Chapter 16 - Prague, Czech Republic

"May I help you, sir?"

"Checking in. Name's Gary Franklin."

"One moment, please." The clerk, a middle-aged man in a conservative black suit, consulted his computer screen. Jeff tried nonchalantly to scan the guests moving through the chrome-and-glass lobby of the upscale hotel that catered to business travelers.

A slight frown marred the clerk's face. Was there a problem with the name he'd given? He was using the fake passport he'd lifted off Monika Sterne.

"Ah, yes. Here we go." The clerk ripped a form from the printer underneath the desk and slid it toward Jeff. "If you would just sign here, Mr. Franklin. Your room is ready."

With great concentration, Jeff signed the registration form, attempting to disguise his handwriting.

"Very good, sir. Here is your key card. Is there anything else I can do for you?" The clerk smiled warmly.

"Uh, yes. Has a Mr. Kurt Adamson checked in yet? He's a business associate."

The clerk again consulted the computer. "I'm afraid not, sir. Would you care to leave a message for Mr. Adamson?"

"No . . . thanks. I'll catch up with him later." Jeff picked up his bag and moved toward the bank of elevators. He entered the elevator and noted that the man continued to stare at him. A sudden wave of apprehension washed over him. In his gut he knew something was wrong. Either Kurt was detained - his mind flashed back to the accident scene - or he'd reneged on their plan.

Jeff ran the back of his hand over his perspiring forehead. Startled, he saw that the cheap black dye job he'd done on his hair was rubbing off. Fifty kilometers outside Prague, he'd abandoned his rental car at a Eurail station. He found a pharmacy in the village and bought a package of women's hair dye. The teenage girl working the counter sported purple hair so she didn't seem to find his purchase unusual. He walked back to the train station, applied the dye in the bathroom, and took the train into Prague.

The elevator opened on the tenth floor. An elderly couple waiting to get on gave him a wary glance. The woman mumbled something to the man who looked more sharply at him.

Once inside the room, Jeff pulled out his cell phone and tried Kurt's number. It rang and rang and rang. Finally, someone answered. "Hello."

Jeff froze in shock. It was not Kurt, but a man with a gruff American accent.

"Jeffrey Jernigan?"

Jeff dropped the phone on the carpet and stomped on it. "Shit!" He went to the tall windows beside the bed and pushed aside the drapes. The room overlooked a verdant city park. People lounged on benches or strolled among the well-tended flower beds. There was no obvious signs of police presence, but someone was onto him.

The room suddenly felt too small and too hot despite the air conditioning. Jeff found a cap in his bag touting the Czech national soccer team and slapped it on his head. He picked up the ruined phone and slipped it in his pocket. He would dispose of it somewhere outside. Right now he had to get out of this room and think.

** Miami

"Sabbatini, talk to me."

Paolo's boss, Cyril Greene, motioned him into his cluttered office. He rubbed his upper chest. "Claudia, where are my damn heart pills?" he bellowed at his executive assistant through the open door.

"Top right-hand drawer."

Greene yanked it open, rummaged around until he located the pills, then popped two in his mouth.

"You're only supposed to take one at a time, chided Claudia as she handed him a cup of water.

"Easy for you to say. You're not the one having this infernal pain."

She exchanged a look with Paolo as she walked out. "Let me know if I need to call 911."

Paolo opened a folder and placed it in front of Greene. "You sure you're okay, sir?"

"I will be as soon as those pills kick in. Now, what's all this?"

"Info downloaded from the flash drive recovered at the Jernigan residence. Bank and investment records, family info, even some medical records with some rather sensitive details of prominent Miami citizens. They are all clients of Jeffrey Jernigan's bank."

"Excellent. Now if we could only get our hands on that snake. I swear, if it's the last thing I do I'm gonna nail that son-of-a-bitch. He's the reason my second wife divorced me."

Claudia stuck her head in the door. "Excuse me, there's a call on line one from the Interpol office in Prague."

Greene grabbed the phone and barked, "Cyril Greene."

Paolo stood up to leave, but Greene waved him down. After five minutes, Greene ended the call. "Well, I'll be damned. Jernigan was apprehended at an ATM in Prague shortly after checking into a hotel under an assumed name. And he was carrying the gun believed to have killed the Sterne woman."

Paolo shook his head. "It's about time."

Greene slapped the top of his desk. "Damn straight! But there's a problem. He'll be extraditied to Germany in a few days to be questioned in the Sterne case. So far, he's said nothing. Clammed up tighter than Fort Knox. The only way we'll get any answers is to have a face-to-face with the slippery Mr. Jeffrey Jernigan. Your passport current, Sabbatini?"

Greene knew damn well it was. It was a requirement for federal agents. "It's locked in my desk."

"Good, good. You'll take the wife with you. Let her have a go at him, you know, the 'wrath of a woman scorned.' Hell, I should know. Now let me make some arrangements." He picked up the phone and punched in a number.

Paolo schooled his face not to show the shock he felt. Take Natalie to Prague? This could be a huge mess.

"I need to get a man and a woman on a plane to Prague tonight." There was a pause. "No, they're not in body bags, you moron! One of my high-profile fugitives was nabbed and they're going to question him." Greene grabbed a pen and scribbled info on a post-it note. "That's more like it. Right. Got it."

He handed it to Paolo. "Confirmation numbers. Be at the Lufthansa counter at Miami International in ninety minutes. An air marshal will meet you there."

"I want answers from that piece-of-shit Jernigan."

Chapter 15

The elevator doors dinged open and Paolo and Natalie stepped into a dimly lit hallway. It was eerily quiet. Like a tomb. Natalie felt like she was being buried alive under a mountain of threats, suspicions, and innuendo.

She swallowed nervously and wiped her sweaty palms against her shorts. They walked to the end of the hall and turned left. Paolo stopped in front of room fifteen. He produced a set of keys and opened the door.

"You have fifteen of these rooms?" asked Natalie, her eyes darting around.

"We have a total of twenty. Sometimes we have a lot of bad people on hand."

The room was as dimly lit as the hallway. But through the one-way glass Natalie saw a prisoner in a fluorescent orange jumpsuit. He lay on a hard concrete bench built into the wall.

Paolo activated the microphone. "Adamson, stand up and face the window."

The prisoner swung his legs off the bench and stood. He slowly stretched and yawned as if waking up from a siesta on a tropical island.

"What is it? Feeding time at the zoo?" he sneered.

Natalie stared, wide-eyed and slack-jawed. "Oh . . . my . . . God. He looke just like Jeff. Maybe a bit taller." She continued to stare in disbelief.

"Kurt Adamson. Extradited yesterday, courtesy of the German Federal Police. Those cuts on his face and arms are from a car crash near the Czech border. He had no ID on him and was transported unconscious to a local hospital and fingerprinted. Imagine the authorities' surprise when he popped up on Interpol's list."

"And they thought it was Jeff," said Natalie.

"Correct. It was about the same time our people uncovered the existence of Jeff's twin brother."

Natalie sank dejected into a nearby chair. "But why didn't Jeff ever tell me about his brother?"

"There's no evidence to suggest that Jeff's adoptive parents even knew about the sibling. According to the court records, the birth mother was an alcoholic, in and out of rehab. She gave up Adamson in a private adoption. Apparently, she thought she could care for one baby, but not two. When that didn't work out, she went to another adoption agency and arranged another private adoption, hoping for more money than she received in the first one."

"How sad," said Natalie.

"It appears the adoptive parents in both cases were so eager for a baby that they didn't ask a lot of questions. Unfortunately, it happens in a lot of situations. We surmise that sometime in the last two to three years the brothers somehow found each other. Whether by design or accident, we don't know. But they soon discovered their mutual love of crime."

He paused and looked at Natalie. She was still watching as the man in the other room paced around. "I'm sorry. I know this is a lot to take in."

"HEY! When am I getting out of this shithole?" Adamson bellowed and slammed his fist against the glass.

Natalie flinched. "Please get me out of here."

Wordlessly, they left the room and Paolo locked up.

**

After Jeff calmed down, he pulled back onto the road. But fifteen minutes later he came upon a tow truck at an accident scene. Two burly guys who looked like lumberjacks were securing the remains of a demolished BMW. It was black - the same color Kurt said he would be driving.

Relax. This is Germany. There are thousands of black BMWs around here.

Jeff slowed and rubbernecked as much as he could without causing a wreck himself. There was no sign of the driver. Probably at the hospital . . . or morgue, he thought in alarm. He had no way of finding out. Besides, imagine the confusion and questions if he showed up at some emergency room looking for his twin brother.

**

It was early afternoon when Paolo returned Natalie to her house. The neighborhood was quiet. Husbands and fathers were at work and moms took tennis lessons while the kids were in school. The retirees huddled in their air-conditioned dens watching soap operas. Even the local dogs were snoozing in patches of shade.

"Where are they?" asked Natalie.

"Who?"

"My surveillance team."

"Around, but invisible."

"I guess that's comforting," she sighed. "So what now? Has this Adamson guy told you anything? I can't think of him as a brother-in-law."

"Not yet, but we'll lean on him until he spills." An ice cream truck drove slowly down the street playing a tinkling melody, but no one emerged from their cool homes to buy anything. "Come on, I'll do a walk-through, to be on the safe side."

They exited the car and trudged up the driveway. Whey they reached the garage, Natalie frowned. "I'm so tired of all this. Of hoodlums disrupting my life. I don't know how much more I can take." Then a tear escaped and rolled down her flushed cheek.

Oh man, I hate when women cry, thought Paolo. Without hesitation, he drew her into his arms and held her tightly.

"Come on, it'll be okay. Don't cry." His right hand stroked her short hair while he tried to ignore how good her slim body felt nestled against his.

When her sobs subsided, she pulled back and looked up into his face. Paolo was lost and he knew it.

"Natalie, cara," he sighed as his lips found hers. It was as good as Paolo had imagined and he'd imagined it every day since she'd come back into his life. He tried to pull her even closer, to absorb her into his soul. When he finally broke the kiss, he braced for a hard slap to the face.

"I'm sorry, Natalie. That was . . . "

"That was amazing!" She was as breathless as he was.

He smiled, slow and sexy. "Yes, it was." He bent his head for another kiss, forgetting for a moment his duty.

A rustling sound came from the corner of the garage. Paolo released Natalie as his right hand reached for his Glock.

"MEE-owww."

Natalie clapped a hand over her thudding heart. "Big Tom." The large feline strutted over and rubbed against Natalie's bare legs. "You naughty cat. You scared us," she chided.

She motioned to Paolo's gun. "I think you can put that away."

Paolo re-holstered the weapon. "I should thank him."

"Thank him?" Natalie bent over to scratch Big Tom's head.

"The brute saved me from going too far." He held Natalie's gaze for a long moment. "Natalie, you are a beautiful and intelligent woman. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't attracted to you."

Natalie turned away as more heat flooded her face. She concentrated on the cat. "I feel it, too. But I'm . . . married." She said the last word as if it was a distasteful thing.

Neither spoke. Then something caught Natalie's attention. "Hey, what's this?" She retrieved a small object from the mouth of an open bag of potting soil.

A flash drive. She held it up. "You think this is what those sleaze-bags were after?"

Paolo's eyebrows shot up. "I'd bet good money on it."