Private Rome

Chapter 68

I stood in silence for a moment, reeling at what I’d just seen, while people all around me screamed and backed away from the horror. This was the second member of the Dark Fates to have taken his own life rather than risk being captured. Whatever indoctrination these men had undergone was sufficiently powerful to subvert the most basic human instincts. Survival is at the heart of who we are, and to see a core trait so hideously twisted was deeply troubling to me. Could my own belief system ever be subverted like that?

I pulled myself together and in the moment of calm that followed the scattering of the shocked crowd, and the bewilderment of the truck driver and motorists who’d ground to a halt either side of the macabre scene, I ran forward. Under the pretext of checking whether the shooter was alive, I took his wallet and phone from the bloody remains.

“He’s dead,” I yelled as I stood. “Someone call an ambulance.”

I could already hear sirens and knew that was my cue to leave. I pressed through the crowd reconvening on the sidewalk some distance from the crushed body, and when I broke the edge of the cluster of people, jogged along the street and then retraced my steps to Bernardo Baggio’s building, pulling the cap and mirrored sunglasses from my pocket and putting them on.

I found Faduma loitering outside, looking lost and uncertain. She brightened when she saw me.

“What happened?”

“I almost caught him, but he jumped in front of a truck,” I replied.

“Like the last guy,” Faduma remarked.

I nodded. “Whatever this group is, they’ve got a real hold on the minds of these men.”

“What now?” she asked.

“I need to contact Mo-bot. I’ve got the guy’s personal possessions.”

I produced his wallet and phone. “I need them analyzed. See if we can find out who was giving him orders.”

“Milan Verde, surely?”

“I’d like to be certain,” I told her. “Where is the nearest Internet café?”

Faduma shook her head. “Are you from the nineties? Use this.”

She produced a Silent Circle Blackphone. I was familiar with the model. Mo-bot said they weren’t completely reliable at preventing tracking and data theft, but combined with Private’s secure network, it would suffice in the circumstances.

I used the phone to log into Private’s virtual network and accessed the messaging platform.

Me: I need to meet.

Justine: Where?

“Where should we meet?” I asked Faduma. “Somewhere public with lots of people.”

“Centro Commerciale Aura,” she replied. “It’s a shopping mall not far from here.”

Me: Centro Commerciale Aura. Food court. One hour.

Justine: Okay.

I disconnected, cleared the cache as an extra precaution, and returned the phone to Faduma.

“Thanks,” I said.

“No problem,” she replied. “When are we meeting them?”

“In one hour. The mall should give us plenty of cover.”

One hour later, as Faduma and I walked through the beautiful glass and lattice metalwork entrance to the mall on Viale di Valle Aurelia, I started to regret my decision. There were so many people around, it was impossible to secure early warning of a threat. But I told myself the throng of people would work in my favor too, masking Faduma and me, giving us cover from prying eyes.

We followed the mass of pedestrians heading along the walkway between the luxury stores, high-end clothing boutiques, and fragrance shops that filled the air with the sweetest scents.

Adrenalin flooded my body, heightening my perception as we took the escalator up to the next level. I scanned the eyes of the people around me, particularly those riding the down escalator, but there wasn’t the slightest flicker of recognition from anyone.

Faduma and I made it to the food court and saw Sci, Mo-bot and Justine seated at a large round table next to a luxury bakery and sandwich bar. There was a fire exit behind them. I couldn’t imagine the choice of table was accidental. The green door offered a quick escape route.

I saw Justine register our arrival and draw Mo-bot’s and Sci’s attention to us. Looking back on that moment, I’m not sure whether that was the trigger or whether the cops had simply picked us up as we arrived, but when we got within a few feet of the table, the food court was swarmed by police officers, most of them not in uniform, who had been seated at adjacent tables. They ran at us, shouting, weapons raised.

Mo-bot got to her feet and walked toward them, saying, “What the heck is this? What do you guys want?”

She was roughly manhandled and handcuffed, but the distraction bought us a heartbeat’s reprieve. I grabbed Faduma and pulled her through the fire door.

I ignored the commands to stop. When I glanced over my shoulder, I saw Sci and Justine, face-down against their table, being handcuffed.

Every fiber in me wanted to go to Justine’s aid, but Faduma pulled me away.

“Come on!” she said. “You can’t help her if you’re dead.”

I nodded and ran after her as she raced down the stairs. Above us, I heard the hammer of footsteps, but we had a decent head start and reached the ground floor quickly.

We burst through the fire door, startling two cops who had obviously been given what they thought was the light duty of standing guard by an emergency exit.

I grabbed the larger of the two and slammed his head against the door, dazing him. As he fell to his knees, I unclipped his pistol and drew it on his colleague.

Faduma spoke in Italian and clearly told the men to lie down because that’s what they did.

I heard shouts coming from the stairwell and looked around urgently. I caught sight of an elderly couple walking to their car, a classic sky-blue Peugeot 505, parked in a disabled space.

“Come on,” I said to Faduma, and we ran over to the man and woman.

I grabbed the car keys from the man’s hand and Faduma and I jumped in the beautifully maintained old car before the guy had really registered what had happened.

He started yelling as I turned the ignition, and the prone cops got to their feet and staggered toward us just as the pursuing officers burst out of the fire exit and ran our way.

I put the Peugeot in gear, floored the accelerator and we shot to safety, leaving a dozen angry people yelling in our wake.