chink through which I could just see the outside world where people passed by about their business, unaware of my terrible plight. Air seeped in through the hole, but not enough, not enough air! I was slowly suffocating, smothered beneath that intolerable dead weight of rock. I screamed and screamed, but no sound penetrated to the people outside. They passed by, smiling and nodding and hatting to each other, just as though nothing was happening!
It was only a dream, of course.
Thursday, 13.40 – 16.55
'So what's the problem, Aurelio? A little trip to Sardinia, all expenses paid. I should be so lucky! But once you're in business for yourself you learn that the boss works harder than…'
'I've already explained the problem, Gilberto! Christ, what's the matter with you today?'
It was the question that Zen had been asking himself ever since arriving at the restaurant. Finding his friend free for lunch at such short notice had seemed a stroke of luck which might help Zen gain control of the avalanche of events which had overrun his life.
Gilberto Nieddu, an ex-colleague who now ran an industrial counter-espionage firm, was the person Zen was closest to. Serious, determined and utterly reliable, there was an air of strength and density about him, as though all his volatility had been distilled away. Whatever he did, he did in earnest. Zen hadn't of course expected Gilberto to produce instant solutions, but he had counted on him to listen attentively and then bring a calm, objective view to bear on the problems. As a Sardinian himself, his advice and knowledge might make all the difference.
But Gilberto was not his usual self today. Distracted and preoccupied, continually glancing over his shoulder, he paid little attention to Zen's account of his visit to Palazzo Sisti and its implications.
'Relax, Aurelio! Enjoy yourself. I'll bet you haven't been here that often, eh?'
This was true enough. In fact Zen had never been to Licio's, a legendary name among Roman luxury restaurants. The entrance was in a small street near the Pantheon. You could easily pass by without noticing it.
Apart from a discreet brass plate beside the door, there was no indication of the nature of the business carried on there.
No menu was displayed, no exaggerated claims made for the quality of the cooking or the cellar.
Inside you were met by Licio himself, a eunuch-like figure whose expression of transcendental serenity never varied. It was only once you were seated that the unique attraction of Licio's became clear, for thanks to the position of the tables, in widely-separated niches concealed from each other by painted screens and potted plants, you had the illusinn of being the only people there. The prices at Licio's were roughly double the going rate for the class of cuisine on offer, but this was only logical since there were only half as many tables. In any case, the clientele came almost evclusively from the business and political worlds, and was happy to pay whatever Licio wished to ask in return for the privilege of being able to discuss sensitive matters in a normal tone of voice with no risk ofbeing either overheard or deafened by the neighbours. Hence the place's unique cachet: you went to other restaurants to see and be seen; at Licio's you paid more to pass unnoticed.
On the rare occasions when Zen spent this kind of money on a meal he went to places where the food, rather than the ambience, was the attraction, so Gilberto Nieddu's remark had been accurate enough. That didn't make Zen feel any happier about the slightly patronizing tone in which it had been made. Matters were not improved when Gilberto patted his arm familiarly and whispered, 'Don't worry! This one's on me.'
Zen made a final attempt to get his friend to appreciate the gravity of the situation.
'Look, I'll spell it out for you. They're asking me to frame someone. Do you understand? I'm to go to Sardinia and fake some bit of evidence, come up with a surprise witness, anything. They don't care what I do or how I do it as long as it gets the charges against Favelloni withdrawn, or at least puts the trial dates back several months.'
Gilberto nodded vaguely. He was still glancing compulsively around the restaurant.
'This could be your big chance, Aurelio,' he murmured, checking his watch yet again.
Zen stared at him with a fixed intensity that was a reproach.
'Gilberto, we are talking here about sending an innocent person to prison for twenty years, to say nothing of allowing a man who has gunned down four people in cold blood to walk free. Quite apart from the moral aspect, that is seriously illegal.'
The Sardinian shrugged. 'So don't do it. Phone in sick or something.'
'For fuck's sake, this is not just another job! I've been recommended to these people! They've been told that I'm an unscrupulous self-seeker, that I cooked the books in the Miletti case and wouldn't think twice about doing so again. They've briefed me, they've cut me in. I know what they're planning to do and how they're planning to do it. If I try and get out of it now, they're not just going to say, 'Fine, suit yourself, we'll find someone else.'
They've already hinted that if I don't play along I could expect to become another statistic in somewhere like Palermo. Down there you can get a contract hit done for a few million lire. There are even people who'll do it for free, just to make a name for themselves! And no one's going to notice if another cop goes missing. Are you listening to any of this?'
'Ah, finally!' Gilberto cried aloud. 'A big client, Aurelio, very big,' he hissed in an undertone to Zen. 'If we swing this one, I can take a year off to listen to your problems. Just play along, follow my lead.'
He sprang to his feet to greet a stocky, balding man with an air of immense self-satisfaction who was being guided to their table by the unctuous Licio.
'Commendatore! Good morning, welcome, how are you? Permit me to present Vice-Questore Aurelio Zen.
Aurelio, Dottor Dario Ochetto of SIFAS Enterprises.'
Lowering his voice suggestively, Nieddu added, 'Dottor Zen works directly for the Ministry of the Interior.'
Zen felt like walking out, but he knew he couldn't do it.
His friendship with Gilberto was too important for him to risk losing it by a show of pique. The fact that Gilberto had probably counted on this reaction didn't make Zen feel any happier about listening to the totally fictitious account of Paragon Security's dealings with the Ministry of the Interior which Nieddu used as a warm-up before presenting his sales pitch. Meanwhile, Zen ate his way through the food that was placed before them and drank rather more wine than he would normally have done.
Occasionally Gilberto turned in his direction and said, 'Right, Aurelio?' Fortunately neither he nor Ochetto seemed to expect a reply.
Zen found it impossible to tell whether Ochetto was impressed, favourably or otherwise, by this farce, but as soon as he had departed, amid scenes of compulsive handshaking, Gilberto exploded in jubilation and summoned the waiter to bring over a bottle of their best malt whisky.
'It's in the bag, Aurelio!' he exclaimed triumphantly. 'An exclusive contract to install and maintain anti- bugging equipment at all their offices throughout the country, and at five times the going rate because what isn't in the contract is the work they want done on the competition.'
Zen sipped the whisky, which reminded him of a tarbased patent medicine with which his mother had used to dose him liberally on the slightest pretext.
'What kind of work?'
Nieddu gave him a sly look. 'Well, what do you think?'
'I don't think anything,' Zen retorted aggressively.
'Why don't you answer the question?'
Nieddu threw up his hands in mock surrender. 'Oh!
What is this, an interrogation?'
'You've gone into the bugging business?' Zen demanded.
'Have you got any objection?'
'I certainly have! I object to be tricked into appearing to sanction illegal activities when I haven't even been told what they are, much less asked whether I mind being dragged in! Jesus Christ almighty, Gilberto, I don't
