Private Rome

Chapter 69

Faduma and I abandoned the Peugeot a couple blocks away. Other than the engine enduring a bit of a workout, the car was unscathed, thank goodness. I didn’t feel great about the theft, but sometimes doing the right thing under intense pressure involves breaking a few rules.

We cut across the grounds of a school, hopped a fence and saw the number 31 bus heading south along the Via Anastasio II.

“That will take us west out of the city,” Faduma said, flagging down the vehicle as she ran toward the stop.

We climbed aboard, paid the fare and settled into seats near the back as the bus rolled on. We saw heightened police activity everywhere, patrol cars speeding in the opposite direction, beat officers being mustered to checkpoints, and a helicopter in the sky.

We had just driven through an underpass when Faduma’s cell phone rang. She pulled it from her purse.

“Unknown number,” she said, before answering.

She listened for a moment.

“Police,” she whispered. “They want to know if I’m okay.”

I reached over and took her phone.

“Faduma Salah is my hostage. I will only release her when my demands are met. I will be in contact soon,” I said before hanging up.

I slid the phone down the side of my seat and stood.

“Come on,” I said.

“My phone,” she protested.

“I’ll buy you a new one.”

I pressed the bell and walked to the exit as the bus slowed. Faduma followed grudgingly.

“Did you really have to do that?” she asked.

“Which bit? The hostage? Or leaving your phone?”

“Both,” she said as the doors lurched open with a pneumatic hiss.

“You gave me the idea,” I said. “It absolves you of any wrongdoing. And you know I couldn’t let you keep your phone. No matter how secure it’s supposed to be.”

She nodded and sighed as we left the bus.

“What now?” she asked while the vehicle rumbled away.

“I need to get the surveillance gear from the apartment,” I said. “No one is watching Milan Verde and the Dark Fates. We have no idea what they’re doing. If I can review the footage, I might be able to see who sent that man to kill us at Baggio’s apartment.”

“I’m guessing the cops followed your friends after Justine was released from custody,” Faduma remarked. “So, the apartment is probably being watched.”

I nodded. “We’ll just have to be careful. And maybe a little cunning.”

“You’re dangerous, Jack Morgan.”

“Hold that thought,” I responded, hurrying toward a payphone beside a petrol station.

I stepped into the booth, swiped a credit card through the slot and dialed the operator.

An automated announcement played in Italian and I handed Faduma the receiver. She listened and then spoke in Italian.

“Who do you want?” she asked me.

“Gianna Bianchi,” I replied. “The attorney.”

I heard Faduma repeat the name along with some instructions in Italian. After a short pause she handed the receiver back to me.

There was a ringing tone and a woman’s voice said, “Bianchi avvocatessa.”

“Gianna Bianchi, please. Tell her it’s Jack Morgan.”

I was connected almost immediately.

“Jack, what’s going on? The things they’re saying on the news—”

“They’re not true,” I interrupted Gianna. “Someone has done a great job of setting me up. Listen, I need you to do me a favor. My colleagues Seymour Kloppenberg, Maureen Roth and Justine Smith have just been arrested at Centro Commerciale Aura. Do whatever you can to get them released. They’ve done nothing wrong.”

“Of course,” Gianna said.

“And you should probably let the cops know one of their own is dead. Bernardo Baggio is hanging in his closet. I think it’s murder staged to look like suicide.”

“Why?” Gianna asked.

“He was on duty the night Matteo is supposed to have tried to kill himself.”

I could sense her putting the pieces together.

“I’ll inform the authorities,” she assured me. “What about you? Come in. We’ll challenge the accusations.”

“Not yet,” I replied. “I can’t risk what happened to Matteo and Baggio happening to me. I need to take care of a few things.”

She hesitated.

“I understand. But I have to advise you to turn yourself in.”

“You’ve done that. Now do whatever you can to get my friends out. I’ll be in touch.”

“Be careful,” she advised before I hung up.

I turned to Faduma.

“Everything okay?” she asked.

I nodded, my mind whirring, my body still charged with adrenalin.

“Just trying to figure out how we get inside an apartment that is probably under tight police surveillance.”