Carmen got lost in thought as she trekked along the woodland trail. Unfortunately, as she discovered on turning back, she got lost in reality too. She trudged up a path expecting to find Sicilì at the top, only to find it taunting her from the next hilltop along. She took its bearings as best she could, but the woods here were thick and old, and the footpaths kept dividing and then dwindling into nothing. The sun dipped behind the western hills and the sky grew strangely clouded, as if by the paw prints of a pack of celestial hounds. The bristle of the trees softened into a dark fur. She began to fear that night would fall before she found her way home, when, to her great relief, she heard church bells tolling ahead – and, with a reinvigorated stride, she found herself back in a familiar field, the cottage just a short walk away.
Baldassare would definitely have seen Cesco by now. He’d have given him her number and told him that she was expecting his call. For all she knew, he’d already left a message on her phone. Not that she cared, of course. It was gravity alone that hurried her down the slope to rejoin the road; gravity and a certain abstract curiosity about whether reconciliation with him would even be possible. If he were frank about his dishonesty and sincere in his contrition, she could certainly imagine forgiving him for the wrongs he’d done her. In truth, she already had. She could foresee meeting him again, even enjoying his company. Yet how was she supposed to trust him? That was the nub of it. To put it bluntly, he was too skilled at what he did. And, without trust, could there be friendship worth the name?
She clambered over a farm gate, took the hairpin turn, arrived at the head of the cottage drive. A beast of a black motorbike was parked at the foot. She remembered Baldassare telling her of the Harley Cesco had stolen from those German bikers. She began to walk down towards it with that same childhood dizziness as when stepping off a merry-go-round. Then the man himself appeared around the side of the cottage, phone in one hand, helmet in the other, a harrowed look on his face that dissolved on seeing her into such unmistakeable gladness and relief to find her and to find her safe that without a further thought she ran across the small gap that still separated them, and flung her arms around him.
A splitting headache, yes. An upset stomach, yes. Clammy skin, yes. Noah Zuckman had all the symptoms of the flu. Except it wasn’t flu he was coming down with. What he was coming down with, instead, was an existential case of regret. He’d been coming down with it since precisely 7.13 that same morning, when his boss Yonatan had called him at home to order him to report to Ben Gurion Airport with his passport and overnight bag.
Noah Zuckman didn’t do overseas missions. At least, as a former officer of Unit 8200 of the Israeli Intelligence Corps, all the overseas missions he’d ever been involved with had been done from the comfort and safety of a bombproof command centre ten metres beneath the Negev Desert, from which he’d hacked with perfect impunity into the digital networks of Israel’s strategic targets, stealing their secrets, mapping out their infrastructure and planting viruses that – should the need arise – would cripple their militaries, their economies, their power grids and communications systems. Yet here he now was, sitting in the back of a scarlet Renault as it pulled into the car park of a DIY superstore in a mall an hour south of Sorrento.
Dov pulled on the handbrake and turned around to him. ‘You stay here,’ he said.
‘Gladly,’ said Noah.
A contemptuous glance passed between his two bosses. Noah folded his arms and watched sullenly as they went inside, resenting how at ease they both were. It was clear they didn’t trust him. He’d gleaned some details of their mission from the general chatter, but they hadn’t even had the courtesy to brief him on his specific role. He kept an eye on the dashboard clock, though it was actually three minutes slow. Fifty-four minutes passed before the two men came back out, pushing a shopping trolley packed with plastic bags. Noah got out to help them pack it all away in the boot. One of their purchases was a chainsaw. Another was a sledgehammer. He looked at them in alarm. ‘What the hell are we here to do?’ he asked.
Yonatan and Dov exchanged another glance, debating whether the time had come. Dov smiled reassuringly at him. ‘Get back in,’ he said. ‘We’ll tell you on the way.’ They all retook their seats. Dov adjusted his rear-view mirror to look Noah in the eye as he pulled out of the car park. ‘You know about hydroelectric dams, right? They’re one of your areas of expertise?’
‘I’m not sure I’d—’
‘You told us in your interview that you’d written code that would cripple Syria’s hydroelectric system.’
‘Yes, but—’
‘Good. Because we’re about to visit a remotely operated hydroelectric dam on Lake Sabetta. It controls the flow of a river called the Bussento, and we need you to stop it running for the night.’
‘But…’ Noah spread his hands, bewildered. ‘Why bring me here for that? I have everything I need back home.’
‘Because you’re not going to hack it. If you do, they’ll know for sure it was people like us. We can’t have that. So you’re going to disable it for us without hacking it. That way, they won’t have a clue.’
‘But… who else would want to disable it?’
‘The dam is owned by a company called Como Energy,’ said Dov. ‘They operate hydroelectric plants all across Italy. They’re building a new one on the Ombrone river, as it happens, and it’s got the environmentalists all riled up. You know the kind of shit. An area of outstanding beauty. The only habitat of some newt called the Arno goby.’
‘A goby is a fish,’ muttered Noah.
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘I’m just saying, gobies are fish, not newts,’
‘Newts are fish,’ said Dov.
‘No, actually, they’re salamanders.’
Yonatan laughed and punched Dov on the shoulder. ‘He told you, mate,’ he said. But Noah could tell from his manner that it was actually him he was laughing at, not Dov, as though familiarity with the natural kingdom was something to be ashamed of. He stared glumly out of the window. No wonder they’d delayed telling him as long as possible: to give him no real chance to back out. It seemed incredible to him now that he’d ever agreed to work for these people. But corporate intelligence was the hot new thing, and all the rest of his team were constantly being approached, so he’d been flattered enough to take the meeting when his own turn had finally come. He’d never expected anything to come of it, for he’d loved the army, its discipline and order, the pride of working for one’s nation, of knowing secrets that all the people he was protecting would shit themselves over if they knew. But the size of the offer Gordian Sword had made him had eaten away at him. All that fun he could be having! Holidays, a plush apartment, a fast car, the kind of sharp clothes worn by the kind of men that pretty women always snubbed him for. So he’d approached his commander about a promotion only to be laughed at and ordered back to his desk.
They left the motorway for a main road, the main road for a lane, the lane for a woodland track up which they bumped to a small clearing above a large lake, its surface grey with twilight. ‘That’s our baby,’ said Dov, redundantly. ‘And those are the control buildings down there.’
Noah stared across the lake. There were two cars in the car park. ‘I thought you said it was remotely operated.’
‘Relax. They’re Italians. They’ll leave soon enough.’
‘And if they don’t?’
‘You worry about your end of it. Let us worry about ours. Okay?’
They got out and stretched. Yonatan relieved himself against a tree, so Noah tried to too – except it proved to be nerves, so that barely a trickle came out. They each prepared a backpack with everything they’d need. Dov took a ziplock bag from a pouch of his overnight case. It had a handgun inside.
‘What the hell!’ protested Noah.
‘It’s only a replica,’ Dov assured him. ‘For crowd control only. Or would you prefer to get trapped in there if anyone turns up?’
Noah stared at him, but he and Yonatan simply carried on going about their business as if this was all perfectly normal. He didn’t know what to say, and so the moment passed. Yonatan fuelled the chainsaw then tested it by taking down a few branches. Dov covered their licence plates with fake ones then slapped Greenpeace and WWF stickers all over the bodywork. Then he called the drivers of the two rental vans to see how they were getting on and to give them their current coordinates for the rendezvous.
The sun set. Night began to fall. Still the two cars remained. They sat in the Renault and watched through field glasses until finally a side door opened and a man and woman came out, joking and jostling with each other. They set the alarm and locked the door then climbed into their separate cars and drove out over the dam, the steel security gate closing again behind them. They reached the main road then flashed each other farewell and headed off in opposite directions.
‘Okay,’ said Dov, starting the ignition. ‘We’re on.’
It couldn’t last, this glorious sensation of having Carmen in his arms, so Cesco savoured it while it did, her cheek warm against his own and the crush of her embrace and the astonishing fact that she appeared to have forgiven him, even before he’d managed to blurt out his incoherent apologies for everything he’d done. Then he realised that to hold her any longer would be another betrayal to add to his long list, so he let go of her, stepped back, put his hands on her shoulders and assumed his most solemn expression. ‘Baldassare returned your phone to you, yes?’ he said. ‘The one I took from you that day?’
‘Yes. Why?’
‘Have you used it yet?’
‘I went up the road to check my messages. Why? What’s going on?’
‘How far up the road?’
‘Into Sicilì. The nearest place with a signal. Cesco, what’s this about?’
‘Okay. The thing is this: I think your Cosenza friends are on their way.’
‘My Cosenza friends? You don’t mean…?’
He nodded. ‘I think they did it that first afternoon, after they’d knocked you out. They unlocked your phone with your thumb then downloaded a surveillance app onto it with which to monitor you and the investigation. That’s how they learned about the drone, and that they needed to burn down the Suraces’ farmhouse. It’s how they found us on that road that morning. And now they’ve contrived to have it returned to you, because they want to find you again.’
‘But why?’
‘Those sketches you did. You’re the one person in the world who can say for sure that they truly are of them.’
‘Oh shit,’ she said.
‘Will they be able to find this place?’ he asked. ‘By searching for rentals on the internet, for example?’
‘If they look hard enough.’
‘Then we need to get out of here right now. Is it only you?’
‘Yes. No. There are two others. But they’re away until tomorrow.’
‘You’ll need to warn them anyway. Have you got their number?’
‘In my bag.’ She led him around to the kitchen door to let them in. Her purse was on the table. She slung it over her shoulder.
‘Oh,’ said Cesco. ‘We should take your phone too.’
‘Won’t that just lead them straight to us?’
‘We’ll take its battery out first. Then we’ll give it to Baldassare. He may be able to use it as a lure.’ She looked a little sick at this, as though the full truth of their predicament was only now sinking in. He took her by her hands. ‘We need to catch these bastards while we can,’ he told her, ‘or you’ll never feel safe again. That’s a horrible way to live, trust me.’
She met his gaze with perfect assurance. ‘I do,’ she said.