***
Reuben took the vial of morphine sulphate from his pocket and swallowed two of the tablets with a glass of water. The doctor had told him three months but perhaps he was wrong. Well it didn’t matter. He didn’t need another month, just another day.
Chapter 103
IT WAS ALMOST ELEVEN o'clock when she woke. Her head was pounding and she felt as if she had a hangover. She stumbled into the living room. Reuben was gone. Not even a note.
She replayed the messages on her machine. Three from her mother; she sounded hysterical. Simone fast forwarded the tape a few times then switched it off. She made herself coffee, dressed, and sat staring out of the window.
What was she going to do?
Without her father she had nothing. It was his apartment, his car; he paid her university fees. It was his life, really. If she cut herself off, where could she go, what was she going to do?
She would not ask Reuben for help. He had intimated that he was not a poor man, but perhaps it was time she learned to stand on her own two feet.
Like Riccardo.
It was time to grow up.
***
British Airways flight BA 552 from Heathrow arrived at Fiumicino just a few minutes late at a little after half past eleven in the morning. Diana had no luggage, just a few changes of clothes in an overnight bag. She found a cab outside the terminal and handed the driver a slip of paper. On it was the address in Trastevere that Reuben had given her over the telephone.
She fidgeted in the back seat all the way, chewing through two nails. Stop lights, crazy drivers, the blaring of horns. She just wanted to get there, get this over.
***
The man had been sitting in the bar ever since it opened early that morning. He wore a knee-length black overcoat over a polo necked sweater. Underneath his coat was a shoulder holster and in the holster was a Heckler & Koch automatic pistol.
He took out a photograph from his pocket and studied it once more, to satisfy himself that he would recognise his target when she appeared. He ordered another espresso and a croissant and settled down to wait.
His motorcycle was parked in an alley on the other side of the piazza. It was easier to get away on two wheels, especially in Rome. It did not worry him that people in the bar might remember his face. By this evening he would be in Switzerland and with the money he made from this contract he had no plans to return.
Chapter 104
ANGELI HAD MARCO bring round the car. He had not had time to replace him as yet but he made a mental note to do so. He was sure it was he who had named Simone as the informant. But there were other things occupying his mind at the moment. He had a luncheon appointment with the Archbishop at the Villa Strich at twelve o'clock.
He walked out through the foyer and into the waiting Mercedes. Marco carefully negotiated the back streets, turned onto the Corso Vittorio Emanuele just across from the church of Sant' Andrea della Valle.
“Stop here,” Angeli said.
Marco seemed surprised but did as he was told. He turned into the Via dei Chiavari and shut off the engine.
“Wait for me,” Angeli told him. He jumped out and walked back up the street to the church. He pushed open the heavy door and went inside. He crossed himself and took a seat in one of the pews halfway along the aisle. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, composing himself. He did not know what impulse had brought him in here.
Por Dios, he was sweating like a virgin.
The Renaissance architects knew their business. They made you face this great emptiness in order to remind you of death. When they had brought you to that state of trepidation they offered you salvation, up there on the dome, out of reach, through the angels and the majesty; in this case Giovanni Lanfranco's Glory of Paradise.
What have I done?
But I had no choice! And yet there might still be time to stop it. He took his cell phone from his pocket. He knew the assassin's number by heart now, could stop him with one call. His finger hovered over the number pad. Was there another way out of this?
He did not spare a glance for the priest who passed him in the aisle and sat down in the pew behind him.
He heard a voice in his ear. “If you make one move I shall blow away your spine.”
Angeli reacted calmly. His heart beat a little faster but a lifetime of training had taught him self discipline. So: Massini's friends had wasted no time. He thought about Marco outside in the car. No chance of rescue there. Don’t panic; think your way through this. The best hope is to negotiate.
“We are in a place of God.”
“Does that mean something to you?”
“Of course. I am a civilised man. I hope you are too.”
“I imagine you do hope that.” The man spoke Italian with a distinctive accent. He recognised it. He was a porteño like himself, almost certainly one of Massini's friends, then.
“I want you to turn around very slowly. Keep your hands in your pockets. Now look down. Good. Like that. You see what I have here, in my coat. It's a Colt forty five. You see? I'm not playing games. All right, you can turn back to the altar now. Contemplate the divine.”
He didn't talk like one of Massini's friends. Odd. “So, what do we do now?”
“What we do is this: you are going to get up, very slowly and walk towards the door. I shall be right behind you. One sudden move and I shall empty the clip into your back, without hesitation. Do you understand?”
“Yes, you are being very clear.”
“Good. When we get outside you will turn to the right and go into the Piazza Vidoni. You will see a black Volkswagen Golf parked there. You will get in behind the wheel. The keys are in the ignition. You are going to drive, and I shall sit behind you. We need to go somewhere where we can talk in private.”
Somewhere it’s easier to murder me.
Angeli obeyed; he walked to the great doors at the rear of the church. He tensed, waiting for his chance. But the other man had anticipated him. When they reached the door the man stepped in close, one hand on his arm, the barrel of the weapon pressed hard against his spine. “I'll shoot you on the steps if I have to.”
“That will not be necessary.”
Angeli went down the steps, turned to the right as he had been ordered to do and saw the car parked on the cobblestones a few yards away. He climbed in and his assailant got into the back seat directly behind him. He had only glimpsed the man's face for a moment in the church, but now he had a better look at him, in the rear vision mirror; fair hair flecked with silver, a long, sallow face, bony wrists, large hands.
Who was he?
If this had been a professional hit, it would have been over by now, without conversation. Perhaps this had nothing to do with Massini, after all.
He found the keys in the ignition, as his assailant had promised. “You shouldn't leave your keys in the car. Rome is full of crime.”
The man ignored him. “Turn left out of here. Head towards the Vaticano, turn down the Viccolo Sugarelli.”
“May I ask where we are going?”
“Just drive.”
***
After the gun battle outside the Palazzo di San Calisto, the SID had traced the Fiat to a rented apartment in the suburbs near the airport. Among the dead men's possessions they found a business card bearing the name of a merchant bank domiciled in Argentine. A telephone number had been scrawled on the back. It was traced to a mobile telephone registered to one César Rivera.
Two agents had been assigned to watch Angeli's movements. No one had expected the surveillance to yield such dramatic results so quickly.
They tracked the white Mercedes from Piazza Navona to the Via dei Chiavari. When they saw Angeli get out of the Mercedes and head towards them, they put their training into action and pretended to be a married couple, feigning a fierce argument in the front seat of the car.
But Angeli never gave them a second glance.
A few minutes later they saw him come out of the side door and get int
o a black VW Golf, followed by another, unidentified, man. It was immediately apparent to them what was taking place. They saw Angeli's driver, Marco, lounging behind the wheel of the Mercedes casually smoking a cigarette, utterly unaware of what was taking place or the danger his boss was now in.
“Your boss has just been abducted, stronzo,” one of the agents hissed under his breath. “Brainless mafia shithead.”
As the Golf merged with the traffic on the Corso Vittorio Emanuele, an unmarked Fiat pulled out to follow. As they did so the woman in the passenger seat read out the Golf's registration plates - she noted that it was a rental - into her hand-held radio. She grinned at her colleague. There could be a promotion in this.
***
In Gino’s, the man in the long black overcoat checked his watch and lit another cigarette. The ashtray in front of him was overflowing with discarded butts. Almost midday and still no sign of the girl. Was it possible he had missed her? He nodded to the barista, ordered another espresso. He felt that everyone in the piazza was watching him.
He thought about trying to break in, decided against it. He couldn’t afford to make a mistake now. He would wait. She couldn't stay up there all day.
Chapter 105
THEIR EYES MET in the rear vision mirror. “Remember me?” Reuben asked.
“Should I?”
“Not really. You've never seen me before. I don't think you'd even remember my name.”
“Try me.”
Despite himself, Reuben felt a grudging admiration for the man's nerve. He had hoped for a little grovelling, at least.
You don't have the stomach for it.
“Cast your mind back twenty years.”
“This isn't about Massini?”
“Try again.” Angeli drove badly. It was perhaps deliberate, trying to draw the attention of the police; more likely he was unaccustomed to being behind the wheel of a car in Rome. “If we have an accident, I'll shoot you anyway.”
“I'm doing my best. It isn't easy driving in this fucking city even when you haven't got a gun pointed at your back. Do you want to tell me your name?”
“Reuben Altman.”
“I've never heard of you.”
“You knew my wife. And you know my daughter very well. By the way, what did you do to my wife, Colonel?”
“I wish I knew what you were talking about.”
Reuben tried to relax. His hands were shaking so badly it was hard to hold the gun.
You don't look much like the fist of god to me.
“Just drive the car.”
***
Riccardo didn’t like the look of the man in the overcoat. He’d drunk enough coffee to wake a dead man. If he ate any more croissants he’d give himself a heart attack. Another stranger, just like the one they had been in there a few days ago. That one had turned out to be a friend, or so Simone had said. But this one just sat there by the window, fidgeting.
He didn’t take his eyes off him. He decided to call Gino.
***
Reuben told Angeli to park on the Lungotevere dei Sangallo. They got out and he pointed the way down the stone steps to the walkway by the river. There were no fishermen today, and the roar of the traffic was muted by the high floodwalls.
Reuben had a black frock coat around his shoulders, the gun loose at his side. Angeli walked a few paces ahead of him, his hands in his pockets as if he didn't have a care in the world, a businessman out for a stroll. A freezing drizzle began to fall from a lowering sky.
“Stop there.”
Angeli looked down at his shoes. “Look at this. Mud all over them. They’re ruined.”
“Turn around.”
“What is it you want? You want to kill me? All right. Kill me. If not, I want to get out of this fucking rain.”
“First I want you to tell me what happened to my wife.”
“I don't know who you think I am, but I really have no idea what you're talking about.” He smiled. “By the way I take it you're not a priest?”
“I think you do know what I'm talking about. I'm talking about Simone, my daughter.”
Angeli blinked.
It all seemed like such a long time ago now.
***
They stripped her, doused her with water and tied her, spreadeagled, to a metal table. Beside the table was a heart monitor with defibrillator paddles and a picana, an electric cattle prod. Turturro waited to one side with a white-coated doctor.
Angeli wrinkled his nose in distaste. There were splashes of blood on the bare brick, the air was tainted with the odours of burning and sweat and excrement.
He nodded and Turturro picked up the picana.
When you tortured someone with electricity they didn't moan or scream, they howled. When he had heard enough he nodded to Turturro, a signal to step back. He looked disappointed to be called off so soon. Gabriella's body still jolted and shook on metal frame, all her muscles in spasm.
The doctor stepped in quickly to pull her tongue out of her mouth to prevent her from choking, put a piece of rubber between her teeth to stop her biting her tongue.
And then they started again: Where is Reuben?
***
“All right,” Angeli said. “Okay, I was in the military. But I was a soldier, not a murderer. My wife and I ... we wanted children, we couldn't have them. So, a friend of mine, said to me ... well, you know what happened in those days. We've given her everything she ever wanted, loved her like she was our own. Is that what this is all about? Because I’ve done nothing wrong. My conscience is clear, Reuben. Is that your name, Reuben?”
He felt his resolve slipping away. What if he was wrong? What if he killed the wrong man?
I shall pray for you, Reuben. I shall pray for God to take away your strength.
Angeli turned up his collar against the rain. “Can we go somewhere and have a cup of coffee, talk about this? My health is not so good. If I get a chill, I'll be in bed for weeks.”
***
Turturro was the sadist. I was only doing my duty. I tried to help her.
“Look Gabriella, the only obligation you have is to survive. That bastard is probably out of the country by now. He’d never come back for you. You know that, don't you? You don't owe him anything. Just tell us where he is hiding and I'll make them stop this. Help me and I’ll help you.”
***
“You're lying,” Reuben said.
“If you thought that, you would have killed me by now.”
Domingo was right. He didn't have the stomach for it.
Chapter 106
DIANA GOT OUT of the taxi, checked the address she had written on the slip of paper. She looked up; a Renaissance façade, crumbling ochre stucco and green shutters. There was a small entrance courtyard, a glass entry door with a brass back plate beside it, a twentieth century contrivance built into a medieval arch. She paid the driver and stood there, gathering her composure. Her heart was beating so fast she felt light-headed.
***
Simone was watching the piazza from the window above. She jumped to her feet when she saw the taxi pull up outside. A young woman climbed out of the back seat and for a moment she froze. It was as if she had stepped out of her body and was staring at herself. She ran to the door, threw it open and rushed down the stairs, three at a time, laughing and crying at once.
***
The man in the overcoat leaped to his feet, spilling coffee on the tiles. He strode out of the door, reaching inside his jacket for the pistol.
As the taxi drove away his target stood there on the cobblestones, staring up at the apartment building, hitching a carpetbag over her shoulder. Her long black hair was tied in a pony tail. She was wearing blue jeans and a shapeless black jumper.
He brought up the pistol and aimed it at her head.
She just stared at him. Her mouth formed a perfect “O' of surprise. It was then he heard a scream. A young woman ran out of the apartment, her arms outstretched. She had long black hair tied in a pony tail. She was
wearing blue jeans and a shapeless black jumper.
Both women were identical to the photograph.
He did something he had never done in his long career as a professional. He hesitated.
It was enough time for one of the women to rush at him, her hands clawing for the pistol. He slapped her hard with his free hand and she fell backwards onto the cobblestones. By then the other girl was on him too, her fingernails raking his face. He heard people screaming around the piazza. The pistol jumped twice in his hand.
He jumped back, shaken. This had never happened to him before. He could not understand what had gone wrong. He brought up the pistol again, deciding now to kill both women.
One of them already lay bleeding on the cobblestones. As he aimed the pistol at her head the first woman rushed him again, spoiling his aim and pushing him off balance. He tried to pistol whip her, did not see the barista from the bar rush at him with a scalding pot of milk from his cappuccino machine. He screamed as he dashed the contents in his face.
The woman sank her teeth into his pistol hand. He staggered away, his hands over his face, half-blinded by the scalding milk. Emboldened now, other bystanders rushed at him, beating him with their fists and feet. Even an old matron, carrying vegetables from the market, aimed a kick at him.
The young man from the bar went berserk. If a carabinieri had not pulled him away he might have beaten him to death with his bare fists.
***
The rain was falling heavier now.
Angeli blinked again, licking his lips. “I'm getting cold. Are you going to shoot me or do you want me to die of pneumonia?”
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