and was joined up front by Bellomo and Garrone. Carraciolo and Petrovich took their places in the Nissan and the Audi. Doors slammed in the still, hot air. The convoy took off.
Exactly seven minutes after the van had been intercepted, it was back en route to its destination. They’d stop on the way for their final briefing, to make sure everyone knew exactly what they were doing, and to wait until the time was right.
Then it was game on.
Ben Hope loved beaches. Not the heaving nightmare of scorched flab and sun tan lotion it was so hard to avoid all up and down the coasts of Europe from May through September, but the secluded kind of place where you could sit and watch the tide hiss in over the sand and be alone with your thoughts for a while. After his lunch he’d taken a long stroll down by the shore, carrying his shoes in his hand and letting the cool water wash over his bare feet. Shielding his eyes from the sun, he’d looked out across the Gulf of Gaeta. Due west, the nearest land was Sardinia.
Then he’d retraced his steps back to the car, wiped the sand from his feet and started making his way further up the coastal road.
It was getting on for six in the afternoon, and the sun was beginning to dip lower in the sky by the time he entered a colourful-looking village a few kilometres from the town of Aprilia. He felt tired of driving. Maybe it was time to think about stopping, parking up somewhere and exploring the place for a nice, quiet hotel. It felt a little decadent to be taking things this easy, but the last thing he wanted was to hit Rome too early and have to deal with the oppressive heat and noise of the place with nothing else to do but sit around waiting for his flight tomorrow afternoon, fretting about Brooke and what the hell he wanted to do with his life.
Those were the thoughts in Ben’s mind when a black cat suddenly streaked out of a concealed entrance behind a hedge and darted across the road in front of him.
Followed closely by a running child.
Ben slammed his foot urgently on the brake pedal. He felt the percussive kickback of the ABS system against the sole of his shoe as the Shogun’s tyres bit hard into the dusty tarmac and brought the car to a skidding halt barely a couple of metres from the kid.
The young boy was maybe nine or ten years old. He stood rooted in the middle of the road, staring wide-eyed with shock at the big square front of the Mitsubishi. Ben flung open the car door, jumped out and stormed up to him.
On the other side of the road, the black cat paused to stare a moment, then slunk away into the bushes.
‘Didn’t your mother teach you to look where you’re going?’ Ben raged at the kid in Italian. ‘You could have got yourself killed.’
The boy hung his head and stared down at his feet. His hair was longish and sandy, his eyes blue and his face a lot paler than it had been just a moment ago. He looked genuinely sorry, and more than a little shaken. Softening, Ben crouched down in front of him so that he wouldn’t seem like a huge big angry adult towering over him. ‘What’s your name?’ he said in a gentler tone.
The kid didn’t reply for a moment, then glanced up nervously from his feet and muttered, ‘Gianni.’
‘Was that your pet cat you were chasing after, Gianni?’
A shake of the head.
‘Do you live around here?’ He was too neatly dressed to have come far, and Ben could see he wasn’t some kind of street urchin running wild about the place.
Gianni pointed through the trees at the side of the road.
‘Are your parents at home?’
Gianni didn’t reply. He could obviously see where this was leading, and was scared of getting into trouble. His eyes began to mist up, and he sniffed, and then again. There was a trace of a quiver in his lower lip.
‘Nobody’s going to yell at you,’ Ben said. ‘I promise.’ He stood up and looked around him. There was no sign of anyone around. They were on the village outskirts. The kid’s home must be the other side of the woods. ‘I think we need to find your mother,’ he said, guiding the boy to the verge. ‘Now stay there and don’t move.’ He quickly jumped back into the car and pulled it into the side of the road. It was too warm to wear his leather jacket. He left it on the passenger seat. ‘Let’s go,’ he said, taking the kid’s arm gently but firmly, bleeping the car locks as they set off on foot.
It wasn’t until they’d walked down the side of the road for some hundred metres that Ben spotted the large, imposing mansion through the trees in the distance, nestled within what looked like its own piece of parkland behind a stone wall. Jutting out from behind the old part of the building was an ultra-modern extension, an enormous steel and glass construction that looked as if it had only recently been completed, judging by the unfinished grounds.
There were no other homes in sight.
‘Is that your house?’ Ben said to Gianni.
No reply.
‘You don’t say a lot, do you?’ Ben asked, and when there was still no response he smiled and added, ‘That’s OK. You don’t have to.’
They walked on, and a few metres further down the road came to a bend and then a gap in the wall. The iron gates were open and a winding private lane led up through the trees towards the isolated house.
From the number of cars parked outside the building, and the two guys in suits hanging around near the trimmed hedge who seemed to be there in some kind of official capacity, Ben realised it wasn’t a residential property. It looked as if some kind of function or gathering was happening inside.
‘Are we in the right place?’ he asked the boy. Gianni gave a slight nod, resigned by now to the terrible punishment that was in store for him.
Ben led the boy towards the building. As they approached, he could see people milling around inside the main entrance, smiling, greeting one another, hands being shaken and a great deal of excited chatter. There were no signs anywhere, nothing to indicate what the event was. Ben was nearing the door, still holding Gianni’s arm, when one of the official-looking guys in suits peeled himself away from the hedge and stepped up. Close-cropped hair, crocodile features, expressionless button eyes, arms crossed over his belly, the suit cheap and wrinkled: typical security goon. Ben had dealt with a million of them.
‘May I see your invitation, sir?’
‘I don’t have an invitation,’ Ben said, meeting his stony gaze. ‘I found this boy out on the road and I think his family are inside.’
‘This is a private exhibition, not open to the public. Nobody can enter without an invitation,’ the guy replied as if programmed.
‘I’m not interested in the exhibition.’ Ben didn’t try to hide the irritation in his voice. ‘Didn’t you hear what I just said? I need to return this boy to his parents, and I’m not leaving until I do. So either let me in or go find them. I don’t care which.’
The security guard’s moustached colleague walked over. ‘Can I be of assistance?’
Ben glanced him up and down. He didn’t seem quite as much of a specimen as the other, but Ben figured he could do better than this. ‘Who’s the manager here?’
‘Signor Corsini.’
‘Then I’d like to speak with Signor Corsini, please.’
‘He’s inside. He’s busy.’
Ben was ready with a tough reply when a female voice cried out through the buzz of chatter inside the building. The crowd parted and a woman squeezed through in a hurry. She was maybe twenty-nine, thirty, dressed
