Chapter Sixteen
London
Maybe I’ve been away from England for too long.
A little over two hours’ flight and the contrast of climates could not be more striking.
London’s streets of monotonous rain and dark alleyways feel both familiar and alien.
Have I been seduced by the sun and relative tranquillity of Monticiano?
Perhaps. At least I have a clean hotel room for a few nights.
The prepaid room is ten floors below the suite where my target will be staying.
Ironically, Callico House is within walking distance.
Josh and Nishan’s house is a mere thirty-minute Tube ride away.
But I won’t go anywhere near either.
I manage to sleep in the armchair for a couple of hours.
Not knowing whether Dr Romano is an early riser, I head out for an early breakfast to a quiet café tucked away down a side street behind the hotel and put off ringing him until the relatively more civilised time of six-thirty—seven-thirty central European time.
He answers his secure line after only one ring.
“Aksel.” The concern in his voice is palpable. “What happened? Is there a problem?”
“No problem,” I answer. I keep my tone flat, not wanting my voice to give anything away. I want to know what he has to say. “Why would you think that?”
“You have only been in London one night.”
“I wanted to report in. And to find out if you’ve received the file you promised to send over.”
The doctor had promised to forward me an official file on Sylvie Leblanc from a close contact in the French intelligence services rather than the British. Romano, too, is a shrewd strategist.
“Please concentrate on the task I set for you. Once that is completed, I will send you everything I have. I do not want you distracted until then.”
“In which case, the job is done. But can I suggest that, in future, you advise your operatives not to leave their jackets with official identities in the pockets, hanging over the backs of chairs in their hotel rooms. Mrs Bellacci would have torn Agent Stefano Gaultieri to shreds. Not only is his identity and security pass tucked into his wallet, but he keeps his passcodes written on the back of a business card. Not particularly professional.”
Not only that, but the sloppy agent had a folded printout of an encrypted email of instructions from one Dottore Giuseppe Romano, Ispettore Superiore, Agenzia Informazioni e Sicurezza Esterna.
I took a screenshot of the email on my phone and used an online translator to get a sense of the content.
From what I could piece together, Romano had called on his agent to drop whatever he was doing in South Africa and fly to England.
“You—? Have you already completed the mission? You were supposed to observe—”
“That was not the objective, merely your suggestion as a precaution. And I imagine it would be a pretty sensible one under normal circumstances, but ultimately, one I didn’t need. Instead, I improvised.”
Romano goes quiet at the end of the line, and I wonder what he is doing. I decide to help him out.
“I assume you’re switching on the secure cam app you gave me. You’ll see the cameras have been installed in each of the rooms. Although to what purpose, I have no idea.”
“But how did you—? There is no way Gaultieri would have left his room unsecured before sleeping.”
“He did not. As I told you, I improvised. As I am sure you know, Johanson flew the red-eye in from Cape Town. When he checked in late last night, he was clearly exhausted but not too tired to order a fresh pot of tea from room service. Let’s just say the slightly modified beverage helped him sleep a little deeper.
He will wake refreshed and oblivious to my nighttime visit.
The adjoining room to his, in case you were not aware, is being redecorated and is currently vacant.
Yes, I got lucky there. On the streets, I learnt to turn random opportunities like these to my advantage.
But after acquiring a hotel pass key, I only had to wait a reasonable amount of time after his lights went out.
After that, I performed everything in the dark.
Now, maybe you’ll tell me why I’m installing cameras in the hotel room of one of your own agents.
An assignment that, quite frankly, any one of your colleagues in the UK could have completed without a fuss.
I find it hard to believe that you made a mistake with the intended target, Dr Romano. ”
Romano lets out an audible sigh, before laughing. I hope he comes clean and tells me the real reason for Gaultieri—to test me.
“The only mistake I made was in underestimating you, Agent Larsen. Well done. This is not the assignment I had in mind for Lorenzo, by the way, which was cancelled after the target was caught and arrested at passport control in Milan. But, yes, I did want to see how well you would perform. And you have, as always, excelled.”
I relax then because that’s precisely what is written in the email, Romano asking Gaultieri to be in London to test someone considered a highly skilled and potentially invaluable new operative.
“Perhaps something a little more demanding next time?”
“Noted. I took your suggestion, by the way. Command is sending a team to Eagle House this weekend to confront the aggressors. Teresa and Lorenzo have locked everything important in the strongroom and evacuated the villa. I’ve sent them south to a safe house for a month until we have official word that the incursion is over.
But the same goes for you. Stay in London until you hear from me again.
Do not try contacting me. And please do not be tempted to contact your old friends. ”
“Of course not. What about you? What will you do?”
“I have been told to stay here, but nearby. I’ve agreed to let our people view the security footage on the villa system. Once the operation is over and I get the green light, I will go back with a few senior agents and let them see what we have.”
I stall a moment. He must realise they will see footage of me on the night of the intruders. As usual, he is ahead of me.
“Mrs Bellacci has made modifications to the digital records. The timestamp for Alice’s visit has been swapped with the day Spataro’s men called. After that, you no longer appear in any footage. And, as you know, Mrs Bellacci is very thorough.”
“Yes, I have not forgotten.”
“I will send the Leblanc file to your phone later. The attachment will be encrypted with a code.”
“Which is?”
“I am sure you will work it out.”
Now it’s my turn to laugh.
“But you will need to handle Leblanc on your own, I’m afraid,” he continues, more seriously.
“My remit does not normally reach outside the borders of Italian territories, and even though we help other agencies from time to time, my influence beyond that goes only so far. Moreover, if I call in a favour to get you access to Leblanc’s room, someone is bound to make a connection. ”
“I understand completely. They’re probably watching you as eagerly as they’re searching for Gabriel.
I thought I would apply for a menial job at the hospital, perhaps a security or porter role.
That way, I’ll have card access to all the wards.
Even the secure ones where visitors can’t freely visit. ”
“I was going to suggest the same. I have even furnished you with references regarding hospital fieldwork carried out while you worked for the UN. I know I said I would not get involved officially, but I have called in a personal favour from a former colleague who works in the same group of hospitals that houses Leblanc. There is no guarantee that an interview or a job will be offered, but ask to speak to the hospital’s head of hospital support, Ravi Patel.
Mention Doctor Stephenson and that may, at the very least, get your foot in the door.
In the meantime, do not call this number unless the need is urgent.
I will contact you with an update when I can. ”
I hesitate before asking the next question. “How’s Lorenzo?”
When I’d called him from the car, I’d received a curt, monosyllabic response before he’d hung up. We have neither spoken nor texted each other since.
Romano lets out a soft sigh. “As expected. He will recover.”
That is all he needs to say. I feel bad about him, but I have a job to do. Focus on the mission first. Romano’s words come back to me.
“Would you like me to remove the cameras from Agent Gaultieri’s room?”
A soft snort from Romano comes down the phone.
“No, he can do that himself. And I will take great pleasure in telling him the job was done while he slept. Have you thought any more about what I suggested on the drive to the airport?”
I had sensed a hesitation in his voice when he’d suggested I remove my tattoo while I was in London. After all, it’s the only remaining visual clue to my identity.
“I have. And I won’t. Not yet, anyway. It’s hard to explain, but it’s a part of who I am.”
“I understand.”
The thing is, I think he does.
Back at the hotel, enjoying the luxury of the bathroom, I shower, dress as Aksel with glasses, and head out into the rain.
First I want to register my interest in a hospital vacancy then look for alternative accommodation—even though I have the hotel for another few nights.
I am not worried about bumping into Agent Gaultieri because he has no idea who I am, but I want to be closer to St Thomas Hospital and live in someplace more hospital-porter-appropriate.
Few reliable agencies offer affordable month-to-month rentals, but I was on the street long enough to know which ones I can trust. And paying by cash always tended to sweeten the deal. I only hope they accept Euros.
But first, I need a job. Rather than search online, I head to the hospital and see if I can apply directly. If not, I will try one of the recruitment agencies dotted around the area. If I can’t get employment, I may need to rethink my plans.