Michael Dibdin - And then you die

'I can imagine.'

'Dottor Brugnoli's philosophy is that we should think as individuals but act as a team.' 'And Tullio wasn't a team player.' 'Not really, no.' Zen nodded.

'Brugnoli's full of new ideas, isn't he?' The woman's eyes glowed.

'Oh I know! He's just so inspirational. He's even having signs printed up for every workplace with phrases like that one, to help keep the staff motivated and focussed. I'm hoping to get one soon.'

Zen left the cardboard box on the counter and slipped the communication device and adaptor pack into his coat pocket.

'Don't get too motivated,' he said, turning towards the door. 'Brugnoli's ambitious, and this ministry is a political dead end.

Come the next cabinet reshuffle, he'll be gone. But those "older members of staff" you mentioned will still be around.'

Ten minutes later, he walked into the Bar Gran Caffe dell'Opera. Giorgio De Angelis was sitting at a table by the window.

'Tell me all,' he said as Zen sat down, 'then let’s see if we can work out what it really means.'

'I don't think that will be too difficult’ Zen replied sourly.

He gave Giorgio a paraphrased version of what Brugnoli had said, inserting a few of the choicer lines verbatim for comic effect, and they were duly effective.

When he'd stopped laughing, De Angelis said, 'I see you're already fluent in the new dialect Aurelio.'

'There was just one phrase I didn't understand. Something about "the Three I's".'

That's their motto for the way forward in this country’ De Angelis retorted in a tone of disgust. '"Inglese, impresa, Internet". This is the new Right, Aurelio. Statism with a human face. Well, with a business suit, anyway. No more canny old spiders like Andreotti spinning their intricate webs. Now if s all feel-good slogans and photo-ops carefully stage-managed by Publitalia. Christ, whoever would have thought that we'd miss the former regime so soon? Listen, if this new job doesn't work out, you're welcome to mine. When this retirement plan they've been threatening us with comes into effect, I'm going to cash in.'

'You don't understand, Giorgio. I can't have your job, or even my old one. That s the whole point.'

De Angelis looked at him, suddenly serious.

'How do you mean?'

‘I mean I'm being promoted out of harm's way.' 'They're kicking you upstairs?'

'Upstairs and to the left, all the way down the corridor to that little room at the end where no one ever goes. At least, that’s the way I read it'

'But why?'

‘I don't know.'

'What harm could you do them?'

'I have no idea. That s what's so worrying. If they simply wanted to get rid of me, they could have told me to take indefinite sick leave until this retirement deal comes through – the least we could do for un mutilato di guerra e del lavoro, etcetera, etcetera -and then handed me a cheque and kissed me goodbye. But for some reason I don't understand, they seem to want to keep me in the organization but not of it, if you see what I mean.'

'Out of touch but under control?'

Zen nodded.

'As I say, I have no idea why, but I can't read it any other way. Can you?'

De Angelis pondered this for some time. 'Maybe you're being too cynical,' he said at last. 'One can never be too cynical’

'That s pretty cynical. Try to be more positive. Maybe they really do respect your abilities and skills and want to put them to the best possible use’

Zen fixed him with a glassy eye.

'"To facilitate positive interactions and innovative strategies fostering enhanced productivity in the crime issue resolution sector"? I don't think so, Giorgio’

He turned to the window beside them.

'Anyway, who cares?' exclaimed De Angelis. 'It sounds like a hell of a deal to me, whatever their motives may be. No staff meetings, no routine paperwork, no supervision and no bullshit? Anyone in Criminalpol would kill for an offer like.. ‘

'Giorgio.'

'What?'

'Look out there’

De Angelis followed Zen's gaze to the street outside. 'What?'

'How many people can you see?'

Giorgio De Angelis attempted a laugh, which did not come off. 'What kind of question is that?' he demanded. 'How many?' insisted Zen, not turning to look at him. De Angelis sighed.

'One, two, three, four, five. Now four. Now six. Now five again. No, now it's.. ‘

'Can you see someone leaning against the wall right opposite, between that blue Fiat and the scooter?'

'That young jerk in the green shirt? Yes, Aurelio, I can. My distance vision is still remarkably good, although I have some difficulty reading small print. Speaking of which, would you mind telling me what this is all about?'

For a moment Zen was tempted to try and explain, but by now he was sane enough to restrain himself.

'Oh, nothing. I just thought I recognized him, that's all.'

De Angelis regarded him with unmitigated perplexity.

'How am I supposed to know whether you recognized him? Anyway, that's not what you said. You asked if I could see him.'

'Yes, I suppose I did. Never mind. Let's just forget it'

Giorgio De Angelis gave a perfunctory nod.

'Very well. He's gone now anyway. So you're not off to America after all?'

'No. One of the two brothers I was supposed to testify against has apparently worked out a sistemazione with the prosecutors.'

'As a result of which they don't need you any more.'

'Exactly.'

'Shame. I was there a few years ago. A private trip to visit relatives in Chicago. You'd have liked it.' Zen sniffed.

'I've never had any desire to go anywhere that wasn't part of the Roman Empire.'

As soon as the sentence was spoken, he realized how pompous it sounded. De Angelis looked at him in a way that made Zen realize suddenly that their friendship, if not over, had at least shifted in some important way. A moment later, he thought: he's envious.

'But if you'd been around at the time of the Roman Empire,' De Angelis replied, 'where would you have wanted to live? Carthage? Barcelona? Marseilles? London? Byzantium? Antioch? Alexandria? All very nice provincial cities with a low crime rate, state-of-the-art amphitheatres and immaculately maintained forums, and regularly topping the list of 'Ten Most Livable Cities in the Empire". No, you'd have wanted to live in Rome, at the heart of the beast, where the horrible action was. Well, today America is Rome.'

Zen nodded abstractedly.

'Have you heard about La Biacis?' De Angelis murmured. The last thing Zen wanted to hear about was Tarda Biacis, yet another former girlfriend who'd toyed with him for a while and then decided she could do better. But it would of course have been fatal to display the least reluctance to hear whatever Giorgio had to say. 'How is she?' he asked.

'Rich’ De Angelis replied. 'And I mean seriously rich. Remember that start-up company she founded to export authentic food and drink from the Friuli? Well, she branched out and started handling small quality producers in other areas of the country, nearly all in the south. When the Internet came along she saw her chance, hired a firm to design a killer web site, and started selling online. Agrofrul – now branded as Delizie – got big write-ups in a bunch of those glossy" food-porn mags, and the next thing you know she was deluged with orders from all over the world. I mean she was shipping Calabrian honey to America and Sicilian bottarga di tonno to Japan!'

Zen smiled thinly. He was thinking of his interview with Borunn Sigurdardottir, the Icelandic policewoman. Maybe Tania's private impresa, which she had used to run from her desk at the Ministry, had been the inspiration for the cover story he had given her. He hadn't thought consciously about Tania for years, though, and certainly didn't want to hear about her now. Nevertheless, he nodded.