Italian Masquerade

Chapter 4: Confessional

Florence, Italy. Tuesday, December 27, 2005.

"I haven't been to Florence since I was in college," El said, keeping her eyes fixed on the view through the car window as their taxi wound through narrow medieval streets on the way to the hotel. "Thank you, Neal and Mozzie!"

Peter was equally appreciative. This was his first trip to Italy. Before this year, he'd never been to Europe. Over the past several months, his work had entailed trips to England, France, Germany, and Hungary. Traveling overseas on business was beginning to feel routine. Perhaps even more surprisingly, the rate Neal had been able to negotiate for them at the same hotel where he was staying fell within the FBI guidelines.

When they entered the lobby and found Neal and Sara waiting for them, it was the best gift of all. Peter had to keep reminding himself not to jump the gun. They'd only been dating for a few months. Sara was living in London. Once everyone knew they were dating, they might miss the excitement of a secret romance. One of them could grow bored. Incompatibilities might surface. This wasn't the end but only the beginning. But as he and El greeted the happy couple, he had a good feeling that it would work out for them.

Thanks to a last-minute cancellation, Neal had managed to secure them a room on the top floor with magnificent views of the city. Although today would be a workday for him and Neal, El and Sara would be free to shop and visit museums.

Claudia had scheduled a meeting at the Carabinieri branch office which was in the historic Palazzo Pitti, across the Arno River from the hotel. Neal told him on the walk over that it had been built by the Medici family in the sixteenth century as their chief residence. The palace was now a museum complex.

In some respects, the walk reminded Peter of when he and Neal had strolled along the Seine last August as they were preparing to set the U-boat con in motion, a sting which ultimately resulted in the capture of Vincent Adler and the Mansfeld brothers. And just like then, Rolf and Klaus were on Peter's mind.

"Diana received a comment to her latest Arkham Files story," he told Neal.

"For Sands of Abydos?" Neal smiled. "Was it from Henry? Some snarky comment that he hoped I'd enjoy my time in Cairo with Alex? El told me about his suspicions."

"I wish it was something that lighthearted. But who knows? Perhaps it is."

Neal's expression grew serious as he stopped in his tracks. "You better tell me about it."

They were on a street bordering the Arno River. A medieval stone bridge surmounted by a row of shops was in front of them. As good a place as any for the warning. "Diana received it on Christmas Eve. The comment was in code."

Neal's eyes narrowed. "Rolf sent a coded message last spring."

"It's the same code. Travis was able to decrypt it immediately. The message this time was 'Miss me?' It was posted by a guest with no user name attached."

"I thought Rolf didn't have access to a computer."

"He doesn't. I double-checked with the Hungarians. But he is allowed visitors, and, of course, he's permitted to talk with his lawyer."

"Have the authorities sorted out where Rolf will be tried first?"

Peter nodded. "He'll be flown to New York in a few days where he'll be prosecuted for kidnapping."

"Then the message may refer to the transfer," Neal said. "He could simply be trying to mess with our heads."

"That has the highest probability," Peter confirmed, "but we can't overlook the other possibilities."