James Twining - The Geneva Deception

‘Ortiz told me that the Italian government has drawn up a catalogue of forty artefacts acquired by or donated to the Getty over the past twenty years that they want returned. The mask is at the top of the list.’

‘That’s a start,’ she said, sitting down next to him.

‘The Greek and Turkish governments are talking about doing the same. And that’s just the Getty. There are other museums, galleries, private collections…the fall-out from this will take years to clear.’

‘But nothing will change,’ she sighed. ‘When the Delian League finally falls, others will just see it as an opportunity to step in and fill the vacuum.’

‘You can’t stop the supply,’ Tom nodded. ‘Contarelli was right about that. The tomb robbers are fighting a guerrilla campaign and the police are still lining up in squares and using muskets. But if the publicity makes museums, collectors and auction houses clean up their act, it might choke the demand. And with less buyers, there’ll be less money and less incentive to dig. In time, things might just change.’

There was a silence, Allegra playing with the water and letting it slide through her fingers like mercury.

‘They buried Aurelio yesterday,’ she said, without looking up.

‘I didn’t know that…?’

‘Some kids found his body washed up on the Isola Tiberina.’

‘Murdered?’

‘They don’t think so.’

Tom placed his hand on her shoulder. She glanced up and then quickly looked down again, her eyes glistening.

‘I’m sorry.’

‘I think he was too.’ She shook the water from her fingers and then wiped them on her skirt.

‘What’s happened to Gallo?’

‘Promoted, I expect.’ She gave a hollow laugh. ‘To be honest, I don’t care. Him, the people he was protecting…they all disgust me.’

‘But he kept his part of the deal?’ Tom checked.

She nodded. ‘All charges dropped. A formal apology. My pick of assignments. He even had my parking tickets cancelled.’

‘So you’ll stay?’

‘I’ll think about it,’ she said. ‘Not everyone’s like him. Besides, I want to see Contarelli’s face when I raid his place.’ Tom grinned. ‘What about you?’

‘Me?’ He gave a deep sigh. ‘Archie’s meeting me in New York for Jennifer’s funeral. The FBI only released her body last week, After that…Who knows? I never like to plan too far ahead. Which way’s the sea?’

They stood up and walked through to the other side of the colonnade, following some steps down to a path.

‘By the way, did you hear about the Caravaggio?’ Allegra asked as they headed up a slope to their right.

‘Destroyed?’ A hint of surprise in Tom’s voice.

She shook her head.

‘There wasn’t any trace of it in the ambulance.’

‘And Santos?’

‘The DNA from the body at the wheel matched the sample the Vatican provided for him,’ she said with a shrug. ‘So that’s case closed, I guess.’

‘Except you think he’s still alive,’ Tom guessed.

‘I think if he’s got any sense, he’ll stay dead,’ she said, the muscles in her jaw flexing with anger. ‘Moretti’s people are looking for him and the word is that De Luca’s put a five-million-dollar ticket on his head.’

They reached a large lawned area and walked to its far wall where there was a view out over the treetops to the sea, white caps rolling in neat parallel lines towards the beach.

‘There’s one thing I still can’t figure out,’ Allegra said, hitching herself on to it to face Tom, who was shielding his eyes from the sun. ‘Why did Faulks have two watches?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘De Luca, D’Arcy, Moretti and Cavalli only had one watch each. Why did Faulks have two in his safe?’

‘He said he had two seats on the council,’ Tom reminded her. ‘Presumably to act as a counterweight between D’Arcy and De Luca on one hand and Cavalli and Moretti on the other. The watches went with the seats, I guess.’

‘Except the League was formed by putting De Luca’s and Moretti’s two organisations together,’ she said slowly. ‘That must have meant that they would each have had their own dealer at one stage.’

‘So what are you saying? That one of the watches used to belong to someone else?’ Tom frowned as he considered this.

‘De Luca did say that Faulks’s two seats were an accident of history,’ she said. ‘What if the other dealer left? Faulks would have taken over his seat and his watch.’

‘Unless the other dealer never handed the watch back. That might explain why Faulks had to go and get a replacement made.’ Tom suggested. ‘You could be right. Maybe when you see him you can ask him. Which reminds me…’

He took a piece of paper from his pocket and deliberately ripped it in half and then half again.

‘What’s that?’ she asked, as he continued to rip it into ever smaller pieces.

‘You remember when we went through the papers in Faulks’s safe? Well, I found a map. The one showing where Cavalli found the mask.’

‘Wait!’

She reached out to grab his hand, but he threw the pieces up into the air before she could get to him.

‘Tom!’ she shouted angrily. ‘Have you any idea what else could be down there?’

He gave her a rueful smile.

‘Not everything’s ready to be found, Allegra.’

Above him, the scraps of paper fluttered like butterflies in the sunlight, before a gust of wind lifted them soaring into the sky and carried them out to sea, like a flock of birds at the start of a long migration south.

Central Square, Casco Viejo, Panama

1st May-6.36 p.m.

Antonio Santos, his arm in a sling, stood to one side and pressed the muzzle of his gun against the door at about head height.

‘Who is it?’

‘DHL,’ a muffled voice called back. ‘Package for Mr Stefano Romano?’

‘Leave it outside.’

‘I need a signature,’ the voice called back.

Santos paused. He was expecting a couple of deliveries this week under that name, and it would be a shame if they got returned. On the other hand, he needed to be careful until he was certain that he had shaken everyone off the trail.

‘Who is it from?’ he asked, slowly sliding his face across to the peep hole.

A bored-looking man was standing on the landing dressed in a brown uniform. He appeared to be trying to grow a beard and was chewing gum. Santos’s last question had prompted him to roll his eyes and blow a bubble that he popped with his finger.

‘It’s from Italy,’ he replied, glancing at the stamps and then turning it over so that he could read the label on its back. ‘Someone called Amarelli?’

Grinning, Santos tucked his gun into the back of his trousers, unbolted the door and threw it open.

‘Amarelli liquorice from Calabria,’ he explained, signing the form and eagerly ripping the box open. ‘The best there is.’ He flicked open a tin of Spezzata and crammed two pieces into his mouth, chewing them noisily. ‘Want to try some?’ he mumbled, thrusting the tin at the courier, who waved them away with a muttered word of thanks. ‘I’ve looked everywhere, but no one seems to stock it here. Lucky for me they do mail order.’

‘Lucky for me too, Antonio,’ the courier replied. ‘Or I’d never have found you.’

His eyes widening as he realised his mistake, Santos immediately kicked the door shut and reached for his gun. But the man was too quick, stamping his foot in the jamb and then shouldering the door open, sending Santos reeling backwards. Swinging his gun out from behind him, Santos lined up a shot, but before he could pull the trigger a painful punch to the soft inside of his arm sent it rattling across the tiled floor, while a forearm smash to his neck sent him crashing to his knees. He made a choking noise, his hands wrapped around his throat, his breathing coming in short, animal gasps.