‘It took me six hours to get out of that bloody cellar.’
‘I knew you’d find a way out eventually,’ he said. ‘A resourceful lady like you. How was the champagne?’ With his free hand he uncapped the bottle of old Bowmore single malt he’d been pleasantly surprised to find among the well-stocked drinks cabinet in Shikov’s huge, luxurious kitchen. If there’d been any more of the Russian’s men around, they’d long since scattered.
‘Where are you? Where did you go?’ Ben could hear the anxiety in Darcey’s voice.
‘I think I’m in Georgia,’ he said. ‘Not sure where exactly.’ He poured a couple of fingers of the whisky into the crystal glass on the gleaming hardwood worktop. ‘Shikov’s dead,’ he added. ‘I’ll tell you all about it.’
‘Are you all right?’
Ben touched his side gingerly and narrowed his eyes from the pain of the cracked rib. ‘You should see the nine other guys.’
Darcey paused. ‘You did it to protect me, didn’t you?’
‘I had a feeling you’d want to come along. You’re stubborn that way.’
‘What a fine twosome,’ she said. ‘I’m stubborn. And you’re crazy.’
‘Maybe just a little,’ he said.
Darcey sighed. ‘Then it’s over.’
‘Not quite. Where are you?’
‘I’m where you left me. In the old bag’s place. Where else could I go?’
Ben smiled. ‘Tell the old bag I’ll do what she asked,’ he said. ‘On one condition.’
‘What’s the condition?’
‘That she has her driver take you to Rome in the back of that limo of hers. I’ll meet you there tomorrow at midday. Piazza del Campidoglio, in the Capitol.’
‘I know it,’ she said. ‘Why Rome?’
‘Because I could really use an ice cream,’ he said. ‘Oh, and Darcey? Bring that fax printout with you.’
When he’d finished talking to Darcey, Ben dialled the number for Le Val. Jeff wasn’t around, so Ben left him a brief message to reassure him that things were OK and he’d be home soon.
After that, he poured himself another measure of whisky and stared at the phone for a long time. He saw Brooke’s face in his mind.
He didn’t even know where she was. Back in London, maybe, or still in Portugal with . . . it hurt to think about it. And the idea of talking to her confused and terrified him even more. He swallowed hard, grabbed the phone and stabbed out the digits of her mobile number. As he waited for it to ring, he downed an anxious gulp of whisky and tried to formulate what he wanted to say. Nothing came to him.
He caught his breath when a woman’s voice answered – but then he realised it was the sugary tones of Brooke’s answering service.
He hung up.
Ben’s journey back from Georgia had been a long one, and a couple of times he’d thought he wouldn’t make his rendezvous. In the end, he was there fifteen minutes early. The world passed him by as he stood in the middle of the square, licking a curly vanilla cone and gazing across at Michelangelo’s facade of the Palazzo dei Conservatori. White statues gleamed against the blue sky. Pigeons flapped about the piazza, squabbling over the scraps left by the tourists.
At exactly twelve o’clock, Ben saw Darcey making her way through the crowd towards him. She was wearing new clothes and carrying a shoulder bag. He couldn’t help but grin at the sight of her.
She trotted the last few steps towards him, put her hand on his shoulder and kissed him quickly. ‘All this way, for an ice cream?’
‘And a couple of other things,’ he said. ‘Am I one of them?’ she asked with a smile.
Ben scanned up and down the broad square. ‘She should be here in a minute. There she is.’
Darcey followed his gaze and saw a tall, attractive brunette in a dark trouser suit cutting across the square’s geometric paving towards them. ‘Looks glamorous. And familiar. Who is she?’
‘She’s someone we might be seeing an awful lot of on TV soon,’ Ben said. ‘Her name’s Silvana Lucenzi. She’s a reporter.’
Darcey raised an eyebrow. ‘
‘That depends, Darcey. Depends on you. Did you bring the file?’
She nodded, dipped a hand in her shoulder bag and brought out a clear plastic folder.
‘There are two ways we can go with this,’ Ben said. ‘One, we can call this guy Mason Ferris, tell him we have evidence that could sink him and his whole department for a thousand years and quietly blackmail him into dropping all the charges against both of us, as well as giving you your old job back. With promotion, of course.’
Darcey said nothing.
Ben nodded towards the approaching Silvana Lucenzi. ‘Two, we give the file to Silvana and let her do her thing. Press the nuclear button on these people. The world will never be the same again. Neither will your career. It’s your call.’
‘You think I’d even hesitate?’ she said. ‘Fuck ’em. Let’s do it.’
Silvana Lucenzi walked up to them, staring at Ben in astonishment. ‘What are you doing here? You are wanted by the police.’
‘Not any more,’ Darcey said, handing her the folder. ‘Not after this gets out.’
Silvana Lucenzi took it hesitantly. She flipped open the clear plastic cover, thumbed through a few of the pages and her eyes bugged. By the time she reached the last page, she was speechless.
‘It’s genuine,’ Ben said.
‘And if you want the original file,’ Darcey added, ‘you’ll have to come to London for it. Just name the place and the time.’
The reporter’s initial shock was already fading away rapidly. Ben could see the wheels turning. Possibilities spinning through her mind faster than news front pages through a printing press. Her eyes shone.
‘You just got yourself the hottest scoop in media history, Silvana,’ Ben said. ‘Now go and do what you do best.’
‘W-would the two of you like a coffee?’ Silvana asked. Ben and Darcey exchanged glances. ‘Some other time,’ Darcey told her.
They walked away through the crowds milling about the piazza, leaving Silvana rooted to the spot and still staring agape at the file in her hands.
‘Bombs away.’ Darcey laughed. She paused, looking at him as they walked. ‘So what next, Ben? You heading back to France?’
‘Thought I might stick around here for a couple of days,’ he said. ‘You?’
‘I’m kind of at a loose end now, aren’t I?’
‘Let me buy you lunch,’ he said.
She smiled at him. ‘Lunch would be a start.’
