The Spear of Destiny (12 page)

  “My fees are three hundred euros per day.”

  “That’s only a hundred each,” Dennis said quietly and sarcastically.

  “Ignore him.”

  “That is my fee.”

  “That sounds most satisfactory. I could pay you up front.”

Alberto’s beaming smile returned.

  “Pay me tomorrow. I would be delighted to show you around my beautiful city.”

  “Thank you so much. Would you like us to come to you?”

Alberto reached into his jacket pocket, took out a map of Rome and placed a cross on it with his pen.

  “This is the arch of Titus in ancient Rome. I will be there at 9 o’clock tomorrow morning. I’ll look forward to seeing you all then.”

  Alberto shook hands with them all again and then went to a Fiat 500 and drove away.

  “What a thoroughly interesting man,” Hutchinson said.

De Luca signalled to his men by the mini-bus. They jumped into action and soon brought the mini-bus over.

  “Now lady and gentlemen if you are ready it’s time to show you to your hotel.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

Carlo Bonomi was good at his job. No not good but excellent. He had been a property agent for four years. He felt that he, at only age twenty eight, was probably the best in Rome. He certainly worked for the best agency in Rome. The ‘Centauro’ letting agency.

  “That’s me,” Bonomi said to himself, “Half man half horse.”

He had shoulder length black hair which he always gelled back so that it was tight to his scalp. He also liked to dress well, always in Italian designer suits and shirts and he always wore a pair of mirrored sunglasses. He believed himself to resemble Tom Cruise in the movie ’Top Gun’

  He glanced at himself in the rear view mirror of his metallic red sporty Alfa Romeo Giuletta. He liked what he saw. He had a swarthy complexion, his skin olive and easily tanned. He also had a string of girlfriends, loved partying, champagne and fine food. He was also, when the need arose to impress a young lady, a lover of horses, the arts, fine art, in fact anything that would help him achieve his gains.

  He also loved God and wore a large gold crucifix on a chain under his shirt. Carlo, once upon a time, had intended to become a priest and had started training at the age of eighteen. He had soon found however that he loved girls more than his deity and after numerous jobs and narrowly missing Italian national military service which was abolished in 2004 he had settled on his current occupation, real estate.

  This morning he was en-route to a potential buyer for an old abandoned airfield forty five miles north of Rome. The folder containing the details of the purchase was on the passenger seat next to him. Whoever it was they had left no name. Bonomi just had a date and time to be at the airfield. He was hoping it would be a cash sale. With cash there was always scope for a little, personal, profit.

  He turned up the music on the CD player and put his foot down as he left the outskirts of Rome and his little Alfa began climbing inland.

  The roads were not busy. The rush hour traffic long since abated. It was a warm Wednesday moning but as the Alfa got up to the national speed limit he found himself pushing the buttons for the electric windows to go up against the chill of the wind. Carlo drove everywhere he could, weather permitting, with the top on his car down.

  He glanced across at the display panel as the CD he was playing stopped and the panel lit up as the Bluetooth indicated an incoming call. The display showed the caller’s name. It was Claudia. A regular girlfriend. He smiled as he heard her voice and he down shifted a gear to take a tight turn.

  Forty minutes later and Bonomi was still smiling as he said goodbye to her and pulled up at the small layby at the gates to the abandoned airfield. First inspection told him that he was alone. There was no sign of another vehicle. He glanced at his Gucci watch. He was fifteen minutes early. His favourite track on the CD he had been playing came on and he turned the engine off and the volume up, put his head back against the head rest, closed his eyes and began drumming his fingers on the steering wheel to the beat. The track ended and he opened his eyes and reached for the off button. He looked around. Still no-one. Still ten minutes. He yawned, stretched, then slowly got out of the car.

  ‘May as well open the gate ready’ he said to himself.

There was a large heavy chain looped through the tall chain-link gates held together by a large rusty padlock but to his surprise it clicked open easily as soon as the key entered. He closed the padlock and let it dangle from the chain and without clicking it shut he let the chain drop and pushed the gate inward as far as it would go. He did the same with the other gate and then returned to his car, started it and drove inside.

  The runway was all grass and surprisingly short considering it hadn’t been cut in a generation. There was a small strip of tarmac which led up to the few buildings and he turned and drove towards them. The largest building which was two storeys had at one time been painted white. Now it was a mix of shades including algae green in places and peeling in others. There were some windows from which he could see only one was broken. At the corner of an outbuilding he could see that a large tree had grown. Infusing itself with the building it had caused large cracks and disruptance in the masonry.

  Bonomi stopped his car and got out. He reached for the folder on the passenger seat and opened it.

  “No water. No electricity supply,” he read out loud.

He closed the folder and had a quick walk around the outside of all the buildings. Some of the doors were rusted off their hinges. In many cases the wood was rotten. He found a small outside toilet of the old type with the cast iron cistern high on the wall. He pulled the chain but he already knew there would be no water to flush. The toilet bowl itself was layered in decades of dirt and dust. In a small storage room next door the branches of the tree had grown through the window and were pressing against the ceiling. To the main building there were steps that led up and Bonomi ascended them slowly. They led to a room with a large double window that looked out over the entire site.

  Bonomi looked towards the gates he had opened. He could see that the chain-link fence ran around the entire complex. It was intact apart from one concrete post which had at some point in history snapped and was hanging while pulling the fence either side of it down.

  There was no sign of the prospective client yet. He looked at his watch. Five more minutes to go.

  Bonomi turned away from the window and surveyed the room. Black, dirty cobwebs littered the ceiling and walls. Their hosts long since dead. On the floor were small pellets scattered about. He was sure they were rat droppings.    

  There was an old wooden desk by the large window and a very old wooden chair. Both were covered in layers of dust. On the table was a very old radio transmitter with an old style microphone on a stand placed on top of it. Both were extremely dusty. There were some dusty papers strewn across the desk. Bonomi picked a sheet up and blew dust from it. It was about a change of proceedures and was signed and dated July 1981.

  “Thirty years ago,” Bonomi said out loud.

The airfield had been in use during World War II.

  Bonomi put the paper down. Then noticing the radio transmitter was still plugged in to a wall socket he began flicking switches at random. The transmitter was dead. He went over to the light switch and flicked it on. Nothing.

  There was no electricity to the building. It had been disconnected years before.

  Not wanting to sit on the filthy seat in his suit Bonomi went back to his car to read about the purchase. The site had potential and was worth the three hundred thousand euro asking price for the land alone.

  Bonomi sat back in his car and began to read the file again. Then he put it aside and turned the CD player on and turned the volume down low. He closed his eyes and thought of Claudia. A few minutes later the track ended and before the next one started his ears heard the distant drone of an airplane engine. He looked around for it. He couldn’t see anything but it was coming closer. The sun was bright and he put his hand up to shield his eyes. Then he saw it. A small aircraft approaching the airfield. He got out of his car and for effect he put his mirrored sunglasses on again. He smoothed down an already impeccable suit and reached up a foot and rubbed a smear from his shiny shoe.

  The plane swooped in low, coming out of the sun. It bumped the grass runway then all wheels were down and the plane slowed and Bonomi could now see that it was a lear jet. The letter ’D’ preceding the numbers told him it was registered in Germany. Up til now that was the only information he had on the prospective client. The lear jet came to a complete stop.

  Bonomi waited and watched for a few moments and was about to move forward when he heard the sound of approaching vehicles. He turned to look towards the gates. Three black Hummer H3’s had entered the airfield and drove towards him in single file. They pulled up quickly and as Bonomi watched their occupants get out and spread themselves out. Bonomi sprang forward but stopped as the aircraft door opened and the steps began to descend. He remained where he was. One man from the lead Hummer came towards him. Bonomi grabbed the folder from the Alfa’s front passenger seat and moved forward putting on his warmest smile. He extended his hand in a friendly gesture.

  The man approaching him had very short dark hair and was wearing dark sunglasses. He and all his men were wearing black combat shirts and trousers. Bonomi had expected men in suits. This was like something out of the movies.

  His outstretched hand was ignored as the man facing him held out his hand for the folder. Bonomi handed it over in silence. He suddenly felt nervous and glanced at the lear jet. The open door and steps seemed like an invitation. Bonomi puffed out his chest and put his hands together in front of his waist. Bonomi glanced nervously over his shoulders at the men searching around. One even had a quick glance in Bonomi’s car. They moved away to begin searching the outbuildings. Finally the cold features of Anatoly Petrov looked up from the file and stared at Bonomi. There was no emotion in the black eyes.

  “Nice day,” Bonomi said, trying to break the stalemate.

The cold eyes remained fixed on him. Then they moved past the estate agent as one of Petrov’s men gave the thumbs up. Petrov nodded. He held the folder up.

  “Is this everything?”

  “Yes sir. My name is Carlo Bonomi of the Centauro property services. Yes all the details are there.”

  Petrov ran his eyes over the contents of the file again. Bonomi studied the man, very afraid of him. Then he caught movement out of the corner of his eye and saw a face at a window on the learjet before the shutter came down. Bonomi couldn’t be sure but he thought the face was disfigured somehow, possibly scarred.

  “Were you followed?” Petrov asked.

  “Followed?” Bonomi glanced about nervously. This whole situation was getting weirder by the minute.

  “Followed by who?”

Petrov snapped the folder shut.

  “No matter.”

He beckoned another man forward. One who had been hovering near the lead Hummer. This man was carrying a black briefcase. He popped the locks open and raised the lid. The case was presented to Bonomi at chest height and he looked down at used Euro notes.

  “You’ll want to check it,” Petrov said.

Bonomi shook his head.

  “I’m sure it’s all there.”

The case was closed and Bonomi took it. Petrov handed the folder to his aide who took it to the aircraft. The man returned shortly and gave the folder to Petrov. The Russian opened it to show Bonomi the signed document. The estate agent nodded. Petrov snapped the folder shut again and handed it to the Italian.

  “I guess that concludes our business, “ Bonomi said.

  “Not quite,” Petrov said. He reached down into the side pocket of his combat trousers and produced a large padded jiffy bag. He tossed it to Bonomi who had to catch it to stop it from hitting him in the chest.

  “Open it,” the Russian ordered.

Bonomi did as he was told.

  “There are two thousand Euro’s there,” Petrov said, “No questions. No answers. Understood.”

  The Italian nodded nervously. Petrov merely smirked then beckoned to his men. They moved towards him as the learjet’s engines started. The steps were retracted and the small jet began to move across the grass. They all watched until it disappeared into the sun. Then Petrov looked at Bonomi once more and got into the lead Hummer, his men following. The Hummer’s moved off towards the hangar. Bonomi put the case into his car, started it up and left the airfield as quickly as he could. He didn’t even stop to close the gates.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Officer Gianni Balotelli of the Carabinieri glanced at his watch. It would soon be time for his break. He patrolled a section of the A12, a major road in the Lazio region of Italy. Speeding tickets were his thing and there was a particular section of the highway which had a long hill that articulated lorries struggled up. There were solid white lines in the middle of the road but motorists could see for quite a distance ahead and impatient drivers would often overtake the lorries thus crossing the white lines and that’s where Balotelli came in. He enjoyed sitting in his police car at the brow of the hill where there was a large pull off area and catching the offending motorists. On the spot fines were his speciality and he always gave chase. He liked to listen to offenders excuses and would occasionally nod or agree with them while writing out tickets.

  This morning had been quiet though. He’d only issued two tickets and so far it had been an uneventful day. The only highlight so far that had caught his attention was witnessing three black Hummers that had passed about an hour before. They had been moving swiftly in a convoy. With their blacked out windows and German number plates Balotelli had assumed that they were diplomatic vehicles. They certainly looked it.