The Stolen Da Vinci Manuscripts Read Online Free Page B

was
hiding in plain sight – gaudy tropical shirt, tan shorts, white
sunglasses and open toed sandals – who would take a second glance
at such an obvious tourist? Even when he took the elevator to the
second floor it didn’t hit home. I just did not expect to be
followed. I was completely focused on Marconi only.
    I wait for Marconi to show within half an
hour and when he doesn’t I decide to investigate. His door is
slightly ajar but not enough to see inside and there are no sounds
from inside the room so I gently push it open further. A hand comes
into view, palm upturned, lying on the carpet; it doesn’t move. I
stick my head in and look around to make sure there is no one else
here; the room is empty. Marconi has a knife stuck in his chest. I
swallow hard and turn my attention to the area and search for the
box, but I know in my mind it’s missing. And it is. I replay events
from the time we returned to the hotel and realize that only one
person went to the second floor – ‘flower shirt’ has it. He didn’t
come back to the lobby and the window is locked from the inside so
he’s still in the hotel or he took the stairs. What should I do? I
leave the room quietly; making sure nobody has seen me. I do not
bother to phone the police. Let room services discover the body as
I have more important things to do right now than being
interrogated by the police. I will assist them after I have solved
the case myself. But I know that I am dealing with a very dangerous
man.
    On a hunch I go to the maitre de.
    “Yes miss?”
    “By chance did you see the gentleman in the
Hawaiian shirt a short while ago?”
    “I see everything here miss.”
    “Can you tell me if he is a guest here?”
    “Miss, this is the ‘Victoria’ - have you seen
any other guest dressed in – ‘that’ – attire?” He asked with
utter disdain.
    “That’s what I thought, thank you.” A twenty
dollar bill passes hands.
    Now what? I can take root in the lobby and
wait for someone carrying a box, or go looking. I’d better grow
roots. Several guests check out with luggage but these are not what
I’m interested in – it’s the lone man in a business suit, toting a
purple wheeled airline carry-on bag that gets my attention. He
could be off to a meeting, but why would a person not have an
attaché or brief case? It just looks ‘wrong’.
    I follow, and he knows it. He enters a taxi
and gives his destination but I’m not close enough to hear – I get
a taxi and follow. We arrive at Fiumicino airport at the KLM
departure building, but he has already disappeared into the crowd.
I look at the departure board – there are three KLM flights
scheduled – Amsterdam, Lisbon and Tocumen. All international
flights, but only the latter requiring passport clearance, which
seems to rule it out. So – Amsterdam or Lisbon? Holland or
Portugal? I go with Amsterdam only because of the diamond exchange
and make my way to gate B17. Boarding has not been announced and so
I get a good look at the passengers. The guy with the purple bag is
not among them. The Lisbon flight is at gate B19 and is boarding –
my gut says this is not the one. That leaves Tocumen. But why
Panama? I check the board and see that the flight leaves from gate
D10 – I’ll never make it in time but the elevated concourse will
let me see the departure lounge. And there he is - I swear he looks
up at me before heading down the embarkation ramp.
    I take a deep breath, it always triggers my
resolve, he’s gone but I cannot let go and so I return to the hotel
and my I-pad. The KLM flight has a stop in Mauritania but there is
an Air France non-stop flight that will get me there sooner. Oh I love computers! A couple of clicks and I have an e-ticket
reservation; my bags are packed and I’m back at the airport with
twenty minutes to spare – enough time to grab a bottle of blond
hair color and blaring red lipstick from the duty free shop.
    The looks I got on emerging from the first
class