Private Rome

Chapter 24

“What’s happened?” Justine asked.

My first instinct had been to call her as soon as I was clear of danger.

To me she represented safety. Calm amid the storm.

“Some men took Luna,” I replied, hurrying along Via della Croce.

I couldn’t go back to my hotel for fear it was being watched, so I was wandering aimlessly, taking a snaking route through the city to minimize the risk of being followed, and maximize the chance of spotting a tail.

“What do you mean ‘took her’?” Justine asked, audibly shocked.

“I mean some men abducted her, put her in a van and drove away.”

I burnt with frustration at the thought I could have done more to prevent the abduction.

“I’ve informed the cops,” I said. “I got some photos of the van. Tell Mo-bot it needs to be her top priority.”

“Let me loop her in,” Justine replied. The line went silent and a few moments later she returned. “I’ve conferenced in Mo.”

“Justine gave me the headlines,” said Mo-bot. “I’ll see what I can do about the van, but your best bet would be to go to Valentina. She’ll have access to local databases, dealer records.”

“That’s a good idea,” I replied. “Do you think she could help me with accommodation too? I don’t think it’s safe for me to go back to my hotel.”

“You can ask,” Mo-bot suggested. “She’s well connected.”

“Thanks,” I said. “Justine, I’ll call you as soon as I’ve found somewhere.”

I knew she wouldn’t rest until I was safe.

“I’ll be here.”

“Watch yourself,” Mo-bot advised.

“Always,” I said, hanging up.

I hurried to the end of the street and flagged a cab passing on Via del Corso.

The driver, a taciturn old man with spiky gray hair, grumbled when I asked him to take me to Ostia, but I silenced him with the promise of a fifty-euro bonus.

We covered the journey through the city in forty minutes and I had the silent old man drop me a couple blocks from Valentina’s café.

I walked the short distance, aware how the neighborhood had changed with the coming of darkness. What had seemed rundown before now had an air of menace. A gang of a dozen youths gathered outside a kebab shop, pushing and shoving each other. An emaciated woman hassled the customers going into a discount liquor store, asking for change or food. I could see why the cab driver hadn’t reacted well to coming here. It was definitely the sort of place you could be mugged, and I stuck out in my fine suit.

But I made it to the café without incident. It too was different at night. The remote workers were gone, replaced by groups of young men and women talking animatedly over beers.

Valentina was with one such group. She excused herself and came over when she saw me.

“Mr. Morgan,” she said, looking me up and down. “You run into trouble?”

I followed her gaze and realized my suit was flecked with someone else’s blood.

I nodded. “I could use a friend.”

“What kind of friend?”

“Someone with a place for me to crash. A safe place. Low-profile,” I replied. “For a price, of course.”

“Of course. You should meet my friend Amr.”

Valentina led me to the table she’d just left. There were two women and a couple men seated there, all in their late twenties, looking as though they’d stepped off a Milan catwalk, oozing an air of wealth and success that was hardly in keeping with the neighborhood.

“Amr,” Valentina said to the man closest to us. He was Syrian or Egyptian, with wide eyes and a warm smile. “This is Jack Morgan. He needs a place to stay.” She turned to me. “Amr is one of Rome’s most successful young entrepreneurs.”

“I don’t need to brag when Valentina is around,” he said, getting to his feet and taking my hand. “Marhaba! Welcome, Mr. Morgan. I think I can help you. I have an apartment above one of my businesses not far from here. It needs to be redecorated, but it should be more than acceptable for someone who does not want the inconvenience of staying at a hotel.”

“How much?” I asked.

“A man in a suit like yours will know the right price to pay,” he replied.

I realized he was wearing the same style in black. He smiled as he registered this dawning on me.

“One favor delivered,” Valentina said.

“I need another,” I told her, pulling my phone from my pocket. I showed her the photo of the van that had spirited Luna away. “I need to know who owns this vehicle.”

She took a good look at the image. “I’ll see what I can do.”