Dekker took the stairs down to the street, and returned to his car. He glanced at his watch and found he had almost an hour before the time specified for the rendezvous, and there was no point in getting into position too early, because that meant there was more chance of somebody spotting him.
He looked round, saw another cafe about fifty yards down the road, walked across to it and ordered something to eat by pointing at a colour picture on the wall behind the bar. Then he picked a table allowing him a view of his car, and with one eye on his watch settled down to eat his early dinner.
Paul Richter entered Nervi at just after six that evening, and spotted the Café Belvedere as he drove through the Piazza Centrale. There were parking places on the street, but he didn’t stop immediately. Instead he drove on for another hundred yards, until he was able to turn round and retrace his route. Then he pulled in about fifty yards away from the piazza, with the vehicle facing in the same direction he’d come from, which was the best way to get out of the town in a hurry.
He checked his watch: 6.17 p.m. Six minutes to go. He hoped Dekker was already in position, and watching his back, because pretty much all he could achieve in six minutes was get his bearings. He glanced round, making sure that he was unobserved, pulled out the Browning Hi-Power and checked that it was loaded with a full magazine, a bullet in the chamber and with the safety catch on, then replaced it in the shoulder holster.
He got out of the car, locked it and walked back to the Piazza Centrale, and past the Café Belvedere, trying to spot anything that might suggest trouble.
At 6.20, he turned back. The cafe seemed to be doing quite good business, but there were still a couple of vacant tables outside. He strolled along the pavement towards it, and at exactly 6.23 he pulled back one of the plastic chairs and sat down. As he did so, he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the red umbrella he’d bought earlier and placed it on the table in front of him. And then there was nothing more he could do except wait for Yuri to turn up — assuming he hadn’t already been grabbed by the Russians or the Italians, of course.
After about five minutes a waiter appeared beside him. Richter ordered a caffè latte and a glass of water, having memorized the correct phrases from a guidebook he’d bought. When the waiter returned, he paid him immediately, which would allow him to leave as soon as he wanted.
Richter kept his eyes open, looking all around the piazza for anyone who might be observing him, but saw nothing. Nobody appeared to have the slightest interest in him or what he was doing there. He wondered inconsequentially just how accurate Yuri’s watch was. Would the Russian really bail out if Richter had been a minute or two early or late? Then he dismissed the thought. As long as he stuck to the recognition signals, this should work. Yuri needed him to be there.
Richter pulled back his jacket cuff and glanced at his watch: 6.38. If Yuri was going to make it to the rendezvous, he needed to appear within the next minute. Richter glanced casually around the piazza. There was a girl — rather, a young woman — standing beside a shop over on one side, peering in the window, and a couple of men talking together in loud Italian perhaps twenty yards away. But he saw nobody who looked even slightly like a renegade Russian clerk.
He shifted focus, glancing up at the buildings that surrounded the piazza, wondering exactly which of them Colin Dekker had picked as his vantage point. He was still looking the other way when he heard a chair scraping across the cobbles by his table, and he glanced back.
The young woman who’d been window-shopping was now standing beside the table, one hand resting on the back of the chair she’d pulled out from under it.
‘Is this seat taken?’ she asked him, in slightly accented English.
‘No, but—’ Richter started to say, but she interrupted him.
‘Good,’ she said. ‘I hate drinking alone, even if it’s just a coffee.’
Richter looked up at her and shrugged, then checked his watch again: 6.40. It looked as if Yuri was a no-show, but at least the girl looked as if she might be pleasant enough company for a few minutes — before he called Simpson to let him know the operation was a bust.
‘How did you know I was English?’ he asked.
The girl gazed at him, her eyes all but invisible behind her huge sunglasses, and smiled.
‘Somehow, you just looked English,’ she replied, ‘and who but an Englishman would carry an umbrella on such a beautiful day?’ She indicated the compact red umbrella lying on the table in front of him. ‘Though I wouldn’t have thought red was exactly your colour.’
‘Good deduction.’ He smiled back at her. ‘But that umbrella was the only one I could find.’
The girl nodded, then glanced up as a waiter materialized. She ordered a coffee, then turned back to Richter. ‘I rather like this place,’ she said. ‘So I wonder if you can help me. Do you know, is there a good hotel in this town?’
To his credit, Richter didn’t react. He just lowered his glass of caffè latte to its saucer and glanced round casually before replying. ‘You could try the Consul,’ he said. ‘I’m staying there.’
The girl’s smile widened. ‘I’m glad that’s over,’ she said.
Richter leaned forward and spoke in a low voice. ‘If your name really is Yuri, and you’re a man, I’m going to have to make some fundamental changes to my sex life.’
The girl laughed. ‘No, Yuri was just a convenience, and a way of adding another layer of anonymity. My name is Raya. Raya Kosov.’
‘Pleased to meet you, Raya. I’m Paul Richter.’
‘Richter? Like a judge in German?’
Richter nodded. ‘Same spelling, but I’m English, as you guessed.’
‘Who do you work for?’
‘Right now,’ he said, ‘I’m not entirely sure. I’m ex-military. I was a Sea Harrier pilot in the Royal Navy, and then I was recruited as a kind of international courier. But right now I’m sort of on loan to an outfit that works with the Secret Intelligence Service.’
Raya visibly tensed, and Richter guessed that, under her calm and friendly exterior, she was almost frantic with concern. He raised his hand reassuringly. ‘But you don’t need to worry,’ he went on. ‘I’m not, and never have been, a part of the SIS. That explains why I’m here.’
‘Are you alone?’
‘No, we’re being watched by an officer from the Special Air Service, which is part of our special forces. He’s been sent to make sure nobody interrupts this meeting, or tries to follow us.’
‘Where is he?’ Raya asked.
‘I’ve no idea. Probably high up, maybe on the roof of one of these buildings, and armed with a sniper rifle. And I’m armed as well, so I reckon you’re quite safe now. You got my message about the extreme measures the Russians have put in place to find you?’
‘Yes, and thank you for that. I was lucky I got out of Rome as quickly as I did. That way I think I was ahead of the pursuit. So what now? What are your orders regarding us?’
‘Simple. I’ve been told to get you to London by whatever route and method I choose. And, the way things are looking at the moment, that means by car, at least until we get out of Italy, because every possible form of public transport is being watched. There might also be a problem at whatever border we cross, but we’ll tackle that one when we get to it.’
‘So who else will know how we are travelling, and what route we’re taking?’
‘Just you and me,’ Richter said, ‘and the SAS officer if we think we need him along as well, for protection and another pair of eyes. Nobody else.’