“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
“You think she was involved with the abductions four years ago?”
“I’ve got a lot of questions, Roberto, and precious few answers.”
Lumaga asked if they could smoke, and after a gesture from the owner that seemed to say, you’re going to do what you’re going to do, he lit up and said, “I’ve got more questions for you to ponder, I’m afraid.”
Marcus helped himself to Lumaga’s pack and said, “What happened?”
“Last night, just an hour before your situation, the villa was attacked.”
“Oh, God no,” Marcus said, steeling himself for more.
“It was coordinated and professional. Two of my men were killed. All four of the Canterbury men on duty were killed, including Wheelock. The girls were taken. They’re gone.”
“Jesus. The grandparents?”
“They were left bound and gagged, but they’re all right. Shaken to the bones, but all right.”
“This was a coordinated, two-front attack,” Marcus said. “Eliminate Mickey and me and take the girls.”
“Orchestrated by Celeste?”
“She can’t be more than a pawn in this.”
“And Virgil Carter?”
“An old fool who got caught up in a shitstorm. Roberto, you know this must be connected to the abduction attempt at the hospital.”
“I’m certain of this.”
Marcus’s eyes narrowed. “Certain is a strong word.”
“Armando Cutrì told me that the man who bound them spoke English with a strong Eastern European accent.”
“My blond friend.”
“He was wearing a balaclava, but probably him. The two Slovaks you killed in Rome—we found out last night they traveled to Rome in the company of six other Slovakian nationals, all of them former members of the 5th Special Purpose Regiment.”
Marcus bumbled the Slovakian when he said, “5 Pluk špeciálneho určenia.”
“You know of them?”
“From my former life. They’re based in Žilina. Counterterrorism group. We did some work with them. They’re good. You said former?”
“Since leaving, they all went to work for a company in Luxembourg called Millennial Tactics. Mercenaries. Soldiers for hire in conflict zones. Europol raided them this morning. I don’t have complete information yet, but their CEO denied they were on any assignment of his. They were a tight-knit group who all took holiday leave at the same time. Apparently, he was quite agitated and repeatedly blamed an ex-employee, a Slovakian who maintained contact with his subordinates. The guy quit the company years ago. He was a bad apple in his words, and if the head of a mercenary group talks about a bad apple, the guy’s got to be riddled with worms.”
“This bad apple got a name?”
“Gunar Materska. And guess what? He’s blond.”
“Where’s Gunar been hanging his hat since Luxembourg?”
“No information yet. I’ve got people working on it.”
Lumaga reached for his buzzing phone and read a text.
“A body was just discovered at the Genoa airport, at a private helicopter charter company.”
“You’re going to tell me a helicopter’s missing too,” Marcus said.
“Major D’Ascanio, the local Carabinieri commander, is heading there. I assume you’ll want to come.”
“He’ll be okay with that?”
“I told him you’re my partner in this. You’re going to have to give him a CIA anecdote to keep him happy.”
“I’ll make some shit up.”
Marcus offered to pay for the whiskey, but the owner of the restaurant refused to take his money.
“Lot of nice people in this part of the world,” Marcus mumbled.
*
Lombardy Helicopter Tours had a hangar at the Genova Sestri Airport. When Marcus arrived with the two Carabinieri officers, the general manager of the company was still distraught. The four of them stood on the spot where the helicopter had been kept.
“Giovanni was my best pilot and my best friend,” he lamented. “Who would do such a thing? Are you certain my helicopter was used for the attack at Monte Prelà?”
“We are quite sure,” Major D’Ascanio told him. “On the way here, we got word that the French police found an Agusta helicopter abandoned in Bessans, not far from the Italian border.”
“Do you have a model number? A registration number?”
“It’s an Agusta AW109SP,” the officer said. “Here’s the serial number.”
“Yes, it’s mine,” the general manager said. “I’ll be glad to have it back, but I’d rather have Giovanni back.”
“We were told there was a video camera in operation at the hangar,” Lumaga said.
“I can play the recording for you,” he said. “It shows the men who booked the charter. Giovanni was going to fly them to Como for the night. That was the plan. You can’t see their faces well, but you can see for yourself.”
“When they booked, did they leave a name? A credit card?” Marcus asked.
“I have a name. I don’t know if it’s real or fake. We require payment in advance. They paid via bank transfer.”
“Which bank?”
The general manager said he would check, then added, “I hate to go into the office. That’s where I found Giovanni.”
He came back with the wire transfer details. The funds came from the National Bank of Slovakia.
The video showed two men in dark clothes, getting out of a car and parking in front of the hangar. The car was later found to be have been stolen in Genoa. A second camera showed them entering the hangar where they were met by the pilot who was immediately forced at gunpoint into the office. His killing took place off-camera. When the two men emerged, they opened the hangar door and manually pushed the copter through the door using its ground-handling wheels. Outside, they loaded a large duffel bag into the craft, started the rotors spinning, and took off.
“One of them is a pilot,” Lumaga said. “We can find out who it is with the help of the Slovakian authorities.”
“The other one must have been the sharpshooter,” the other policeman said.
“He didn’t have to be that good,” Marcus said. “It was like shooting fish in a barrel.” For a moment, his mind flashed with the image of Mickey losing a chunk of his head, and he squeezed his eyes. It was going to be something he’d have to deal with. In time.
*
Marcus was so tired he felt like he was sleepwalking, but there was one last task to perform before he
