Dante's Key

by G. L. Baron

  44

  Milan, January 3rd. 9:16 p.m.

  Julia heard the unmistakable noise of a machine gun from Via Caradosso, behind the basilica.

  She lowered the gear of her Honda Hornet, already going at full speed, and shot around Bramante’s Tribune. She turned onto Corso Magenta going against the traffic but, after a few metres, was forced to move across to the right to avoid a tram that was coming towards her. She changed gear again firmly and slipped between the barriers that divided the paved road from the pavement. She continued, accelerating along the wall of the basilica.

  ‘The subject has just stopped at a hotel in the station area in central Milan,’ Aurore Bousquet had whispered on the phone. ‘He had the phone on all the time. I’m just sending you the address.’

  Shortly afterwards, she had got on her bike and left for Italy. She had driven all night without stopping to be there that morning, but judging by the shots she had just heard, she had not arrived in time.

  When the Honda came out next to the basilica, Julia was certain.

  Cassini was seated in the back seat of a BMW X3, parked in the churchyard, opposite the exit of the Last Supper. Two men were settled beside him, one on either side. As soon as the doors were closed, the car set off with a squeal of tyres. It made a U-turn and a half, slipping between the concrete barriers, and disappearing up Fratelli Ruffini.

  She wasted no time; she lowered the visor of her helmet and set off in pursuit. ‘Cassini. He is the only one left now. Find him and bring him here. Alive.’

  Al Husayn’s orders were all too clear.

  Alive.

  She was not sure it would be that easy.

  45

  Milan, January 3rd . 9:16 p.m.

  The BMW X3 jumped on the tracks of Via Toti and turned right, toward Corso Vercelli, passing under the dense web of electric tram cables.

  Hide Tanaka sat in the passenger seat and turned towards the rear. With his left knee on the backrest and his elbow on the headrest, he was silently observing the fruit of all of his hard work: Manuel Cassini, sitting between his two thugs, looking grim.

  The professor had his head down and rubbed his hands nervously, one over another. His escape from Tanaka had lasted just over a day, and in the end the Japanese with the voice of Gandalf had won.

  ‘Glad to meet you again,’ grunted Tanaka with his usual guttural tone. ‘You made life a bit harder than we expected.’

  Cassini looked up but said nothing, merely staring at the cloudy sky through the windshield. The car stopped at a red light.

  ‘Forgive the outburst, Professor Cassini, but you are the living symbol of changing times.’ Tanaka paused and then pointed the way to the driver: ‘Via Sardegna. Over there.’

  The traffic lights turned green and the car drove past a large building under renovation and another resembling a church; on the roof there was a sign saying NATIONAL THEATRE.

  ‘Once, when spies were acting under the auspices of a national flag, it was easy to tell who your enemy was,’ continued Tanaka. ‘Since nations have ceased to make war, we have to work for corporations instead, contending trade secrets and patents. The company that feeds you today could become your target tomorrow.’

  Cassini was silent. A whirlwind of thoughts had filled his mind. He wondered who the men were and where they were taking him. But the big question was always the same: why?

  ‘Professor, I’ll be brief; you own a prototype which belongs to our clients.’ The car lurched and Tanaka, without his seat belt, was forced to cling to the door handle. ‘Tell us where it is and we will let you go immediately. See that sidewalk?’

  Cassini, almost by a conditioned reflex, observed the exact spot by the roadside indicated by the Japanese; it was between a petrol station and a row of bare trees.

  ‘If you give me the prototype, within a few minutes you will be free to walk on that pavement,’ he whispered again. ‘If you don’t do it immediately, however, I fear that the day will be a bit more complicated. For everyone. We know that it’s not in your hotel or in the Mini you hired, because we’ve taken the liberty of looking for it before coming to disturb you…’

  ‘I don’t know why you have kidnapped me. But I’m afraid you have the wrong person…’ Cassini understood perfectly well the Japanese’s words and knew these men were after the OCST. He had imagined that such devices would be very desirable on the market… If he was right, however, these men would not have any scruples; many had already died because of those small microchips. There was only one problem: he had no idea where they were.

  ‘Professor, do not take us for fools. You know perfectly well what we’re talking about! You don’t want to keep them all to yourself, do you?’ Tanaka delved. ‘You know what happens to those who abuse them? They go crazy… Try asking your friend the Monsignor.’

  Cassini shook his head. If he told the truth, that he had no idea where the OCST were, these men would certainly eliminate him. He had to buy time. But how?

  Meanwhile the car had reached a junction with a busier road; two rows of trees divided it into three lanes. Just as the BMW went into Viale Misurata, the driver whispered something to Tanaka, who stiffened. A trickle of sweat dripped down his cheek. He shifted and then tapped his bony finger on the rear view mirror. Finally, turning to Rafael – the black man sitting next to Cassini – he muttered, ‘We’ve got company.’

  46

  Dubai, January 3rd. At the same time

  ‘Your friends did not keep to the agreement!’ Prince Ibrahim was sitting at a table in the Armani Lounge, on the thirty-seventh floor of the Burj Khalifa. He was enjoying the sunny views of the gulf from the mirrored windows overlooking the fountain.

  ‘What happened was an unfortunate accident,’ Edward justified, wearing the usual baseball cap, white shirt and yellow tennis shoes. ‘There was a small problem: an armed encounter. Practice proved to be more complex than the theory. I apologize for your loss…’

  ‘It should have been a detail. Just a fucking detail!’ snapped the Prince. Although he was very angry, he knew that, paradoxically, the death of Meredith could give his plans sudden acceleration. His father considered him an idiot, but he had his days numbered; without his “favourite wife”, maybe he would pass away to a better life a little faster. ‘That damned device was just supposed to be a detail! You assured me that once it was recovered, your friends would focus on my problem. I’m tired of waiting.’

  ‘And they will. Soon they will devote themselves to what matters to you, Prince.’ Edward chewed a rigatoni amatriciana, and went on. ‘But, first, I want what you promised my clients… Anyway, there is a signed contract for the sale of rights.’

  ‘I am the CEO of the company… I don’t see the problem,’ lied the Prince, not revealing the veto formality his father had reserved on his corporate decisions.

  ‘The problem is your beloved parent… and especially that the object was not where it should have been.’

  Ibrahim turned to the bar; the red leather chairs were all empty because the entire restaurant had been reserved just for the two of them. The bodyguard present nodded and left quietly. The two remained completely alone. ‘They’re professionals. I don’t think it will be too difficult to recover. I have fulfilled my part of the contract… every single point. The rest is on you.’ The prince paused, uncertain whether to continue. ‘And I repeat for the last time, it should have been a trivial thing.’

  ‘Our friends would like some reassurance,’ insisted the Australian, who was in the difficult position of having to mediate between the position of Qualcon Services and that of the Prince.

  Ibrahim dropped into his chair and took the glass of Barolo, a Collina Rionda reserve, to his lips. He did not like Italian wine but his host had insisted that he taste it. ‘I’m certainly not the one who should reassure you! You know what I want… and it has nothing to do with my father’s toys.’

  Edward peered over the window. Beneath him, the cars were driving hectically on motorwa
ys and over flyovers that seemed like an anthill. ‘And you’ll get it… don’t worry. The agreement is clear for both of us. The toy, as you say, is just the appetizer.’

  Ibrahim shook his head, unconvinced. Edward’s friends were proving far below his expectations, but at that time he had no alternative. ‘Anyway, given your incapability, I could soon have some important news.’

  47

  Milan, January 3rd. 9:19 p.m.

  Julia had stayed away from the car until she had decided what to do.

  She had two options: wait for the Japanese to take Cassini somewhere and take action later, or try to free him immediately, perhaps taking advantage of the surprise effect.

  As she drove the Honda Hornet on the streets of Milan, with her gaze pointed at the BMW, she had only one thought in mind: Meredith. The Queen had been kidnapped in Paris shortly after spending the night with Cassini. The Japanese believed that he was wearing the device, but he was wrong. She, in an attempt to free the Queen, had intervened in a blitz at La Défense. But she had failed; there had been a shooting and the wife of the Sheikh had been hit. She could not repeat the same mistake.

  She had no choice; her mission was too important and Allah was with her.

  She decided suddenly – as in a fit of anger – that she had to act now.

  She unzipped her leather jacket and pulled out the Glock 9x21. She sped up and drove nearer the BMW.

  *

  ‘Turn right,’ Tanaka ordered the driver.

  The traffic light that opened onto Via Savona had just turned red, but the BMW, instead of slowing down, suddenly accelerated.

  Brakes screeched, followed immediately after by the sound of metal twisting. An alarm began to ring.

  ‘She’s still behind us,’ grunted Tanaka. ‘She’s getting closer.’

  One of the two men beside Cassini rolled down the window and extracted a big revolver from his jacket. Without aiming, he pointed the gun at the bike and fired three times. Missed.

  ‘Lose her!’ ordered the Japanese. Then he drew his weapon.

  The car jerked to the right to dodge a blue van. When he got back in the right direction, the driver found a scooter in front of him, moving slowly.

  He tried to avoid it with yet another risky manoeuvre but the road was too narrow; the scooter was hit and the motorcyclist’s body flew several metres away.

  ‘Strike!’ muttered the driver between his teeth as he climbed through the gears.

  Suddenly, the rear windshield was shattered. Fragments of glass flooded the interior and struck Cassini in the face. The man to the right of the professor slumped with his head on the passenger seat.

  Tanaka realized that the Honda had opened fire. He pointed his PPK towards the rear window but did not have time to shoot. In that instant, the second guard on Cassini’s left was hit, though just grazed.

  At the same time one of the tyres of the BMW exploded, possibly damaged by the collision with the scooter. There was a deafening crash and the car skidded.

  The driver tried to keep control, spun around, but the SUV swerved suddenly to the right. It collided with a row of bins and continued on like a loose cannon at full speed.

  There was a junction just ahead of the BMW, and in front, a flowerbed covered with grass that rose over the flyover, Don Lorenzo Milani. If the car could not veer to one side or the other, the road would become a launching pad.

  And so it was. It continued at full speed along the flyover like a surfboard at the mercy of the currents, and after a short run it soared. It twisted over in the air and then landed with the four wheels pointing towards the sky, on the other side of the bridge.

  Tanaka was thrown out the window.

  Ten seconds later Julia reached the BMW in Via Brunelleschi. It looked like a giant turtle on its back, and occupied the entire lane.

  There was a smell of burning and diesel. Smoke was everywhere.

  On the Honda, she approached the car remains, and was able to identify the bloody body of the driver.

  ‘Help me!’ cried a voice. It came from the back seat. It was Cassini.

  ‘Are you all right?’ inquired Julia raising her helmet visor. More than a question, it was a hope.

  The woman got off the bike and tried to open the door. She forced it, to no avail. On that side was the body of one of the guards. She aimed and fired shattering the glass. ‘Can you make it?’ she inquired again.

  ‘Get me out!’ was the answer.

  Julia reached in and helped him out.

  ‘Stop,’ ordered the driver’s voice. A weapon gleamed from inside the car. He did not have time to pull the trigger because the woman shot him first. One shot to the head. On target.

  ‘Who are you?’ asked the professor. A trickle of blood dripped from his forehead, but otherwise he seemed unharmed.

  ‘Your only hope for survival.’

  *

  A few metres away, Tanaka struggled to his feet. He saw them leave on the bike; the woman driving and the professor behind, clinging like a drowning man to a buoy.

  He spread his legs, pointed his Walther and fired. From there he could not miss.

  48

  Milan, January 3rd. 9:25 a.m.

  A man was still on the bridge, next to his Porsche Cayenne with the door open. He was incredulous; a tyre rim had just fallen from the sky right onto his custom-built car.

  He stopped suddenly and was hit by other cars in turn, creating a huge traffic jam. He then got out and stood motionless, wearing only a blue shirt open to the chest and a gold necklace one-centimetre thick.

  He took off his sunglasses and stared at the overturned BMW under the bridge. Then he looked disconsolately at the body of his Porsche. The engine was still running, a sign that the wheel had not damaged it. But the bonnet had collapsed, a large hollow in the middle.

  Suddenly, among the cacophony of car horns and sirens that had been unleashed behind him, he heard a thud – a gunshot – followed by another.

  He did not understand immediately where they had come from, until he saw – about ten metres away – a little man dressed in black. He was splattered with blood and was holding a glistening gun with both hands.

  Tanaka was sure he had hit her. Yet the Honda had continued speeding on the overpass, heading towards the flyover.

  He staggered up the ramp and, wiping the blood dripping from his forehead with his arm, he aimed again, but the bike was too far away.

  He looked around, bewildered, searching for an alternative. He found one a few steps away from him and limped toward the Cayenne.

  Julia reared and immediately touched her calf; fortunately the bullet had struck only superficially. Cassini, in the meantime, was clinging with all his strength to her back.

  The bike moved to the left and at that point the road began to descend. Ahead of them ran the mirrored windows of some buildings, and on the left, the green and semi-rusty outline of the Richard Ginori bridge.

  Cassini squeezed him arms around her even tighter when the Honda invaded the opposite lane and proceeded against traffic crossing a large square. Reaching the junction at the bottom, the bike turned one hundred and eighty degrees and headed for the Navigli.

  *

  Tanaka, meanwhile, had reached the Porsche Cayenne. The owner was back in the car and had locked himself in after seeing the bleeding man walking towards him.

  Reaching the door, the Japanese fired against the window, shattering it.

  ‘Hey!’ the guy snapped at Tanaka.

  The Japanese was quite unruffled; he aimed the gun to his head and ordered him ‘Move. I’m driving.’

  The man’s courage faded instantly. He moved onto the passenger’s seat and as soon as he sat down, his Porsche drove off in a squeal of tyres.

  *

  The Honda Hornet jumped over the tram tracks and accelerated again. At that point in Via Lodovico il Moro there was no traffic. To their left, just below the street level, the placid waters of the Naviglio Grande flowed.

 
Julia proceeded at high speed for several hundred metres, and then saw the silver Porsche Cayenne behind them. The Japanese had managed, somehow, to find a replacement car…

  She overtook a white boat sailing on the canal and came to the crossing with Ripa di Porta Ticinese. There, Julia had a flash of inspiration. The road split, one lane went down, the other went up towards a bridge. She chose to go up.

  After crossing the canal, she turned as if to go back and got onto a small road with a single lane that ran alongside the canal. Soon after, she got onto a small ramp leading down to the water level.

  ‘Hold on,’ she shouted to Cassini, grinding her teeth. Then she suddenly accelerated. The engine roared and suddenly the front wheel came off the road surface.

  Hold on? She had driven like a maniac up until then; how bad could it get?

  He understood when the Honda jumped towards the canal and took off.

  The professor began to scream until the Hornet touched the bridge of the boat they had crossed a few moments earlier. The rear wheel skidded and the front one came down to rest on the rough surface of the vessel.

  The professor was thrown from the saddle and rolled between the plastic seats of the upper deck. Julia had a worse fate; she slid on her back for a few metres and hit the mooring cleats with her helmet.

  The bike fell on itself, slid to one side, and concluded its run in the canal, on the opposite side from which it had come.

  ‘Are you okay?’ she asked, getting back on her feet.

  The professor was motionless, his temple bleeding. Sitting on the floor, he looked, astonished, at the bank they had just come from.

  Meanwhile, the Porsche Cayenne stopped exactly where the Honda had taken the leap. Tanaka got out of the car cursing. They were too far away to shoot…

  *

  Five minutes later, just before the boat arrived at the dock of the waterway, Julia turned to Cassini, ‘Can you swim?’