”

He waved at one of the Swiss Guards, who signaled back with a bob of his pointy spear.

“Fabrizio,” he said to me. To Taj, he said coldly, “
This is my Roma
. You are the tourist here. I will show Bec around.”

Taj, his eyes stony and his hands clenched, took a step into Dante's personal space. “She's with me.”

“She's with the
Edge
people,” Dante countered.

“You mean Candace.”

“I mean
not you
.”

“You want to do this here? Right now?” Taj threatened, his shoulders jutting forward, and stepping closer.

I rushed between them to prevent a confrontation. “It's so crowded. Too bad they wouldn't shut even a part of it down for Mrs. Jennings,” I said, linking my arms with both of them before either could take a swing at the other, and more importantly, catch me in the middle. “Tell us something interesting about St. Peter's, Dante. Taj has been giving me a history lesson. You live here, so you have to know something cool about this place that's not in the guidebooks.” I flicked my eyes at a passing Swiss Guard. “What can you tell me about these guys, since your cousin is one of them?”

“I know lots,” said Dante, eyeing Taj, “but I'm sworn to keep secret. If I tell you, I have to … you know.” He made a slashing motion across his throat.

“Oh, come on,” I laughed uneasily. Dante had to be exaggerating, but there was a weird seriousness in his voice I didn't like.

“They are trained bodyguards, like your Secret Service—”

“Everyone knows that,” quipped Taj.

“I didn't,” I offered, hoping to stop them from squabbling as we circled back. Candace had said it was going to be a long, difficult day. I just hadn't thought she was talking about mine.

Suddenly Ortiz was there, and for once, I was glad to see her.

“I think we've all had enough history for today,” she said, and before I could reply or thank her for saving me, she pulled Taj aside. They spoke in hushed voices. I wondered why didn't she lead Dante away. He wasn't staff, and he wasn't here to interview the First Lady. Why wasn't she patrolling or something, especially with the crowds making everyone jumpy?

My purse buzzed, and pulling out my phone, I read the text.

“Hey,” I called to Taj and Ortiz, a few steps away. “Sophie says they're ready to start taking photos. I have to head back over to the basilica steps.”

We walked quickly, dodging through the growing crowd. The Secret Service agents were plainly visible in their dark suits, earpieces, and sunglasses. In their midst was Mrs. Jennings. She must have been driving them crazy. From the moment she stepped out of her car, she paused to talk to anyone who stopped her. At the moment she was surrounded by a pair of nuns in full habit, suffocatingly hot wimples and all, and a gaggle of uniformed schoolchildren with their starstruck parents. She bent to hug and kiss them and sign notebooks. Gazing around, I noticed policemen in front of the barricades around our group. The one closest had his back to me. His silver hair glinted in the sun, and he paced back and forth with a long uneven stride. Looking closer, I saw one of his shoes had a thicker sole than its sibling. Before I could remember if I'd seen him before, Taj nudged me. When I turned he pointed slightly off to his left, where Mrs. Jennings stood.

When I caught her eye, she smiled and pantomimed for a bottle of water. The day had started out refreshingly cool, but all the surrounding stonework in the square made it feel like a convection oven, the heat radiating up off the paved travertine blocks. Where was Lidia? I searched the square. Case, Collins, and Mignone stood around the First Lady, their sides or backs to her so they could scan the area. Ortiz wandered through the immediate crowd. Varon stood with Ugi, Joe, and Sophie by the prep tent. And there was Lidia, leaning against the car, talking to Nelson. If anything happened, he was the getaway driver. Giving Mrs. Jennings the thumbs-up, I hurried over to the car to pass on the message.

“Mrs. Jennings wants a drink,” I told her.

Lidia nodded, and as she fished a water out of the cooler, I looked at my palm again. The numbers were fading; I probably didn't bump into the dash that hard—it wasn't like I'd crashed into it.

Like Parker.

The mark on her chest—it looked like a shield, with a circle in it.… I pulled out my phone and typed in an image search.
Italian car logos.
When the images loaded, I scanned them, stopping at the logo for Lancia: a medieval shield with a circle inside it. I stopped, my breath caught in my throat.

The accident.
I knew what happened to Parker.

And I had to tell Candace.

Now.

Turning, I searched for her—but saw only Ortiz looking around wildly, left and right.

“She's gone! She's gone!” she shouted, shoving people aside.

Suddenly there were shouts and screaming and people scrambling.

Panic shook me.

Where was Mrs. Jennings?

Ortiz put a hand to her earpiece as she ripped out her phone. With a swift glance, she took off, pointing for Case to go in a different direction.

My heart hammering in my chest, I turned around and around.

“Mrs. Jennings!” I called, and realized there was someone else I didn't see.

Someone who was by my side only a moment earlier.

Dante.

 

TRICKS AND TIPS FOR
THE EDGE-Y GIRL

We love layers! Hot outside, air-conditioned in, make your outfit “a-peeling” with layers you can take on and off with the changing temperature.

23

From the corner of my eye I saw Dante standing alone, nowhere near our tent, but next to the barricades.

No Fabrizio.

No Mrs. Jennings.

But that didn't prove anything …

“
Prima Signora! Prima Signora!
” It seemed even the schoolkids were upset.

Or not.

Theresa Jennings stood up, holding her hands up in apology, trying to calm everyone down. The children had enveloped her in a group hug, and she'd taken off her hat and the little cape. Lidia ran over to her, followed by Candace and Varon. Nelson, Mignone, and Collins surrounded the First Lady now, talking into their earpieces while scrutinizing the crowd and any movement in the square. Varon hurried to my side. His glare rooted me to the spot.

“What just happened?” he said, his voice uncannily calm.

“Mrs. Jennings was with the kids and she asked me to get her some water. I went over to the car and told Lidia. When I turned around, Mrs. Jennings was gone.”

“And the first thing you thought to do was yell?”

“No!” I protested. “That was Ortiz.” Damn. I'd ratted her out, but a withering glance from Candace froze the words in my throat. Both Ortiz and Case went running to look for Mrs. Jennings, I wanted to explain, but guessed it wasn't my place. They were the trained agents. Didn't they talk to each other?

Candace stood on tiptoe, scanning the plaza.

I went on anyway. “Ortiz looked like she didn't see her, then yelled, ‘She's gone!' and everyone started to panic—”

“Fabulous!” snarled Candace. I guessed that Ortiz was going to get at least a loud lecture when she got back.

“I'm sorry, Candace, this was my fault,” said Mrs. Jennings. “One of the children wanted to give me a drawing and a hug. And it's just so beastly hot out here. So I knelt down, took off the hat and cape. The agents must not have realized it. I didn't think about it. I'm very sorry if I caused anyone to panic.”

The upset children were led away by the nuns and accompanying adults. Case, now back from his panicked run, handed Mrs. Jennings her hat. She put it on and looked around. The cape was gone.

“I knew this would be a disaster,” Candace muttered, her face pinched. The square was getting crowded, and the agents were tense and edgy, their heads swiveling around, hands on the guns underneath their coats, searching for any suspicious movement. “We're finished. We won't be able to get any more good shots, not with all these people here.” She turned to the First Lady. “I'm sorry, Mrs. Jennings, but I don't think it would be a good idea to continue in this crowd.”

Mrs. Jennings placed her hand on Candace's arm. “I understand. Do we have enough photos from my audience with His Holiness and whatever we've taken so far?”

Candace rubbed her temple. “If we don't, we'll have to Photoshop the background in. Aldo and Angelo will be thrilled to take more in the studio. Somehow, we'll make do.”

“Do you want me to try and find the cape?” I asked.

“Look around, but don't go too far. I've had enough missing people for today.” She stopped and peered over Mrs. Jennings's head. Ortiz was striding through the plaza, dragging a scraggly looking boy by the collar in one hand and the cape in the other. Taj came jogging up behind her.

“Ortiz! Why did you leave the square?” Candace fumed.

“I lost sight of Mrs. Jennings. Then I spotted this little punk”—she shook the boy—“with her cape, across the square. I ran to check through the crowd he was in, looking for her, making sure she wasn't being dragged away,” she panted. “Our earpieces went out, so I didn't realize she wasn't gone, just kneeling down. I couldn't take the chance.” She took two deeps breaths. “I wouldn't have caught him if it wasn't for Taj. Guess my little friend here was trying to nab himself an expensive souvenir.” She handed the cape to the First Lady. “You may want to have that cleaned before you wear it again.”