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."