My impression that Santa Margherita Ligure was like a film set was holding out. The place seemed to be entirely populated with stars or extras. Even on a winter day, the sun was strong and everybody had their Gucci sunglasses on. A glamorous woman glided past on a moped. As she turned to flick ash from her cigarette, I caught the Chanel logo on the back of her leopard-skin helmet.
Every shop we passed seemed to be selling either shoes or pashminas. There wasn't an amusement arcade, Mr Whippy machine or hoodie in sight. Maybe I should have gone to university like Lynn and become our man in Tripoli, rather than fucking about at the bottom of the pond.
We passed a taxi rank on the seafront. All the cabs were white Q7 Audis and big, over-the-top Italian estate cars or Mercedes. I wondered what had happened to mine – or rather, Avis's. Had they done all the forensics and returned it to them yet, or had it been reported as stolen and my credit card maxed out in non-return charges?
'That low hill above the waterfront is an interesting place. The castle was built in 1550 as defence against the Saracens.'
He wasn't the only one pointing. We passed a big statue of Christopher Columbus with his arm stretched out to sea. One bit of pub quiz trivia I'd remembered from schooclass="underline" he'd set sail from Genoa.
The harbour was small and obviously catered for smart yachts, but it still had a fishing fleet. Several boats were unloading opposite a market. A breakwater stretched about three or four hundred metres into the sea, towards a cluster of massive floating gin palaces. I got the system: the bigger the boat, the further out it parked.
We found a space along the seafront. It was lined with more beautiful old buildings. The arches underneath were inset with cafés, ice cream parlours, bars and restaurants. At the front, elegant Italians in sunglasses and overcoats sat drinking coffee. Behind them, in what looked like caves, were dining areas lined with dark wood panelling and bottles of wine.
Lynn nodded up at one of the apartment blocks. 'That's me. Great view of the harbour one way, the Basilica the other. Well worth a visit, Nick, to view the gilded chandeliers. Come on, we can see them while I pick up the keys.'
A tour of the Basilica? Just what fucking planet was this guy on?
'The British Embassy is in Rome, yeah?'
'There's a consulate in Genoa, but yes, that's where the embassy is.'
'How far by road?'
'Three hundred miles, just about spot on.'
'How long would it take to drive it?'
'Five and a half hours, maybe a bit longer this time of year. Why, do you want to go to Rome?'
I shook my head. 'It's how long it would take them to drive here I'm worried about.'
The Basilica, it turned out, was stunning. Fifty-metre-high ceilings, massive chandeliers, and more saints' relics and old women on their knees than you could shake a stick at.
Lynn hadn't brought me here for the view. He headed straight for the furthest confession box, felt under the seat and pulled out two keys taped together.
'I make sure there isn't anything in the UK to connect me with here.'
54
The apartment had two bedrooms and was very simple and very white after what I could smell was a new lick of paint. The building was nineteenth century, with high ceilings and shutters on the windows. The furniture was modern and new. I doubted Lynn had chosen it. In the living room, a pair of high glass doors opened onto a small Juliet balcony overlooking the Viale Andrea Doria, the road that ran along the harbour front and carried on the four K or so to Portofino. Beyond it was the harbour and the Mediterranean.
I picked up a pair of binoculars. Lynn probably spent hours boat spotting.
'We still assuming it's the Firm?'
'What's to tell us it isn't? Who else had the resources to find me in Donegal so fast? Who else could have made and planted a device so fast? Who else knew about Leptis? OK, anybody could have bought a tracker and followed me to yours, but the other stuff still points in the direction of Vauxhall Cross.'
'But why would they bracket us together? We're hardly a job lot.'
'It must be linked to Duff somehow. They're cleaning house. It must all come back to the Tripoli job.' I looked up at him sharply. 'Were there drugs on the Bahiti?'
'You mean anything the Yes Man could have been involved in?'
I must have looked surprised.
'I might have left the building, Nick, but I still have friends who haven't. I knew what he was up to all those years, but nobody would listen. He had the ear of the right people. When early retirement came up, I was glad to cut and run, wash my hands of the whole thing.' He looked up. 'You know about Hannibal?'
'Elephant Boy? Crossed the Alps?'
'Precisely. Well, we're in Hannibal country here. I've been thinking about his catchphrase: "We will either find a way, or make one." '
'Which one's your money on?'
'Make.' He smiled. 'Mark my words, Hannibal knew what he was talking about. He was only in his twenties when he was given command of Carthage's forces. That's Tunisia, these days. Within two years, by 219 BC, he had subjugated all of Spain, which violated Carthage's treaties with Rome. The Romans demanded Carthage surrender Hannibal to them, and the city refused. The Romans declared war, and so began the Second Punic War. But then came his masterstroke: instead of waiting for the Romans to arrive, Hannibal carried the war to their doorstep.
'That September he set out to cross the Alps with fifty thousand men and forty elephants. He did it in just fifteen days, despite heavy losses of men and animals to bad weather and hostile mountain tribesmen. His army went on to defeat the Romans in the battles of Ticinus and Trebia and occupy northern Italy.'
'And which bit of that applies to our situation exactly?'
'The thought that maybe we should carry the fight to them. Maybe we should contact the friends I still have on the inside, find out why this is happening and what we can do to end it.' I scanned the harbour and road below for guys sitting well back in their car seats, or a fishing boat bobbing about with a guy looking back at me through binoculars. I finally put them down and turned to him. 'There's another way of looking at Hannibal, you know.'
Lynn did a double-take, as if he was surprised I might have an opinion on anything other than what to look for in a kebab or a box-cutter. He might have guessed rightly that I didn't even get close to a GCSE in ancient history, but what he didn't know was that when I was in my twenties, I'd done a paper for my case study on battlefield strategy at the school of infantry in Brecon. The other guys did Rommel, Montgomery and Che Guevara, but Hannibal Barca was the boy for me. He ranked right up there alongside Alexander the Great, Napoleon Bonaparte and the Duke of Wellington in my book, as one of the greatest generals of all time.
'He might be famous for taking his army and elephants across the Alps, but he gets more cred from me for leading a successful campaign for fifteen years, far from home, and only by surviving off the land and his tactical wits.