Authors: Luca Pesaro
The Capo finally nodded, picking up a pair of small reading glasses. He leaned forward, studying something on his monitor. After a while he smiled and straightened, then took the long way around his desk, coming to stand a few steps in front of Walker. ‘Interpol has put out a search for you, Mr Scott Walker. You’re wanted in London, they say.’
Walker nodded, slowly, making sure not to startle Salvo.
‘What did you do?’
‘Someone is trying to frame me for murder.’
The Capo’s smile widened. ‘Of course. We’re all innocent here, ain’t we, boys?’ He gestured to the men behind him and Salvo laughed, the gun dropping away from the back of Walker’s neck.
‘What else is involved, Scott? Drugs – a woman maybe?’
Walker breathed out, feeling dizzy. ‘No. I… the victim was my best friend. I would never have hurt him.’
‘Of course. And I think I believe you, a little.’ The Capo slipped back around his desk, sat down and shuffled a couple of files. ‘So, since you’re also a banker, apparently… How much can you afford to pay?’
Into the Mountains
Walker staggered into the bus station and a relieved-looking Luigi rushed to embrace him, steering him towards the small Fiat parked a few yards away.
‘Thank God, I was so worried…’
Walker shook his head and lit a cigarette, his hands still unsteady. ‘That was… unpleasant,’ he croaked.
‘What happened?’
‘Forget it. And tell your brother to steer clear of those guys. But… they’ll get me the passport.’
Luigi let it drop and jumped behind the wheel, starting the engine and almost crashing into an approaching bus. More near misses followed, not helping Walker’s mood, but somehow they made it to Sassari and rushed up the old council block to find Layla sitting in the waiting room, chatting in Spanish to the doctor who had apparently spent a few years in Argentina, hence his divorce. Layla looked tired and her face was pale, but her eyes had regained a bit of sparkle. Both she and the doctor stood up when Walker and Luigi entered, and the doctor smiled happily.
‘We’re done!’ he said in English, then handed Layla a brown bag and continued in Italian to Walker. ‘I’ve given her a painkilling shot and a strong antibiotic. Now it’s injections for five days, and lots of rest. The infection is ongoing and she needs her strength to fight it off.’
Walker paid and thanked him. He discovered his voice had returned to a steady tone, and asked, ‘Anything to keep an eye on?’
‘If the wound turns a darker shade of red or she still has a temperature in two days, call me.’ The surgeon produced a crumpled business card and left them, returning to his surgery.
Layla studied the pair of them, clearly noticing how edgy they were. ‘All good?’
Walker nodded. ‘You’re cleared. I just had an interesting couple of hours, that’s all. You ready to go?’
‘I guess. So what did you do that was so interesting? And did you get everything?’
‘Yes. But I’ll tell you in the car – we still have a long trip, and I’d be happier if you were still under the effect of the painkillers.’
‘Me too, especially if you plan on driving like most Italians.’
After saying good-bye to Luigi, Walker took the rented little Fiat from the outskirts of Sassari onto the ring road around town, and south to the mountainous heart of Sardinia. Traffic thinned out and soon they were alone on cracked tarmac. Layla glanced behind as he was driving, checking out the large cardboard box in the back of the car.
‘What’s that?’ she asked.
‘A small printer/scanner, a netbook for you and my new laptop, a top-of-the-range Sony monster.’
‘For DeepShare?’
‘Yes. While you get better, I’ll use it to see if there’s anything we can do to sort this mess out.’
‘And then?’
‘In a few days you should be able to go, I guess,’ Walker glanced at her. ‘You’re a free woman with a plan, remember?’
‘What about you?’
He didn’t have the faintest idea. He exhaled, struggling to sound a lot more in control than he felt. ‘It depends on what DeepOmega finds. There’s a guy I’m trying to bring in to help, but it’s going to take a while, I think. He’s an old acquaintance, and if I can convince him… let’s just say he could bring along some serious firepower.’
‘Firepower, like guns?’
‘Money. He controls mountains of it.’
‘Oh, God. Another banker?’
Walker grinned. ‘Worse. Hedge-fund manager, a particularly greedy one.’
‘Nice.’ Layla sipped some water and stared out of the window. The terrain was changing from coastal shrub to low rolling hills, a few cloud-topped mountains barely visible on the horizon. ‘Where are we going?’
‘Sadali.’
‘What’s that?’
‘A place I’ve always wanted to visit. My great-grandmother came from there, and my mom used to tell me stories about how isolated and old-fashioned it’s always been. Very pretty, apparently.’ And a world away from banks and killers, he hoped.
‘Will anyone know you?’ Layla sounded unconvinced, and he tried to soothe her.
‘No, of course not. It’s almost abandoned now, just old people and a couple of bed-and-breakfast hotels.’ Walker pointed at the rough hills they were driving through. ‘This entire part of Sardinia has become a ghost region in the last thirty years. Younger people have moved on to the big cities, or to the rest of Italy, to find jobs.’
‘It sounds lovely,’ she deadpanned.
‘It is. We’ll find somewhere romantic.’ He glanced at her and winked. ‘Maybe a well-hidden Agriturismo, one of those small family-run hotels that infest this poor island.’
She groaned, refusing to look at him. ‘Is this Sadali far?’
‘Maybe three hours.’
‘Okay.’ She leaned back, lowering her seat a few inches. ‘God, I’m tired. Can you wake me when we get there, please? I want to check the place out first.’ She closed her eyes, then reopened them for a second. ‘Won’t we need documents for the room?’
Walker shrugged. ‘Probably. But a few hundred euros should do it – I’m sure we’re not the first couple they see, wanting to keep a little secret.’
‘Couple?’
‘Just try and look fond of me. You’ve managed it before.’
‘I’ll see what I can do.’
Interlude 4
‘
This is a fucking disaster
.’
The American’s voice sounded angry, and scared
.
The Englishman fought to keep calm, though he was boiling inside
. ‘
Listen, I told you it was better to wait. The plan we had in place…
’
‘
There was no time for it
–
not since the Australian goon killed the mathematician. What are you going to do now?
’
‘
Wait. They’ll surface again
.’
The Englishman sighed
. ‘
Security cameras, money laundering
–
we have entire investment bank compliance teams looking for them. And Blackspring. Walker will make a mistake, or be seen, and then we’ll get him
.’
‘
What about the UK police?
’
‘
They are clueless, as ever. And even if they grab him first… It’ll be easy enough to cut a deal
–
and take DeepShare from him
.’
‘
Maybe. Do you still trust Blackspring?
’
‘
We don’t really have a choice any more
,’
the Englishman said
.
The American was silent for a second before conceding
, ‘
No, I guess not
.’
‘
Don’t worry. He can’t hide forever
.’
The Englishman cut the connection and returned to his computer, studying the security company files. He was reasonably certain of where Walker could have gone from Reims, but although Switzerland was a small country, it was proving difficult to locate him. He stood and paced the office for a few seconds, uncertain. Then he sighed, deciding to make a few confidential, dangerous phone calls. The American was proving to be an idiot, but he did have a point
–
time was running short
.
Sadali
The
Agriturismo
was a small barn that someone had converted into self-catering apartments a generation earlier, before deciding to forget about it. An old lady with wispy hair greeted them at what passed for the reception: a cubbyhole she entered from a side door leading to some sort of kitchen swimming in the smell of cabbage and old goats. The place looked near crumbling, but it sat alone near the top of a high hill, reachable only by a dirt track that ran for a few miles from the dilapidated centre of Sadali into the low mountains of the Gennargentu. It was perfect for them.
Walker smiled at the ancient woman, Miss Sanna, struggling to understand what she was saying in a thick Sardinian accent, her vowels clumping together until they all resembled the U’s of an upset canine.
‘That’s great,’ he said, interrupting her before she realised he had no idea what she was talking about. ‘And we’ll need it for a week, maybe a little longer.’
The old lady nodded eagerly and her eyes glinted. Walker wondered when she had last seen out-of-season clients.
‘Certainly. And I can give you the best apartment – for just an extra ten Euros a day. No breakfast, but there is a small kitchen in the flat.’
‘Wonderful.’ Walker pulled out a wad of money and counted out five hundred Euros, almost twice the quoted rate for a week. ‘I’m afraid I’ve lost my ID, though. Can I bring it over when I get the new one?’
Miss Sanna’s eyes widened and she glanced at Layla, a slow smile forming on her lips. ‘But of course, Mr…’
‘Anconetani, Romeo Anconetani.’
‘Signor
Romeo
.’ The smile widened. ‘And the young lady’s name?’
Walker handed her the cash, which immediately disappeared into an old chest by the door. ‘Juliette,’ he answered.
‘Naturally.’
Walker ignored her tone. ‘And – is there a phone line in the flat?’
‘I’m afraid it’s broken. But I can call my nephew…’
He glanced at Layla, who shrugged. ‘No, that’s fine. We just got married and…’
The old lady nodded. ‘Don’t worry, you are not the first –’ she broke off, coughing –
‘newlyweds who stay with us. I understand.’ She shuffled around the low counter and grabbed a key. ‘You can park in front of the room, if you want. Follow me.’
They left the side building and walked around the ivy-shrouded stone walls to a large oak door that wouldn’t have looked out of place in a medieval castle. The flat was on the second floor, reached by a musty staircase that creaked and groaned. There was a small bedroom dwarfed by a four-poster bed, a larger living room with a corner kitchen, and a cracked table next to four mismatched chairs.
Miss Sanna drew the curtains and opened the window to let some evening air in; Walker noticed a couple of wide damp stains on the walls and ceiling, paint peeling around the edges. The place was a dump but the view from the window was magnificent, down into the mist-shrouded valleys and hills that rolled towards the distant Mediterranean Sea.
Layla looked around the bedroom and sat on the bed with a sigh, turning to the old lady. ‘
E’ bellissima, grazie
,’ she said in pitch-perfect Italian before lying back. Walker stared at her, impressed, and glanced at Miss Sanna.
‘Great, we’ll take it.’
Her eyes lit up. ‘Wonderful! And if you need anything…’
‘Do you stay here at night?’
‘No, I go back into town at seven. But you can head to the Bar Sport in Sadali in case of emergencies – my nephew owns it. Also, the mini-supermarket there is open on Tuesdays and Fridays. And tomorrow they’ll have the fresher stuff, from the big city.’ The old lady glanced around the room almost jealously before heading out. ‘Have a good time, lovebirds.’
Walker locked the door behind her and returned to the bed. Layla had sat back up and was trying to shrug out of her jumper without moving her wounded arm too much. He went to help her and checked the bandage – the gauze was dry, showing only a few small pink stains.
‘How are you feeling?’
‘It hurts. But I guess that’s just the anaesthetic wearing off.’
‘I’m sure. Let me go and get our bags, it’s time for another injection anyway. Are you hungry?’
‘Not really, but thanks.’ She yawned, laying back on the wool blanket. ‘I’m just exhausted right now.’
‘Get into bed. I’ll move the car and bring in the luggage.’
When Walker returned Layla was already in her underwear, propped up against a pillow, her
long naked legs crossed on top of an old quilt. She smiled at him as he carried their equipment into the bedroom, almost dropping one of the computer boxes.
‘I don’t have any PJs.’
Walker grunted. ‘You can borrow one of my shirts.’ He stared at her for a second. ‘Are you trying to distract me?’
‘Is it working?’
‘Yes.’ He unzipped his rucksack and threw her a brand new T-shirt he had picked up with Luigi while they waited for the laptops to be ready.
‘Thanks. Do you snore?’ She sat up straighter and unhooked her bra. ‘Ah yes, of course you do.’
Walker tried to keep his eyes on her face. ‘Only when people drug me unconscious.’ He gave up and turned around, rummaging through the bags for the medicines. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll sleep on the sofa.’
‘That dirty old thing? Nonsense.’ Layla smiled. ‘You can look now, I’m decent again.’
Walker found some disposable syringes and filled two, one with antibiotics and the other with painkillers. He joined her on the bed and shuffled closer as she presented her healthy arm. She looked at him dubiously. ‘Can you give injections?’
‘I did a paramedic course during my Italian army service.’
She whistled. ‘More hidden talents, Mr Scott.’
‘It was compulsory, at the time.’ He drove the needle into her shoulder, not carefully.
‘Ouch!’
‘And it was over fifteen years ago.’
‘You could have told me earlier.’
‘I guess.’ Walker smiled, preparing the second needle. ‘I didn’t know you spoke Italian.’
‘Just a few words… Ah!’ Layla pulled back her arm and glowered at him. ‘That hurt even more.’
‘Sorry. You have a great accent.’
‘I’m good with languages, apparently. And Italian and Spanish are quite close. I can understand most of it, though the Sardinians are very hard to get.’