Soul of the Assassin by Jim DeFelice, Larry Bond Read Free Book Online

she thought to herself, that was a nice diversion. Now it’s time to get back to work.
     
    ~ * ~
     
    F
    erguson gave Arna Kerr ten minutes to change her mind and come back, then pulled on his pants and a sweatshirt and crossed the hall to the safe room where he’d left his gear. Inside, he powered up his laptop and entered the surveillance program, checking to make sure she wasn’t down in the lobby. Then he turned on his radio and asked the others what was going on.
     
    “Looks like she’s taking a midnight tour of the city,” said Guns.
     
    “Going back to her hotel?”
     
    “Doesn’t look like it. Walking to the east. Maybe she’s got another date.”
     
    “Jeez, I would’ve thought I wore her out.” Ferguson pulled out his map, trying to psych out where she was going. “She might be trying to make sure she’s not being followed,” he said finally. “Be careful.”
     
    “We don’t need you to tell us our jobs,” snapped Thera.
     
    “I’ll try to remember that,” said Ferguson, reaching for his shoes.
     
    ~ * ~
     
    T
    he more Arna Kerr walked, the more she sensed someone was following her. And yet, whether she turned suddenly or double-backed or used the mirror in her compact case, she couldn’t see anyone.
     
    Subconsciously I’m expecting to be punished for having sex, she told herself. Like a schoolgirl who’s stayed out late.
     
    The night had turned cold. Arna Kerr circled the block twice more; finally, failing to see anyone—and yet still not entirely free of the sensation of being watched—she went to the parking garage of the Hotel Borgia and found the small Ford she’d rented earlier in the day. She slipped the key into the trunk and opened the lid. Reaching to the side, she checked the small motion sensor, making sure the trunk hadn’t been opened. Then she took out the backpack, reset the alarm with her key code, and checked the interior of the car.
     
    Upstairs in the hotel, she mussed up the bed in her room, and then she slipped out, this time taking the stairs to the lobby. Before going back out she pulled an American-style baseball cap over her head, tucking her hair up until it was hidden. The security cameras at the outside door would see her, but her face would stay in the shadows.
     
    Outside, Arna Kerr walked quickly to the piazza three blocks away. When she reached it, she pulled a laser measuring device from her pocket, then stood against the wall and began taking the measurements she needed. She recorded the measurements on a small voice recorder, adding Ferguson’s driver’s license number.
     
    It would take her an hour to get the measurements, and another half hour to check the security systems on the street. The rest of what she had to do could easily wait until daytime.
     
    Plenty of time to go back to Ferguson’s hotel and slip back into bed with him.
     
    A foolish thought, she told herself, pocketing the laser and walking to the next piazza.
     
    ~ * ~
     
    F
    erguson grabbed hold of the portico’s smooth stone pillar and pulled himself upward, wedging the sides of his sneakers against the stone and shimmying to the top of the archway. Bologna was filled with porticos and covered walkways: a climber’s paradise.
     
    His grip slipped as he scrambled up onto the fake balustrade of the building. Ferguson grabbed the side of the window above and pushed himself up, trying to regain some balance. The building rose several more stories, and the climbing would be relatively easy—the blocks were spaced almost like ladders in a decorative pattern at the corner of the building—but first he had to get by the windows on the second floor. Fortunately the Bolognese—or at least these Bolognese—believed in sleeping with their windows open; Ferguson was able to get a grip between the window and the ledge and then swing his legs across to the next. A few minutes later, he was on top of the building.
     
    Manually adjusting the magnification on his