Private Rome

Chapter 63

Ambassador Emily Carter had a large office on the top floor of the US Embassy in Rome, a beautiful imperial-style building, located in immaculately manicured gardens dotted with high palm trees. It was on the Via Veneto near the Villa Borghese Park. It was a magnificent setting in which to work. Justine admired the gardens and surrounding buildings through the floor-to-ceiling windows that spanned one side of Carter’s office.

Justine sat on a severe contemporary leather couch next to Mo-bot and both of them kept shifting position, unable to get comfortable. Justine could see her colleague squirming and couldn’t resist a smile.

“What?” Mo-bot asked indignantly. “Who designed this thing? And who even buys something like this?”

“That would be me,” Emily Carter said.

She was standing in the doorway leading to her executive assistant’s office, and neither Justine nor Mo-bot had noticed her enter.

“Sorry,” Mo-bot said. “It’s been a difficult night.”

“Don’t apologize,” Carter replied. “I was kidding. It came with the office, probably chosen by my predecessor as a statement piece. I hate it, but I’ve been so busy I haven’t got round to remodeling.”

Justine took an instant shine to the fifty-one-year-old former technology executive who’d agreed to lead the President’s diplomatic mission in Rome. Emily Carter was charming, polished, funny and intelligent. Her lightweight green tea dress would have been regarded by some as too casual for an ambassador, but to Justine it spoke of having enough self-confidence to ensure her own comfort over outdated convention.

Carter took a seat in an armchair that matched the couch.

“Sorry I was late,” she said. “Local situation briefing.”

“Intelligence? Maybe a background briefing on us?” Mo-bot remarked, and Carter smiled.

“Maureen Roth and Justine Smith of Private,” she said. “What can I do for you?”

“Our colleague Jack Morgan—” Justine began, but Carter interrupted her.

“Hero of Moscow and Beijing. Got himself into trouble here in Rome from what I’ve seen.”

“Yes,” Justine replied. “He didn’t do what the police are accusing him of.”

“Kill a priest?” Carter suggested.

Justine hesitated. “Are you trying to test us, Ambassador? Because this doesn’t feel like a friendly welcome.”

Carter smiled. “Does either of you sail? I do. The best way to get to know a crew is to sail with them in difficult conditions. Fair weather doesn’t show you a person’s character. Choppy waters reveal the truth.”

“Conditions here are already tough without any extra games,” Mo-bot said.

“And I’ve already learnt so much,” Carter replied. “So, tell me what I can do for you?”

“We’d like to know what the police have on Jack. We’ve seen the footage released to the media, and knowing him as we do, it’s clear he was trying to save the man’s life,” Justine said. “They must have something else on him.”

Carter thought for a moment. “That’s a reasonable request for any American citizen. Justice and due process. I’d make representations for anyone, but for Jack Morgan, I’ll make them at the highest level. Eli Carver speaks well of him. We’ll challenge the narrative — see if we can get hold of whatever they’ve got. Cast Rome police onto those choppy waters.”

Justine sat back and breathed a sigh of relief. It seemed her first instincts had been good and Emily Carter was someone she could trust to do the right thing.