The Enemy

CHAPTER 40

Bologna, Italy

It was always a pleasure visiting Bologna. It was a city of beauty and history in a country steeped in both. The city’s centre fascinated Victor with its architecture, monuments, porticos and eight-hundred-year-old fortifications. He gazed out from the top of the leaning, three hundred and thirty feet tall Torre degli Asinelli. It was the taller of Bologna’s famous Two Towers, and the expansive cityscape below him was all red rooftops and ochre walls except where grey medieval towers jutted above the rest of Bologna’s low-rise skyline.

Nearby Florence drew the tourists, keeping Bologna more authentic and unspoiled, and Victor hoped it would always remain that way. The comparatively few visitors meant there were less foreigners for Victor to hide among, but the city was all the more pleasant to walk around for the lack of camera-equipped sightseers.

The weather was hot and dry. Victor wore a white linen shirt and loose cotton chinos and kept cool walking through the shaded maze of the city’s famous portico arcades. In all there were twenty-five miles of covered walkways: perfect for drawing out and losing any surveillance. He saw none and continued his walk to the Via Rizzoli, where he perused the many quaint book and antique stores in between using the plate-glass storefronts of fashion boutiques to further check for shadows. No one registered on his threat radar, but he remained cautious while eating lunch and he continued to perform counter surveillance while seeking out the city’s Renaissance palaces when the majority of stores closed between one and three p.m.

Victor had no enemies in Italy, which was one of the reasons he liked to visit when he could, but after the run-in with the surveillance team in Minsk he had to be especially careful. Whoever they worked for could be tracking him down right now, which was why it was so imperative to find out who they were.

When he was content he had done all he could to avoid being shadowed, Victor walked into a low-ceilinged osteria and surveyed the crowd of strange faces that turned in his direction. He was still within the city centre but the neighbourhood was poorer, shabbier and less welcoming. He made eye contact with those who looked his way to show he wasn’t an easy target, but didn’t stare long enough to invite a challenge. Conversations began again and he ordered a Coke from the skinny barmaid and sat down on a stool, shifting his weight a few times to get comfortable on the hard seat. An old man two stools along asked if he had a light. Victor shook his head.

He sipped his drink and waited. He had his back to the rest of the bar, but the corner tables were all occupied and a huge mirror behind the bar let him keep an eye on his flanks.

It took a few minutes before someone took a stool next to him. The man was short, slightly overweight, with thick arms and a dark, unkempt beard. He was somewhere in his fourth decade and judging by the deep yellow nicotine stains on his hands and teeth Victor didn’t give him more than a couple more.

‘I hear you’re looking for Giordano,’ the man said, without looking at Victor.

‘He’s a hard man to track down. Do you know where I can find him?’

‘I know so many things I fear my brain is not large enough to hold them all.’

‘Where might I find him?’

‘It pains me to say that you cannot. But I am a helpful soul and will fetch him for you. He is terribly shy of strangers, you understand.’

Victor didn’t believe what he was being told for a second. If the bearded man told Victor where to find Giordano, his own usefulness would have been cut short. By keeping Victor in the dark he kept himself as middleman and maintained his profit margins.

Victor opened his wallet and thumbed through the hundred-euro notes inside. He took out one and laid it on the bar, but kept a finger on it.

‘Tell me where I can find Giordano.’

The man reached for the money, but Victor slid it away from his eager fingers.

‘Where?’ Victor asked.

The man grunted. ‘That’s not how these things progress. Let me unburden you of that ugly piece of paper and I can introduce you to him.’

‘Very well.’ Victor slid the note from the bar and placed it back inside his wallet. ‘When can you arrange such an introduction?’

‘How does tomorrow sound to you?’

‘Too late,’ Victor said, understanding the game.

‘Alas, these arrangements take time,’ the man said.

‘And money?’ Victor placed two hundred-euro notes on the bar. ‘How about you take me to him now?’

The bearded man said, ‘That sounds perfectly amicable.’

They walked through the Piazza Maggiore. Locals and tourists sat around the grand square, enjoying the sun and Bologna’s friendly atmosphere while pigeons jostled for crumbs and flapped out of the path of charging children. The piazza was fronted on all sides by buildings dating back to the Middle Ages. To the south, Victor could see the Basilica di San Petronio dominating the square. Its huge facade was composed of elegantly constructed blocks of white and red stone with elaborate carvings and archways at the bottom. Above, however, it was merely topped by crude bare bricks. The result was bizarre to most, horrible to some, but Victor found it strangely appealing — the mix of the beautiful and the ugly.

The bearded man maintained a slow walking pace and smoked cigarettes the whole way, lighting a fresh one while the dying embers of the previous still glowed in the gutter. Victor tried to stay away from the smoke as much as he could because it was the sweetest aroma he’d smelled in a long time and one that tested his resolve. The city streets were narrow and notably absent of trees — the one mark he gave against Bologna’s beauty. The bearded man led him through several of the meandering porticos and Victor realised the route they were taking was just as meandering. He was happy to play along and enjoy viewing the array of old terracotta buildings they passed. Modern architecture was rare in Bologna and the city felt as though time had stood still within its walls while the world changed around it.

Eventually they passed beyond what remained of the medieval walls surrounding the historic centre and out of the time sink. The streets became more crowded, the traffic louder, the lights brighter. The bearded man led Victor for another fifteen minutes before they veered off into an alleyway that ran along the back of a row of restaurants.

‘This is where we part ways,’ the bearded man said, taking the cigarette from his lips. ‘It’s been a pleasure. Now, just walk up there and round the corner.’

He pointed and held out his hand.

‘Giordano?’

‘That would be far too easy, would it not? You’ll find a newspaper under a wooden box. Find the puzzle page. In the crossword is a time and a place. Farewell.’

The air was warm. Music from a nearby bar drifted over him. Victor walked slowly, gaze sweeping over the area, but there was nothing to concern him. He found the box and the paper and folded the puzzle page into his pocket.

The low sun made Victor reach for his shades as he walked back into central Bologna. He passed through the crowds, unnoticed, unremembered. When he had been young he’d wanted everyone to look at him. Now, if anyone did, they were his enemy until proved otherwise.

He used the city’s punctual buses to get around. For some reason, taxis didn’t seem to stop when hailed. Victor spent an hour swapping between buses, before heading to the train station where he sat on a platform bench, thumbing through a classic car magazine. When the eighteen-fifty train to Rome arrived he waited until eighteen-forty-eight before boarding. A few people boarded after him.

On the train, he stood in the vestibule, his hand on the door, counting each passing second. Through the window, he watched for the attendant on the platform give the train driver the all-clear, then he flung the door open and jumped out. He slammed it shut behind him and heard it lock a moment later.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw the attendant shake his head. Victor ignored him, looked back and forth along the platform.

No one else had disembarked.

The cafe was small, elegant, with round white tables and stools instead of chairs. The walls were smooth and white with lots of mirrors. Victor liked that. For once he could sit anywhere he chose and with mere flicks of his eyes see the entrance, counter, restroom doors, even the long, perfectly toned legs of the blonde sitting to his right. Though the distraction the latter caused was certainly more of a hindrance than a benefit.

The scent of freshly ground coffee perfumed the air. The establishment was spacious but full, vibrant and noisy. Victor sat with a newspaper spread out before him and a tall glass of orange juice sitting next to it. Condensation beads hung from the glass. The hands on the clock above the counter said that it was nine p.m. He would give it another ten minutes, enough time to explain some bad traffic. If he hadn’t shown by that time then it would be too bad.

He came through the door as Victor was finishing off the last of the orange juice. He looked the same as he always had — slim, tanned, blond, flawlessly groomed, perpetually young, unshakably confident, impossibly good looking.

He smiled at Victor as he approached and said, ‘Vernon, my favourite shark, come all the way to Bologna to see me. This whole city is honoured by your presence.’

‘A shark?’

The blond man sat down opposite. ‘It seems to me the metaphor fits quite aptly. I was thinking about it on the way here.’ He leaned closer and whispered, ‘You swim undetected through the ocean, strike without warning and then disappear back into the depths, unseen but always feared.’

‘Nice imagery,’ Victor said, without inflection.

‘I know, right?’

‘You’re late, Alberto.’

Alberto Giordano shrugged, didn’t say anything, the action itself the explanation for his tardiness.

‘I almost left,’ Victor continued.

‘And not see me? Preposterous. People always wait for me.’ Giordano’s smile suddenly disappeared as he noticed Victor’s right hand was under the table. ‘What’s that about, Vernon?’

‘What do you think?’

Giordano made a face. ‘Such bad manners. I thought we were past all that nonsense. If I’m so threatening, why did you even want to meet?’

‘I’m lonely.’

He gestured to Victor’s unseen hand. ‘When you treat people like that, I can’t say I’m too surprised.’

‘Says the man who sent me halfway around the city today.’

Giordano grinned. ‘A little adventure never hurt anyone. Don’t pretend you didn’t enjoy it. Besides, you always told me I needed to be more careful. A multi-faceted defence, and all that silly stuff. This is me being more careful. If people want to see the great Giordano himself they can dance to his tune so he can first see their true rhythm. And it works, too. Can’t have this handsome face marked by some uncouth ruffian now, can we? And don’t try to act offended — you put a friend of mine on a train to Rome. He got caught without a ticket. Do you know how much the fines are in this country? I swear the fascists are still in power.’

‘I don’t like being followed.’

A waitress approached, her elegant uniform stretched tight over her curves. Her eyes lit up when she saw Giordano and she gave him a wide smile. If she noticed Victor, she didn’t show it. Giordano ordered an espresso for himself and another orange juice for Victor.

‘I assume, despite the obvious pleasure of my company, you’ll be requiring the usual product,’ Giordano said.

‘Yes.’

‘What nationality?’

‘I’m thinking Italian this time.’

Giordano smiled. ‘Vernon, please, I’m not sure you’re beautiful enough to be one of us.’

‘I’m beautiful on the inside.’

Giordano laughed and they made small talk until the waitress reappeared and placed their drinks down. She spent a few minutes flirting with Giordano, leaning over the table so the fact the top buttons of her blouse were undone was obvious. The temperature must have spiked in the interval since she took their order, Victor thought. He sipped his orange juice and tried not to get in the way. Eventually, she took Giordano’s number and went back to her work.

‘It can be a curse, being me,’ Giordano said wistfully after she’d gone. ‘When you look like this, every woman wants to talk with you. I can’t not, otherwise they’ll think I’m rude. And before you say anything presumptuous, I even talk with the hideous ones. I just don’t call them.’

Victor didn’t respond. He said, ‘The identity has to be genuine. And completely clean.’

‘For you, Mr Shark, nothing less. You have a photo, I take it?’

Victor took a passport-sized photograph from a pocket and handed it to Giordano. ‘There’s something else I could use your help with.’

‘I can try and teach you how to talk to women if you like,’ Giordano said with a wide grin. ‘But I can’t promise they’ll want to talk to you.’

‘I do get by, Alberto.’

‘Don’t think I don’t know what that means, my friend. My sister, though no beauty, is a pleasant enough woman. I think you’d get on. She’s quiet, like you.’

‘You’d let your sister see someone like me?’

‘What a person does for a living does not define him. We all need money, do we not? How we elect to acquire it is not a reflection of our hearts but our society. Am I a forger or am I Alberto Raphael Giordano, friend, lover, artist, son? Besides, you are a good man, Vernon, even if you don’t want to believe it.’

‘I appreciate the offer, but a date is not exactly what I had in mind.’

Victor withdrew his hand from under the table and placed one of the wireless cameras he’d procured in Minsk on to the tabletop. Giordano stared at the empty hand for a moment, smiled, and shook his head.

‘Now why would you be so mean as to make me believe you were holding a gun? I’m hurt.’

‘I’m sure the waitress will help you feel better.’

Giordano smiled again and picked up the camera. ‘Nice,’ he said, examining it carefully. ‘Better than nice.’

‘What can you tell me about it?’

‘It’s US made. Wireless range of up to fifty metres in an urban environment, up to a hundred outside. Both full colour and infrared, high-resolution images. Lasts a week on a nine-volt battery. This is brand new tech. Government use only. Vernon, I had no idea your tastes were so refined.’

‘How would you go about getting one of these?’

‘With enormous difficulty, and more money than I would spend to win the heart of Venus herself.’

‘But it would be possible if you weren’t an American government agency?’

‘Anything is possible.’

‘Could you get hold of a dozen of these if you needed to?’

Giordano held up his hands. ‘I appreciate the vote of confidence, Vernon, but I wouldn’t even try. I’m sure I could get one, maybe even three, but I have no wish to have CIA beasts kicking down my door to ask me why I have restricted materials.’

Victor nodded, and tried to keep his thoughts from his face. He asked, ‘Could you trace the camera’s serial number to find out who bought it?’

‘For you I will happily try.’

‘See what you can do,’ Victor said. ‘But be discreet. Don’t take even the slightest risk for this. Please. Whatever the outcome, you can keep the camera.’

Giordano glanced in the waitress’s direction. ‘I might test it out later.’

Victor shook his head. ‘How long until I can collect the passport?’

‘A few days,’ Giordano said.

‘Call me the second it’s ready.’

‘I detect an urgency that is most unlike you.’

Victor didn’t respond.

‘In some trouble, Vernon?’

‘You could say that.’

‘Then why not leave that trouble far behind you and retire while you’re still young and relatively good looking? Live, don’t just exist.’

Victor took a sip of orange juice and said, ‘When I was first starting out I used to think about what I’d do when I’d put away enough money to retire. I worked out a figure and promised myself I wouldn’t do this for a day longer than I needed.’

‘Sensible and commendable. How long until you reach this number?’

‘I reached it a long time ago.’

‘Retire then. Enjoy your life.’ He smiled and sat back. ‘Like me.’

Victor shook his head. ‘If only it was that simple, Alberto. I’ve been doing this too long. I’ve made too many enemies. If I retire, I’ll get soft, I’ll get slow. I won’t see them coming when they finally track me down.’ The smile left Giordano’s face. ‘You were right — what you said before. I am a shark. As soon as I stop swimming, I’ll drown.’