The Geneva Deception

sending their gun spinning across the floor with a chop to the wrist. Rather than press his advantage, however, Tom paused, surprised by the sudden realisation as he caught sight of their dark hair, that it was a woman. But this momentary hesitation was all the invitation she needed to turn and crash her right fist into his jaw, the force of the blow sending him staggering back with a grunt. Spinning round, she stretched towards the gun, but Tom stuck out a leg and tripped her, sending her sprawling headlong into an upturned chair. In a flash he was on top of her, digging his knee into the small of her back, trying to pin her arms to her sides. But with surprising force, she reached behind and, grabbing his arm, flipped him over her head and on to the floor, winding him.

Again she turned and scrambled towards the gun, but Tom, still coughing and trying to get his breath just managed to grab one of her ankles and drag her back, her leg thrashing wildly until she was able to kick herself free. Struggling to her feet, she reached down and grabbed one of the dislocated struts from the coffee table and then lunged at him with it, her face contorted with rage. Tom sidestepped the first downward swipe aimed at his head, but the second wild swing struck him with a painful thump at the top of his right arm, momentarily numbing it. Her attack provided him with an opening, however, because with his other hand he reached out and grabbed the end of the metal rod, and then yanked it sideways. The woman went with it, tripping over a small pile of books and collapsing on to her knees. By the time she was on her feet, the gun was in Tom’s hands and aimed at her stomach.

‘Trovisi giu,’ he wheezed. Her chest heaving, she gave him a long, hateful look and then lay face down on the floor as he’d ordered. Tom quickly patted her down, finding her wallet in her jeans pocket.

‘Siedasi la,’ he ordered as he opened it, waving the gun at a chair. Her eyes burning, she pulled herself to her feet, righted the chair he had indicated, and then sat in it.

‘Siete un poliziotto?’ he asked in surprise, the sight of her ID made him feel a little less embarrassed about his sore chin and throbbing arm. Tall and obviously strong, she was wearing jeans, a tight brown leather jacket and red ballet-style pumps. She was also very striking, with olive skin, a jet-black bob that was cut in a square fringe around her face and mismatched blue and brown eyes embedded within a smoky grey eye shadow. There was something odd about her appearance, though. Something that Tom couldn’t quite put his finger on yet, that didn’t quite fit.

‘Congratulations,’ she replied. ‘You’ve managed to assault a police officer and trespass on a crime scene before most people have got out of bed.’

‘Where did you learn English?’ Tom’s Italian was good, but her English, while slightly accented, was almost faultless.

She ignored him. ‘Put the gun down.’

‘You tell me what you’re doing here and I’ll think about it,’ he offered unsmilingly.

‘Who are you working for? Gallo?’ she shot back, ignoring his question.

‘Who’s Gallo?’

‘He didn’t send you?’ There was a hint of hope as well as disbelief in her voice.

‘Nobody sent me,’ he said. ‘I work for myself. I’m looking for Cavalli.’

A pause.

‘Cavalli’s dead.’

‘Shit,’ Tom swore, pinching the top of his nose and shutting his eyes as he gave a long, weary sigh. Cavalli had been his main hope of working his way back up the Delian League to whoever had ordered the hit. ‘How?’

She shook her head, eyeing him blankly, refusing to be drawn.

‘What does it matter, if he’s dead?’ Tom insisted.

Another pause as she considered this, before answering with a shrug.

‘He was murdered. Four days ago. Why?’

‘I wanted to talk to him.’

‘About what?’

‘This for a start-’ Tom held up the photocopied page showing the sketch of the symbol of the two snakes wrapped around a clenched fist. ‘I hoped he might…’

‘Where did you get that?’ she gasped.

‘You’ve seen it before?’

‘C-Cavalli,’ she stammered. ‘They found a lead disc in his pocket, that was engraved on it!’

‘Do you know what it means?’ Tom pressed, hoping that her obvious surprise might cause her to momentarily lower her guard to his advantage. But she quickly regained her composure, again glaring at him defiantly.

‘It means that you’ve got about five minutes to get out of here before someone comes looking for me.’

Tom studied her face for a few moments. She was bluffing.

‘Why wait?’ he said, offering her his phone. ‘Call it in.’

She gazed at the handset for a few moments, then lifted her eyes to his.

‘What are you doing?’

Tom smiled.

‘No one even knows you’re here, do they?’

She ignored his question, although the momentary flicker of indecision across her otherwise resolute face effectively answered it for him.

‘Just let me go,’ she repeated. ‘You’re in enough shit as it is.’

Tom went to reply and then paused, having suddenly realised what it was about her appearance that had been troubling him earlier. It was her hair, or rather the ragged way it had been cut, especially around the back, which seemed at odds with the rest of her. She’d clearly cut it herself. Recently. Probably dyed it too, given its unnaturally deep lustre.

‘Where did you put the bottles?’ he asked.

‘What?’ She shook her head, as if she wasn’t sure she’d heard him properly.

‘The empty dye bottles and the hair you cut off. Did you lose them somewhere safe? Because if you didn’t and whoever’s looking for you finds them, it won’t take them much to figure out what you look like now.’

Allegra gave him a long, curious look.

‘Who are you?’

‘Someone who can help,’ Tom said with a tight smile. ‘Because right now, I’m guessing you’re in a lot more shit than me.’

Leaning forward, he offered the gun to her, handle first.

THIRTY-TWO

Headquarters of the Guarda di Finanza, Viale XXI Aprile, Rome 19th March-7.22 a.m.

‘Colonel? We’ve got her.’

‘About time!’ Gallo grabbed his jacket off the back of his chair, pausing in front of the mirror to do up the silver buttons and centre his tie. ‘Her phone?’

‘She switched it on about ten minutes ago,’ Salvatore nodded, still standing in the corridor and leaning into the office.

‘How long for?’

‘Long enough. The signal’s been triangulated to a street in Travestere.’

‘Cavalli’s house?’ Gallo snapped, looking up into the mirror to seek out Salvatore’s eyes over his left shoulder.

‘Could be.’

Salvatore flinched and then relaxed into an uneasy smile as Gallo turned and raised his hand and gave him a sharp clap on the back.

‘Well done.’

Fixing his peaked cap on his head, he strode towards the lift. Twenty seconds later they stepped outside and walked outside towards two waiting cars. They climbed in, but just as Gallo was about to turn the key in the