The Geneva Deception (31 page)

20th March—11.13 p.m.

‘Colonel Gallo, thank God you’re here!’ Santos rose gratefully from his seat and stepped towards him, switching back to Italian.

‘Sit down,’ Gallo ordered him back.

‘I’ve been kidnapped. Held against my will. Shot!’ He held out his bloodied arm, his voice rising hysterically.

‘Sit down, Santos, or I’ll shoot you again myself,’ Gallo warned him in an icy tone.

‘This is an outrage,’ Santos insisted. ‘In case it’s slipped your mind, Gallo, I have diplomatic immunity. You have no legal right to detain me here. I demand to be released immediately.’

‘No one is going anywhere,’ Gallo fired back. ‘Get their weapons.’ Two of his men shouldered their machine guns and quickly patted everyone down, tossing whatever they found into the far
corner of the room. Santos sank into his chair. Gallo turned to Allegra. ‘Lieutenant Damico, are you hurt?’

‘N-n-no,’ Allegra stammered, bewildered. This was the man she’d been running from; the man she’d seen execute Gambetta and then pin the crime on her; the man who had supposedly supplied Santos with Cavalli’s watch. And yet, this same man was now holding Santos at gunpoint and asking if she was okay.

‘Good.’ Gallo twitched a smile. ‘Then maybe you can tell me what the hell is going on down here?’

Again she looked for signs of the person who had been haunting her thoughts for the past few days. But it was almost as if she’d imagined the whole thing.

‘There’s a secret organisation called the Delian League,’ she began haltingly. ‘An alliance between the different mafia families to co-ordinate their antiquities smuggling operations and split the profits. Don De Luca and Don Moretti head it up. This man—’ she pointed at Faulks—‘was responsible for selling whatever was smuggled out of the country to dealers and collectors around the world. Santos provided the financial backing and laundered the profits for them through the Banco Rosalia.’

‘And this?’ Gallo kicked the rolled up painting.

‘The missing Caravaggio
Nativity
.’

‘You’re joking!’ Placing his gun down next to him, Gallo knelt and unrolled the first few feet of the canvas before glancing up, shaking his head in wonder. ‘My God, you’re not.’

Without warning, Santos flew forward off his chair, snatched Gallo’s gun up and before anyone had time to move, aimed it at his forehead.

‘Back off,’ he snarled as the armed police belatedly aimed their weapons at him. ‘Put your guns on the floor or I’ll kill him right here.’

The police ignored him, a few even taking a step closer. Santos immediately took shelter behind Gallo, pressing the gun to his temple.

‘You know I’ll do it,’ he hissed, his lips hovering over Gallo’s ear. ‘Tell them to back the fuck off.’ From the wild look in his eyes, Allegra could tell that he meant it.

‘Stand down,’ Gallo ordered in a strangled voice, clearly sensing this too. ‘Stand down, that’s an order.’

One by one, the officers lowered their guns, placing them at their feet, and then backed away. Santos’s three men immediately re-armed themselves, Orlando leaping to Santos’s side, the other two covering off the rest of the room.

‘Now get them out of here.’

Gallo said nothing.

‘Now!’ Santos roared, striking him on the back of his head with the heel of his gun.

‘Fall back the way you came in,’ Gallo ordered
grudgingly, clutching his skull. ‘Tell them what’s happening.’

‘Yes, tell them everything,’ Santos called after them. ‘And tell them that if anyone else comes down here, I’ll kill everyone in this room, starting with the colonel.’

There was a pause as Santos waited for the room to empty, a few of the retreating officers glancing nervously behind them in anticipation of perhaps being shot from behind. But the attack never came, and the sound of their leaden footsteps soon faded away. Allegra glanced at Tom, who gave her a grim smile. They were on their own.

‘Get the painting,’ Santos barked. ‘Time to go.’

With Orlando standing guard, the two other men heaved the rolled-up canvas on to their shoulders and staggered towards the entrance. Still holding Gallo’s neck in the crook of his arm, the gun pressed to his head, Santos backed across the room.

‘I’ll be seeing you soon, Antonio,’ Moretti called after him. ‘Sooner than you think.’.

Santos paused, then shoved Gallo into Orlando’s arms and grabbed two grenades from the bag looped around Orlando’s neck.

‘I doubt it,’ he said, smiling as he pulled the pins out and lobbed one, then the other, into the middle of the room.

20th March—11.16 p.m.

The first grenade landed at Tom’s feet. Without thinking, he snatched it up, and with a deft snap of his wrist, flicked it through the gap in the glassfronted display case where the painting had been hanging. Hitting the wall, it bounced a short way along the bottom and then exploded.

The room jumped around them, smoke and dust avalanching through the opening, bits of plaster peeling off the walls like the bark on a cork tree, a terrible, angry roar lifting them off their feet and knocking the wind out of them. But, as some primitive, instinctive part of Tom’s brain had no doubt intended, the two-inch-thick armoured glass absorbed the brunt of the blast, its surface cracking but holding firm.

There was to be no such reprieve from the second grenade, however. Having struck the marble table it bounced into Moretti’s lap. He looked up,
his eyes beseeching, mouth gaping as De Luca dived out of the way. Then it went off, cutting Moretti in half and sending a meteor shower of shrapnel across the room.

Tom looked up from where he had thrown himself to the floor, barely able to see through the thick smoke that seemed to have blown in like a sea fog. Ears ringing, he staggered to his feet and made his way unsteadily towards where he had last seen Allegra and the others, tripping over De Luca, who had lost a shoe and whose arm was hanging limply at his side, blood leaking from a deep gash to his head. The two halves of Moretti’s body were lying next to him, although the way they had landed made it look as if his legs were growing out of his head. It was a gruesome sight.

Coughing, he knelt by Allegra’s side. She seemed okay if a little disorientated, Moretti having clearly absorbed the worst of the explosion. But both Archie and Dominique were injured—Archie clutching the side of his face, the blood soaking through his fingers, while a shard of hot metal had embedded itself in Dominique’s thigh.

‘Are you okay?’ Tom called, knowing that he was shouting but still barely able to hear himself.

‘We’ll be fine,’ Archie said through gritted teeth. ‘Just go and shoot the bastard.’

With a nod, Tom jumped across to the pile of guns discarded by Gallo’s men, grabbing one for
himself and tossing another to Allegra, who was now back on her feet.

‘Let’s go,’ she said, her eyes filled with the same diamond-tipped determination he’d seen when she’d engineered their escape from the car park.

They sprinted back through the various decorated rooms towards the bath complex and the vaulted tunnel that led outside.

‘Wait!’ Allegra called as he turned towards the entrance. ‘Can you feel that?’

He paused, and then realised what she meant. A fresh breeze was tickling his cheek, the air sweet and rich compared to the otherwise brackish atmosphere. Santos must have found another way out.

Turning to her right, she led him down a narrow tunnel that rose in total darkness up a steep incline. Feeling his way along the brick walls, Tom followed closely behind, the breeze getting stronger, until they found themselves in a square chamber. Above them, an iron ladder climbed towards a patch of star-flecked sky. At the foot of the ladder, a body was lying on a bed of rubble. It was Gallo.

‘He’s alive,’ Allegra said, kneeling next to him and pressing her fingers against his neck. Tom wasn’t sure if she sounded relieved or disappointed. ‘Santos must have thrown him back down the hole.’ She pointed at the colonel’s arm, which was bent up at an unnatural angle where he had dislocated his shoulder in the fall.

Tom flew up the ladder, emerging under the disapproving glare of an angel that had escaped damage when Santos had smashed through the gravestone she had been guarding. Hauling himself clear, he reached down to help Allegra climb out, the flickering blue lights on the other side of the cemetery indicating where Gallo’s man had congregated around the entrance to the Merisi tomb.

‘Which way?’

Allegra’s question was almost immediately answered by the sound of an engine being started. They ran to the cemetery wall, Allegra giving Tom a leg up, Tom then reaching down and hauling her up behind him. As he jumped down on to the pavement, an ambulance surged out of the darkness, headlights blazing, Santos hunched over the wheel.

Stepping into the road and taking careful aim, Tom unloaded a full clip into the ambulance’s onrushing windscreen. Allegra, still perched on the wall, did the same. But they both missed, forcing Tom to leap out of the way at the last minute as the ambulance veered past, followed the road round and then disappeared into the night.

‘
Merda
,’ Allegra swore.

‘I had him,’ Tom panted as he clambered back up alongside her. ‘I was aiming right at him.’

‘Well, you missed. We both did.’

‘That’s impossible.’ Tom shook his head, popping
out the magazine and checking it. ‘He was coming straight towards me. He could only have been thirty feet away. Less.’

A sudden thought came to him. An impossible thought. And yet… it was the only explanation. Ignoring Allegra’s calls, he jumped down and raced back to the stern angel guarding the shattered gravestone. Peering through the opening to check that no one was coming up behind him, he lowered himself inside and then slid down the ladder.

‘Don’t move!’

Hearing the voice, Tom turned and saw that Gallo was conscious now, propped up against the wall and being attended by a medic. Four armed policemen were eyeing Tom suspiciously, their machine guns raised.

‘It’s okay,’ Gallo rasped. ‘He’s with us. Her too.’

Tom looked up and saw that Allegra was climbing down towards them. The policemen relaxed, allowing their weapons to swing down across their stomachs.

‘What the hell is going on?’ Tom demanded angrily.

‘What do you mean?’ said Gallo, wincing as the medic prodded his shoulder.

‘I mean this—’ Stepping forward, Tom smashed his forearm into the bridge of a policeman’s nose and wrenched the machine gun from the man’s grasp as he staggered back, howling in pain.

‘Tom, what are you doing?’ Allegra gasped as he swung the weapon towards Gallo and flicked the safety off.

‘Ask him,’ he replied tonelessly, before pulling the trigger.

The gun jerked in his hand, the muzzle flash lighting the narrow tunnel like a strobe light, hot shell casings pinging off the walls, the noise crashing around them with a deafening echo that seemed to feed off itself and last long after the final shot had been fired.

Gallo returned Tom’s accusing glare through the smoke. Unharmed.

‘Blanks?’ Allegra’s face turned from horror to understanding, to confusion as she looked from Tom to Gallo.

Pushing the medic roughly out of the way, Gallo heaved himself to his feet.

‘We need to talk,’ he growled.

‘
You
need to talk,’ Tom corrected him.

‘Fine, but not here.’

Ponte Sant’ Angelo, Rome

20th March—11.55 p.m.

With his men forming a cordon at either end of the bridge, Gallo led them out to the middle, then turned to face them, his arm strapped across his chest where the medic had popped his shoulder back into its socket.

‘This will do.’

‘Where have you taken Archie and Dom?’ Tom asked angrily.

‘To hospital,’ Gallo reassured him. ‘My men will take you to them when we’ve finished.’

‘The same men who attempted a rescue armed with blanks?’ Allegra snorted. She didn’t believe a word he said any more.

He gave a heavy sigh.

‘It’s complicated.’

‘Is that your idea of an apology?’ she shot back.

‘There are forces at work here. Powerful forces.’

‘What the hell are you talking about?’ Tom’s tone was caught between irritation and impatience. ‘I want an explanation, not a palm reading.’

Gallo paused, turning to face down the river so that his back was to them.

‘Santos is connected. Very well connected,’ he began. ‘It seems that, over the years, the Banco Rosalia has done a lot of favours for a lot of people.’

‘What sort of people?’ Allegra pressed.

‘People he helped to evade tax and launder money. People who had relied on him to help fund their political campaigns. People who had profited from the sale of tens of millions of dollars in looted antiquities.
Important
people. People who couldn’t risk Santos going down and taking them with him.’

‘So these…people—they’re why you helped him get away?’ Allegra’s voice was heavy with an air of resigned disgust. ‘They’re why you watched him try to kill us.’

‘He wanted it to look as though he’d had to shoot his way out,’ said Gallo. ‘I didn’t know he was going to throw…that was ...wrong.’

‘
Wrong?
’ Tom repeated with a hollow laugh.

‘How long has he had you on a leash?’ Allegra asked. ‘Since Cavalli was killed? Before?’

‘I didn’t even know who Cavalli was until I was put on to the Ricci case,’ Gallo turned to face them again, pressing his back against the parapet. ‘I don’t
think Santos did either. But when Argento was killed, Santos grew worried that I might somehow connect the murders back to him or the Delian League. So he made some calls.’

‘Who to?’ Tom asked.

‘I’ve already told you’—Gallo shrugged—‘People. All I know is that, when my orders came, they came from the top. The very top. Protect Santos. Keep a lid on things. Stop the case spiralling out of control.’

‘What about Gambetta?’ Allegra said sharply. ‘Did they tell you to kill him too?’

‘I did what I had to do,’ Gallo said defiantly. ‘Santos had offered us a deal. Cavalli’s watch in return for keeping a lid on everything he knew and a promise to leave the country by the end of the week. Gambetta was an old fool who was never going to keep quiet about evidence going missing or how clever he’d been in linking all the murders together. He was a necessary sacrifice.’ A pause. ‘He’s not the first person to have died for his country.’

‘A necessary sacrifice?’ Allegra shook her head in disgust, a fist of anger clenching her stomach. ‘This has nothing to do with patriotism. This is about rich, powerful people doing whatever it takes to protect themselves. This is about murder. You killed Gambetta for doing his job.’

‘You don’t understand,’ Gallo shot back. ‘I had my orders. The things Santos knows…this was
a matter of national security. He was to be protected at all costs. I had no choice.’

‘You had a choice,’ Allegra insisted. ‘You just chose not to make it. You killed a man and framed me for it.’

‘I was trying to protect you.’

‘From what?’

‘Santos found out you were asking questions about the Delian League. He wanted you dealt with. Why else do you think De Luca picked you up? I thought that if I blamed you for the killing and got your face in the papers, I might find you before he did. I was never planning to… Look, maybe it was wrong of me. But you’ll get a full retraction, an apology, your choice of assignments—’

‘You disgust me. You and whoever it is that can decide that an old man should die to stop someone like Santos being caught.’

‘I love my country,’ Gallo insisted. ‘I did what I had to do to protect it, and I’d do the same again. Anyway, I tried to put things right.’

‘How? With that little show you and Santos put on tonight?’

‘By saving you.’

‘What are you talking about?’ Tom challenged him. ‘Saving us from what?’

‘Who do you think dug you out of that tomb?’

‘That was you?’ Allegra swapped a glance with Tom, almost not wanting to believe him. Anything
to avoid feeling that she might in some way owe him something.

‘How did you find us?’

‘I had a back-up team watching Eco. They picked you up coming out of the gallery and followed you to where De Luca snatched you up and then out to Contarelli’s farmhouse. I sent my men in as soon as I could. Luckily, they weren’t too late.’

‘Luckily,’ Allegra repeated in a sarcastic tone, the thought of the plastic bag slick and tight against her lips still making her stomach turn.

‘So it was you that fed us the information about D’Arcy?’

‘I knew that he worked for De Luca,’ Gallo nodded. ‘So when I heard about the fire and that he’d gone missing, I realised it was probably connected. The problem was that I didn’t have the jurisdiction to investigate. Luckily for me, I’d seen enough of Allegra to know that, if I gave her the option, she’d follow up the lead herself rather than walk away.’

There was a long silence, Gallo glancing at each of them in turn with a look that threatened to veer into an apology, although Allegra knew that he’d never allow himself to actually say anything.

‘So what happens to Santos now?’ she asked eventually.

‘He sells the painting and leaves the country. As long as he never comes back, we forget about him and move on. Let him become someone else’s problem.’

‘And the Banco Rosalia?’

Gallo laughed.

‘The Banco Rosalia is bankrupt. That’s why he had to make a move for the painting. It was his last chance to get out with something before the news broke. Not that it ever will. The government and the Vatican have already agreed to jointly underwrite the losses and quietly wind the business down to avoid any bad press. No one will ever know a thing.’

Allegra shook her head angrily, her jaw clenching and throat tightening. The hypocrisy and injustice of a world where a murderer like Santos was allowed to go free to protect a cabal of corrupt politicians and God-knows who else, while Gambetta was…it made her feel dirty.

‘What about De Luca and Faulks? Aren’t you going to charge them?’ Tom asked hopefully.

‘What with?’ Gallo shrugged. ‘We know what Faulks does, but we’ve never had any proof that he’s broken an Italian law on Italian soil. And as for De Luca…’

‘Colonel!’ He was interrupted by an officer signalling urgently from the end of the bridge. ‘We’ve found them.’