Hot Streak

CHAPTER 31

T hey left at six the following morning. The street and sidewalks outside Molly's building were quiet and devoid of jostling newsmen, thanks to Matt Black's team. But he'd been right. It was going to cost Carey in lawsuits. Three of the reporters had screamed “sue your ass off” as they'd been hauled away.

That morning Allen contacted Sylvie at her hotel. He had a message from Carey: He'd try to find Egon as soon as he brought Molly and Carrie to a safe location. “Don't wait,” Allen told her. “He said you should return home and he'll contact you in Nice or Frankfurt.”

“What if I want to wait?” she said, her tone chill.

“Look, Sylvie, I'm not paid to argue with you. I'm delivering a message. But if you want some advice, I'd do what he says.”

“And if I don't?”

“Hey, Egon's your brother, not mine.”

“Damn him!”

“Jesus, Sylvie, he's doing you a favor.”

“He always gives orders, never asks what I might want!”

Nothing else works with you, Miss Bulldozer Queen of the World, Allen wanted to say, but instead said, “Have a good flight home.”

So that warm summer morning in June while Carey, Molly, their daughter, and her friend Lucy were being driven north to Bernadotte's estate, Sylvie was swearing her way through a hasty application of makeup after ordering her car brought round. If she knew where Bernadotte lived, she would have followed, but Carey had always carefully protected his father from Sylvie. As Bernadotte preferred tranquillity, he and Sylvie would not have mixed well.

“Ordered home like some underling, damn his arrogant ass,” Sylvie muttered, throwing toilet articles into her overnight bag. She was dressed in an Yves St. Laurent nautical-theme slacks outfit, and looked as crisp as her temper in starched white and military blue braid. “And now I'm supposed to wait by the phone. I can't stand waiting… I hate it!” she breathed hotly. But her frustration was provoked not so much by the order as by the fact she had to obey or lose her best chance of helping Egon. She trusted Carey implicitly in this situation, unlike any hired investigators she might employ. No one understood her brother better than Carey; he seemed able to anticipate the direction of Egon's erratic thought process. So she sulked and muttered and swore under her breath, but she left because she needed Carey's help.

In Rome, Rifat had just received a cable from Barcelona. It was early in the afternoon, and the palazzo housing his office was cool, despite the high temperatures outside. His temperament was cool, as well.

The cable was encouraging after Ceci's unsuccessful mission, followed by the news of Egon's disappearance.

ON HIS TRAIL. NEAR RR STATION LAST NIGHT. POINTS LEFT BEHIND.

Egon would not be at his best on drugs, Rifat mused. A pleasant thought. He anticipated a speedy capture.