The door was opened. It was Young. What was he doing there? Had Paluzzi’s men got the two room numbers mixed up?
‘I look for Signore Anderson,’ she said in a strong Italian accent. ‘You Anderson?’
‘Hell, no,’ Young replied, then ran his eyes the length of her body and whistled softly to himself. ‘But right now I wish I was. Anderson, you’ve got company.’
Whitlock’s eyes widened in amazement when he saw Sabrina but he quickly checked himself and approached the door, waiting for her to give him a cue.
‘You call agency and ask for girl who speak English,’ she said, chewing methodically on the gum. ‘But who your friend? You say nothing about friend on phone. It cost more.’
Young grinned at Whitlock. ‘Well, I’ll be damned. When did you reserve this little beauty?’
‘Last night, after we got back. I fancied a bit of company but they told me none of the English-speaking girls were available until this morning.’
‘Company, is that what you call it?’ Young ran his fingers through her hair. ‘You’re something else, sweetheart.’
‘You touch, you pay,’ she said sharply.
‘Some other time,’ Young said with a sneer. He slapped Whitlock on the arm. ‘I’ll see you later.’
Whitlock waited until Young had disappeared down the stairs, then closed the door and crossed to the bedside table and switched on the radio. He found a music channel and beckoned Sabrina towards him.
‘Is the place wired?’ she whispered, dropping the gum into the ashtray.
He shook his head.
‘No, I checked it this morning. It’s the walls. They’re paper thin. If Young comes back I wouldn’t put it past him to try and listen through the wall. The radio will drown out any noises we’re supposed to be making.’
‘That’s a relief,’ she said with a wry smile.
‘Whose idea was it for you to dress up like this?’
‘Mike’s, naturally. I picked up the clothes on approval from a boutique half an hour ago. They’re going straight back again this afternoon, believe me.’ She sat down on a wooden chair and put her bag on the dressing-table behind her.
‘It worked, though, just as he predicted it would. It was the one sure way of seeing you alone.’
‘How long have I been under surveillance?’
She smiled. ‘How did you know that?’
‘How else would you have known I was in?’
‘A couple of Fabio’s men have had the boarding house under surveillance since the hit last night. I hear you’ve already changed getaway cars?’
‘I did it first thing this morning. We couldn’t be sure whether it was spotted or not last night.’
‘Not according to the police report Fabio got through this morning. But whether the Red Brigades know is another matter altogether. Calvieri’s being very secretive.’
‘Wouldn’t you if you were in his position?’
‘I suppose so. That’s one of the reasons I’m here.’ She went on to explain first about Alexander’s escape from custody, then about Calvieri’s theory about the gunman’s black accomplice.
‘And Calvieri’s sure to have a better description of me than the police if it came from that guard I knocked out,’ he said once Sabrina had finished speaking.
‘They’re looking for a local,’ she reminded him.
‘That’s according to Calvieri. And now with Alexander on the loose I’m going to have to keep one eye open for him and the other open for some Red Brigades hit squad that could come knocking on my door at any moment. How the hell am I supposed to concentrate on Young with all this going on around me?’
She took a Browning from her bag and offered it to him.
‘I know,’ she said. ‘You may need this.’
‘And how would I explain it to Young? Alexander never uses guns. No, I daren’t risk it.’
‘You may have to use it on Young, especially if Calvieri’s his next target.’ She explained briefly what Conte had told her. ‘We can’t afford any slip-ups at this stage of the operation. And any attempt to hit Calvieri would certainly throw us off-balance. He’s our only hope if we need to negotiate with Ubrino. We’d be lost without him. Take the gun, C.W. Please.’
Whitlock took the Browning from her and slipped it into the bedside table drawer. He glanced at the booby-trapped watch but decided against telling her about it. The others had enough to worry about as it was. He would deal with it himself.
‘I don’t know exactly when we’re leaving for Berne,’ she said, breaking the sudden silence. ‘Probably some time in the next few hours. There isn’t much else we can do here. You’re to liaise with Jacques from now on. He’ll pass your reports on to Sergei.’
Whitlock nodded.
‘I’d better be going,’ she said, getting to her feet and smoothing down her mini-skirt. ‘I’m dying to get out of these clothes and scrape the make-up off my face. I don’t know how these girls can put up with the discomfort every time they go out on the streets. It’s revolting.’
‘It’s a living, I guess,’ he replied and walked with her to the door. ‘Thanks for coming over, Sabrina. I appreciate it.’
She hugged him.
‘Take care of yourself.’
‘And you,’ he replied, then closed the door after her.
She hailed the first taxi she saw outside the boarding house. It stopped beside her. Had she been dressed differently the driver would probably have ignored her. Not that it bothered her. She was just glad to be heading back to the hotel.
Calvieri found a parking space on the busy Corso Vittorio Emanuele and walked the two blocks to La Sfera di Cristallo, a small, inexpensive restaurant which had been there for as long as he could remember. It had only ever had one owner, a fat, balding man now in his mid-sixties with a liking for the music of Berlioz.
He went inside. Nothing had changed since he had been there last, when he had been a Rome cell commander. And that included the music. He recognized the piece immediately: ‘The Hungarian March’ from The Damnation of Faust. He had heard it enough times in the past.
‘A table for one?’ a female voice inquired behind him.
He turned round and smiled at the teenage waitress.
‘Thank you, no. I’m looking for Signore Castellano. He’s expecting me. The name’s Calvieri.’
‘I know who you are,’ she said with a quick smile. ‘I’ve seen you on television. What you say makes a lot of sense.’
‘Thank you.’
‘I’ll call…’ she trailed off when she caught sight of the eighteen-stone Castellano approaching them.
‘Tony,’ Castellano called out in his gravelly voice and clasped Calvieri in a bear-like grip, kissing him on both cheeks. ‘You’re looking well, my friend.’
‘And you’re looking well fed,’ Calvieri countered, patting Castellano’s stomach.
Castellano chuckled but his face quickly became serious and he pressed his fist against his chest.
‘My heart is heavy today, Tony. Signore Pisani was a great man. But I know you won’t fail us as our new leader.’
‘I’m just deputizing until the committee meets next week to vote for a new leader.’
‘You’re too modest, Tony. You can’t lose. There’s nobody to touch you.’
‘I’m sure Zocchi would have something to say about that.’