Instinctively, Costa scanned the bar.
Emily put her hand to his chin and pulled his attention back to her. “He could be anywhere. Don’t even think about it. There’s a deal on the table, Nic. Let’s focus on that. We mustn’t screw it up.”
He nodded. “I understand.”
“Good.”
Teresa was staring at a mark on the other woman’s neck. “Are you hurt, Emily?” she asked.
“I must have faIlen,” she replied. “It’s nothing. Don’t worry about me.”
Then Costa gently pulled down the first few inches of the zipper on the front of the parka.
“No, Nic,” Emily ordered. She pulled his hand away, then jerked the zip back up. “Not here. Not now. That’s not what matters. Don’t think about that part. We don’t even get that far.”
Teresa said quietly, “That’s what we all want, Emily. But can we stop him?”
“Yes!”
“You’re sure?” Teresa reiterated.
“I’m sure!” she snapped. Then, more quietly, “And I’m not in a position to argue. OK?”
Costa found it hard to work out whether she was saying what she did for Kaspar’s benefit or because she really believed it.
“He killed your father, Emily,” Teresa pointed out. “He killed all those other people. How can we trust him?”
Emily Deacon frowned. “I know that. But he talked to me last night. We went over a lot of things. He had his reasons. He feels he had some justification. That there was no other way. I don’t agree with that for one moment. I don’t imagine he’d expect me to. But…”
Nic took out a pen from his jacket pocket, slipped it onto the table next to a napkin.
“He just wants to know justice-his definition of justice-has been done,” she finished, looking at the pen without moving to pick it up.
Then she scribbled two words on the paper.
You know?
Costa nodded and wrote a name next to the question.
She closed her eyes. She looked a little faint. Then she picked up the napkin, stared at the writing there, fixed him with those sharp, incisive blue eyes and mouthed, “Sure?”
Costa cupped his hand over the mike, leaned close into her left ear, smelled the trace of shampoo on her hair, a familiar scent, one from his own home, and murmured, “I’m sure he lived in an American-owned house in the Piazza Mattei in 1990. And that he was the only one there. Is that enough?”
Her cheek pressed into his, her lips briefly kissed his neck.
“Oh yes,” Emily whispered into his ear.
She took his hand off the mike, brushed her lips against his fingers and smiled broadly, just for a moment.
“If Kaspar wants justice,” Nic said, “all he’s got to do is walk into any Questura. That’s why we’re there.”
“He will. I promise.”
She scribbled out an address and a time, then gave it to Teresa.
“That’s where he wants the evidence delivered and when. No one but you two know that. He might want to test you. I’d be surprised if he didn’t. And”-she paused, making sure they understood this last point-“make it good evidence. Please.”
Nic Costa wanted a magic wand at that moment. Something that could just spirit them out of there, take away all the trappings of death and violence, put them back into a world that was whole and warm and human.
“What if something goes wrong?” he asked. “If there’s a delay… how do we get in touch with him?”
“No!” Her eyes were pleading with him. “He won’t buy that, Nic. He’s too smart. You do things his way. Or…”
Kaspar would be utterly inflexible, Costa understood this. He was offering to surrender. The terms would surely be his.
“I’ll call Falcone when I can get through,” he promised her. “I’ll make the arrangements.”
“And me?” Teresa asked.
Emily reached into her jacket, took out a plastic security swipe card, then scribbled an incomprehensible jumble of letters and numbers and an e-mail address on the napkin. “If you can talk your way into Leapman’s office, this will get you on the system. After that… You and Nic need to try and find some way to work this out together. I can’t…”
Maybe it was some kind of delayed shock. She rocked back onto her chair. Her face was white. She was on the verge of breaking. Costa could see it and he didn’t have the words to help.
Teresa Lupo intervened. She bent forward and put her arms around Emily’s slight shoulders. “Emily,” she whispered, “keep going. We can do this.”
Then Teresa was gone, not looking back, not wanting to see what Costa knew would be a difficult moment of intimacy.
The American’s hands felt his again, just the briefest touch. She was cold now, she was sweating.
“Make it work, Nic,” Emily Deacon told him softly. “This isn’t just for me.”
She leaned forward, kissed his cheek, her lips cold. Then she shuffled the hood around her head, disappeared into its bulk and, eyes firmly on the floor, walked away, out into the bright, biting morning, out towards the hulking presence of the ancient building around the corner.
Peroni listened with a growing sense of unease as Falcone forced them to focus on the message Kaspar had given him the previous night: proof.
Leapman was adamant, in a confident way that worried Peroni no end. “It was Dan Deacon. This was Deacon’s show all along. Kaspar’d know that if he had half a mind left.”
That wasn’t the point, Peroni thought, and surely they knew it. “Can you prove it?” he asked. “I looked into that man’s face last night and he’s going to take some convincing. I told you. He spoke with Deacon. I don’t think-”
“Deacon! Deacon!” Leapman yelled. “The bastard was a traitor! How the hell can anyone rely on a word Dan Deacon ever said?”
“The man was trying to save his life at the time. I don’t think people are very adept at lying in those situations.”
Leapman glowered at the SISDE man. “Tell him.”
Viale made that slight, amused gesture he used to put people down. “We lie anytime we damn well feel like. Welcome to our world. Best accept it.”
“What we accept,” Falcone said curtly, “is that Kaspar is making a direct threat, one he is doubtless determined to carry out, in this city.We’re under a duty to understand and respond to that. It’s important we know what we can offer him to get him to back down. Can you prove it was Deacon?”
“No,” Leapman replied. “If you want a straight answer.”
Peroni felt like grabbing the guy by the throat again. He seemed so detached from the problem. He looked as if he were turning down an expense account. “Why not? These things must cost millions of dollars. You’ve got to have accounts, records, something.”
The American actually laughed. Gianni Peroni found he had to make a conscious effort to stay in his seat.
“What planet are you people living on?” Leapman asked. “That’s the last thing any of us would want. These operations are specifically designed so that if they go wrong, the shit stays on the ground and doesn’t seep anywhere near the rest of us. That’s the only way they can succeed. Kaspar knows that as well as anyone. He invented half the rules. Asking for an audit trail now shows how deranged the guy is. He might as well ask us to go public and hang ourselves.”
“You’ve got-” Peroni persisted.
“No!” Leapman snapped. “Listen. These were the rules Kaspar played by. He can’t buck them now. Deniability’s everything. No papers. No bank transactions. Nothing. Just a bunch of money going missing in some accounts in Washington, in ways no one’s ever going to notice.”