The Nosferatu Scroll

66

‘Yes, Signor Bronson?’ Bianchi asked, his tone resigned. ‘What do you want now?’

Obviously the inspector had recognized Bronson’s mobile number or had stored it in his contacts list.

The one thing that Bronson wasn’t going to do, now that he knew of Bianchi’s involvement with the gang, was to reveal anything of what he knew. If the inspector realized that Bronson was only about a hundred yards away, he was sure that he’d be dead within minutes. They’d send out half a dozen men in a couple of boats, and they’d run him down in the dark and shoot him.

‘I hope I haven’t caught you at a bad moment, Inspector,’ Bronson asked.

‘Not really,’ Bianchi replied smoothly. ‘I’m just about to sit down to dinner with my family.’

A blatant lie, obviously, as Bronson could see the man through his binoculars, standing on the path right in front of him.

‘I just wondered if you had any more news.’

‘No, I’m afraid not. Let me assure you again that the moment I learn anything I will tell you. Now, good evening, Signor Bronson.’

Bronson kept his eyes fixed on the distant figure, and saw the man snap his phone closed. That was the final confirmation – if any was needed – that it really was Bianchi who was standing on the island in front of him.

Bronson nodded to himself. That also explained something else. When he’d told the inspector about the book Angela had recovered from the desecrated tomb on the Island of the Dead, and described the subsequent burglary at their hotel, Bianchi hadn’t asked how the burglars had known where to look for the diary. The only people who knew that Bronson and Angela had been in the graveyard that night, and who also knew where they were staying in Venice, were the two carabinieri officers. Bianchi had not asked the obvious question, because he’d already known the answer. Somebody in the Venetian police force – most likely Bianchi himself – must have given the information to the men on the island.

Bronson knew then that he was entirely on his own.

Pulling the Browning from his waistband, he removed the magazine and, working by feel, ejected all the cartridges from it. He repeated the process with the spare magazines he’d taken from the man in the graveyard on the Island of San Michele, and then carefully reloaded each magazine again. It was a technique he’d learned in the Army. Stoppages – the pistol jamming – were far more likely if the magazine had been left loaded for some time. Emptying it and then refilling it helped avoid the problem. And the one thing he could not afford was the possibility that the weapon would jam.

Until that point, Bronson had been keeping the pistol purely for his own protection. But venturing on to that island meant he was taking the fight directly into the enemy’s camp, and for that he needed all the help he could get. That included carrying the pistol in its holster instead of simply stuffed into his waistband, where it might snag on his belt or shirt.

Bronson clipped on both the holster and the magazine pouch, on the right- and left-hand sides respectively of his belt, and then did it up again. The pouch held the two magazines slightly separated so that each of them could be grasped easily. He inserted the magazines so that they faced in the same direction, with the forward lip pointing behind him, so that when he pulled out one of the magazines to reload the weapon, it would be the right way round to slide into the butt of the Browning. A fast and fumble-free magazine change could make the difference between life and death in a close-combat situation.

He loaded the last magazine into the Browning, pulled back the slide to chamber the first cartridge and ensured that the safety catch was on. Cocking any semi-automatic pistol makes a very distinctive sound, and he didn’t want to risk doing it on the island – anybody hearing it would know immediately what it was. He slid the Browning into the holster, and ensured it was held firmly. Then he switched off his mobile phone and slid it into his pocket.

His preparations complete, Bronson climbed over the side of the boat on to the swampy vegetation, and pushed the vessel back into the water so that it floated free, then he stepped back on board.