Once the beer started to take effect, Herb and Jake switched subjects to upcoming soccer matches and the strength of the teams. The waterfall continued to flow, and the conversation continued on into the night until Herb took a cab, and Jake took a room on the second floor.
CHAPTER 19
The early morning rush hour crowds pushed and shoved squeezing more people onto the already packed subway train at Rome's Central Station Metro stop. Kurt Lamar strained forward making sure that his subject didn't pile on without him. Kurt was just slim enough to allow the doors to close in front of him. His subject, with a gray tweed cap looming cautiously above the crowd, had made a similar maneuver at the other door of the same car.
Kurt looked around for something to hang onto as the train lurched forward. It wasn't really necessary; Kurt couldn't have moved if he wanted to.
Kurt had been watching the U.S. Commerce Department's Rome bureau chief for three days. He normally drove a small red Fiat to work each morning, but this morning he was deviating from that practice.
The Metro train stopped at every terminal and opened its doors. Not many departed, and there was no room for additional passengers. Those left waiting on the cement platform for the next train looked disgustingly at their watches as the subway train slowly pulled forward and proceeded quickly into the darkness of the underground tunnels. Kurt realized now that most of the commuters were probably heading to the downtown business district.
Kurt was still not perfectly familiar with Rome. He could get around without becoming totally disoriented, but keeping track of another person in this busy crowd was something altogether different. The only advantage he could see was that the commerce department had only set up shop less than a month ago, just after Christmas. His subject was probably not overly familiar with Rome either, and Kurt was sure that he had remained unnoticed. And then there was the gray tweed cap that appeared somewhat out of place and more suited for a convertible drive through the English countryside.
The train stopped again. This time the majority of the passengers off-loaded, pushing their way toward the stairs to the street above. The commerce man was in the lead. His cap bobbed up and down and back and forth in an almost comical, uncoordinated fashion.
Cutting the distance between him and his subject, Kurt moved to within a meter of the commerce department official. Kurt was familiar with close surveillance tactics, but the Naval Investigative Service had hired him more for his technical expertise than any other reason. And the NIS had not had a reason to assign Kurt to such duties…until now.
Captain Murphy had told him during his initial briefing that he could run into situations that would require him to act from instinct. Kurt knew that this was one of them.
At the top of the stairs, the man made a quick turn around the railing and doubled back on the street above. The man glanced back with indifference at the crowd that had been following him since departing the train.
Kurt was so close at that point that all his subject could have seen were those followers still on the stairs.
The sidewalks were as a river flowing through an autumn forest with all the people leaves that had fallen from the trees along the banks. When the leaves touched, they bounce off to a path of less resistance. Kurt hated cities because of this indifferent contact, but, at the same time, enjoyed the anonymity of that impersonality.
After two blocks, the man entered a store. Kurt walked past, memorized the name of the store, and then stopped three stores down for espresso at a stand up counter. He could still see the front of the building the man had entered. With the quick glance, Kurt had seen that the store sold mostly office supplies, typewriters and business computers.
The waiting game wasn't one of Kurt's favorite pastimes. What could he do, read the menu on the wall? Espresso was so named for its quick brewing and expedient consumption. Kurt could hardly coddle or linger with it. His intention was to appear Italian. The language was no problem. And his dark hair fit the mold. Most Italians stopped at the counter for a quick jolt of espresso and then departed to work. He knew that the longer he remained, the less Italian he would appear.
Cars zipped by honking their horns at daring jaywalkers and slower cars. Scooters weaved in and out of traffic. Buses spewed plumes of exhaust as they slowed with the flow of traffic and then pulled forward quickly.
After about ten minutes, the man with the tweed cap came out of the store carrying a brown leather briefcase. Kurt thought the case looked new, but it made no sense. He could have just as easily gotten a briefcase from a store closer to his home or work, and spared himself the early-morning rush hour Metro ride. Besides, the commerce man had been carrying a case for the last couple of days. Kurt got up and followed the man.
The man hailed a taxi, pointed vehemently to the cabby, obviously having a problem with the language, and finally departed the curb.
Kurt grabbed a cab also, and followed the man back to the Commerce Department office. As he sat and watched the man with the gray tweed cap enter the old brick building, he noticed the cab driver watching him in the rear view mirror. He gave the cabby Toni's address. Time to regroup.
Toni Contardo crossed her legs and felt her black leather skirt slide up exposing the majority of her long slender leg. She took a sip of cappuccino. The fresh coffee and cream warmed her all the way down, and she knew she had made the right decision to wear a skirt on a cold January day.
A man with hair to his shoulders came from the back bathroom and took a seat across from Toni. They must appear as an odd couple, Toni thought. The tight skirt, expensive silk blouse, and black leather pumps labeled Toni as perhaps upper middle class, whereas the man across the table wore faded blue jeans with holes, and a T-shirt with a cubed man kicking a soccer ball advertising the World Cup.
"Buon Giorno," Toni said, as she reached across the table and placed her hand on his.
"Buon Giorno." he said, his dark intense eyes searching Toni's body seductively. "Mio caro amico, Toni. Come sta?"
"Good. And you?"
The man shifted his shoulders back and forth and gestured with his hands open and palms facing upward. "Could be better I'm sure, but I can't really complain. After all, I'm still alive."
Toni took another sip of cappuccino, giving her time to think of her line of questioning. The internal rehearsals had been thorough, but were never the same when sitting across from a dangerous man. He left himself open for this one, she thought.
"I heard you and your friends were busy in Genova a few days back," Toni said, smiling and searching his face for a reaction. "That was an inventive way to kill people."
"Si! I wish we had thought of it. The problem is, we don't go after small fish like that. I would have blown up the captain of the ship. Besides, most of our group was at a soccer match in Florence at the time. As far as I know, we have no activity planned. Anything like this happens in Italy, they naturally assume we did it. Shit, it could have been the Mafia trying to give us a bad name. Then that idiot Giorgio finds out about the bombing and takes it upon himself to call in responsibility for it."
Well, now that's interesting, Toni thought. If the Red Brigade didn't blow up Lt. Budd and his guys, then who in the hell did?
"I'm sorry, Nicolo, but I'm sure that my family wasn't involved," Toni said. The Red Brigade thought that Toni was a member of the Sardoni family, one of the most brutal in Italy with worldwide crime connections. The CIA had planted the right information to give credence to the ruse. She knew that the information she received from the Reds had been indispensable over the years.