Private Rome

Chapter 82

Valentina gave Sci and Faduma her car, a two-year-old black Maserati Levante. Faduma drove it through the busy streets of Rome, more crowded than usual thanks to Roma’s match against Inter Milan, which was due to start at 7 p.m. It took them over two hours to get from Ostia to Esquilino.

“Do you do this much?” Faduma asked.

Sci shook his head. “Normally I get to hang out with dead bodies and crime scenes. Forensic investigation is my specialism, but when Jack gets himself in a jam, we all have to improvise. You?”

“More than I would like,” Faduma replied, steering the car around a crowd of Inter fans, who were chanting boisterously as they crossed the road. “It’s getting harder and harder to hold the rich and powerful to account. Often it requires exceptional measures.”

“Exceptional measures,” Sci responded. “I like that.”

“Does Jack get in many of these jams?”

Sci sighed. “Too many to count. Trouble follows him like a loyal dog, and he’s got too much decency and honor to shoo it away.”

“Yes,” Faduma replied. “He seems like a good man.”

“He is,” Sci said, and they drove on in silence for a while.

The streets shed any semblance of wealth, comfort, and much of their beauty as they entered Esquilino.

“Next right,” Sci said as they approached Via Mamiani.

Faduma nodded and took the turn. She saw the brightly lit symbol of a flame and the similarly illuminated word “Inferno” over the entrance to the bar.

She pulled into a space about fifty yards from the corner. Most of the stores around them were closed either permanently or for the match, their drawn shutters daubed with graffiti. Further along the street, a takeaway, café and another bar were open, but none had many customers. The Inferno Bar was the liveliest place on Via Mamiani, blasting music into the early-evening air.

There were a few smokers gathered outside who looked to Faduma angry and degenerate. The kind of ignorant men and women who had given her such a hostile reception when she’d first arrived in Italy.

“What now?” she asked Sci, but he was already rooting around in the holdall on the back seat. After a moment he turned back to face her with a tiny device and a remote control in his hand. The device looked like a wasp and was about the same size.

“Micro-drone,” he said. “It will give us eyes and ears very quickly.”

He switched on both devices and wound his window down to allow the miniature drone to fly out.

Faduma watched him use the screen on the remote control to pilot the small aircraft, which broadcast a live feed from a camera attached to its nose.

“This would be really useful,” Faduma said. “How can I get one?”

“Military grade,” Sci remarked, before cracking a smile. “Just kidding. We have a supplier who specializes in building them for law-enforcement and intelligence agencies around the world. I’m sure I can talk Jack into loaning you a couple if we have any left at the end of this.”

He turned his full attention to the screen as the drone approached the bar. He tried the windows first, but they were all closed.

“Let’s see about the air conditioning,” he said, piloting the drone toward an AC intake. The vents had been covered with a micromesh and the resin fixing it looked fresh.

“This wasn’t here before,” Sci remarked.

The same mesh covered every pipe and inlet leading into the building.

“Then it’s going to have to be the front door,” Sci said, steering the drone around the group of smokers.

The front door swung wide and another member of the Dark Fates stepped out to join the smokers, which gave Sci the opportunity to pilot the drone inside the bar.

Suddenly, the image became a jumble of shapes and the remote control turned unresponsive. Moments later the screen cut to sudden static.

“Jeez,” he said, reviewing the last few seconds of footage. “They’ve put an air curtain above the door. Someone has helped them bolster their physical security.”

“What do we do?” Faduma asked, but she already knew the answer. “One of us needs to go inside, right? And it can’t be you.”