James Twining - The Geneva Deception

Viale XXI Aprile, Rome 18th March-4.51 p.m.

Panting, Allegra sprinted on to the Via Gaetano Moroni and then right on to Via Luigi Pigorini, the cars here parked with typical Roman indifference -some up on the kerb, others end-on to fit into an impossibly narrow gap.

Gallo…a killer? It made no sense. It was impossible. But how could she ignore what she’d seen? The shots fired from the doorway; Gambetta staggering backwards and toppling to the floor like a felled tree; Gallo’s animal grunt as he had hauled the carcass across the concrete; his stony face and cold eyes.

She found her stride, her ragged breathing slowly falling into a more comfortable rhythm, her thoughts settling.

Had Gallo seen her face? She wasn’t sure. Either way, it wouldn’t take him long to pull the security footage. The only thing that mattered now was getting as far away from him as she could.

Seeing a taxi, she flagged it down and settled with relief into the back seat as she gave him her home address up on the Aventine Hill.

Whether Gallo had seen her or not, at least his motives seemed pretty clear. He’d killed Gambetta so that he couldn’t tell anyone else about his discovery of the links between the murders. Why else would he have paused under the faltering neon light where Gambetta had taken Cavalli’s evidence box down from its shelf. He’d been looking for the lead disc, so that no one else would think or know to make the connection. No one apart from her.

‘What number?’ the driver called back over his shoulder ten minutes later as they drew on to the Via Guerrieri.

‘Drive to the end,’ she ordered.

With a shrug, he accelerated down the street, tyres drumming on the cobbles as Allegra sank low into her seat and peered cautiously over the edge of the window sill.

There. About fifty yards past the entrance to her apartment. A dark blue Alfa with two men sat in the front, their mirrors set at an unnatural angle so they could see back up the street behind them. She didn’t recognise the driver as they flashed past, but the passenger…the passenger, she realised with a sinking heart, was Salvatore. Not only had Gallo clearly seen her, but he had already unleashed his men on to her trail.

‘Keep going,’ she called, keeping her head down. ‘I’ve changed my mind. Take me to…Take me to the Via Galvani,’ she ordered, settling on the only other place she could think of. ‘It’s off the Via Marmorata.’

Making a face, the driver mumbled something about women and directions, only to roll his eyes when they reached the Via Galvani ten minutes later and she again asked him to drive down it without stopping.

‘Do you even know where you’re going?’ he called back tersely over his shoulder.

‘Does it even matter as long as you get paid?’ she snapped as she warily scanned the street. This time there was no sign of Gallo or any of his men. ‘Here, this will do.’

Paying him, she got out and walked back up the street towards Aurelio’s apartment.

‘ Ego sum principium mundi et finis sæculorum attamen non sum deus ,’ came the voice from the speaker.

‘Not now, Aurelio,’ Allegra snapped. ‘Just let me in.’

There was the briefest of pauses. Then the door buzzed open. She made her way to the lift. Aurelio was waiting for her on the landing, a worried look on his face.

‘What’s happened?’ he asked as she stepped out.

‘I’m in trouble.’

‘I can see that. Come in.’

He led her silently into his office and perched anxiously on one arm of his leather chair rather than settling back into his seat as usual. Pacing from one side of the room to the other and speaking in as dispassionate a tone as she could, she described what she’d seen and heard: the Cavalli murder; the engraved discs; Gambetta’s shooting; the flickering shadow of Gallo’s pale face. Aurelio listened to all this while turning over a small piece of broken tile in his hands, studying it intently as if looking for something. When she eventually finished, there was a long silence.

‘It’s my fault.’ He spoke with a cold whisper. ‘If I’d known…I should never have got you involved with any of this.’

‘If you want to blame someone blame Gallo,’ she insisted with a hollow laugh.

‘I know someone. A detective in the police,’ Aurelio volunteered. ‘I could call him and-’

‘No,’ she cut him off with a firm shake of her head. ‘No police. Not until I understand what’s going on. Not until I know who I can trust.’

‘Then what do you need?’

‘A place to stay. A coffee. Some answers.’

‘The first two I can help with. The third…well, the third we might have to work on together.’

‘Two out of three’s a good start.’ She bent down and planted a grateful kiss on his forehead.

‘I should offer to make the coffee more often.’ He grinned. ‘Here, sit.’ Aurelio stood up and pulled her towards his chair. ‘Rest.’

She shut her eyes and tried to clear her mind, finding the familiar smell of Aurelio’s aftershave and the merry clatter of pans and clink of crockery as he busied himself in the kitchen strangely comforting. For a few seconds she imagined herself back at home, perched on the worktop, eagerly telling her mother about what had happened that day at school while she prepared dinner. But almost immediately her eyes snapped open.

Rest? How could she rest, after what she’d just seen? How could she rest, that Gallo was out there somewhere, looking for her.

She jumped up and padded cautiously to the window, standing to one side so she could check the street below without being seen. It was empty. Good. As far as she knew, she’d never spoken to Gallo or anyone else on the team about her friendship with Aurelio, so there was no reason to think they would come looking for her here. Not that she was in a position to put up much of a fight if they did, given that she was unarmed.

The realisation made her feel strangely vulnerable, and she patted her hip regretfully, missing her weapon’s reassuring solidity and steadying ballast. If only…she had a sudden thought and glanced across at Aurelio’s desk. Somewhere inside it, she seemed to remember, he had a gun. It was completely illegal, of course-a Soviet Makarov PM that he’d picked up in a souk to protect himself from the local bandits while working on a dig in Anatalya. But right now, she wasn’t sure that mattered.

She crossed over to the desk, noticing the closely typed notes for a lecture that according to the cover page Aurelio was giving at the Galleria Doria Pamphilj the following day. Crouching down next to it, she tried each of the overflowing drawers in turn, her fingers eventually closing around the weapon at the back of the third drawer, behind some cassette tapes and a fistful of receipts.

She slid out the eight-round magazine. It was full and she tapped it sharply against the desk in case the spring was stiff and the bullets had slipped away from the front of the casing. The gun itself was well maintained and looked like it had recently been oiled, the slide pulling back easily, the hammer firing with a satisfyingly solid click. It wasn’t much, she knew, but it was certainly better than nothing. Satisfied, she slapped the magazine home.

Deriving a renewed confidence from her find, she sat down again in Aurelio’s chair and tried to clear her head. But she soon found her thoughts wandering again. To Gambetta and what he’d told her; to Gallo and her escape; to Salvatore and how close she’d come to falling into his grasp; to Aurelio and the sanctuary he was providing. And annoyingly, to the riddle that she had ignored earlier, but which had now popped back into her head.

‘I am the beginning of the world and the end of ages, but I am not God.’ She repeated the line to herself with a frown.