Monty Reffell closed his eyes and leaned back in his seat. The day had been a huge success and he had revelled in the children’s constant exclamations. Now he was going to allow himself a nap on the homeward journey. He nodded off, thinking that Pompeii was indeed one of the most interesting places on earth. It was so well preserved – even if the sight of all those plaster casts of dead bodies was a rather solemn reminder that the time capsule only existed because of the eruption of Mount Vesuvius and the destruction of everything around it.

‘It must have been terrifying when the volcano exploded,’ Harper commented to Yasmina. ‘Knowing that they couldn’t outrun it.’

Yasmina nodded. ‘It reminds you of the power of Mother Nature – we’re so small and insignificant in the whole scheme of things.’

Sachin yawned. ‘It reminds me that I need to do something important with my life.’

‘What? Like becoming a scientist so you can find cures for terrible diseases?’ Yasmina teased.

Max looked up from across the aisle. Her comment made him think of his grandparents and the sort of work they had done. Hopefully he and Kensy would be able to find out something more about them tonight.

‘No, like playing cricket for England and making sure that we beat Australia in the Ashes,’ the boy replied, grinning.

The train rocketed through the countryside, slowing down only as they entered the larger towns along the route. Max had noticed several makeshift camps and banners, confirming that the food crisis was even worse outside of Rome. It was obvious the whole country was suffering.

Kensy and Autumn were playing their twelfth game of noughts and crosses when Kensy suddenly realised what it was that had been bothering her the past couple of days. She held her pen aloft and looked at her brother. ‘Max, do you still have that newspaper?’

‘Why?’ he asked, and rummaged around in his daypack to find it.

‘I don’t think that boy in the picture is Nico,’ Kensy said.

The others looked at her as though she had lost her mind.

Autumn wrinkled her nose. ‘Why would the Prime Minister and her husband take a photo with a boy who’s not their child? What could they possibly gain from doing that?’

Max laid the paper on the table and Kensy spun it around. The boy’s face was partly obscured, but the mark behind his ear was clear as day. She dropped her voice to a whisper. ‘He’s from the orphanage, I swear. I waved at him when they were all walking to the church and then I saw him near the Spanish Steps. I didn’t realise it was the same kid until now.’

‘It’s not the best photo, is it?’ Carlos admitted.

‘The boy from the orphanage has a mark behind his ear – just like that one,’ Kensy said, tapping the photo.

The sceptic in Max was unconvinced. ‘It could be a smudge from the ink, Kens.’

‘Let me see that.’ Carlos picked up the paper and examined it.

‘Think about it,’ Kensy insisted. ‘Whoever has Nico sent another boy who looks like him to have his picture taken with the family so everyone thinks he’s gone home. But now they’re blackmailing the Prime Minister. That kid there is the key to everything.’

‘The Italian Secret Service must be on it,’ Carlos said.

Kensy raised an eyebrow at the boy. ‘If there was the possibility that your child’s life was in danger, would you tell anyone?’

The others couldn’t deny she had a point.

As the train pulled into the Roma Termini, Mr Reffell was jolted awake by Mrs Vanden Boom barking orders at everyone to gather their things. The children assembled on the crowded platform with the teachers.

‘We need to find that kid,’ Kensy hissed, pulling on her daypack. ‘And I’m pretty sure I know exactly where he’ll be.’

That was the end of their conversation for now as the teachers rounded up their groups before setting off.

‘Do we really have to walk again?’ Lola whined.

Romilly Vanden Boom nodded. If only she had a pound for every time that child complained about something she’d have been able to shout them all to a fancy meal. ‘It’s not far.’

‘But my feet hurt,’ the girl moaned, and was swiftly joined by Misha grumbling too.

‘We’re stopping for dinner on the way back,’ Mr Reffell said. He’d been pleased to have secured a lovely little trattoria near Quirinal Palace and had prepaid for the meal before they left England. It was slightly off the beaten track and apparently much loved by locals, which is precisely what he wanted.

The children dodged their way through the evening commuters, doing their best to stay within close proximity of their group leaders. Once they were on the street, it was clear that the protesters had spread to other parts of the city. People with placards were standing on just about every corner.

‘Wow, is it really that bad?’ Harper said. There were men and women of all ages, families with small children and even a group of priests, all chanting about the price of wheat.

‘I’m afraid so. Rationing has started,’ Mr Frizzle said, shaking his head. ‘It’s a ghastly state of affairs.’

As the group neared a supermarket, they realised there was a queue snaking out the door and around the corner.

‘It’s ridiculous.’ Inez shook her head. ‘We’re in Italy. I could imagine something like this in the third world, but it’s almost unthinkable here.’

The restaurant they were heading to was tucked away in a quiet lane. Mr Reffell had consulted the map several times, but was now checking his phone for good measure.

‘Are you sure we’re in the right place, sir?’ Dante asked as they made their way down a long alley littered with scooters and garbage bins. Washing lines were slung above them and a black cat scuttled across their path. ‘This looks a bit dodgy, if you ask me.’

Monty bit his lip. He’d been thinking the same thing. There wasn’t a shopfront in sight and the lighting was terribly poor. ‘Wait here while I go on and check,’ he said, and gratefully accepted Max’s offer to accompany him. He was confident the boy’s photographic memory would see them in the right place in no time.

They hadn’t walked much further when Max spied a tiny sign with an arrow pointing towards a gate. Monty pressed the buzzer and was admitted into a narrow passageway. At the end was a door and the sound of people laughing on the other side.

‘Thank heavens for that,’ the teacher said, and sent Max to beckon the others.

Inside, the decor was quintessentially Italian with red checked tablecloths and chianti bottles turned into candelabras. Plastic grape vines covered the ceiling and walls, and the bar area was crowded with rowdy patrons. They were greeted by a waiter with a thick black moustache, who ushered the group through a set of double doors into a private room.

‘Well, isn’t this charming?’ Monty said with an appreciative nod. He was feeling very pleased with himself and made a note to thank his friend for the recommendation.

The children were quickly seated at two large round tables. Soon after, the waiter returned with bread baskets and little dishes of olive oil. There was certainly no sign of the wheat shortage in this restaurant. Monty was relieved he’d already paid too, as he spotted a menu and almost choked at the prices.

Max and Carlos excused themselves for the bathroom, racing up the back stairs until a loud bang stopped them in their tracks. It sounded like a hand hitting a tabletop and it was accompanied by a definitive ‘No!’ They looked around and found a window high up in the wall. Intrigued, they crept closer.

‘Lei firmerà i documenti,’ a woman said hotly.

There was another loud thump.

‘Speak Inglese – you know the waiters only speak Italiano.’

‘Fine,’ the woman hissed in heavily accented English. ‘She will sign the document tomorrow. Penina will be under our control after that and from then on we will set the food prices and govern the farmers. The people will be at our mercy. We will offer concessions at first to win their favour, then raise the prices over time. We will make a fortune.’

‘And what about the boy?’ the man said.

Max and Carlos looked at one another.

‘The trade will take place at the eastern end of the Piazza del Popolo,’ the woman replied. ‘You can watch from the roadway above and know that the deal is done. I still cannot believe he fell through the roof. We had been planning to snatch him the very next day.’

‘And if she doesn’t sign the papers?’ the man asked.

‘We kill him,’ the woman said without a trace of emotion.

Carlos pointed at the window. He retrieved a nearby stool with a wonky leg and was about to step up onto it when Max grabbed his arm.

‘I’m taller,’ the boy mouthed. Carlos held the stool steady as Max stretched as far as he could. His fingers gripped the edge of the windowsill as he slowly hauled himself up. He peered into the room, his heart racing. There were three people seated at a round table. The decor was far fancier than downstairs and reminded him of his grandmother’s small sitting room, which was full of antiques, with a sprinkling of Italian flavour.

‘Can you see them?’ Carlos whispered.

Max nodded. There was a large man facing away from him. He was bald on top with thick dark hair in a ring around the back of his head. His long sleeves were pushed up and Max could see a tattoo on the inside of his forearm. It was the same script as the man from the street except this time Max could see that it said ‘Nero’, not ‘hero’. Opposite him was a man with grey hair who was smoking a cigar. A woman with long black hair and a made-up face was beside him. She was very pretty and had a movie-star look about her. Max’s eyes widened when it dawned on him that he’d seen her before. He was almost certain she was the woman who had left the orphanage in the middle of the night and got behind the wheel of that black Ferrari in the piazza.

Two burly men were stationed on either side of the door. Max gasped when he recognised one of them as the fellow they’d seen inside the gates of Quirinal Palace with the gun holstered in his jacket. But if that was troubling, his heart almost leapt through his chest when he realised that the other guard was one of the thugs who had been chasing them in the street yesterday.

Carlos desperately wanted to see too. He let go of Max’s stool to look for something else to climb onto. Max wobbled unsteadily and, feeling his feet give way from under him, grabbed onto the windowsill. The stool clattered onto the tiles.

‘What was that?’ the fat man bellowed.

Max thought fast and jumped to the ground. He returned the stool to its original position and joined Carlos just as a door opened at the end of the passageway and a face appeared. It was the man from the palace. Max thanked their lucky stars it wasn’t the other guy. He would have recognised them in an instant.

Max looked at Carlos, a confused expression on his face. Carlos glanced around as if he were lost. ‘Toilette?’ Max said in his best Italian accent.

The man grunted and pointed down the hallway.

‘Grazie.’ The boys nodded and hurried off, not daring to say another word in case they gave themselves away. When they walked back into the hall, the man was still there, watching them like a hawk.

‘Grazie,’ Max said again as he and Carlos sped past.

‘What took you so long?’ Kensy asked as they sat down. ‘I thought you’d fallen in.’

‘Tell you later,’ Max replied, feeling a little rattled by the encounter.

Kensy eyed him and Carlos warily. ‘Tell me now,’ she insisted.

Max took a piece of pepperoni pizza and put it on his plate. ‘Let’s just say that maybe your hunch about Nico is correct, and if that’s the case, I don’t think any of us will be getting much sleep tonight.’