As the ambulance swerved around traffic, Driver steadied herself and joined Lim, looking over the captured man – his shirt soaked in blood. He was regaining his senses, eyes roaming around the inside of the ambulance.
‘Hi,’ Driver said, ‘I think you and I need to have a chat.’
‘Yeah, well, I don’t,’ the man sneered, blood bubbling up out of the bullet wound in his neck.
‘I’m not sure you understand,’ Driver said, as Lim placed a syringe in her open palm. She popped the cap off the end with a thumb. ‘You don’t have a choice.’
The man was lucid now. An eye on the needle. He gurned as if contorting in pain, his tongue rolling around the back of his teeth.
‘Move,’ Wells said, barging Driver and Lim out of the way. He prised the man’s jaw open and forced in a hand as the man bit down. Wells grimaced and removed his hand, a bite mark deep in the skin. He held a small white pill between thumb and forefinger.
Driver didn’t need Wells to explain, yet he did anyway. ‘Cyanide capsule,’ he said, dropping the pill to the floor.
Wells crushed it under his boot. Like the others, Driver held her breath while the gas from the capsule escaped. Pope opened a rear door an inch as the cyanide dispersed.
‘What kind of merc chews on a suicide pill?’ Rios asked, over Driver’s shoulder.
‘No kind of merc,’ Pope said, jostling for a better look.
Lim found a vein on the man’s wrist and jammed in the syringe. Serik’s capture had come before Gilmore could source the serum. And Driver felt relieved she didn’t have to resort to the same methods as at the Libyan safe house.
Lim stung the man with a slap to the face. Within seconds, his expression had changed to that of a dreamy, glazed look.
‘What’s your name?’ Driver asked, grabbing a medical pad and pen from a nearby tray.
‘Trent… Trent Fuller.’
‘Where were you born, Trent Fuller?’
‘Michigan.’
Driver scribbled down Fuller’s answers. ‘Who do you work for?’
‘Tom McNeil.’
‘And who else?’ Lim asked.
Fuller seemed confused. ‘Huh?’
‘Who does McNeil work for?’ Driver clarified, as Fuller threatened to slip away. As Lim slapped him awake, she repeated the question.
‘McNeil works for McNeil,’ Fuller slurred. ‘The rest I don’t remember.’
Lim dug a thumb in his neck wound. ‘Let me focus your mind.’
Fuller cried out and bucked against the gurney restraints. ‘Middleman,’ he murmured, eyes halfway to closing.
‘Middleman? Who’s the middleman?’ Driver asked.
Fuller’s head lolled to one side and the other. ‘We’re all middlemen.’
‘He’s delirious,’ Wells said. ‘He’s lost too much blood.’
‘Or he’s lying,’ Pope said.
Driver turned in his direction. ‘On amobarbital?’
The Australian seemed confused.
‘It’s a truth drug,’ Lim said.
‘I knew that,’ Pope huffed, backing out of the conversation.
Lim slapped the man awake once more. ‘What are you doing in Rome?’
‘Something,’ he said.
‘Something big or something small?’ Driver asked.
‘Something big, I don’t know.’
‘When?’ Lim asked, working her thumb in Fuller’s wound.
‘Soon. Tomorrow. The day after, maybe.’
‘Be more specific,’ Driver said.
‘I fly home in a coupla days,’ Fuller continued. ‘McNeil doesn’t say. And I don’t ask.’
Wells stepped forward. ‘You don’t ask what the mission is?’
‘That’s the deal,’ Fuller replied. ‘You don’t like it, you don’t get the gig.’
‘Where can we find McNeil?’ Driver asked. ‘Where are you staying?’
‘I don’t know, lady. None of the guys do.’
‘You must know something,’ Wells said. ‘Who hired you in the first place? An employer, organisation, operation… Give us a name.’
Fuller coughed up a mouthful of blood. ‘Vesuvius…’
Driver held an ear to his mouth. ‘What was that?’
‘Vesuvius…’ Fuller slipped away, eyes frozen open, blood and drool seeping out of his cold blue lips.
Driver tossed the pad aside. ‘Fuck!’
‘Did you get something?’ Gilmore asked.
‘We got jack,’ Driver replied, seething with frustration. Every time they seemed to be getting somewhere… wham. Another brick wall.
But Lim had a hand inside Fuller’s jacket. ‘Wait a second,’ she said, pulling his phone from his pocket. ‘We’ve got this.’