They fell silent as she drew near and she was suddenly very aware of her smart white linen trousers and red blouse, which were at odds with the biker/rock band roadie vibe of the place. She couldn’t have stood out more if she’d tried.
“This is a private bar,” the man closest to her said, drawing on a cigarette. “Foreigners aren’t welcome.”
The men and women around him chuckled.
“I don’t see a sign,” Faduma replied in Italian. “And I’m not a foreigner.”
“Well, you don’t look Italian.”
“You don’t look intelligent, but we shouldn’t judge others on their appearance,” Faduma responded, finding the reserves of courage that had never yet failed her.
The reply played well with the man’s companions and drew a louder chuckle, but on finding himself the butt of the joke, the smoker scowled and lumbered closer to her. He sported a gray T-shirt bearing the image of a screaming white skull and wore his loose jeans hitched low.
“It’s a private bar,” he said, reaching out and putting an intimidating ham-sized hand on her shoulder.
She looked at his fat, scarred fingers as they squeezed.
“That’s assault,” Faduma said calmly. She produced a stun gun from her purse, drove it into the man’s ribs and pulled the trigger.
He fell to the ground, convulsing, and she stepped clear and addressed his companions.
“I just want a drink and to use the ladies’ room.”
Their chuckles and smiles had vanished. A couple of them hurried over to help their fallen companion, but no one did anything to stop Faduma entering the bar.
She felt the powerful air blanket on the top of her head and walked on, sensing the stir her arrival had caused. As she moved toward the counter, conversation stopped and soon the only sound was the angry screeching of death metal blaring through the bar’s sound system. A muted television hanging on the wall showed the kickoff of the Roma — Inter match.
“I’d like a beer,” Faduma said to the unfriendly barman. “And the ladies’ room.”
He stared at her for a moment before nodding toward a corridor to her right.
She put twenty euros on the counter and walked in the direction he’d indicated. When she reached the corridor, she slipped her hand into her purse and took out the drone, which flew away silently. She reached for the ladies’ room door handle, but it was opened from the inside and Faduma was confronted by a woman wearing too much eyeliner and mascara, and a vintage Led Zeppelin T-shirt. She looked taken aback for a moment.
“Who the hell are you? You’re not coming in here. This is a private bathroom. Move.”
The woman pushed Faduma, who this time didn’t react. She’d done what she needed to do and allowed herself to be marched through the bar by the angry, over-made-up rocker. A man held the door open, gave a mocking bow, and the whole bar erupted in cheers as Faduma was thrown out.
Even though she’d acquiesced in this treatment, she walked away full of anger and thoughts of vengeance against such narrow-minded, hateful people. She could hear their raucous laughter and chatter above the pounding music.
She glanced back at the group of smokers who’d now managed to revive the man she’d stunned. Faduma moved more quickly to avoid any attempt at retribution.
Adrenalin coursing, heart pounding, she sighed with relief when she rejoined Sci in the Maserati.
“You were brilliant,” he said. “So brave.”
She almost teared up at his kind words, but swallowed the lump forming in her throat.
“And look,” he said, gesturing at the screen on the remote control. “This is the view inside Milan Verde’s office.”
Faduma glanced over and saw Verde sitting on a couch. In the armchair next to him was a man she recognized: Stefano Trotta the finance minister she had briefly encountered at Elia Antonelli’s farm.
“What’s he saying?” Sci asked.
Faduma listened to Trotta’s words.
“He’s saying they have nearly achieved their goals,” she replied, translating. “That their friend and patron is close to reaching his objective.”
Faduma couldn’t help feeling they were talking about Antonelli, and that the seasoned gangster had once again played her and Jack Morgan for fools.
She settled in to see what else the drone would reveal about these evil men.
Chapter 84
It was one minute after ten when I arrived at the Basilica di San Giovanni in Laterano, a magnificent place of worship less than a mile from the Colosseum. Situated at the heart of a large piazza, the grand building, described as the Mother of All Churches, stood more than four stories high. Thick marble columns supported a portico adorned with statues of the saints.
I walked beyond the metal railings that were used for crowd control during the day and went through an open gate to access the portico. The sign by the main entrance said the church should be long closed, but the door gave under my touch. When I entered, I found the interior was illuminated by lights set into the stone cornicing halfway up the magnificently decorated walls. The floor was as beautiful as any I’d ever seen, an intricate black-and-white pearlescent tile pattern, and the ceiling was embossed with gold reliefs. Marble statues set in arched niches lined the walls. Beyond the pews, directly in line with the main entrance, stood the high altar.
I crossed the grand floor and moved down the central aisle, unable to shake the feeling I was being watched, though I saw nothing untoward as I scanned the ancient church to left and right of me. I made my way to the altar, but there was no sign of Altmer seated in the nearby pews or hidden in the shadows farther away.
When I was within a few feet of the first row, I heard a distinctive sound that chilled me. I ran forward to find him lying on his back, blood pooling on the tiled floor around him, the hilt of an old-fashioned steel dagger sticking out of his chest. He was pawing at it weakly, but his eyes shifted and focused on me when I rushed to his side.
He gasped and moaned in pain. As I checked his pulse and tried to overcome my shock at finding him this way, I realized he was trying to speak.
I’ll never forget the choking, gurgling noises he made as he frantically sucked air into lungs that sounded as if they were full of fluid. Finally he managed to say, “I... tried... to... do... right... Matteo... is... lying.”
His eyes went blank. I tried mouth-to-mouth but it was no use. He was gone.
I couldn’t believe another man had died in front of me. And that, with his dying breath, he had warned me not to trust my latest Private recruit. I’d managed to convince myself of Matteo’s innocence, but could I continue to do so now?
“Jack Morgan, we know you’re inside. Surrender immediately!”
I recognized the voice of Inspector Mia Esposito. She was talking through a bullhorn.
I’d been completely set up and had no doubt this death would be pinned on me too. I heard movement around the church, the tramp of boots, the catch and lock of weapons being checked, radios crackling to life with terse commands.
There was no way I was fighting my way out of here or escaping unscathed.
I got to my feet and walked toward the main entrance with a sense of weary resignation.