Forgive No More

by Seb Kirby

  “That’s why you brought me here?”

  “Yes, I wanted to remind you of the beauty of this place. I wanted you to experience that beauty while I told you what you have to know. So you might be able to bear it and, perhaps, help myself to be blessed with some of that redemption.”

  “Then help me understand what lies behind the evil that took root in Alfieri Lando.”

  She upturned her hands in a gesture of resignation.

  “I have been there, Signor Blake. Like you are now. Seeking to answer the same question. There was a time when I was strong enough to dare to ask, but those days are gone from me.”

  She reached into her bag and pulled out a business card. She handed it to me. “Back when I still had the strength to search, my path led me to this man. Go to see him. Ask your questions of him.”

  I took the card.

  Professor Niccolo Ferrara, Professor of Comparative Religion, University of Padova.

  I thanked her and said my farewells. She’d made it clear I should not try to contact her again.

  As I walked back towards the vaporetto station, I couldn’t help thinking I would indeed see her again.

  Chapter 36

  It didn’t take long for Luiz Reyas to find the key fact that would make or break Miles’ investigation of the Town Lake bombing.

  They met in Miles’ hotel room.

  Luiz was keen to tell what he’d discovered. “Senor, I have found someone who overheard El Romero talking about Town Lake.”

  Miles was questioning. “Why wasn’t he being more careful?”

  “It was the maid. She was cleaning the room. He was on the phone.”

  “And?”

  “She heard El Romero complaining that the explosive used for the bomb came from Mexico.”

  “From the Soto cartel?”

  “No, Senior. From a rival. From Johnny Rivenza in Juarez.”

  “Why would Rivenza do that?”

  “Because he has no sense, like so many here.”

  Miles was aware how Rivenza was seeking to move in on El Romero’s patch. “Things are bad between the two men?”

  “Yes, Senor. It’s the biggest cause of death in this town. El Romero claims the drugs trade as his own, given to him by the council that oversees the cartels. Rivenza says he does not care about that. He is going to move in and take over. Too many men have died as a result.”

  “Except, the FBI doesn’t think the bomb came from Mexico.”

  “From what you told me, Senor, you know that cannot be true.”

  Miles agreed. “So, the explosive came from Juarez. But the only way this could help is if we have solid proof.”

  “It’s not so simple, Senor. Rivenza is as ruthless as El Romero. His operation is locked down tight.”

  “Before we go any further, Luiz, there is more you should know about the risk to both of us.”

  “Yes, Senor?”

  Miles could see so much of the father in this young man. He didn’t want to find such a young life lost in pursuit of the same goal. “What do you know about Craven, Nate Craven?”

  “He is FBI. He is one of those involved in the fight against drugs from the US side.”

  “You don’t collaborate?”

  Luiz shook his head. “That stopped a long time ago when the Americans got to know how many here in the FDM are in the pay of the cartels.”

  “Then you won’t know about what he does for El Romero?”

  “It is suspected, Senor, that El Romero has protection from someone inside the FBI but he keeps that secret, even from those closest to him. You are saying Craven is the one?”

  Miles nodded. “That’s what your father discovered. It’s what got him killed. Craven runs black ops. He protects the El Romero shipments to the US and the Lando shipments to Europe. And he makes himself rich.”

  “The man has much power.”

  “Yet he has a fatal weakness that we will exploit. If we succeed we will bring him down.”

  “And if Craven falls, the Landos fall with him?”

  “And we achieve our common cause.”

  Miles paused. He knew if they were to succeed, Luiz Reyas would have to know about Debbie Miller. That multiplied the risk. Miles had to be sure his judgment of both of them was correct and both would accept the other. “Luiz, there’s someone else I want you to meet.”

  “Now?”

  “She’s here in the hotel.”

  When Debbie Miller came in a few minutes after Miles’ call, she eyed Luiz Reyas with caution before addressing Miles. “You didn’t say there would be anyone else here.”

  He smiled. “This needed to be face to face.”

  She listened in silence as Miles told her about Luiz Reyas, the mission he had inherited from his father and his undercover role in the El Romero cartel. The sight of Luiz’s FDM shield helped to convince her.

  When Miles told Luiz that Debbie Miller was part of the Craven team at the FBI, Luiz was unable to hide his agitation.

  When Debbie Miller offered to shake hands, Luiz did not offer his hand back.

  Miles turned to face Luiz. “I understand. How do you know I haven’t been taken in by the FBI?”

  “You are sure, Senor?”

  Miles looked at Debbie Miller, waiting for an answer. When she spoke her words carried conviction. She turned to look at Miles. “This man has put his trust in me.” Then she turned to Luiz. “If you trust him, put your trust in me. It’s the only way we will succeed.”

  Miles agreed. “You have my word, Luiz. What she says is true.”

  The Mexican showed nothing more than resigned acceptance. “If you say, Senor.”

  Debbie Miller offered her hand again and Luiz shook it. “To our common cause, Senora.”

  It was a moment of understanding that Miles wanted to build on. “We need to plan how we’ll work together.”

  He explained what Luiz had discovered about the origin of the Town Lake explosive. “Debbie, we need to get a sample of the explosive from Johnny Rivenza, tie the signature of the plastic he supplied to the analysis of what was recovered at Town Lake.”

  She could see where this was leading. “You’re not planning to go out there?”

  Miles nodded. “I suggest we leave for Juarez first thing in the morning.”

  “That place makes Tijuana look safe.”

  “We’ll take our chance.” He paused. “You stay here.”

  “You’re not trying to protect me?”

  “It’s just going to be better this way. But there is one thing we need to get clear and it does involve you.”

  “Which is?”

  “When we get back you need to tell the Agency that the explosive came from El Romero.”

  “That would be a lie.”

  “A small lie to out a bigger lie.”

  Chapter 37

  Before Inspector Manieri agreed to arrange the meeting with Zella DeFrancesco in Venice, he gave me a mobile phone.

  “You must carry this with you.”

  I was in no position to refuse. “So you can track me?”

  “For your safety. And to make sure you do nothing to disable the phone you must call my number every four hours. There will be someone here to check. If you do not phone in, I will issue the order to act on the request from England and from the FBI for your capture. Do you understand?”

  I took the phone and agreed to the conditions.

  Traveling by train from Venice to Padova to meet Niccolo Ferrara, I checked the time and saw that another call to the Questura in Florence was required. I was hoping Manieri picked up rather than one of his assistants.

  I dialed the number.

  It was Manieri. “Signor Blake, it is good you have checked in. I trust the meeting was satisfactory?”

  “Thank you, Inspector. The arrangements worked well,” I lied. “She sends her best wishes.”

  “She was of help to you?”

  “She answered as best she could. But I have to say she is a disillusioned w
oman.”

  I wanted to move on with the conversation. There was an important question I needed to ask him now I’d spoken with Zella DeFrancesco. “Tell me, Inspector, how many twins have gone missing in Florence in the past ten years?”

  He sounded surprised. “This came out of your meeting with DeFrancesco?”

  I could see no reason not to let him know. “It was something we talked about. Do you have an answer?”

  “The simple fact, Signor Blake, is we do not keep records of such cases. There are many disappearances. Most are quite understandable. Women leaving their husbands. Children escaping from abusing parents. Not all are suspicious.”

  “But you could find out?”

  “Male and female twins?”

  “No, just female.”

  “If it will help you, I will investigate and let you know when next you call.”

  I thanked him and ended the call.

  When the train arrived in Padova, I called the number for Professor Niccolo Ferrara, as shown on the card given me by Zella DeFrancesco in Venice.

  After a long wait, a secretary answered the phone. “Professor Ferrara is not available. He is lecturing.”

  “When does the lecture finish?”

  “At five. But I can give you no guarantee he will see you then. His diary has been full all week.”

  Before she had time to deter me, I told her I’d take my chance in seeing him. I ended the call.

  The train was due to arrive at 4.45. There was just time to taxi to the university and head off Professor Ferrara as he came out of the lecture theatre. In the event, the lecture overran. I waited outside until he finished and the students began to file out. I ventured inside. With steep, tiered seats sufficient to hold three hundred, the place reminded me of my own time as a student of physics back in the UK. Except here in Padova, the university had history on its side since the Physics Chair could claim descent from Galileo.

  Ferrara had stayed behind to answer earnest questions from one of the students. When he saw me approaching, he used this as an excuse to bring the session with the student to a close.

  As the student left, he addressed me. “Signor, what do you want with me?”

  I introduced myself as James Blake. It felt good to use my real name. “I hope you can find time to give me some advice.”

  He took a step back. “It is out of the question. It is Friday. The end of a long week. I am leaving in fifteen minutes for the weekend. You may come back on Monday.”

  “I don’t have time for that, Professor. What I need to talk to you about is urgent.”

  “What could it be that you could ask a professor of comparative religion that cannot wait, Signor Blake?”

  I was unsure where to start. “Do you recall a Signora DeFrancesco who came to see you sometime ago?”

  His manner changed. “Come this way.”

  He walked me along the corridor leading away from the lecture theatre and showed me into his office.

  As his secretary saw me she tried to apologize for not protecting Ferrara from me. He reassured her. “It is OK, Gisselda. I am pleased to talk with Signor Blake.”

  He told me we did not have long. He was scheduled to drive to Puglia this evening and that could not be changed. He was expected there. If I was prepared to travel with him to Ostuni, he would answer my questions during the journey.

  I had just one question. “When do we leave, Professor?”

  “Right now. And please stop calling me Professor. My name is Nico.”

  Chapter 38

  Finding Debbie Miller wasn’t difficult. Agent Dillon Ashley knew who to bribe in Tijuana. The name of her hotel was with him in less than the time it took to shower and dress after the flight from Washington and the drive down from San Diego.

  Ashley bided his time. He wanted to know if Miller had met the Blake target here, as Nate Craven supposed.

  He saw them together for the first time in the lobby of the hotel. Miles Blake was with a young Mexican. Both were talking with Miller. They were saying farewell, saying they were going on a trip and they hoped to be back by the next day. She was wishing them well.

  What to do? Ashley’s first thought was to wait until the men had left, then follow Miller back to her hotel room and confront her with the fact that the Agency now knew she was here. But that wasn’t what Craven wanted. He’d been clear. He wanted to know why Miller was in Tijuana, why she would risk her career to meet the Englishman.

  The correct course of action was to report what he had seen back to Nate Craven. It was up to Craven what happened next.

  Ashley called in on the secure line. “She’s here, Nate. With Miles Blake and an unknown local. You want me to move in on her?”

  Craven was quick to respond. “No, Dillon. Keep her under surveillance until I advise different. I’ll get back to you with more later.”

  When Craven ended the call, Ashley went to the bar in his hotel and ordered a large whisky. Just what was he getting into with Craven? Carrying out surveillance on a fellow agent didn’t feel right, even for all the money Craven was offering. But he could use the cash, there was no doubt about it.

  The warm glow of the whisky began to take hold. Ashley steadied himself. Time enough to sit on the sidelines and see how this would play out.

  Chapter 39

  The bright red Alfa Romeo Giulietta was brand new. To his clear delight, Niccolo Ferrara had collected it from the dealer this very day.

  I had to remind myself I was sitting beside the fifty-year-old academic with the flowing grey hair who was more noted for expounding a treatise on the history of religion than for being a boy racer.

  He could not contain his delight. “It is the top of the range model. 1.7-liter turbocharged engine. 0-100 km in 6.8 seconds. Top speed 240 km/hr. That is 150 in your miles per hour. And I am sure we will able to coax a little more out of it with the Dynamic Driver setting.”

  The way he admired the vehicle was everything you would expect from a youngster opening presents on Christmas morning. The illuminated control panel with its multitude of features that were new to him was a treat to be enjoyed. He enthused at the built-in climate control, sound system and satellite navigation. The smell of newness was like an aphrodisiac to him. Above all, there was no question that the most enjoyable aspect of the Alfa Romeo for the professor was its power to turn heads. And, like all boy racers the world over, the overriding interest was the prospect of speed. It was going to be a breathtaking journey on the Autostrada to Ostuni.

  We’d soon left Padova and were approaching the tollbooth at the start of the Autostrada A14. As we waited in the line of traffic to take the biglietto from the entry machine, Ferrara punched data into the satellite navigation system. “Padova to Bari. It’s 658 km. About 400 miles.” He gave a boyish smile. “It’s going to take about six hours if we obey the speed limit but we should be able to improve on that.”

  Once through the tollbooth area, Ferrara began to deliver on the short journey promise. He treated the outside lane as his own, tailgating any vehicles occupying it at the legal speed limit of 110 km/h, causing them to head for cover in the slower lanes.

  I tried not to sound too much like a nervous passenger as the display showed we had just exceeded 130 km/h. “Professor Ferrara. You’re not worried about the fines?”

  He tapped the small electronic box hidden beneath the dashboard. “Not when I have this. It tells me where the speed cameras are. We will pass them at the legal speed.” He paused. “And, James, did you not hear me? My name is Nico.”

  We fell silent for awhile as the North Italy landscape scudded past at threatening speed.

  When he next spoke, it was clear he’d been sorting through the pressing issues weighing on him and now, with the freeing hand of the journey before him, he’d found the space to take an interest in me. “So, James, what is it you came all this way to ask me? And what has this got to do with Signora DeFrancesco?”

  “She said she’d been to see you. Som
e time ago. And she’d begun to get answers to her questions.”

  “You have the same questions?”

  “Zella told me you would be able to help.”

  “You need tell me more than that, James.”

  I started with what had happened to Julia. I told him about her art conservation work and how she’d been drawn to Florence in search of missing masterpieces. She was a twin and she and her twin sister had been abused by Alfieri Lando. I said we were being threatened now and I needed to know what lay behind the chain of events now visited on us. I ended with a question. “Tell me, Nico, why would Zella DeFrancesco consider it so important I speak with you?”

  He did not reply for some time. He was involved in a difficult lane-change after tailgating a vehicle that could not move to a slower lane occupied by three twelve-wheel delivery lorries. He was swearing in Italian and railing against those who abided by the speed limit.

  When the road ahead began to clear, he made his reply. “I need you to understand, James, I have to be sure I can trust you. Here in Italy, it is not unknown for people to be other than they say they are. I hope you will not be offended.”

  He was testing me. I couldn’t blame him. He knew about me only from what I’d said. I would have wanted more assurance if I were him. Yet I didn’t want to complicate his view of me by letting on I was on the run from the British police and the FBI. I decided to be as open as I could without going too far. “I’m not offended. I understand your reservations. What can I do to prove to you I’m genuine in what I say?”

  He paused as he pushed the Alfa Romeo to greater speed as a clear section of highway opened up and then he continued. “So you don’t mind if I ask questions?”

  “Of course not.”

  “We both know Signora DeFrancesco. You said you met her at the Peggy Guggenheim in Venice. There is a painting in the museum that has a special significance for her.”