Jenny Frobisher checked her watch for the fifth time in ten minutes. It was 11:45 a.m.: fifteen minutes until the rendezvous. She took a sip of espresso and screwed up her eyes. For her plan to work a scary amount of things had to go right.
First, she had to be correct in her calculation that they would be facing a team of two – three at the outside, if Evelyn Parr was in Italy too. But she was certain Waits wouldn’t bring more agents on board – not with all the murder left behind them in which any newcomer was not complicit. There was always the awful possibility that he would deploy some E-Squadron personnel.
Oh, all the major embassies have a few smooth operators I can call on …
But after what went down in Istanbul, Jenny thought it unlikely. That had been a rapidly-developing situation, whereas the spymaster had had days to prepare for this snatch. And Waits was arrogant – he would like to think he could handle it himself. Jake’s life now depended on this.
Secondly, Jenny needed to find an unwitting accomplice who resembled Dr Nesta. They had agonized over the ethics of this detail, but she was adamant the individual would be unharmed. Killing a civilian would create more loose ends than it tied off; Waits would scare him and let him go.
Third: Jake had to be as good on two wheels as he evidently thought he was (though he didn’t voice this minor pride).
Getting the bike in position without alarm bells ringing had been an issue, but they found the solution. The Suzuki was brand new, and Jenny had approached the tourist police, asking to do a photo-shoot on the steps. She’d been told paperwork was required; heavy flirtation somehow negated the need for it. The motorbike had been there since 5 a.m., with a little boy paid to polish it; every now and then the officers sauntered up to the kid and asked him when the attractive English lady would return. Jenny reckoned it looked natural enough.
Finally, the timings had to be perfect. For public transport reasons Jenny thought it likely Dr Nesta would approach from the east, at the bottom of the Spanish Steps. So she positioned herself at the back of a café overlooking the piazza, ready to pounce on him.
Jenny told the decoy that she was the fiancée of a longhaired blond man who would shortly be arriving at the top of the steps. Her lover didn’t even know she was in Rome; Jenny had bought him this red cap on the day of their engagement. Would the gentleman be kind enough to hand it to him, point her out in the café and pass on a message of amore? It was a story no Italian could resist.
At noon it would be all systems go. Without question, MI6 were already in position. All in all, she was reasonably confident in her plan. Similar swoops had worked in the past, although admittedly nothing with so many variables. If Dr Nesta arrived late it would be dicey; if he was early it would be a catastrophe. Jenny didn’t even want to think about the possibility of a third watcher remaining behind once Jake succeeded in diverting Davis and Waits was occupied with his prisoner.
Suddenly it was time.
There was Jake, stepping into the open, walking like a man on a tightrope. Off went the decoy, taking the steps if he was walking down the aisle: a silly smile plastered over his face. To Jenny’s eyes the whole thing looked ridiculously contrived – Waits couldn’t possibly go for it. But he did.
Then Jake was tearing down the staircase on the scrambler, Davis dragged behind him, the Italian being led away by Waits as tourists fled in all directions. Amid the mayhem a man wearing a red cap approached the piazza from the east, as she had calculated he would. Dr Giuseppe Nesta observed the scene for a few seconds before throwing his headwear on the ground and fleeing. Jenny sprinted after the scientist, slipped a disposable phone into his pocket, and it was done.