ahead, a kind of a command post with men inside.
It must be something for the tourists, something to convince them that it was safe.
Even if the police weren’t here for him now, wouldn’t they be eventually? If he dared to return to Russia, would they get him there?
She was a good girl, that Thera. She reminded him of his wife in a way. Then again, every woman he met, everyone who was nice to him anyway, reminded him of his wife.
Greed pushed him through the square and down past the fortresslike building toward the hotel. Greed not for money, but for revenge. They’d let his wife die. He had to get back at them somehow. That was why he was doing this. He hated everyone — the autocrats who ran Russia, the Americans who had forced Russia into poverty, the world that spat on a dying woman who could have been easily saved with the proper care.
Rostislawitch’s heart nearly stopped as a policeman pointed at him and said loudly, “
Rostislawitch froze.
“No.”
“We’ve closed this part of the street to foot traffic,” said the man, still speaking Italian though there was no hope of Rostislawitch understanding. “You’ll have to go over to the other side.”
He pointed, and said the words more slowly.
“Cross?” said Rostislawitch in English.
Rostislawitch, trembling, retraced his steps and went to the other side. His chest felt as if it were going to explode, and he worried that he was going to have a heart attack. By the time he reached the side street in front of the hotel, he was panting.
The street had been turned into a pedestrian mall years before, though cars occasionally drove up to make deliveries or drop off passengers. The hotel entrance was marked by two small trees in fancy buckets; precisely clipped, the trees were like slightly oversized bon-sais. Above them, a pair of video surveillance cameras stood guard, watching the nearby benches and the long planters that divided the walkway. Rostislawitch nodded at another policeman, then entered the hotel.
When Ferguson noticed that the Italians were staying outside, he decided to follow Rostislawitch and find out what he was up to. Ferguson sauntered into the hotel lobby, smiled at the clerk at his left, and walked through to the lounge, figuring he’d check that first. Sure enough, Rostislawitch was sitting in a booth at the far end, talking to someone Ferguson couldn’t see. There were about a dozen people in the place, most of them having lunch. Ferguson walked through to the bar, tucked back around a corner to the left.
“Vermouth,” Ferguson told the bartender, leaning across. As he did, he noticed a familiar face in the booth nearby: Nathaniel Hamilton, a British MI6 agent. Staring at him.
Ferguson smiled, then raised his glass in a half salute. Hamilton’s frown deepened.
Which convinced Ferguson it would be a good idea to go over and say hello.
“So, how’s Her Majesty’s favorite public servant doing these days?” said Ferguson, slapping his glass down on the table and sliding into the booth.
“Keep your voice down,” Hamilton told him. “Jesus, man. Have a brain.”
Ferguson grinned, then sat back in the seat. “Who you following?”
“What makes you think I’m following anyone?”
Ferguson started to get up. Hamilton grabbed his arm.
“Tell me why you’re here and I’ll tell you what I’m doing,” hissed the MI6 agent.
“Fair enough.”
“Well?”
“You go first.”
“No.”
Once again, Ferguson started to get up. Hamilton had an unfortunate reputation for reneging on similar arrangements, and Ferguson wasn’t about to trust him.
Once again, the MI6 agent took his arm. “Just sit down and stop making a show of yourself. You’re always being a nuisance, Ferguson.”
“Nuisance is my middle name,” said Ferguson, sipping his drink.
16
Rostislawitch shook his head.
“The agreement was money in the account. Then I will give you the location.”
“I am just trying to make things more efficient,” said Atha. “But you seem not to trust me.”
“I take all the risk. You have all the benefit.”
“Now, now, the offer is a fair one. You will be a rich man.”
“Mr. Jahan—”
“No, no, call me Atha. It is my name since I was small.”
The Iranian sat back in his seat. When the technical leader of the project had suggested he meet Rostislawitch at the conference in Bologna, Atha readily agreed; it was easy to move around Europe, and the Italians were not generally as watchful as the Germans or even the French. But there had been a considerable increase in police activity in the city today, and he knew that as a foreigner he might very well be watched. While anyone listening in would think he and Rostislawitch were talking about coloring dyes for carpets — a simple code Atha had suggested in their earliest communication — it was a thin veneer.
“The offer is fair if you carry through with it,” said Rostislawitch. “I have no guarantee.”
Atha sighed. “If you were to come with me to Tehran, you would see how trustworthy we are.”
“I’m not going to Tehran.”
“Your dyes are very important to us, at the right price.” Atha caught sight of the waiter and held up his glass. The waiter nodded, though in Italy that was not a guarantee that he would return before midnight. The only country with worse servers was Egypt, in Atha’s opinion.
“Maybe you should have some lunch,” he told Rostislawitch. “A full stomach calms the mind.”
“My stomach is already full.”
Rostislawitch glanced around the restaurant. There was a dark-skinned man at a table not far away — the Iranian’s bodyguard, he guessed. As for the other two dozen or so people here, most seemed to be international businessmen discussing deals, just as Rostislawitch and the Iranian were doing.
But maybe not. Maybe the place was packed with spies. Rostislawitch had no way of knowing.
Was this the way he wanted to spend the rest of his life, looking over his shoulder? Rich, yes, but at what price?
What did it matter? His life was over anyway. Wasn’t it?
The waiter arrived with Atha’s iced tea.
“Do you want another vodka?” Atha asked Rostislawitch.
The Russian shook his head. They had to use English to communicate, the only language they had in common. Atha’s Italian was good, though heavily accented. He felt his Spanish was better. His English, of course, was superb, a matter of great pride.
Atha sipped his drink for a short while, considering what to do. Much depended on his obtaining the material very quickly. What had begun some months before as a fantastical project now had assumed great importance; indeed, the minister demanded that the action Atha had arranged be launched within a few days. Atha was
