languages, including a number on espionage going back to the foundation of the British Secret Service in the time of Queen Elizabeth I.
'The wine is Chianti,' Mario told her. 'If you don't like it, the pot contains freshly made coffee. Also a carafe of water. Take your choice.'
'Your English is so perfect,' she remarked, sipping the wine.
'Ah! You see when I was young I spent three years in London working in a fish and chip shop. They don't make such wonderful chips in Italy! Your health, my dear.'
'Mario, we are short of time,' Beaurain broke in with a hint of impatience. 'I need to know what happens to all the money sent to you by that scoundrelly Belgian banker.'
'I take a small commission and then transmit the bulk electronically to Aruba in the Dutch Antilles.'
'South America now,' Paula commented.
'That's tough,' Beaurain commented. 'Persuading a banker on that island is easier than breaking into Fort Knox, but not much easier.'
'From there it is transmitted to a secret destination,' Mario said with a smile. 'Aruba once made a mistake and I was sent a copy of the onward transmission. It then goes to a Canadian bank in the Bahamas. I have the details.'
'Fancy a trip to the Bahamas?' Beaurain asked Paula with a touch of mockery.
Mario was fiddling inside a fat wallet he had produced from his jacket. He extracted a sheet of folded paper, unfolded it, handed it to Beaurain. He chuckled again.
'There are people – nasty people – who would pay a fortune for that information.' He waved a hand. 'No, Jules, I do not want a penny.'
'Ed Pendleton,' Beaurain said, reading from the paper. 'I do know the gentleman. He's their top director.'
'You see!' Mario waved his arms excitedly as he looked at Paula. 'Jules knows the whole world. An amazing man.'
'He doesn't know the route used by al-Qa'eda to send their murderous killers to Britain,' she observed.
The whole atmosphere changed. Mario was silent. His face now had a grave, almost nervous expression. Paula had drunk her glass of wine and, smiling at Mario, she poured herself coffee from the elegant pot after removing its cover. She drank some cautiously, still smiling at Mario to cheer him up. The coffee was very strong.
'If the reply is going to put you in danger we don't want to hear it,' she said, careful not to look at Beaurain.
'Danger.' Mario repeated the word solemnly. 'I should warn you there is danger everywhere in Milan. You must be very careful…'
A phone started ringing. Mario picked up a mobile from a stool by his side. He began talking rapidly in Italian. His whole personality had changed. His rounded jaw tightened, his eyes were half-closed, his voice rasping. When he put the mobile back on the stool he looked grim.
'A problem?' Beaurain enquired quietly.
'I must apologize,' Mario said, turning to Paula, handing her a plate of biscuits. She picked one up, slipped it into her mouth. It tasted good. 'I have to go and meet someone,' Mario continued, standing up. 'It should not take long so you wait until I return.' He looked at Beaurain. 'In case I do not come back…' Paula's stomach nerves rattled, 'you have to go to Verona to meet the man who can tell you the route these evil men use to reach their base in Britain. He is Aldo Petacci. Shall I spell it? No, you have got it. Aldo will tell you. I do not know that information.' Picking up the mobile, he pressed numbers. Again he spoke in rapid Italian, the gist of which Paula, with her limited Italian, could not catch.
Beaurain looked across at Paula. His expression was as grim as Mario's. He eased himself back in his chair, his right hand slipping under his coat. She knew he was checking on his revolver. Mario put down the mobile.
'I have spoken to Aldo. He will meet both of you at Verona tomorrow evening at 6 p.m. exactly. Inside the amphitheatre. You know it, Jules?'
'I know Verona. And the amphitheatre.'
'It all sounds dramatic, but Aldo is like that. Secretive.' He stood up. He extracted a card from his wallet, handed it to Beaurain. 'Give Aldo this. It confirms you are who you are. One more thing. If I do not return within about one hour…' Paula swallowed the third biscuit she had been eating to settle her stomach '… you leave here,' Mario continued, 'but not by the way you came in. You see that door over there? I will unlock it. You leave that way. It takes you down into a maze of alleys. Go quickly if you have to.'
'Can we help in any way?' suggested Paula.
'No! But thank you.' He went to the rear door, unlocked it. 'Watch your feet. There is a narrow staircase behind that door. I must go now.' He went over to Paula and hugged her. She nearly burst into tears. 'It has been such a pleasure to know you, to enjoy your company.'
At the door through which they had entered he turned back. He handed a folder to Beaurain. 'There are two return rail tickets to Verona. So you do not have to go to the ticket office at Centrale.'
'Do take care,' Paula called out.
'Thank you.' Mario smiled, became the same man he had been when they arrived. 'I go to my meeting in my Fiat. You probably saw it parked on the pavement when you arrived.'
The door closed on him as he left. Paula ran over to the eyebrow window, crouched down. It was dark but street lamps illuminated the area. There was no one about. All the shoppers had gone home.
'What are you doing?' Beaurain called out harshly.
'I can watch him leave.'
Beaurain joined her, bending very low. They did see Mario climb inside his Fiat, drive it off the pavement and down the street. He had only gone a short distance when men wearing balaclava helmets appeared from nowhere. They were holding automatic weapons. Uzis, Beaurain thought.
Mario had no chance. A hail of gunfire hammered into the Fiat. Mario stopped, threw open the front door, a gun in his hand. The gunfire increased in ferocity. Mario fell forward, sprawled on the pavement under a street light. Paula could see the pavement turning red with his blood.
'Oh God!' she exclaimed, her voice a mix of fury and sorrow.
'They're coming this way,' Beaurain snapped. 'The rear door.' He grabbed Paula's arm. They ran to the door. They had just reached it when a fresh hail of gunfire hit the eyebrow window. The glass shattered, A large object was thrown through the unprotected window, landed on the floor. Beaurain had the door open, hauled Paula with him, slammed the door shut, a torch in his other hand lighting a very narrow winding stone staircase. There was a tremendous thump against the door Beaurain had closed behind them. The door shook, but held.
'What the hell was that?' Paula cried.
'They threw a big grenade – maybe a bomb – through the open window. And that door is three inches thick. We must move – but watch your footing.'
Gripping an iron rail, Paula followed him down the diabolical, twisting stone staircase. At the bottom Beaurain's torch shone on another heavy door, closed with a bar. He lifted the bar, peered out into a dimly lit alley, gun in hand as he'd switched off his torch, shoved it in a pocket.
It was very quiet and they had a choice of alleys. One to the right, another to their left, the third straight ahead. The latter was vaguely illuminated with side lights attached to the stone walls. The alleys were paved with old cobbles. No one anywhere.
'We must find a hotel for the night,' Beaurain decided, 'so follow me.'
He made his cautious way down the alley straight ahead and soon it curved round dangerous corners. Paula, gripping her Browning, kept glancing back. If the murderers of Mario found them here they'd have little chance of surviving.
14
Paula never forgot their creep through the sinister alleys. Like herself, Beaurain also wore rubber-soled shoes,
