“I don’t trust him. I think I’ve never truly trusted him. By offering him the opportunity to betray me, I’ve got rid of all imaginable obligations against him. I had advised him to let me pay for my crimes because I had foreseen that he wouldn’t want to do without my help forever, and when he returned to me as expected, I wrenched a full pardon from him. With regard to America, I have a clean slate now.”
“What is that?”
“A tile—oh, no, it’s a figurative term. It means that my sentence is served. I count as innocent, as clean.”
“I understand. So, you have utilized his tendency to premature assessments to gain advantages.”
“Yes. I’ve maximized my personal advantages, and by doing that, at the same time I’ve maximized the benefits of all. It would help nobody but the criminals to keep me locked away.”
“It is self-evident that the Golden One can provide greater benefits in freedom.”
“I’ve not always been a Golden One, and I’ve not always worked toward the greater common good. No. I’m entirely honest—my goal remains maximizing my personal benefit.”
“Which you define how, Companion?”
“I want to be left alone by the Cartel, have a good life and my fun along with it.”
“How will you reach these goals?”
“I must take out the Cartel or at least cut them so far back that the rest can’t become dangerous to me. For the second goal, I must help myself to some money—either at the gambling table or by taking it from the criminals. For the fun, I only need a willing man.” Or one day a transformed Dragon. Could Achrotzyber be jealous?
“Accomplishing the first goal means with high probability a benefit for the general public. Accomplishing the second goal by applying the second method is an indirect benefit for the general public, too, as capital extracted from the economy by crime will be reinserted into the cycle by you. Your definition of fun, if I assess it correctly, is based on mutuality. I do not understand the gambling table concept yet, but there is a high probability that maximizing your personal benefit is in the general public’s interest. Or, put differently, your goals strongly correlate with those of the general public.”
This assessment was as amusing as assuring. So I was allowed to go for a good life.
Chapter Sixteen
My desire for a decent meal was as much a joke as my statement about my travel. Of course, my nanos allowed me to shut down my taste buds, suppress any feeling of nausea, and force almost everything down that had any nutritive value, including all kinds of raw fish, but after a several-weeks-long Atlantic crossing with my Dragon, I longed for a change, which I moreover deserved in my eyes.
A plain restaurant on a side road in an Italian one-horse town, with a parking lot behind the house and a third exit through the kitchen matched my imaginations of a suitable location.
“I hope you’re a bit hungry, too,” I addressed Marcello.
“Here?”
“Well, that’s how your people eat. Come along.”
He followed me into the guest room. The host examined us for a moment. I understood him well. An older man in a formal gray suit with gray temples and a young woman in a hot tight leather dress, this had to appear somewhat strange.
“Welcome, the lady and the gentleman,” he welcomed us politely anyway. “A table for two?”
“Three,” I returned. “But we don’t want to wait, we’ll have something soon. The menu, please—oh, and do you have fresh swordfish today?”
He didn’t even flinch. “Very well. An appetizer ahead?”
“Definitely. Two Prosecco Cartizze, and a large bottle of San Pellegrino, not cooled.”
The host ambled away.
“Which part was the code?” Marcello asked.
“All of it.”
“Oh. Good. I admit, I wouldn’t have been able to tell how to get into contact with my people so soon. I’ve been out of business for quite a while.”
“We’ve expected that. That’s why I was told this contact code.”
“Good. I’ve expected someone with your reputation—that is, what the Mafia says about Velvet—to plan beyond the actual release. Nevertheless, I’m still wondering why you started in Italy, of all places.”
“In Italy, the Cartel hasn’t yet tried to make the change of power appear like a regular act. This way, America can easily reason their support for the overthrown Italian government—once you send your request for help. And once we’ve finished our little meeting here, that should be an easy feat.”
“Once I do that, the criminals will be after us.”
“I’m used to that for years. Help isn’t far.”
“So?”
“We only need to cover a few hours.”
“Then the American President expected you to be successful?”
“He has no doubt about it.”
The host brought the Prosecco, the mineral water, and the menus. Marcello gave him a friendly nod, and he left us alone again.
My protégé raised his glass.
“It would be a shame to waste such a good drink. Let’s clink our glasses on our future.”
I gladly agreed with that. “Cheers.”
I could become used to the taste of Prosecco, I soon noticed, but the plain Pinot Grigio that the host had recommended for the pasta starters wasn’t bad, either.
With the main course—fried lamb with vegetables—I chose a strong Chianti. Marcello commented my ability to hold my drink with raised eyebrows only.
“You’ve brought a large appetite.”
“Italy is well reputed for good cuisine. I want to assure myself personally.”
He smirked. “You understand the Dolce Vita principle?”
“Sadly, I’m far from that. Recently, I’ve lived rather full of privation.”
“Oh. Other dangerous missions? Oh, excuse me, that’s none of my business.”
“I’ve been in jail.”
“Pardon?”
“I’m a thief. I had to serve my sentence.”
“Despite your merits?”
“Justice must remain justice. Especially for heroes.”
“Oh. Well, surely there are no charges against you in my country.”
“Aside from illegal immigration, not.”
“You’re German. You may move freely in Europe.”
There, he was right. I must have been in America for too long. Much too long. Well, this phase was over. With another sip of red wine, I decided that a longer vacation in Italy surely would do me good.
“May I leave you alone for a moment?” Marcello asked.
“Do as you please.”
Chapter Seventeen
I pretended not to hear the man approaching, until I felt his blade at my throat and his breath at my ear. He smelled like fresh sweat on freshly washed skin, and he hadn’t come alone.
“Where did you learn about our contact code?” he whispered.
“American Secret Service,” I answered to the best of my knowledge—I had these details from Alan, and I counted him in.
My talking partner wasn’t satisfied yet. “Who are you?”
“My name is Johanna Meier. I come from Germany. The Cartel knows and fears me under the name Velvet.”
The sharp blade’s pressure at my throat increased. If my skin wasn’t reinforced, my blood would already be flowing. “Can you prove that?”
“Which proof would you accept?” How should I know what the Italians, and especially the ROS, had already heard about me? After all, I had spent quite some time in jail.
No, Jo, you know. In New York, Velvet had been in contact with the press, and if there was anything that surely had been passed around, then it was my mission there.
Clear.
My left hand jerked up, took the blade tip and pushed it away from my throat. With my right, I grabbed his wrist, slipped out of my seat under him and twisted his arm on his back. My now-free left han
d caught the knife that his cover in the kitchen doorframe had thrown and tossed it back lightning-fast—by the width of a hair it missed the knife-thrower’s ear and hit the doorframe with a knock.
To make sure my direct opponent couldn’t hurt his own back with the knife, I took it away from him—then I gently pushed him away from me and offered him his knife hilt-first.
The entire action hadn’t taken as much as a breath. Amazed, the bearded, curly-haired man looked back and forth between the knife and my face.
“Caspita!” he uttered.
He wore skin-tight black leggings and a black turtleneck. Those garments were ideally suited for moving silently, but totally failed to hide his genitalia.
While his features and his outburst left open whether his amazement was owed to my actions or my looks, his cock assumed an unequivocal position regarding this question. And my interested gaze was just as unequivocally unsuitable to cool him down. Aw damn, yes, my mission in the villa had made me hot, and this guy was simply looking tasty.
He didn’t have to tell me that I was tasty-looking, too, in my skin-tight black worker gear. Only we both had more important things to do momentarily.
He began to grin and raised a hand to stop his partner in the kitchen door, who had just drawn a pistol. With a glance at my tits he credited me, “Yes, you’re Velvet, no doubt about it.”
“You could have found an easier way for a peek at my tits. Who do I have the pleasure with?” Or would I have—well, if the occasion arose.
“Colonnello Davide Altamano. It’s an honor to meet you, Signora Meier.”
“Jo.”
“Jo. As you wish.”
“Jo, and informal, if it doesn’t bother you, Colonnello.”
“Davide.” He reached out his hand, and I flicked the knife in the air and shook his hand.
With a jingle, his weapon landed in the flower vase on my table.
“Amazing,” Davide commented. Then his features hardened. “So, now we have to talk about the minister. You’ve freed him, that’s nice, but also a problem.”
“In what way?” I pointed at the free seat at the table and sat down again myself. Davide took the offered seat with his back to the wall.
“The Mafia has his family. If that wasn’t the case, we could have freed him ourselves long ago.”
“The Mafia doesn’t have his family.”
“How would you know? They’ve announced it clearly enough.”
“They did. But they don’t have his daughter. I prevented it back then.”
Marcello returned in the company of two more Carabinieri. Davide nodded, and they let him return to our table.
“I’d like to hear this story, too,” the minister admitted.
“Okay. Then I’ll start from the beginning. The trigger was a dangerous mission in Belgium…”
Chapter Eighteen
“Let me recap and see if I got it all right,” Davide asked at the end of my report. “You’d just accepted a solo mission into the ZONE, taken on the Cartel there and eliminated a small army practically all on your own. The Cartel followed you to Las Vegas, where you took your pursuers out and then picked up a trail to Dubai, where you learned of the Italian upheaval and had to witness a cruel execution. That didn’t deter you from preventing the minister’s daughter’s kidnapping and carrying her out of the danger zone together with his wife. And all that without as much as a scratch?”
“Not quite.” I hadn’t mentioned Miriam, but the Italian didn’t need to know about her. “The kidnappers shot at me, and they hit me. That was unpleasant.”
“You’ve been severely hurt?”
“Aw, no deal.”
“I don’t know how to thank you for it,” Marcello began.
“You don’t have to. For me, it suffices that your daughter is well. But now we’ll ensure that all your people fare better. For that, we must consider where to start.”
“I have no clue.”
Davide shrugged. “Nor do I. Otherwise we’d long since have become active. Despite their heavy arms.”
“All that the Cartel knew about the Italian Mafia, I know, too,” I unveiled to them. “Names, places, logistics, the approximate head count. I only can’t tell the best place to start.”
Both stared at me, baffled.
“Where from?” Davide asked.
“I’ve been inside the Cartel headquarters. What their computer knew, I know, too.”
“How did you get into the Cartel headquarters?”
“Via the secret passage between the two casinos in Las Vegas. Didn’t I mention they had become too bothersome to me?”
“No, you didn’t,” Marcello chimed in. “You said something like the Marines had conquered the Cartel headquarters.”
“Yes, they cleaned up behind me. After I had investigated the computer.”
“Ah. No, you didn’t mention that.”
“You know,” Davide began. “Until now, I thought that the little that’s told of Velvet hereabouts must be quite exaggerated. According to what you say it seems rather patchy and very much understated.”
“I don’t know what you’ve heard, but that’s quite probable. The public knows far from all of it.”
Davide was about to reply, but his fellow at the kitchen door hissed “Visitors!” and then pressed one hand to his ear. I tried to catch the sounds in his earplug.
“Two vans. They drive slowly, it looks as if they’re scanning the entire village.”
He passed hand signs on to Davide, which I couldn’t sort out. Davide watched each of us. “The minister must leave.”
“I’ll take care of that,” I immediately acknowledged. “Where do we meet again?”
“You need a car.”
“I need a meeting point. I’ll manage everything else. When and where?”
“What do you know?”
That took too long. “Montalto di Castro, the Vulci excavations, in three hours.”
“Have you got a weapon?”
“I’m the weapon.”
Marcello showed his looted guns. “I have some.”
“You won’t need them,” I advised him. “Too noisy.”
Then I pointed at the rear exit. “That way.”
Davide nodded at his fellow. “Retreat. Don’t let yourself be seen.”
Now we only had to disappear quietly.
“More cars. They’ve found something!”
But how? I felt sure at not having left any traces, but this action went in a much too directed way—they had to know something. Had the host given us away? Only why, if he was the trustworthy ROS contact?
Could it have been one of Davide’s men? The way I judged him, he surely had checked them all.
And Marcello? No, of us all he had the most to lose, that is, his daughter and wife.
Davide already was on his way to the window, to have a quick peek outside. “Damn!” he cursed, and then he jumped to the side—just before the window burst from a plasma hit.
They shot plasma rounds at a house in which they had to find their protégé? No—they knew he was here, and they knew exactly where in this room he was.
“Stay where you are and undress. Entirely. You’re bugged,” I advised him. There was no time for discussions, so I jumped past Davide through the shattered window, right toward the attackers.
Chapter Nineteen
With this action, I attracted the attackers’ attention and fire on me for the moment, away from the ROS’ men who’d stand no chance against these plasma weapons. However, as I was in no mood for catching a direct hit, I doubled over a few times on my approach.
Nevertheless, some of the sun-hot projectiles came uncomfortably close. That wasn’t good, not at all!
I didn’t need my Analogy’s warnings to know that these tactics’ usefulness was extremely short-lived. No, I wasn’t inclined to remain a target.
I initiated a sideways move, thereby dodging two more plasma
shots, instead collected a badly aimed machine pistol salvo—ouch, that knocked!—and then jumped the opposite direction with activated camouflage.
An opportunity to get my bearings—here, before the house, I had to deal with ten persons from two vans, two of them armed with plasma rifles, four with machine pistols, four with normal pistols. I couldn’t spot the other cars, nor could I instantly discover Davide’s men.
That was good, as they had better keep their heads down. For this kind of game, I was better equipped.
A giant leap carried me between the attackers. This is war, I remembered, and we can’t accommodate prisoners yet. So I extended my claws.
A few seconds later, ten men were lying in their own blood. What now?
Shots and cries of pain from the buildings’ rear clarified where I was needed.
Although I ran at top speed, I arrived too late for two of Davide’s men, who had tried to prevent the Mafia henchmen from entering the building. Big, scorched holes demonstrated that you should respect plasma rifles.
Their murderer was already on his way inside, past the restrooms. I jumped into his neck. My sharp claws severed his cervical bones and demonstrated that you should respect Velvet.
His two conventionally-armed partners shared his fate. Only then did I listen again. No more shots.
Very cautiously, I gave the half-burned guestroom door a push. “Davide?”
“Jo?” His voice sounded surprised.
I peeked through the crack.
He was kneeling halfway behind the bar counter and now lowered his pistol. “Jo? But you’ve been at the front?”
With the plasma rifle in my left, I entered. “Ten crooks down at the front, three in the back. They got two of your men. I’m sorry.”
“When you went out to the front, I thought, that’s it. It had been suicidal.”
“Not for Velvet.”
“Well. No. Are you hurt?”
“No. And you?”
“A few scratches, no hits.” He rose and stepped to the front window, from where he could overlook the battlefield with my victims. “Oh my god! But—how?”
Treason Page 5
