Zero Alternative (18 page)

She sobbed and her legs jerked, almost throwing him off. ‘…Rafael, lo siento mi amor.’
I’m sorry, my love
. Tears ran down her cheeks as she wept without waking. Walker dried them with his fingers and kissed the top of her head, not knowing what to do.

Who the hell is Rafa?

Mercifully she soon calmed down and fell into a deeper sleep, almost unmoving. He sighed and lay back, wondering what he was missing and praying the next few hours of the trip would rush by.

Walker’s watch woke him later, to a sliver of light shining through the cabin porthole. He checked on Layla – she was now resting peacefully, her fever gone, but Porto Torres was less than thirty minutes away. He stroked her hair to wake her and handed her a drink, which she sipped, grimacing. She looked scruffy and beautiful and fragile, younger than her twenty-nine years.

‘Where are we?’ she croaked.

‘Almost there. Do you want me to get you any breakfast?’

Layla shrugged and stood up unsteadily, clasping the top bunk for support. ‘No. And you don’t need to watch over me all the time. I’m not a child, I can take care of myself.’

‘I’m sure you can. But you’re hurt, now.’

‘It’s little more than a scratch. I’ve dealt with worse.’ Layla glared at him.

Walker chuckled and grabbed a couple of thick pills from his bag. The ferry rumbled and swayed and she lost her footing, stumbling. He caught her in his arms, leaning against the door to keep balanced. ‘Are you sure? You look like you could do with something in your belly.’

‘Do painkillers count as food?’

‘Probably not.’ He passed her the medicines and she sat back down, drained.

‘Okay, maybe a croissant,’ she sighed. ‘Thanks.’

Walker grinned. ‘Don’t go anywhere.’

Chapter Ten

Sardinia

Luigi Seu had flown to Sardinia the night before and was already waiting in his rented car at Porto Torres when Walker and Layla disembarked. He loaded them in a little Fiat 500 and drove off at speed, heading for the bigger town of Sassari, only about twenty minutes away. Layla sat in the back of the tiny car, half-slumped, her eyes closed. Walker glanced at Luigi, who was accelerating like a madman along the small country lanes, and grimaced. ‘Thank God we’re off that damn ship. Layla is exhausted, and she needs the doctor.’

‘She does look in bits,’ the broker said in Italian before smiling at him. ‘But even now she’s still stunning.’

‘You should have seen her at the Dancing Snake.’

‘Better not, I might still have nightmares about it,’ Luigi said, offering Walker a cigarette. ‘I can see why you fell for it.’

‘Me too.’

Walker opened the window a touch and lit the Marlboro. The weather was still very warm, and the sun shone bright and harsh on the Mediterranean scrub that infested the island. The roads were almost empty, as the ferry had been. Not a lot of tourists visiting, he guessed.

‘How did your brother get on this summer?’ Walker knew that Paolo Seu was a skipper; he owned a small yacht for wealthy people to go deep-sea fishing or to explore the myriad caves and stunning little bays of Sardinia’s northern coast. Paolo would whisk tourists around tiny islands and coves for a few days, sometimes all the way into French Corsica.

‘It was quiet. Too quiet, really. Paolo said that people don’t want to spend, or to be seen spending.’

‘Even in Porto Cervo? That’s a first.’

‘Yes. It’s been a disaster.’

‘Is he going to be okay?’ Luigi’s younger brother still had a large loan to repay on his boat. And no savings.

‘Hopefully. He’s had to expand the
side
business, though.’

‘Tell him he wants to be careful with that.’ Paolo’s secondary activity, as Walker had discovered during a particularly
intense
holiday, consisted in importing light drugs from Corsica into Italy. He had been doing it for years – but just as an amateur, and in small quantities, mainly through old friends. ‘Harder stuff?’

‘No, no. Thank God. Just more of the same, and more often. A guy he knows has connections to the Sicilians.’

‘That’s no good.’

‘Well, they are the ones who’ll find you a new passport.’

‘Seriously?’ Walker glanced at Luigi, who had a grim smile. He finished his cigarette and closed the car window. Layla was snoring lightly in the back. ‘That’s just what I need now, a Mafia debt.’

‘Mmh. We’ll see them after dropping Layla off, and you can make your mind up. Hopefully they’ll just be happy with cash – but they want to meet you. In person.’ Luigi skidded into a couple of turns, speeding the car past a shabby suburb on the outskirts of Sassari. ‘Later, though. We’re almost at the surgery now.’

They turned off the main road and slowed down through 1960s state-housing blocks that were slowly falling apart, with windows broken and doors ajar. Paint was peeling from the walls and a few children played in a rundown basketball court next to a mountain of garbage.

Walker held his breath, shocked. He hadn’t visited Sassari for a few years, remaining on the touristy Costa Smeralda towns where the great hotels and restaurants catered to the in-crowd. But now it dawned on him how the rest of Sardinia had seemingly slid out of the Western world, into a netherland of broken towns and unemployment.

Luigi parked the car outside a dilapidated four-storey building just as Layla stirred. She sat up and stretched, her eyes bright. ‘God, I’m tired,’ she yawned.

‘Just a couple of minutes now.’

‘Okay.’ She rotated her shoulder, wincing. ‘So, how well do you know this doctor, Luigi?’

‘He was at school with my dad, and they have been friends for forty years. Besides, he needs the money.’

‘Why?’

‘Divorce. And a malpractice lawsuit from when he was a surgeon.’

Layla groaned. ‘That sounds reassuring…’

A few minutes later they met the doctor, an old man with a short white beard. His study was on the fourth floor of a low tower block and it certainly had seen better days, but it still looked almost clean, if sparse, with some medical instruments and a scale waiting by a narrow hospital cot. The surgeon also spoke some English, which was a bonus. After a quick introduction the two men left Layla in his care and returned to the car. Luigi fired up the engine and turned the Fiat around. ‘So, are you ready for the Sicilians?’ he asked.

Walker thought for a second. He could imagine a thousand other things that he’d rather do. Including a lot of unpleasant ones. ‘Not really. Isn’t there another way?’

‘It’s the only one I can think of. Especially since you need the damn passport fast. And they are fast, I’m told. Too much, sometimes.’

‘That’s fucking awesome,’ Walker swore. ‘Can we really trust them?’

‘It’s the Mafia. What do you think?’

‘Great.’ Walker sighed and stared out of the window, without really seeing the roads rush by. All he could think of was DM’s broken face, and the droplets of blood planted in his flat. ‘Okay, let’s try it. What could possibly go wrong?’

Luigi shrugged back at him. ‘My brother thinks they’re reasonable.’

‘Remind me to have a chat with him, when this shit is over.’

The Italian smiled and drove on, along the state road past Sassari, heading for the gorgeous resort of Alghero, a small medieval walled town on a finger of land surrounded by the sea. ‘We are meeting them at the port, docking bay 57.’

Walker nodded and remained silent, wondering what he was getting himself into. Probably nothing as bad as the mess he’d already fallen in. Probably.

Bay 57 sat at the farthest end of the tourist harbour. The season was late and most boats and small yachts were covered in tarps, rain-stained and abandoned for a while. Walker and Luigi hurried
through the narrow plank-ways, checking behind and around to see if anyone was following them. They soon turned onto a smaller dock, where most bays were empty. The last spot near the harbour was the only one taken, by a sleek four-seater speedboat bobbing in the placid water. Its tall, muscular pilot saw them coming and disembarked from the helm, putting on large sunglasses the same colour as his lifejacket while he waited. Walker shivered, trying to ignore his bad feelings.

‘Hi,’ Luigi said. ‘We are –’

‘Is this the guy your brother spoke of?’ The pilot cut him off in a strong Sicilian accent.

‘Yes.’

He nodded to Walker. ‘Get in the boat. We’ll take a short trip.’

Luigi moved first but the guy raised his hand, shoving him back. ‘Not you, Seu. Just your friend.’

‘But…’

‘My rules, or you can just get the fuck outta here.’

Walker bit his tongue, swore and stepped forward, taking Luigi’s arm. ‘It’s all right, mate. I’ll go alone.’
Shit. What’s next?

The broker hesitated, then nodded. ‘Are you sure?’

‘Yeah. And do me a favour while I’m gone…’ Walker tried to sound more confident than he felt, and almost managed to stop his voice shaking. ‘I’ll… need a couple of old phones and SIMs. And two laptops – can you take care of it?’

‘Of course, but…’

The pilot interrupted him again. ‘Sorry, fags – we’ve gotta be going. Seu, you can wait for your boyfriend at the bus station, later. Now piss off.’ He shoved Walker, pushing him towards the boat, then un-moored the small four-seater and jumped on at the helm. Luigi turned around, gave them a worried backwards glance and headed towards the port gates.

‘What’s your name?’ Walker asked as he struggled with the seatbelt.

‘My friends call me Salvo. You shouldn’t call me. Or talk to me. At all.’

Great
. Walker slumped back in his seat, feeling powerless. The boat accelerated quickly, its engine throbbing in a loud bass tone. They approached the open sea and Salvo turned around, digging into a large plastic box at the back.

‘Where are we going?’

‘Do you know Neptune’s Grotto?’

Walker scoured through his memory. He had been there once with Luigi. Neptune’s Grotto was tourist heaven, a stunning part-underwater cave a few miles to the west, at the foot of the Capo Caccia cliffs. He remembered an amazing place of eerie sounds and spectral depths, a large cavern dotted with thousands of stalactites and stalagmites. ‘Yes, I’ve seen it before.’

‘Good. We’re going nowhere near that,’ Salvo said. ‘Now shut the fuck up and wear this.’ He threw Walker a heavy cotton sack dyed a dark shade of brown, covered in yellowish stains.

‘How?’

‘Just stick it over your fat head, and pull it down to your hips. If I catch you peeping, I’ll throw you overboard. After I’ve shot you.’

Walker swore, but the look of menace on Salvo’s thin face convinced him not to try anything stupid. He sighed and slipped the sack over his head, then lower down. It stank of rotten fish and something worse, and he almost gagged.

Time slowed and seemed to stop. Without any reference points he tried to keep track of their turns in the water but soon lost count, struggling not to throw up as the boat rocked up and down, quicker at first, then maintaining what felt like excessive speed. After an eternity the pilot eventually slowed down and Walker sat up straighter, the adrenaline starting to course through his veins. He knew there was a big chance that he would not make it back alive.

The speedboat slowed further, then ground up against some beach, rocking from side to side. Rough hands pulled the sack from Walker’s head and he blinked in the harsh light, trying to get his bearings. A new man, taller and heavier, helped him off the stern into shallow water while Salvo splashed around the other side. Walker stumbled onto a small sandy beach, almost choking in the fresh air, then turned and found himself staring into the barrel of a large gun in Salvo’s hand.

‘Are you going to kill me now?’ He stood up straighter, not wanting to give them the satisfaction of seeing his fear.

Salvo and the new thug shrugged. ‘Only if the boss says so. Now move.’ Salvo pointed with the gun to a narrow opening in the cliff-face and Walker stepped forward, with the two Sicilians just behind. The opening turned into an even smaller passage and he had to twist on one side, his back scraping the rocks as he walked crab-like into the darkness. After slipping past a couple of doglegs he emerged into a wider space, a tall cavern lit by a couple of arc-lights. In the corner, near a pool of translucent water, an older, bearded man waited behind a huge desk. Computers and files were scattered over the dark-wood surface and the man stood, grinning.

‘Ah, the mysterious Englishman. Or Italian. We’re not quite sure.’

Walker nodded, without replying. He could feel the two thugs a few steps behind him, and the last time he had risked a glance Salvo was still pointing the gun at his back.
How do I get out of this?
He thought of Layla and Luigi, hoping they would be all right.

‘You don’t talk much, do you?’ the bearded man asked.

‘Why am I here?’

The man grabbed something from his desk and pointed it at Walker’s face. ‘Salvo?’

‘Yes, Capo.’

Walker grimaced, tensing, but it was only a strange-looking camera, attached to some cable. The flash stung his eyes and he shook his head, trying to clear his vision. Someone shuffled behind him and he felt a hard object press into the back of his neck, just below the base of his skull.

‘Don’t move a muscle,’ Salvo whispered in his ear.

‘What… what do you want?’

The Capo tapped a few keys on his computer and glanced back up, smiling. ‘You see, we don’t like it when strange people come asking for fake documents. You could be anyone, my friend. An undercover idiot from Rome, the DEA… your precious Scotland Yard.’

Walker sighed, fought to keep still. ‘I’m not.’

‘We’ll find out – now.’ The Capo stared at his screen, and waited.

Minutes ticked by and Walker shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his legs beginning to cramp. Salvo slid the gun an inch to the right, resting its muzzle behind his ear and pushing his head forward a little. ‘I told you not to move,’ he whispered roughly. ‘My finger could slip.’

Walker tried to ignore the cold steel and concentrated on the desk, staring at some files. He forced himself to think and stay cool – it was the only thing that might keep him alive. His nose itched and he could feel a drop of sweat about to slide into his eye. The gun shifted a quarter of an inch, and Salvo’s breathing rumbled in his ear.