Spider

39

Rome 'Jack King, you look magnificent!' exclaimed Massimo Albonetti, throwing his arms around the former FBI agent as he entered his office.

'And you – my smooth Italian friend – you still look like a polished cue ball,' said Jack, playfully rubbing the top of Massimo's bald head.

Massimo slapped his hand away and shut the door behind them. 'They told me you were ill, but look at you. You're heavier and healthier than I've ever seen you.'

'Good food and a good wife, that's the secret,' said Jack, patting his stomach.

'Jack, please, I am Italian – these things you do not need to tell me.' He waved a hand towards a chair on the other side of his desk. 'Please, please sit down. Can I get you a drink? Coffee, water?'

'Just some water, please. I'm trying to fight the caffeine.'

'Me too,' said Massimo, 'but the caffeine is always winning.' He pressed his desk intercom. 'Claudia, two double espressos and some water, please.'

Jack shot him a disapproving glance.

Massimo shrugged his shoulders. 'If you don't want it when it comes, then I will have yours as well.'

Jack took the seat and leant on the desk. 'Benedetta and the kids good? Did they get away on holiday okay?'

'Yes, fine, thank you,' said Massimo. 'Though there was another terrorist scare at the airport and the children were disappointed at not being able to take certain toys on the plane. No toy guns, no water pistols – how does a young child cope these days without them?'

'Air travel will never be the same again,' said Jack. 'Pretty soon you're going to have to empty your body fluids, then zip yourself up in a clear plastic bag before they'll let you board. The boys and girls in the anti-terrorist units certainly have their work cut out for them.'

'si,' said Massimo, smiling. 'I thank God every night that I managed to avoid being drafted into that particular war.'

The small talk had come to an end, so Jack asked the question that had been preying on his mind ever since they'd last spoken. 'So, Mass, are you going to tell me what you couldn't tell me on the phone?'

The Italian sat back and his old chair creaked so loudly it sounded as though the joints might break. The question was far from unexpected, and the answer was simple, but he still hesitated to break the news. 'Jack, you know how much I respect you and treasure our friendship, so forgive me for this. Before I tell you everything, I have to look you in the eye, man to man, friend to friend, and ask you: are you really all right now? Are you really strong enough mentally and physically to face up to what we are asking of you?'

It was the same question that Orsetta had alluded to, and one which Jack had been repeatedly asking himself over the last few days. 'I am,' he said forcefully, though deep down he still had his doubts. 'From what you've said, your murder, if it is not a copycat killing, may be the work of a man who killed at least sixteen young women in America. Now, I've tracked this bastard for close on half a decade, and the effort and strain damned near killed me. But I'll tell you this, Mass, watching him kill again and again, and being unable to try to stop him, well, that would be the worst thing in the world for me. For the sake of my own sanity, I have to be involved in this with you. I must, one more time, try to do everything I possibly can to get this guy off the streets.'

'Bravo, my friend,' said Massimo, relieved that he'd got the answer he'd been hoping for. 'I'm very proud that you have decided to work with us.'

'Okay, cut the gushy stuff,' said Jack light-heartedly. 'What is it you haven't been telling me?'

Massimo leant forward on his elbows and let Jack read the serious look on his face. This wasn't going to be easy. 'The report I sent you mentioned that Cristina's body had been dismembered, but some things were left out.'

Jack said nothing; his eyes asked the question for him.

'Cristina had been decapitated. He dismembered her body and severed her head. After he disposed of the other parts, he sent her head to our offices, here in Rome.'

There were a dozen questions Jack wanted to ask, but he started with the most obvious one. 'Why wasn't this in the confidential briefing notes? If I remember correctly, they'd gone to your Prime Minister's office.'

Massimo smiled. 'There is nothing confidential in Italian politics, especiallyin the Prime Minister's office. Send something confidential to the highest level and you merely push up the price at which an aide or civil servant will sell the document to the press.'

Massimo opened a long drawer that ran the full width of his desk. 'There's something more,' he said, determined to address all the outstanding issues with Jack as quickly as possible. He pulled out a thin file marked 'Barbuggiani/Confidential'. He handed it across the desk, adding, 'This is a copy of a note found inside the mouth of Cristina Barbuggiani. Forensics have the original.'

'Inside her skull?' checked Jack.

Massimo nodded. Jack slowly opened the file, his mind trying to put the various angles together. A pattern was clearly starting to emerge in both the US and Italian cases and he suspected he was about to see more links and similarities. Jack looked down at the photocopy. It was of a handwritten note. Black felt-tip ink, in capitals on plain white paper. The message was short, but devastating: