Private Rome

Chapter 32

I left Faduma at the cemetery and caught a cab to Ostia. I had the driver stop a few blocks from Amr’s cell-phone store and covered the rest of the journey on foot.

The streets were full of people here to experience the nightlife — gangs of youths stalking for easy prey; hollow-eyed addicts lurking in the shadows. The summer night was buzzing with the sounds of busy bars and clubs, and ripe with the smells emanating from the fast-food joints.

I checked I wasn’t being followed before I turned onto Via Orazio dello Sbirro, where I saw the phone shop blazing brightly with its gaudy signs and lights in the windows. I walked past, took out the keys Amr had given me and went through the archway that split the terrace. I hurried along the alleyway beyond, crossed the yard and climbed the metal steps to the front door. I made one last check that there were no hostile eyes on me and went inside.

The place was as I’d left it. I took out my phone as I went into the living area and moved one of the chairs to the window so I could keep an eye on the street outside while I made a video call to Justine.

“Jack,” she said when she answered. She was in her office on the fifth floor of Private’s Los Angeles headquarters and sitting in one of the armchairs by the window, so I could make out the sun-soaked city skyline behind her. I missed home, but I missed her more. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” I replied. “I’m in the thick of something here.”

I shared what I’d learnt from Faduma about the dead priests, and what Luna had told me about the Dark Fates.

“I need you to check out a guy called Milan Verde. He’s the leader of the gang. I’m also going to send you the details of the dead priests. Look for any connection between them and Milan Verde, or any of his associates.”

Private didn’t have the NSA’s network analysis capabilities, which were so good they could tell whether you’d stayed at the same hotel as someone three years ago, but Mo-bot had developed some pretty sophisticated data-mining tools and, even more importantly, had the right contacts to get the information we needed if her own systems drew a blank. If the priests were linked outside the Church or were connected to Milan Verde or his gang, we would find out.

“We’ll get right on it,” Justine replied. “What are you doing now?”

“I’m going to read this file,” I said, brandishing the envelope Faduma had given me. “Probably grab a bite to eat.”

“Pizza?” she asked.

“Maybe. What else would a person eat in Rome?” I joked. “Maybe we’ll come here for a trip one day? Do a tour of Europe.”

“I’d like that,” Justine replied. “I’d like that a lot.”

She hesitated, and I felt the weight of her unspoken words tug at my heart. She missed me, but she knew this separation was the price of the job. I felt the same way.

“This will be over soon,” I said. “And then I’ll be back home.”

“I can’t wait,” she replied. “I’m going to go brief Mo-bot. Send me the files. Love you.”

“Love you too,” I responded, before she hung up.

I used my phone to take photos of the dossier Faduma had given me, and once I’d sent everything over to Justine via Private’s secure email server, I settled into my seat and started to read about the dead priests.