by Seb Kirby
Craven arranged to meet Ashley in a favorite bar in downtown Washington. After two rounds of drinks and the expected pleasantries, Craven popped the question.
Ashley didn’t have to think about a reply. “Why, Nate, I thought you’d never get round to asking.”
Chapter 30
I knew I’d made a mistake as soon as I saw them coming up on me from behind at speed as I walked through the East End.
I could have taken a taxi to the Miller and Ploughman and the meeting with Bishop to collect my passport but I’d reasoned it would attract less attention if I came in from Shadwell Underground station and walked along Wapping Wall, the long, narrow street running behind the warehouses that faced onto the Thames.
The first thought – don’t look round. Don’t give whoever was approaching at speed in the SUV the opportunity to see you’re scared. After all, they might just pass by. The second thought – run. If I was quick enough I might be able to reach one of the nearby shops and seek help.
Too late.
They were on me.
Two men. Italian. Heavy. Dark clothes. Determined faces.
The first took me by the shoulders and forced me against the high brick wall flanking the street at this point. The second, the leader, hit me hard in the small of my back with an iron bar, the kind of sickening blow that made me think he’d ruptured my kidney.
The leader knew my name. “Signor Blake. We have you. Don’t resist. Take this like the man you are.”
My face was pressed so close to the wall I had to struggle to make myself heard. “If you’re from Matteo Lando, tell him I won’t stop. I won’t stop until I pay him back for what his family has done to my wife.”
They were laughing. “Matteo would want to know how you intend to do that.”
A second, harder blow landed in the small of my back. I struggled not to retch.
There was a third with them, driving the SUV. It drew up and stopped beside me. I braced myself for the moment they would force me into the rear of the vehicle. My only thought was to make as much noise as possible in the hope that someone nearby would hear. A third blow was aimed at my kidneys. A large hand came across my mouth, preventing my shouting.
It was inevitable I’d be forced into the SUV and it would be then a matter of time before I’d have to face whatever fate Matteo Lando had planned for me.
Another vehicle, a white van, approached at speed. It pulled up alongside the SUV, close enough to prevent it from taking off. Four large Londoners piled out. One brandished a machete. Another carried a baseball bat. The third carried a compact machine gun I recognized as an Uzi. A burst of shots was released, aimed at a point on the brick wall ten feet or so from where I was being held, bringing down shattered fragments onto the pavement.
The three Italians were overpowered with surprising speed. Seeing the Uzi, my attackers appealed for calm, raising their hands above their heads as if this might prevent the onslaught that was to come. This did nothing to deter the Londoners. The driver of the SUV was pulled out and dumped onto the street. Under threat from the Uzi and the machete, the Italians were helpless as repeated blows with the baseball bat piled into their heads and limbs. The more the Italians protested, the more the blows rained in.
Now released, I recognized the ugly Londoner who led the rescue. It was Spinks, one of the Bishop men who’d taken me to the pharmacy to have my head and shoulders photograph taken.
“Mr. Blake, I hope you don’t mind us helping you out like this. Mr. Bishop takes a dim view of anyone who tries to get in the way of him and his customers.”
Julia had described the men who’d come close to killing her in the Allegro Hotel. Two Italians, one tall and in charge, the other smaller and subservient. This, and the failed abduction, told me that two of the three men lying prone on the street were the same men who’d killed Craig at the hotel.
I replied to Spinks. “What are you going to do with them?”
He smiled. “Well, we’ll tie them up tight and leave them here.” He signaled to one of his colleagues who used snap-on plastic cuffs to bind the legs and arms of the Italians. “It’s the punishment of the streets. You see, it’s a rough neighborhood round here. These gentleman look smart enough to me to suggest they could have more than a few prized possessions on them. So I’d say it’s more than possible they might attract the attention of some of the less than dependable types that lurk around here.”
He pulled open Bandini’s coat and pulled out the Uzi that the Italian had been unable to use because of the speed and ferocity of the Londoners’ attack. He placed the weapon across the Italian’s chest. “Very juicy. Just what the less dependable types round here might want for Christmas.”
I had a better idea.
When we arrived at the Miller and Ploughman, I made the excuse that I needed to clean up after the attention I’d received out on the street. Out of sight, I used the mobile phone to call Euston police station to leave a message for Inspector Hendricks. “If you want to arrest those responsible for the killing at the Allegro Hotel, send your men to Wapping Wall right now.”
I was still shaken when I made my way to the pub terrace where Bishop was waiting at his usual table overlooking the Thames.
He greeted me like a friend. “Mr. Blake. Good to see you!”
I tried to thank him. “I owe you.”
He would have none of it. “Just business, Mr. Blake. You see, we do things proper round here. If we make a deal, we see it through. We promised you a passport. You have to be here to collect it, don’t you?”
He handed me the passport. I flicked through the pages. Name – Adrian Gillespie. My head and shoulders. It looked genuine.
He read my mind. “It’s genuine, all right. As genuine as anything you can get from the Passport Office because it is from the Passport Office, if you know what I mean.” He tapped the side of his nose. “You didn’t hear me say that.”
I pocketed the passport, handed him two thou and prepared to leave.
He called me back. “Haven’t we forgotten something?”
I hadn’t paid the full amount. “Keep the watch.”
He smiled. “I was hoping you’d say that.” He pulled back the shirt cuff from his wrist to reveal my Rolex. “Looks good on, don’t you think?”
Spinks and two other Bishop men escorted me back to Shadwell station in the white van. As we traveled along Wapping Wall, I could see my call to Hendricks had been a success. Four armed police were in the process of loading the three Italians we’d left on the street into a waiting police truck.
Spinks smiled as we passed. “Told you there were some less than dependable types on the loose in this part of town.”
When they dropped me I decided to head for the hotel to get some rest ahead of catching the 5.25 AM Eurostar out of St Pancras. Armed with the new passport, I would be in Paris in three hours and in Florence by mid afternoon.
Chapter 31
Now that today’s samanera had gone, Wolfgang Heller knew it was time to return to matters more of the world outside the monastery.
It was still a wonder worth remarking on that with the slim tablet computer, small enough to conceal beneath his clothing, he was connected to the world through the WiFi waves coursing through Lhasa and right here into the monastery. Yes, the world had been transformed. So much more of what he was destined to achieve had been made ever more possible.
He turned on the music player and inserted the ear buds. Richard Wagner’s The Valkyrie, Act 1, the source he needed to return to again and again to set his mind at peace with the perils that awaited in the world outside.
He let the power of this part of the opera wash over him. He tried to underplay his anticipation at the climax of the Act when Siegmund and Sieglinde, twin brother and sister, separated at birth and now reunited, approached the point of realization. Sieglinde telling Siegmund she is his twin sister. Siegmund replying she is his bride and sister. Siegmund drawing the sword that no man has been able to remove fr
om the oak tree.
Heller did not stop the tear that ran down his cheek. This was Wagner’s finest moment. Heller had every right to feel this way.
He looked up at the wall above him where he’d positioned the images of Siegmund and Sieglinde. Here were the children of Wotan, one of the keys to the divine. The sure pulse of the energy running through his body in this center of the universe.
Strange, he thought, that so many had experienced this music, had this moment placed before them, yet failed to understand its significance.
To think he was one of the few who had true knowledge, one of the few who understood that this was the path to immortality. To his own immortality. And that day was fast approaching.
He turned off the music and selected the phone. Time to engage with the wider world. He knew he must return there again if he was to seize the moment.
He dialed. He waited as the digital signal bounced from satellite to satellite around the world. Yes, we are gods now.
Matteo Lando picked up. “You called at a good time.”
“Why good?”
“Because we need your help again.”
Day 3
September 4th
Chapter 32
I spent most of the time on the way to Florence trying not to think of all that had happened in the three years since I’d last made this journey. I knew I should not dwell on the past. The only way to be free for good from the threats to my family was to be clear about what I should do next and not let the memory of those tragic events deter me.
As soon as I stepped off the train into the heat at Florence station I made the decision to present myself at the Questura and demand to be seen by Inspector Manieri. It was not a decision arrived at with ease. If Hendricks or Craven had put out calls for my detention, there was every chance these would have reached Manieri.
I took a taxi to the Questura on Via Zara and walked up the grey stone steps and into the entrance hall where the uniformed sergeant made me wait while he shuffled paperwork on the desk before him. When I asked for Inspector Manieri, he looked at me long and hard before giving a knowing smile and gesturing that I should follow him up the stairs.
Manieri looked up as I was brought in. “Signor Blake. It is always a pleasure but I am sure you will forgive me when I ask, what are you doing here?”
I decided to come straight to the point. “Inspector, I need your help.”
“I see you are wanted for questioning in London.”
“Hendricks?”
He smiled. “Yes, he has been in touch. He wants to talk to you about a murder in a West End hotel. The Allegro, I believe.”
“I need you to trust me.”
“He was insistent that I send you back if, as he suspected, you were found to be in Florence.”
“You trusted me before. Look where that led.”
“Yes, of course, James, we are grateful for your help in apprehending Matteo Lando and for the information you provided to allow the prosecution of the Lando family.”
“So trust me again. Finish the job.”
“Do I detect criticism?”
“No, Inspector, I’m not suggesting that. But the Landos have regrouped. Matteo Lando is as powerful as his father ever was, even though you have him locked up in Sollicciano. They’re behind the cocaine trade out of Mexico now flooding Europe and it’s being channeled through your town.”
He held up his hand. “Wait, James. How can you be sure?”
I told Manieri what Miles had discovered in Albuquerque. The Landos were still in direct contact with the cartel that controlled the drugs traffic out of Tijuana. They had an assassin who was targeting their rivals. A black ops FBI mission was involved that had its sights set on myself and Miles. And Julia was back in danger because the Landos had not forgotten what had happened three years earlier in Florence and had offered a reward of two million for our murder.
He didn’t appear to be shocked. “Those are powerful accusations, James. You will have to prove them. So, why did you not go to the British police? Why not confide in my colleague Inspector Hendricks?”
“Because the way I understand what’s happening to Julia and me is that the British police are as compromised on this as the FBI. There’s no other way of explaining what’s happened to us since we left witness protection in Weymouth.”
“You are not implicating Hendricks?”
“No. I don’t doubt he’s straight. Things aren’t right elsewhere in the British police system. There are forces at work undermining everything.”
“And you are sure the Landos are behind it?”
I nodded. “Sure enough to come here and place myself in your hands.”
He looked interested but not yet convinced. “That still doesn’t tell me why you are here in Florence.”
“I need to talk to Zella DeFrancesco.”
Manieri shook his head. “You should know that is not going to be possible. Like you, she is in witness protection. The highest priority is being given to keeping her location secret. After giving evidence against the Landos, she placed herself at great risk. That situation remains today.”
“I understand. I know what she’s going through. But there’s a reason why she will want to talk to me. Her work in avenging the loss of her husband and children is not complete so long as the Landos are able to continue as they are. Put it to her that I want to talk with her. Let her decide. That’s all I ask.”
Manieri seemed puzzled. “What makes you so sure she’ll want to speak to you?”
“I’d like to tell her myself.”
“Signor Blake. If you are to have a chance of my agreeing with your requests, you need to tell me. Take it or leave it.”
Even if I felt I could trust him, it was likely the Landos still had informers inside the Questura. But he’d left me with no choice. “Inspector, you know the reason Zella DeFrancesco spent ten years of her life infiltrating the Lando operation?”
“Of course. To avenge the deaths of her husband and children at the hands of the Landos and the Rossellinis.”
“Well, Zella may have thought that justice had been done when Alfieri Lando was killed and Matteo was imprisoned for the murder. I’m here to tell her that the evil Alfieri embodied is still with us. And she’s the only one who has the knowledge to bring this to an end. Trust me. Give me three days before reporting I’m here.”
“You’re asking that my office, on behalf of the Italian State, should choose not to respond to a request for assistance from a fellow Interpol member? You’re asking that the same office ignores a request from the FBI, one we’re treaty bound to reply to?”
“If that’s what it takes.”
He stood and looked out the window for a long time before replying. “You have seventy-two hours. Up until then I can claim there has been an administrative delay in replying. But not an hour more.”
Chapter 33
Miles Blake was an expert at hiding in plain sight. His work had taken him to more trouble spots than he cared to remember and what he’d learned in each and every one of them was that to be safe was to be with people, as many people as possible.
Here in Tijuana that meant being in and around La Revo, where, night and day, life passed in an unending confusion of comings and goings allowing no explanation. Tourists, mainly young, came looking for cheap alcohol, drugs and the edgy excitement that came from being close, but not too close, to real danger. Just about every other inhabitant of the city was out and about hustling the tourist dollar, from the men on the cheap roadside food stalls, to the legal prostitutes with their improbable shoes and their nearby protecting pimps, to the callers-in trying to boost the trade of the bars and clubs lining the street. Nothing disturbed the steady flow of commerce, not even the appearance in the street every now and then of the dead body of one of the locals.
A good place to disappear.
He was surprised, then, to find he was being followed and his pursuer was an American woman. She’d made the attempt to dre
ss down and appear to be just another tourist but there was something much too smart about the linen clothes she wore.
He walked past the next alleyway that led off La Revo and waited just long enough for the woman following to begin to cross it. Without warning, he turned, ran towards her and forced her into the alleyway. Not one of the throng around them bothered to depart from the much more urgent business consuming their lives.
She was strong and resisted. She reached for the weapon in the holster beneath her jacket but Miles was able to pin her arms to her side and turn her round to face him.
He recognized her.
He never forgot a face and this served him well as a journalist. He had the ability to visualize not just the person but also the location of the encounter. The image that came placed him back in the Warren Stevenson hotel in Austin. His brother James was seated at the hotel bar beside an attractive woman. As Miles came in with Luiz Reyas at his side, Wolfgang Heller was drawing a weapon and preparing to fire at James. The woman seated with James at the bar was the woman he now held.
He released her. “We’ve met before.”
She was surprised and relieved to be free. She said nothing and reached for the weapon beneath her jacket.
Miles stood back. “No need for that. We need to talk. Beginning with why you were with James in Austin.”
She let her arms drop to her sides again. “OK, you made me, Miles. Agent Miller, FBI.”
“You know who I am?”
“You’re the reason why I’m here.”
“And why’s that?”
“You said we need to talk. Let’s talk.”
They went to Miles’ hotel, a short walk away on Avenida L’Ascencione, looking for all the world like one of the American tourist couples who stayed in this more respectable part of town. In plain sight, over drinks in the bar of the Anglia Hotels they talked.
Miles began. “Give me a good reason why I should be talking to the FBI after all you’ve done to myself and my brother.”
