Private Rome

Chapter 51

Justine leapt to her feet, crossed the room and threw her arms around me. As we hugged I felt the tension ebb out of her.

“Jack,” she said. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” I replied.

Faduma cleared her throat awkwardly. Justine and I parted reluctantly.

“Faduma Salah, this is my colleague and partner Justine Smith,” I said, and she stepped forward and offered her hand.

“Pleased to meet you,” she said.

“Likewise,” Faduma responded.

“And this is Maureen Roth,” I continued.

“Everyone calls me Mo-bot,” she told Faduma with a wave. “Or Mo.”

“And Seymour Kloppenberg,” I added.

He also waved. “Call me Sci.”

“Nice to meet you all,” Faduma said.

“How did you find me?” I asked.

“Your phone,” Mo-bot replied. “I tracked your location, looked at where you spent the night.”

It wouldn’t have been much of a challenge for Mo-bot, who was one of the world’s leading computer and digital surveillance experts. She didn’t look it now though, wearing a sensible cool white linen dress that was crumpled from the journey.

Sci was in his customary biker boots, T-shirt and jeans, busy reviewing the files I’d obtained on the various players in this investigation.

“Have you been working together?” Justine asked, returning to her spot on the couch next to him.

Like Sci, she’d been examining a stack of files, and I knew she’d be trying to build psychological pictures of all the key players. I was most interested in her insight into Milan Verde but sensed there was more to her question than simple curiosity. Was she jealous?

“Not really,” I replied. “We’ve just been out to see Elia Antonelli together, and Faduma wanted to check the information we have on Milan Verde.”

Justine smiled and nodded, but I wasn’t sure she was entirely happy. We’d had our problems in the past, and she had even become convinced I was involved with Dinara Orlova, the head of our Moscow operation. Faduma was a beautiful woman but I was devoted to Justine, who looked magnificent tonight in a long Pucci-print dress. I couldn’t imagine she had travelled in it. Had she put it on in anticipation of my arrival? Was her frustration due to the fact that we weren’t alone?

I didn’t have the time to indulge myself in such thoughts. Instead I briefed the three of them on what we’d learnt from Antonelli. I also brought them up to speed on the death of Father Carlos and everything that had happened since.

They listened transfixed, incredulous in places, and when I was finished, Mo-bot said, “I’m beginning to regret our decision to come here. Rome sounds dangerous.”