Cell (17 page)

'I know Verona. And the amphitheatre.'

'It all sounds dramatic, but Aldo is like that. Secretive.'
He stood up. He extracted a card from his wallet, handed it to Beaurain. 'Give Aldo this. It confirms you are who
you are. One more thing. If I do not return within about
one hour . . .' Paula swallowed the third biscuit she had
been eating to settle her stomach '. . . you leave here,'
Mario continued, 'but not by the way you came in. You see that door over there? I will unlock it. You leave that way. It takes you down into a
maze
of alleys. Go quickly
if you have to.'

'Can we help in any way?' suggested Paula.

'No! But thank you.' He went to the rear door, unlocked
it. 'Watch your feet. There is a narrow staircase behind that
door. I must go now.' He went over to Paula and hugged
her. She nearly burst into tears. 'It has been such a pleasure
to know you, to enjoy your company.'

At the door through which they had entered he turned
back. He handed a folder to Beaurain. 'There are two return
rail tickets to Verona. So you do not have to go to the ticket
office at Centrale.'

'Do take care,' Paula called out.

'Thank you.' Mario smiled, became the same man he had been when they arrived. 'I go to my meeting in my Fiat. You probably saw it parked on the pavement when
you arrived.'

The door closed on him as he left. Paula ran over to the
eyebrow window, crouched down. It was dark
but street
lamps illuminated the area. There was no one about. All the
shoppers had gone home.

'What are you doing?' Beaurain called out harshly.

'I can watch him leave.'

Beaurain joined her, bending very low. They did see
Mario climb inside his Fiat, drive it off the pavement and down the street. He had only gone a short distance when men wearing balaclava helmets appeared from nowhere. They were holding automatic weapons. Uzis, Beaurain thought.

Mario had no chance. A hail of gunfire hammered into
the Fiat. Mario stopped, threw open the front door, a gun in his hand. The gunfire increased in ferocity. Mario fell
forward, sprawled on the pavement under a street light. Paula could see the pavement turning red with his blood.

'Oh God!' she exclaimed, her voice a mix of fury and
sorrow.

'They're coming this way,' Beaurain snapped. 'The rear
door.' He grabbed Paula's arm. They ran to the door.
They had just reached it when a fresh hail of gunfire hit
the eyebrow window. The glass shattered, A large object
was thrown through the unprotected window, landed on the floor. Beaurain had the door open, hauled Paula with him, slammed the door shut, a torch in his other hand
lighting a very narrow winding stone staircase. There was a tremendous thump against the door Beaurain had closed
behind them. The door shook, but held.

'What the hell was that?' Paula cried.

'They threw a big grenade - maybe a bomb - through
the open window. And that door is three inches thick. We
must move - but watch your footing.'

Gripping an iron rail, Paula followed him down the
diabolical, twisting stone staircase. At the bottom Beaurain's
torch shone on another heavy door, closed with a bar. He
lifted the bar, peered out into a dimly lit alley, gun in hand
as he'd switched off his torch, shoved it in a pocket.

It was very quiet and they had a choice of alleys. One to
the right, another to their left, the third straight ahead. The latter was vaguely illuminated with side lights attached to
the stone walls. The alleys were paved with old cobbles.
No one anywhere.

'We must find a hotel for the night,' Beaurain decided,
'so follow me.'

He made his cautious way down the alley straight ahead
and soon it curved round dangerous corners. Paula, gripping her Browning, kept glancing back. If the murderers of Mario found them here they'd have little chance of
surviving.

14

Paula never forgot their creep through the sinister alleys.
Like herself, Beaurain also wore rubber-soled shoes, so they
made no sound as they advanced slowly like ghosts amid
the long shadowed areas between infrequent lanterns hung
from ancient stone walls.

They passed alcoves inside which heavy doors closed off the entrances. High up, at first floor level, square windows, showing no lights, were set well back. Every now and again
even narrower passages led off the main alley. Beaurain
continued straight ahead, pausing at every corner where
the alley curved. He had Paula behind him, where he
wanted her, would hold up a hand to stop her while he
peered round a curve.

The cold was intense, like walking through a refrigerator.
Frequently she took off her gloves to rub her frozen hands together. Much good that it did. Beaurain had paused once
more as he checked what lay
beyond a curve. He whispered:
'I think there's a hotel. I'll check it and you keep out of
sight

A red neon light over the entrance was flashing on and
off. He reached the entrance steps and a blonde girl smiled
at him invitingly. A cheap fur hat was perched on her head at a jaunty angle and the fur coat she wore was short, exposing
long slim legs.

'You're home, darling,' she said in Italian. 'Come on in
and I'll warm you up . . .'

Beaurain shook his head, gestured for Paula to follow
him along the alley. The blonde sniggered when she saw
Paula, called out something in Italian to Beaurain.

'What did she say?' Paula asked him as they continued
walking.

'Nothing you'd want to hear. Wrong sort of hotel . . .'

They emerged from the maze of alleys suddenly into a main street. Still no one about. No traffic. Across the street
a large building glowed with lights.
Albergo Pisa.
Inside the
main entrance stood a doorman in a blue uniform, a gold
cap. A Bugatti pulled up. A well-dressed couple hurried
into the hotel and the car, with a chauffeur at the wheel,
drove off.

'That's the place,' Beaurain said, taking Paula by her
arm. 'Are you OK after all that?'

'I'm starving.'

After an excellent dinner with Beaurain Paula expected
to fall into a deep sleep. Beaurain had booked two rooms and they had placed him in the next room to hers. Before
she said good night to him at her bedroom door he
had warned her: 'This should be safe, but we cannot
assume that. If you are frightened by something bang
on my wall. We can test it before I go to bed. Two hard
knocks.'

When he had gone she had used her hairbrush to bang
twice on the adjoining wall. Within seconds she heard his
hard raps, acknowledging he had heard her. She climbed
into bed, closed her eyes, opened them after only a few
minutes. A vivid picture had entered her mind of Mario,
smiling as he first greeted them. Taking a handkerchief
from under the pillow she dabbed at her eyes, determined not to cry. She lay awake for a long time.

She was woken by rapping on the adjoining wall. Jumping
out of bed, blinking, she threw on her dressing-gown, took
the Browning from under her pillow, slipped it into her
pocket. As she passed a wall mirror she paused briefly, dealt
with her hair, then opened the door on the chain. Beaurain
stood outside, wearing a smart blue English suit, a spotless
white shirt and a matching blue tie. She was struck by his
freshness.

'It's only ten in the morning,' she protested.

'I was up at seven o'clock,' he said with his engaging
smile. 'You will want a good leisurely breakfast and then we have to take a taxi to the station - Centrale. Knowing Milan, the taxi will take ages to arrive.'

'Give me half an hour to shower, dress and pack.'

'I gather you didn't sleep well. Make it an hour. I checked
and they serve breakfast all morning . . .'

She needed a fresh handkerchief and dived into the
pocket of her coat hanging in the wardrobe. She felt some
thing strange, took it out. One of Mario's biscuits she had
slipped into the pocket before leaving his home. Her eyes
began to water.

She dived into the shower. The water was just the right
temperature. She stood under the shower, sobbing. Then
she stiffened herself, held her face up to the shower for
several minutes. Drying herself with a large towel, she peered again into the wall mirror. Thank God, her eyes
were not puffy.

Three-quarters of an hour later she left her room, carrying her case, rapped on Beaurain's door. It was opened instantly
and he stood with his coat over his arm, his case in one hand.
He was smiling. He's always smiling at me, she thought.

The dining-room was large, well and tastefully furnished
and had only two businessmen at one table. The head
waiter tactfully guided them to a distant corner table where
they would have privacy. Paula studied the menu and
when the waiter came over she ordered polenta and cof
fee.

'Polenta!' Beaurain exclaimed when the waiter had gone.
'You'll never get through the huge helping they'll serve.'

'Oh yes, I will. I'm starved again. Probably put on a few
pounds but I don't care.'

'What does it matter? You are as slim as a sylph.'

'Thank you, Jules. Now, I've been meaning to ask you.
How does that protective paper wrapped round our hand
guns work?'

'It was invented by a top chemist friend of mine at
Louvain University. It is very special paper - I don't know
exactly what it is. He soaks it in some chemical, dries it. It has the effect of rejecting any metal detector's attempt
to spot metal. The Americans keep bidding up the price
to get it but my friend refuses. He feels there is the risk it
might fall into the hands of terrorists.'

'A second question. Who do you think murdered poor
Mario?'

'My guess is the Mafia eventually discovered he was
playing a double game.'

'I'm not so sure. They wore balaclava helmets but one of
them - who stood in the background - had let his helmet
slip up to his nose. It exposed a large jet black beard. That
could suggest al-Qa'eda?'

'Possibly.' Beaurain paused as breakfast arrived. 'I was
not going to mention this,' he went on when they were
alone, 'but there was that vicious attack on you when you
left the Ivy restaurant in London. I suspect you are the prime target. Maybe because during your investigations
you talked to the wrong person. While we are in Italy you
must never leave my side.'