Autumn wrinkled her nose. ‘Why would the Prime Minister and her husband take a photo with a boy who’s not their child? What could they possibly gain from doing that?’
Max laid the paper on the table and Kensy spun it around. The boy’s face was partly obscured, but the mark behind his ear was clear as day. She dropped her voice to a whisper. ‘He’s from the orphanage, I swear. I waved at him when they were all walking to the church and then I saw him near the Spanish Steps. I didn’t realise it was the same kid until now.’
‘It’s not the best photo, is it?’ Carlos admitted.
‘The boy from the orphanage has a mark behind his ear – just like that one,’ Kensy said, tapping the photo.
The sceptic in Max was unconvinced. ‘It could be a smudge from the ink, Kens.’
‘Let me see that.’ Carlos picked up the paper and examined it.
‘Think about it,’ Kensy insisted. ‘Whoever has Nico sent another boy who looks like him to have his picture taken with the family so everyone thinks he’s gone home. But now they’re blackmailing the Prime Minister. That kid there is the key to everything.’
‘The Italian Secret Service must be on it,’ Carlos said.
Kensy raised an eyebrow at the boy. ‘If there was the possibility that your child’s life was in danger, would you tell anyone?’
The others couldn’t deny she had a point.
As the train pulled into the Roma Termini, Mr Reffell was jolted awake by Mrs Vanden Boom barking orders at everyone to gather their things. The children assembled on the crowded platform with the teachers.
‘We need to find that kid,’ Kensy hissed, pulling on her daypack. ‘And I’m pretty sure I know exactly where he’ll be.’
That was the end of their conversation for now as the teachers rounded up their groups before setting off.
‘Do we really have to walk again?’ Lola whined.
Romilly Vanden Boom nodded. If only she had a pound for every time that child complained about something she’d have been able to shout them all to a fancy meal. ‘It’s not far.’
‘But my feet hurt,’ the girl moaned, and was swiftly joined by Misha grumbling too.
‘We’re stopping for dinner on the way back,’ Mr Reffell said. He’d been pleased to have secured a lovely little trattoria near Quirinal Palace and had prepaid for the meal before they left England. It was slightly off the beaten track and apparently much loved by locals, which is precisely what he wanted.
The children dodged their way through the evening commuters, doing their best to stay within close proximity of their group leaders. Once they were on the street, it was clear that the protesters had spread to other parts of the city. People with placards were standing on just about every corner.
‘Wow, is it really that bad?’ Harper said. There were men and women of all ages, families with small children and even a group of priests, all chanting about the price of wheat.
‘I’m afraid so. Rationing has started,’ Mr Frizzle said, shaking his head. ‘It’s a ghastly state of affairs.’
As the group neared a supermarket, they realised there was a queue snaking out the door and around the corner.
‘It’s ridiculous.’ Inez shook her head. ‘We’re in Italy. I could imagine something like this in the third world, but it’s almost unthinkable here.’
The restaurant they were heading to was tucked away in a quiet lane. Mr Reffell had consulted the map several times, but was now checking his phone for good measure.
‘Are you sure we’re in the right place, sir?’ Dante asked as they made their way down a long alley littered with scooters and garbage bins. Washing lines were slung above them and a black cat scuttled across their path. ‘This looks a bit dodgy, if you ask me.’
Monty bit his lip. He’d been thinking the same thing. There wasn’t a shopfront in sight and the lighting was terribly poor. ‘Wait here while I go on and check,’ he said, and gratefully accepted Max’s offer to accompany him. He was confident the boy’s photographic memory would see them in the right place in no time.
They hadn’t walked much further when Max spied a tiny sign with an arrow pointing towards a gate. Monty pressed the buzzer and was admitted into a narrow passageway. At the end was a door and the sound of people laughing on the other side.
‘Thank heavens for that,’ the teacher said, and sent Max to beckon the others.
Inside, the decor was quintessentially Italian with red checked tablecloths and chianti bottles turned into candelabras. Plastic grape vines covered the ceiling and walls, and the bar area was crowded with rowdy patrons. They were greeted by a waiter with a thick black moustache, who ushered the group through a set of double doors into a private room.
‘Well, isn’t this charming?’ Monty said with an appreciative nod. He was feeling very pleased with himself and made a note to thank his friend for the recommendation.
The children were quickly seated at two large round tables. Soon after, the waiter returned with bread baskets and little dishes of olive oil. There was certainly no sign of the wheat shortage in this restaurant. Monty was relieved he’d already paid too, as he spotted a menu and almost choked at the prices.
Max and Carlos excused themselves for the bathroom, racing up the back stairs until a loud bang stopped them in their tracks. It sounded like a hand hitting a tabletop and it was accompanied by a definitive ‘No!’ They looked around and found a window high up in the wall. Intrigued, they crept closer.
‘Lei firmerà i documenti,’ a woman said hotly.
There was another loud thump.
‘Speak Inglese – you know the waiters only speak Italiano.’
‘Fine,’ the woman hissed in heavily accented English. ‘She will sign the document tomorrow. Penina will be under our control after that and from then on we will set the food prices and govern the farmers. The people will be at our mercy. We will offer concessions at first to win their favour, then raise the prices over time. We will make a fortune.’
‘And what about the boy?’ the man said.
Max and Carlos looked at one another.
‘The trade will take place at the eastern end of the Piazza del Popolo,’ the woman replied. ‘You can watch from the roadway above and know that the deal is done. I still cannot believe he fell through the roof. We had been planning to snatch him the very next day.’
‘And if she doesn’t sign the papers?’ the man asked.
‘We kill him,’ the woman said without a trace of emotion.
Carlos pointed at the window. He retrieved a nearby stool with a wonky leg and was about to step up onto it when Max grabbed his arm.
‘I’m taller,’ the boy mouthed. Carlos held the stool steady as Max stretched as far as he could. His fingers gripped the edge of the windowsill as he slowly hauled himself up. He peered into the room, his heart racing. There were three people seated at a round table. The decor was far fancier than downstairs and reminded him of his grandmother’s small sitting room, which was full of antiques, with a sprinkling of Italian flavour.
‘Can you see them?’ Carlos whispered.
Max nodded. There was a large man facing away from him. He was bald on top with thick dark hair in a ring around the back of his head. His long sleeves were pushed up and Max could see a tattoo on the inside of his forearm. It was the same script as the man from the street except this time Max could see that it said ‘Nero’, not ‘hero’. Opposite him was a man with grey hair who was smoking a cigar. A woman with long black hair and a made-up face was beside him. She was very pretty and had a movie-star look about her. Max’s eyes widened when it dawned on him that he’d seen her before. He was almost certain she was the woman who had left the orphanage in the middle of the night and got behind the wheel of that black Ferrari in the piazza.
Two burly men were stationed on either side of the door. Max gasped when he recognised one of them as the fellow they’d seen inside the gates of Quirinal Palace with the gun holstered in his jacket. But if that was t
roubling, his heart almost leapt through his chest when he realised that the other guard was one of the thugs who had been chasing them in the street yesterday.
Carlos desperately wanted to see too. He let go of Max’s stool to look for something else to climb onto. Max wobbled unsteadily and, feeling his feet give way from under him, grabbed onto the windowsill. The stool clattered onto the tiles.
‘What was that?’ the fat man bellowed.
Max thought fast and jumped to the ground. He returned the stool to its original position and joined Carlos just as a door opened at the end of the passageway and a face appeared. It was the man from the palace. Max thanked their lucky stars it wasn’t the other guy. He would have recognised them in an instant.
Max looked at Carlos, a confused expression on his face. Carlos glanced around as if he were lost. ‘Toilette?’ Max said in his best Italian accent.
The man grunted and pointed down the hallway.
‘Grazie.’ The boys nodded and hurried off, not daring to say another word in case they gave themselves away. When they walked back into the hall, the man was still there, watching them like a hawk.
‘Grazie,’ Max said again as he and Carlos sped past.
‘What took you so long?’ Kensy asked as they sat down. ‘I thought you’d fallen in.’
‘Tell you later,’ Max replied, feeling a little rattled by the encounter.
Kensy eyed him and Carlos warily. ‘Tell me now,’ she insisted.
Max took a piece of pepperoni pizza and put it on his plate. ‘Let’s just say that maybe your hunch about Nico is correct, and if that’s the case, I don’t think any of us will be getting much sleep tonight.’
‘Finally,’ Kensy muttered, as their hotel came into view. They’d barely had a second alone since leaving the restaurant as it seemed every one wanted to chat. In snatches here and there, Max had relayed the gist of what he and Carlos had encountered at the restaurant.
‘So, you think the guy who was watching you was one of the President’s bodyguards?’ Autumn said.
‘Well, I don’t know for sure, but Carlos and I saw him when we were passing Quirinal Palace the other day. He had a Glock pistol inside a shoulder holster, so we presumed he was protecting the President.’
The children hadn’t noticed that Misha was right behind them. She had one ear on their conversation while trying to filter Lola’s moaning about her sore feet. Fed up, she turned to the girl, a ripple of anger pulsing through her. ‘Seriously, Lola, could you just give up your whining for one minute?’
A stunned silence followed as everyone stopped in their tracks to look at her, their mouths agape. Lola couldn’t have been more shocked if she’d sat on an electric fence.
‘What did you say?’ she asked.
‘You heard me,’ Misha said. Her face flushed and her hands formed two small fists by her sides. ‘All you do is complain when, really, you’ve got nothing to complain about. You’re spoiled and ridiculous and I’ve had enough!’
Romilly Vanden Boom blinked in surprise. It was impossible to tell whether this was part of a larger plan or if Misha was actually sick and tired of the brat. She couldn’t have blamed her for the latter.
‘What’s the matter with you?’ Lola snapped, her eyebrows forming a sharp ‘V’. ‘I–I’m your best friend. I’m your only friend because, let’s face it, you’re a loser!’
With a cry of exasperation, Misha stalked off without so much as a backwards glance.
‘You can forget about us sharing a room!’ Lola screeched, stamping her foot. ‘Sleep in the fountain for all I care! I hate you!’
‘Mission accomplished,’ Misha muttered, and was soon joined by Autumn and Kensy.
‘You okay?’ Autumn asked, her face a picture of concern.
Misha nodded. ‘Just look like you’re worried about me and we’ll talk back at the hotel.’
Kensy gave the girl a sly wink and giggled. ‘Bet that felt good.’
Fortunately, the hotel was a hop, skip and a jump away.
‘I’ll get my things and bunk with Autumn and Kensy, if that’s okay with you,’ Misha said to Miss Ziegler as they stepped into the foyer.
Lola’s eyes bulged as if her head were about to explode. ‘Why would you want to be their friend?’ she demanded. ‘They’re horrible and stinky and . . . and they have stupid names!’
Misha considered the girl as one might consider a blood-sucking mollusc. ‘Perhaps if you stopped to think about who’s really the horrible one, you’d realise that most of the time it’s you. I’m not your puppet or your slave any more, Lola,’ she said calmly, then turned to walk up the stairs.
‘Right, I think it’s time for bed,’ Mrs Vanden Boom said, clasping her hands tightly. ‘Off to have your showers and then it’s lights out in fifteen minutes. It’s been a very long day and I’m sure we could all do with a rest. Goodnight, everyone.’
Not five minutes later, Misha had been installed with Kensy and Autumn.
‘So what was that about?’ Autumn said. ‘You know you’ll have to apologise and then she’s going to hate us even more.’
Misha shook her head. ‘Perhaps it won’t come to that. I needed some time alone with you guys after what I overheard Max saying about the bodyguard from the palace. I’d hazard that man isn’t the President’s security detail but Sergio Leonardi’s.’
Kensy and Autumn shot her confused looks. ‘Lola’s father?’ Kensy said.
Misha nodded. ‘One and the same. He also goes by Steve Lemmler back in London. I was surprised when Lola said that her parents were here in Italy, but I was absolutely stunned to see her father at Quirinal Palace the other day when we were walking back from the Colosseum. I don’t know if she saw him too, but, if she did, she isn’t saying anything.’
It didn’t take long for Max and Carlos to appear. They knocked quietly and Kensy let them in. The children sat facing each other on the two single beds.
‘I thought you were up to something,’ Max said to Misha. ‘I saw the exasperation in your eyes earlier in the day.’
Misha sighed. ‘I just had to get away from Lola. She’s like a leech and . . . Well, enough of that. I need you to go over everything. Who were the people you saw and what were they talking about?’
Max recounted what he’d told Kensy and Autumn, and added that he thought he’d seen the woman before.
Kensy hopped up and walked to the window. ‘I saw her too!’ she said excitedly. ‘I thought it was a strange picture, really – the fancy car and the orphanage . . . But now we know what those kids get up to, maybe it’s not so strange after all.’
Misha frowned. ‘The man with the terrible hair and the big nose is definitely Sergio Leonardi and the other man is Nero Rinaldi, the President of Italy. I don’t know about the woman.’
‘Nero . . . Lola’s father has that name tattooed on his forearm and I think the thug who chased us yesterday has it on his wrist,’ Max pondered aloud.
Autumn quickly filled Misha in on how they’d been pursued by three men after stumbling upon them using the children as pickpockets. ‘Is the Italian President a friend of Lola’s father?’ Autumn asked her.
‘We think they belong to the same organisation,’ Misha said. ‘We know that Sergio has his dirty fingers in lots of different pies, but we’ve never been able to pin anything significant on him. He’s as slick as Teflon and has a boatload of shelf companies and aliases. He’s never been caught for anything, but I feel as though we’re close. Intel says he’s been working on an arms deal with the Middle East, but there’s no trail.’
‘So they’re Mafia?’ Carlos said.
Misha shook her head. ‘Diavolo. They’re like a myth, though. No one has ever been able to prove their existence and I suspect they want to keep it that way.’
‘Diavolo means “devil” in Italian,’ Kensy said. ‘Are they worse than the Mafia?’
Misha nodded. ‘They’re the worst of the worst – from some of the things I’ve read, they’re the most evil g
roup in the world and also the most difficult to trace.’
‘Do you think the tattoo means something?’ Autumn asked. ‘Why Nero? He was a Roman emperor with a very bad reputation – is it possible that he started the Diavolo?’
Misha shrugged apologetically. ‘That I don’t know.’
‘Who can stop them then?’ Kensy asked. ‘I mean, if the President is part of the group, he clearly considers himself above the law. Never mind how many other officials are in his pocket. What if the corruption goes all the way to the Police Commissioner?’
Misha bit down on her thumbnail. ‘We trust no one other than a man called Alessandro Grimaldi. He’s head of the Italian Secret Service with links to Pharos. Your grandmother thinks he’s the only one who can help bring them down.’
Max scratched his head and thought for a moment. ‘What if it’s not arms they’re dealing?’
The others looked at him.
‘What if it’s wheat and pasta? The woman said that, when the Prime Minister signs the papers, they’ll be in control of Penina. I thought they were talking about a place, but isn’t that the biggest pasta company in Italy? What if they’re blackmailing the Prime Minister to hand over control of the food? I bet Sergio’s gang are behind the crop failures too. They’ve been driving up the prices so the Prime Minister would be left with no choice and now they have her son as the ultimate bargaining chip.’
‘Wow, Max, that’s a pretty amazing theory,’ Autumn said admiringly.
Carlos looked at Misha. ‘Could it be true?’
‘Anything’s possible,’ the girl replied. ‘I contacted Dame Spencer to tell her what I’d seen, but there aren’t any agents available – whatever else is happening is taking up loads of resources. It’s just us. She said I had her blessing to mobilise if things here escalated.’
‘So, we’re on a real mission?’ Kensy said, her eyes lighting up.
Misha nodded solemnly. ‘We have a maximum of eleven agents-in-training and four dormant field agents at our disposal – but we have to make sure that the other kids are kept out of the way. We can’t blow our cover.’
Disappearing Act Page 15
