“That’s him,” he said, indicating to his left. “That’s Anatoli.”
Enrico closed his phone. Mimi leaned over and put an arm on Enrico’s shoulder, but her real intent was to look past him and get a better view of her mark.
Anatoli, Federov’s onetime sidekick and bodyguard, sat at a corner table with two beautiful young women. He wore a leather jacket, his hair was cut short, almost an old-style KGB cut.
“He’s nice looking,” Mimi said in Italian. She recognized him from his picture.
“What did he do?” Enrico asked. “Why are we watching him?”
“I think he killed someone.”
“Oh,” Enrico said. “After we’re finished here, want to go get some food?”
She looked at Enrico. She smiled. “Sure,” she said. The nice thing about Enrico to Mimi, aside from how good looking he was, was that he was with the national police, so if he had killed anyone it was probably legal and he wasn’t in any trouble for it. Unlike Anatoli.
“Then let’s get this done and let’s get out of here,” Enrico said.
“You don’t like the music?”
“No.”
“You don’t like the drinks?”
“They’re okay.”
“But you do like me?” she laughed.
“A lot. Let’s go somewhere.”
“Your place?”
“Maybe.”
“Okay,” she said. “Keep me covered.”
She gave him a kiss on the cheek and went to work.
She fingered the small tacklike transmitter that she had concealed at the waist of her skirt. She pulled out a change purse that was filled with small coins. She unzipped it partially and stood.
She worked her way toward the ladies room, which, by good fortune, took her past Anatoli’s table. As she passed the table, she unzipped the purse. The contents, entirely coins, spilled out. As they fell, in the erratic light of the club, she whacked them so that they’d roll under Anatoli’s table.
Mimi then let loose with a loud profanity in Italian. Now she had Anatoli’s attention. He stared at her as did the women at his table. She had everyone’s attention now.
Her hands went to her face as she surveyed the loss of her coins with feigned horror. Anatoli, checking her out, slowly started to smile.
“Oh, scusi, scusi, scusi!” she pleaded.
Anatoli laughed. He didn’t speak much Italian. He gestured with his hands that it wasn’t a problem.
More sign language. Mimi pointed to herself and then under the table. “Voi permette?” she asked. She gave him her sexiest most excited smile. Could she maybe crawl underneath and pick things up?
Anatoli nodded. Mimi went down to her hands and knees, a flurry of bare arms and legs, and disappeared headfirst under the table to retrieve the coins and conduct her larger bit of business.
She crawled around between four bare female legs and two male legs in jeans. Working quickly, she picked up coin after coin. She got Anatoli and his two female friends quickly conditioned to feeling her movements, brushing against them, reaching past their shoes and boots. Anatoli was predictably amused and fresh, giving Mimi a solid pinch on her butt. She gave his hand a playful slap, which only encouraged him more. Then his hand came to rest on her butt and gave it a squeeze.
Perfect timing, just what she wanted. It gave her the opportunity to “retaliate” by holding his foot. At exactly the same moment he was examining her backside, she withdrew the little homing device from her waist and shoved it firmly into the heel of his boot. Then she wriggled free and emerged with a laugh from beneath the table.
The two women with Anatoli glared at her. But he was all hearts and flowers.
“Va bene?” he asked. Find everything?
“Suffisamente,” she answered. Enough. “Grazie mille.”
“Prego.” He answered.
She turned and sauntered back to Enrico, feeling Anatoli’s eyes on her backside as she left. She slid into the seat next to Enrico.
“Got him,” she said. She wasn’t nervous at all. Inside, she felt remarkably cool. “We can get out of here,” she said.
“No, no,” Enrico answered. “We wait a few minutes. No reason to make him suspicious if he sees you leave right away.”
“Then I’ll have another scotch,” she said.
In fact, she had two of them. Both doubles.
Thirty minutes later, they were back out on the street. They walked a block. There they found Rizzo in a car, waiting. He was just putting down a cell phone when they approached.
“Perfect,” he said. “The signal is strong.”
“It’s in the heel of his right boot,” she said.
“I won’t ask how you did that,” Rizzo said.
“Use your imagination.”
“Mimi, you’re a genius. And I love your outfit.”
He handed her an envelope. Impetuously, she opened it. There were five hundred Euros in it in cash, ten bills of fifty Euros each.
“Anytime,” she said. This was the easiest money she’d ever made.
“I’m off duty now?” Enrico asked Rizzo.
He gave the handsome young man a nod. “Just see that Mimi gets home safely,” he said. “Eventually.”
“Eventually,” Mimi said, hanging on Enrico’s arm now.
They all laughed.
Rizzo pulled away from the curb. Enrico took Mimi under his arm, and, mission accomplished, they went their own way for the rest of the night.
SIXTY
The formal way for the US government to persuade a foreign government to do something is through a démarche, which can be made either in Washington to the foreign embassy or in its capital or in both places at once.
It can be done at any level, up to and including “calling in” the foreign country’s ambassador for a senior state official to deliver the request or having the US ambassador approach the host country foreign minister or even prime minister.
In the case of the American couple who had been shot to death on a cold evening in January, the American government needed to be coy in its handling of the case. The Italians were already fuming over American handling of several intelligence issues, and there were still warrants out for several CIA agents concerning “renditions” carried out in Italy. Worse, the Italians knew that the CIA had embedded some excellent contacts in Rome right under their noses within the various Italian police agencies.
Hence, a prickly problem it was. The CIA station chief in Rome informally approached his contacts in Italian intelligence and began to exert whatever informal influence could be brought to bear upon the Roman police. The scandals about CIA flights with disappeared persons transiting Italian airspace did not make this any easier. Similar contacts were made in Washington through the Italian ambassador.
An additional complication was that the Italian government was, as always, a delicate coalition. Such requests reaching the public, or at least certain members of parliament, could actually blow apart the ruling coalition.
Nonetheless, the matter of Lt. Rizzo’s investigation went through the usual back channels. Rizzo felt he had made highly praiseworthy progress on the case. So when he found himself summoned to the office of the minister of the interior, he should have beamed with pride, expecting to be congratulated upon his fine work. But one never knew which way these meetings with bosses would go. Nor, in any way, could he expect to know where his investigation would be headed next.
SIXTY-ONE
Monday morning. Alex stood in the security line at JFK in New York, waiting to check in for her flight.
Time for everyone to be searched. She read all the signs. Every bag to be X-rayed. Take off your jacket. Take off your socks and shoes. High risk of terrorist attack. Drop your slightly used undergarments in a one-pint ziplock and turn them over to the baggage handlers.