“Who?” Doyle demanded. “Where?”

“I don’t know. I can feel . . . something waiting, hoping. But I don’t have the answers, I’m sorry.”

“Neither do I,” Riley said. “I’ve been digging on Bay of Sighs, but I haven’t found anything yet. I’ll keep looking, try different angles. A parallel world, maybe? A time shift—which would be Sawyer’s deal. I’ll try some other resources.”

“As will I,” Bran said. “It may be someone in my family knows something of it, or knows someone who might. Meanwhile, we search and eliminate.”

“We’d better toss some breakfast together and get down to the boat.” Riley paused, pulled out her phone when it signaled. “Hold on. It’s my Malmon contact.

“This is Gwin,” she said as she walked away.

“I can help you with breakfast because Riley is busy.”

Watching Riley, Sasha nodded. “Let’s get to it.” And headed inside with Annika.

By the time Riley came in for coffee, Sasha was flipping the last slice of French toast on a platter beside a heap of bacon.

“What did you find out?”

“I’ll tell it all at once. Thanks for taking my KP, Anni.”

“I don’t mind. I like to make the fruit bowl.”

“Looks good, smells good. I’ll report while we eat.”

She didn’t waste time filling her plate or filling the rest in.

“Malmon’s still in London, but he’s booked a villa—big-ass villa, overlooking Marina Grande. Degli Dei.”

“Villa of the gods,” Doyle translated.

“Fate’s little wedgie, right? He took it for a month—doubling the asking price as incentive. His tenancy starts in three days. Word is he’s enlisted John Trake.”

“I don’t know that name,” Sawyer said.

“I do. Formerly Colonel Trake, United States Army, Special Forces. Black ops. Dishonorably discharged about seven years back, quietly, when he went way off the reservation. Got to like killing a little too much, and didn’t worry about collateral damage, even when it included his own men, unarmed civilians, children. Trake’s bringing along Eli Yadin.”

“That name I do know. Yadin was along for the ride in Morocco. Mossad—formerly, I think,” Sawyer added.

“You think correctly. He got a little too wild and crazy for them, and you have to be pretty wild and crazy to shock Mossad. He’s an assassin, but he specializes in torture. One more name. Franz Berger. Hunter, tracker, sniper—of both the four-and two-legged variety of mammals.”

“How confident are you in your source?” Doyle asked her.

“Completely. She’s with Interpol, and believe me, Malmon and the others on that list are very much on Interpol’s radar. They’re as interested in what he’s putting together as we are.”

“We could do without blipping on Interpol’s radar ourselves,” Bran pointed out.

“Then we’ll have to be careful. We’ve got a few days. I’m thinking why don’t we check out Malmon’s digs here on Capri? Say tonight, when everything’s nice and quiet.”

“A little B and E?” Sawyer forked a bite of French toast. “Sounds like a good time. You know, if I could get my hands on a few things, I could put a few bugs together.”

“How do you put bugs together?” Annika asked. “Why would you want to make bugs?”

“Listening devices,” he explained. “We call them bugs. We go in, case the place, plant a few where it seems most logical. It could give us a leg up.”

“It could. First? You can make bugs?”

He smiled at Riley. “I’m handy.”

“Okay, second. He’s bound to sweep for them.”

“I could help there.” Bran considered. “A spell to hide them from an electronic sweep. I could work that out.”

“More handy, and I’ll make three.” Riley poured more coffee. “Tell me what you need, Dead-Eye—and give me options. I’ll tug some lines. But it may take a day.”

“I’ll make you a list, we can break and enter tomorrow night. Three days,” Sawyer calculated. “Maybe we’ll get lucky, find the star before he gets here.”

“And if not?” Sasha looked around the table at the five people she’d come to trust above all others. “We do whatever we have to do to protect the star and each other.”

Sawyer made his list; Riley tugged her lines. It made for a later start than planned, but Sawyer figured if he could put together a few bugs, give them some insight into Malmon’s plans, it would be more than worth losing an hour in the water.

As he grabbed his gear, Annika stepped to the doorway of his room.

“I need to speak to you.”

“Sure.” But when she came in, closed the door behind her, he stopped what he was doing. “Serious?”

“Important. In Sasha’s painting, you’re wounded.”

“We’ve all been wounded in this little adventure, Anni. It looked like Doyle took a hit, too, so—”

“He can’t die.”

“And I won’t.” Reading the worry in her eyes, he went to her, took her hands. “I’ll get us out of there.”