‘And if the act of getting the manifests flags us up to somebody?’
‘That’s a risk we’ll have to take, right?’
Javed didn’t look convinced, but he nodded. ‘Right.’
An hour later the van was edging into low hills, following a winding route towards Naples. Before they hit the coast again they headed north, and at the town of Calabritto they left the main roads behind and forged up into the foothills of the Monti Picentini. Dense forests clung to steep terrain, with lush grassy valleys below, and as they pushed deeper, high stony crags towered above them, angular and bare. The tiny road they were on hairpinned back and forth, and just as Silva was tiring of the constant weaving, they turned off the lane onto a small track. The track skirted a steep valley and at the far end, nestled under a mass of near-vertical forest, stood a wooden lodge. Something like a large ski chalet, with a steep pitched roof and a balcony running across the front of the building.
‘È qui,’ Gavin said as they rumbled towards the house. ‘Own water and power, satellite internet. The only thing you can’t get is a mobile phone signal.’
‘Our stuff?’ Itchy said, leaning forward.
‘In the outbuildings. I drove overland from the UK with everything except the weapons. For obvious reasons they had to come via a different route. You don’t need to know about that.’
‘This terrain doesn’t look good. Too many trees. We’ll never be able to get a clear line of sight to set up a range.’
‘On the contrary.’ Gavin stopped the van. He gestured to the side of the lodge where a path disappeared into the forest. ‘A twenty-minute walk takes you to the top of the ridge. There’s another ridge running almost parallel around a kilometre away. You can hike over and set up some targets. Will that do?’
‘What do you think, Silvi?’
‘Sounds good,’ Silva said. ‘LNs?’
‘LNs?’ Gavin switched the ignition off and turned to Silva. ‘What does that mean?’
‘Local natives. Is anybody going to be around to see this?’
‘Oh! No, we’re on our own up here. There are a few walkers to look out for, but I don’t think there are any trails near. Anyway, this isn’t the UK. The Italians like hunting and guns.’
Inside the place was as luxurious as Gavin had promised. Downstairs was open plan with a huge living area centred round a fireplace with a teetering stone chimney that rose through the house. Gallery bedrooms sat to either side, accessed by a balcony which ran round the entire upper level.
‘Nice,’ Silva said. ‘This Fairchild’s?’
‘Mr Fairchild told me information should be on a need-to-know basis.’
‘And we don’t need to know, right?’
‘Correct. If the operation is compromised the fewer details each member has the better.’
‘I can tell you’ve done this before.’
‘No comment.’ Gavin pointed to the gallery above. ‘Pick yourself a room and I’ll fix us a late lunch.’
‘You’re a cook too?’
‘Usually there are staff, but in the circumstances Mr Fairchild thought it best we self-cater. And I’m afraid that includes clearing up afterwards.’
‘Blimey,’ Itchy said. ‘Just like being back in the army and messing together.’
‘But better paid.’ Gavin smiled flatly and headed for the rear of the lodge and a kitchen area.
Silva and Itchy did nothing for the rest of the afternoon except chill out, and in the evening Silva retired early. Her room had an antique four-poster bed and a large en suite bathroom. A glazed door led to a small balcony. She stepped out. The heat of the day had subsided now the sun was behind the mountains. She breathed in the scent of the hillsides: pine needles, earth, wild flowers. Sean, she thought, would have loved to come to Italy. He’d often talked about how they should take a tour of Europe. She wondered whether she’d ever see him again. The ways things were she doubted it, but then she couldn’t see beyond the fifteenth of August. How life was going to pan out afterwards was anyone’s guess. Sean, as a CIA agent, was almost certainly going to be involved in the hunt for Karen Hope’s killer, and that wasn’t going to be conducive to whatever was left of their relationship.
Silva shivered. A breeze had sprung up, cool air flowing down from the mountains. The sky above the distant peaks now wore a corona of burnt ochre, while way down the valley the street lights of a distant town started to flicker on. One by one, dots of white in the dark shadows of the night. She turned and went back into her room.
Chapter Eighteen
The next morning they carted a dozen cardboard boxes in from one of the outbuildings and set about unpacking and checklisting everything. Itchy gawped at the quality of some of the pieces.
‘Swarovski, nice,’ he said examining the pair of spotting scopes. ‘Easily a couple of grand each.’
‘Any good though?’ Silva said.
‘Are you kidding me? You could make out the hairs on my backside at five hundred metres if you wanted to.’
‘I’ll pass, thanks.’ Silva nodded at the rest of the kit Itchy had requested. ‘What about the other stuff?’
‘Top notch. Your Mr Fairchild doesn’t mind splashing the cash, does he? Three grand for the video camera and lens, a survey-quality GPS, Zeiss binos. All I can say is me likey verily muchly.’ Itchy replaced the scope in its case and glanced at Silva. ‘Is this legit, Silvi? You said Fairchild owed your father but this is a hell of a way to pay him back.’
The thought had crossed Silva’s mind too. Fairchild had plenty of money but that wasn’t the point. He was risking much more than his bank balance by sponsoring the operation.
‘If it’s not because he owes
