Part 15 (2/2)
Suddenly there was a sound in the other room. A key had been put into the lock. Heart pounding, he pressed back against the kitchen wall. Then came the sound of the door opening.
”Mr. Addison?” a male voice said sharply.
Harry could see the jacket he'd left on the chair in the front room. Whoever had come in would see it, too. Quickly he glanced around. The kitchen was little more than a closet. The only way out, the way he had come in.
”Mr. Addison?” the voice rang out again.
Dammit! Adrianna had set him up for the police. And he'd walked right into it. At his elbow was a butcher block with carving knives. No good. They'd kill him in a second if he came out with a knife in his hand.
”Mr. Addison-are you here?” Whoever it was spoke English and without an accent.
What to do? He had no answer because there was none. Better to just walk out facing them and hope that Adrianna or someone from the media was with them so they wouldn't kill him on the spot.
”I'm here!” he said, loudly. ”I'm coming out. I'm not armed. Don't shoot!” Taking a deep breath, Harry raised his hands and stepped into the room.
WHAT HE SAW WAS NOT the police but a sandy-haired man alone, the door closed behind him.
”My name is James Eaton, Mr. Addison. I'm a friend of Adrianna Hall. She knew you needed a place to stay and-”
”Jesus G.o.d...”
Eaton was probably in his late forties or early fifties. Medium height and build. Dressed in a gray suit with striped s.h.i.+rt and gray tie. The most striking thing about him, other than that he was alone, was his plainness. He looked like the kind of guy who'd made it as far as he could in a bank, who still takes his family to Disneyland, and cuts his lawn on Sat.u.r.days.
”I didn't mean to frighten you.”
”This is your apartment...” Incredulous, Harry lowered his hands.
”Sort of...”
”What do you mean sort of? sort of?”
”It's not in my name, and my wife doesn't know about it.”
That was a surprise. ”You and Adrianna.”
”Not anymore...”
Eaton hesitated, looking at Harry, then he crossed the room and opened a cabinet above the television. ”Would you like a drink?”
Harry glanced at the front door. Who was this guy? FBI? Checking him out, making sure he was unarmed and alone?
”If I'd told the police where you were, I wouldn't be standing here offering you a drink.... Vodka or scotch?”
”Where's Adrianna?”
Eaton took out a bottle of vodka and poured them each two fingers.
”I work in the U.S. Emba.s.sy. First secretary to the counselor for Political Affairs.... No ice, sorry.” He handed Harry a gla.s.s and then walked over and sat down on the couch. ”You're in a lot of trouble, Mr. Addison. Adrianna thought it might be helpful if we talked.”
Harry fingered his gla.s.s. He was overwrought. Beat up. His nerves all over the place. But he had to pull himself back. Be aware enough of what was happening to protect himself. Eaton might be who he said he was and there trying to help him. Or he might not. He could be doing a diplomatic thing. Making sure no feathers got ruffled between the U.S. and Italy when they handed him over to the police.
”I didn't kill the policeman.”
”You didn't...”
”No.”
”What about the videotape?”
”I was tortured, then coerced into making it by the people who I a.s.sume did kill him.... They took me away afterward.... Then they shot me and left me for dead...” Harry lifted his bandaged hand. ”Except I didn't die.”
Eaton sat back. ”Who were these people?”
”I don't know. I never saw them.”
”Did they speak English?”
”Some.... Mostly Italian.”
”They killed a policeman and, in essence, kidnapped and tortured you.”
”Yes.”
Eaton took a pull at his drink. ”Why? What did they want?”
”They wanted to know about my brother.”
”The priest.”
Harry nodded.
”What did they want to know about him?”
”Where he was...”
”And what did you tell them?”
”I said I didn't know. Or if he was even alive.”
”Is that true?”
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