‘And he’s good, is he, this man from Hereford?’ Raya asked.
Richter was slightly surprised that she knew where the SAS Regiment was based, but then realized Raya would probably have had access to files containing exhaustive information about all branches of the British armed forces.
‘I think so, yes,’ he said. ‘I trust him, anyway.’
‘That’s good,’ Raya said, her voice suddenly sounding concerned, ‘because I think we’re going to need him. Where’s your car now? Don’t point, just tell me.’
‘In the street directly behind me,’ Richter said, renewed worry flooding through him. Something was clearly wrong, and he didn’t know what. ‘It’s a Ford Focus, on Austrian plates.’
Raya leaned forward, in the action of a lover rather than a conspirator, placed her face against his and whispered in his ear. ‘There are two men watching us from the far side of the square, right behind you. Side by side, with dark suits and black hair. I’m sure they didn’t follow me here, so they must have been tailing you. Unless you already know who they are.’
‘Not me,’ Richter said. ‘And, as far as I know, nobody followed me either. Are you sure they’re watching us?’
‘It definitely looks like it. Somehow they’ve found us, but at the moment they’re just looking, so maybe they’re waiting for orders — or waiting for us to set off down a quiet street, where they can snatch us. Perhaps this place is a bit too public for them to grab us. Give me the car keys, and we’ll leave separately. I’ll go first and wait by the car, then you follow in about half a minute.’
Raya pulled back, looked Richter in the eyes, and gave a slight smile. ‘It’s been nice knowing you,’ she said, ‘and here’s something to remember me by.’ She kissed him full on the lips, then took the keys he’d pulled from his pocket. She stepped back and walked away, heading for the parked Ford.
Richter turned his chair slightly so that he could now see the other side of the piazza, immediately spotting the two men Raya had described. They’d both stepped forward and were heading across the square, obviously to follow her. Their jackets were unbuttoned, which suggested both of them were carrying weapons in shoulder holsters.
He made an immediate decision, and just hoped Dekker could clearly see what he was now doing. He picked up the red umbrella, then very deliberately replaced it on the table, then turned on his heel and walked briskly after Raya.
Colin Dekker had watched Richter’s encounter with the unknown woman with a wry smile. Either ‘Yuri’ was a girl, he decided, or the Russian defector had already been picked up somewhere and Richter had just got lucky.
But after the girl left, and Richter picked up the umbrella and then put it down again, Dekker knew something was wrong. He widened his field of view, trying to see what had apparently alarmed them. He focused on the two men in dark suits almost immediately. They seemed to be heading after the girl, and as Richter, too, walked away from the cafe, they both broke into a run.
That was all Dekker needed to know. He lowered the stainless-steel barrel of the AWS rifle slightly, took careful aim and squeezed the trigger. The weapon kicked against his shoulder, but the crack of the shot was barely audible against the background noise of the town.
In the piazza, one of the running men stumbled and fell to the ground, both hands clutching his leg. His companion stopped immediately, pulled out a heavy-calibre semi-automatic pistol and spun round, looking for a target, while apparently talking to himself. Dekker realized he had a hidden lapel mike, and was either summoning help or just reporting in.
On the far side of the square, a dark-coloured saloon suddenly appeared, one occupant visible behind the wheel, and it raced across to the fallen man. As it stopped, the car was directly broadside on to Dekker’s position, offering too good an opportunity to miss. He sighted again, the AWS sniper rifle cracked twice more, and both the tyres on the near side of the car blew in quick succession.
‘Now get going, Paul,’ he muttered, and quickly started to disassemble his weapon and pack it away.
Richter heard a scream of pain behind him as he reached the edge of the piazza and quickly glanced back to see one of the two men writhing in agony on the ground. Obviously Dekker had identified the danger and had done what he claimed to do best — shooting the bad guys.
When Richter reached the Ford Focus, the engine was running and the driver’s door open. Raya had already moved to the passenger seat. He jumped in, slammed the door and pulled away from the kerb.
‘I almost expected you to drive off before I got here,’ he said, accelerating hard down the street.
‘I can’t drive,’ Raya said simply, ‘otherwise I might have done. But it looks like your friend did his job.’
‘I told you I trusted him. Now, how did they find us? Are you sure nobody could have followed you?’
Raya shook her head. ‘Obviously I can’t be sure, but I don’t think so. If they did manage to trace me here, to this town, why didn’t they pick me up straight away? They’ve got no interest in you or your friend — or, at least, they didn’t until he crippled one of them — so why did they wait until the two of us were sitting together in that square?’
For a few moments neither of them spoke, as Richter drove under the autostrada, staying on the minor roads.
‘Where are you going?’ Raya asked.
‘Right now, I don’t know,’ Richter replied. ‘Just getting away from Nervi, I suppose, and trying to make it as unpredictable as possible. If even I don’t know where I’m going, nobody else can guess my destination.’
Raya glanced at him, her face still clouded with worry. ‘Let’s try and work it out,’ she insisted. ‘Who knew you were heading to Genoa to find me?’
‘The SAS man, his name is Colin Dekker, me, obviously, and the senior guy who tasked me with this job. He’s called Richard Simpson, and he’s not an SIS officer. He heads his own separate operation.’
‘Nobody else?’
Richter thought for a moment, recalling the circumstances of the moment when Simpson had briefed him, back in Ax-les-Thermes. Absolutely the only other person within earshot had been David Adamson, and he was one of Simpson’s own men.
‘One of Simpson’s people was there as well,’ he said finally, ‘a man called Adamson. But I’m not even sure he could have heard Simpson while he was briefing me. Even so,’ he continued, ‘it couldn’t have been Adamson, or in fact Simpson either, because all they knew was that the rendezvous would take place in Genoa or thereabouts. They didn’t know specifically about Nervi, because I was already over the Italian border by the time you sent me that text message that specified the RV. The only people who knew exactly where and when I would meet you were Colin Dekker and me.’
‘You didn’t tell this Simpson man?’
‘No.’ Richter shook his head firmly. ‘Just before you sent your text, Simpson sent me a message asking where I was, but I didn’t reply to it. In fact, I still haven’t.’
‘That’s it, then. There’s only one possible explanation.’
‘What?’
‘It’s your mobile. Somebody has to be tracking your mobile. Those men knew you were somewhere in Nervi. Triangulation from the cells would have located you somewhere in the piazza, but they wouldn’t know exactly where. So they were probably watching all the single men, and waited until a woman approached one of them. That would have identified you — and therefore me too.’
Richter was silent, appreciating the grim and inescapable logic of what Raya had just said. And, so far, it was the only explanation that made sense.
‘So who exactly knows your mobile phone number, Paul?’