Gilmore was furious. ‘So McNeil was there and you let him get away?’
‘I think that’s being harsh,’ Driver said.
‘Harsh?’ Gilmore threw his hands in the air. ‘McNeil falls in your lap and all we’re left with is a pile of rubble and another story on the late night news.’
‘Yeah, well there was the little matter of the plastic explosives.’ Driver was growing tired of Gilmore’s tantrums.
‘You could have at least brought the drone back,’ Anna said, sewing up the wound on Wells’ shoulder with a needle and thread. ‘I’m supposed to return this stuff.’
Rios leaned with a foot against the wall. ‘You’re lucky we got the thing working in the first place.’
‘Look, if you want to blame anyone, blame me,’ Wells winced, his sleeve rolled up over a muscular arm. ‘Driver had him in her sights. I got in the way.’
‘No,’ Driver said. ‘If you hadn’t come in when you did, they’d still be digging us out of the rubble.’
Gilmore shifted in his seat, arms folded and shirt stale. ‘So he was a bomb maker, this—’
‘I heard the name Antonio,’ said Rios.
‘Locatelli,’ Lim muttered to herself.
‘You knew the guy?’ Gilmore asked.
‘Knew of him,’ Lim said. ‘He had a reputation. Explosives. Electronics…’
‘And forgery,’ Driver added, pulling the ID card from her pocket. She spun it across the table. It landed in front of Gilmore. ‘Don’t say I never give you anything.’
Gilmore picked up the card. ‘Holy shit, a piece of plastic. Is it my birthday?’
‘Hey, she risked her life for that,’ Wells said. He glanced across at Driver. ‘And not just hers.’
Driver shrugged. ‘We made it, didn’t we?’
‘Just ab—ouch!’ Wells flinched as Anna dabbed alcohol on his sewn-up wound.
Gilmore slipped on his glasses and read the card. He leaned forward in his seat, his thick, hairy forearms resting on the table. ‘Is this what I think it is?’
‘Locatelli was in the process of making something for Merlin,’ Driver explained.
‘We don’t know that for sure,’ Anna said.
Wells examined his stitches. ‘He wasn’t there for coffee.’
‘And they were talking about a device.’ Rios hunkered low in her chair. ‘I think.’
‘You think?’ Gilmore said with a headmaster’s stare.
‘Yeah, I think,’ Rios replied. ‘Hard to tell over the fat-ass opera singer.’
Gilmore chewed on the inside of his lip. ‘So McNeil’s doing business with a master bomb maker and forger.’
‘Who’s forging the ID card of a maintenance worker for the city government,’ Driver added.
‘Unless that’s the copy,’ surmised Anna, taking a seat at the table.
‘Let’s find out,’ Gilmore said, turning to the door. ‘Mo!’
While the team sat and waited for Mo to appear, the Italian driver from earlier that day appeared with a pile of four large pizza boxes. He set them down on the table, along with a plastic bag full of paper napkins and white plastic knives and forks. The smell of mozzarella and garlic ought to have made Driver crave for her first meal in countless hours. Yet her latest encounter with Tom hadn’t exactly whetted her appetite.
The others weren’t so troubled, falling on the boxes and inspecting the contents. Rios was the first in the queue. ‘About fucking time.’ She opened a box and found a thin-crust pepperoni uncut. ‘What the… Why don’t they slice it up like normal people?’ She snatched a knife from the bag and sawed ravenously at the crisp dough. ‘You’ve got to get us some utensils in here. Imported drones is one thing, but we need proper hardware. None of this plastic knife and fork bullshit.’
‘Here,’ Driver said, pulling her Swiss Army knife from her pocket. She slid it across the table. Rios cut herself a big slice and left the knife inside the pizza box. She bit into her pizza, nodding in approval. ‘I take it all back. This is where it’s at, right here.’
Lim got up from the table and carved herself a slice of ham and mushroom. Wells was next in the queue for the knife, cutting a piece for Anna and Gilmore.
‘Want one?’ he asked Driver.
She declined as Mo shuffled into the room. He was messy-haired and bleary-eyed, swamped in a light-blue pair of superhero pyjamas. He rubbed his face like a child. ‘What time is it?’
‘Time to earn your keep,’ Gilmore said through a mouthful of pizza.
Mo turned towards the doorway. ‘Wake me up when the world ends.’
‘Get back in here,’ Gilmore boomed.
Mo stopped and turned. ‘Well at least there’s pizza.’ He shuffled to the table and cut himself a piece, picking the pepperoni off the top.
‘That’s the best bit,’ Rios said, gorging herself on a second slice.
‘I’m a Muslim,’ Mo said.
‘Thank fuck I’m Catholic,’ Rios uttered, adding his discarded pepperoni to her own.
Mo took a bite and turned to Gilmore as he chewed. ‘So what’s up, boss?’
Gilmore tossed him the ID card. ‘Find me this man… If it’s not too much trouble.’
Mo looked at the card and trudged to his desk, chewing on his pizza. He flopped into his chair and woke up his computer.
Still no hungrier, Driver left the table and stood over his shoulder. She watched as Zeus pulled the personnel records from a local government database. She had to hand it to Mo, it was an impressive piece of programming. Faster and more sophisticated than anything she’d seen at the CIA or NSA. And all homemade.
Mo typed the man’s name – Ricky Di Paola – into a search box. A profile matching Di Paola’s image appeared. He was a young man with a large nose and a dark, angular face. Driver felt a spark of renewed hope for the mission. ‘We’ve got a match,’ she announced. ‘According to this, he’s a maintenance worker. Lives in Monteverde.’
‘You want us to pay him a visit?’ Wells asked, cutting into a fresh margherita with Driver’s knife.
‘Why bother?’ Mo said, fingers a blur over his keyboard. Zeus ran a search for Di Paola’s name and image. He reached absently for an abandoned cup of black coffee and took a drink. Mo spat it back into the cup. He looked at the cold coffee, shrugged and downed the remains, slamming the mug down as Zeus brought up a shortlist of Ricky Di Paolas.
‘There,’ Driver said, as Gilmore and Wells appeared over their shoulders. She pointed to Di Paola’s thumbnail. Mo clicked on the image. In seconds they had access to everything. Social media accounts, phone records, emails and credit card activities. Not to mention a missing person’s report.
‘Seems like Mr Di Paola’s been missing for over a week,’ Gilmore said, wiping the grease from his fingers with a paper napkin.
‘Coincidence?’ asked a sarcastic Rios.
Wells rolled out his injured shoulder. ‘But what would McNeil want with a maintenance man’s ID card?’
Driver leaned in closer to the screen. ‘Mo, can you bring up the city government’s website?’
‘Sure,’ Mo said, tapping on the keyboard.
‘Go to calendar of events,’ Driver said, as the website appeared.
‘Page not found,’ Mo replied, drumming his fingers on the desk. ‘Wait, let me try something.’ He typed ‘events rome april’ into Google. An extensive list came up. Driver studied the screen, yet nothing stood out.
‘Maybe we’re selling ourselves a dummy here,’ Gilmore said.
‘Try the Rome tourist board,’ Lim suggested from over Driver’s shoulder.
Mo searched for the site and clicked on the link. The first page of the Rome tourist board site was dominated by news of a coming event: ‘The city of Rome welcomes you to a celebration of Chinese culture.’
Driver snapped her fingers. ‘That’s it.’
‘You sure?’ Wells asked.
‘Yeah,’ Gilmore said, snapping the top off a bottle of water. ‘What does McNeil want with a Chinese festival on the Spanish Steps?’
‘Look,’ Driver said, pointing out the first line of the article. ‘The Chinese Minister for Culture will be speaking at the festival.’
‘First he kills a Russian ambassador,’ Gilmore said, ‘then the American ambassador… now he’s gonna assassinate a Chinese minister.’
Wells spoke with a full mouth. ‘Anyone detecting a pattern here?’
‘Yeah, it’s kind of like an Archduke Ferdinand thing,’ Mo said. ‘They kill a high-profile figure—’
‘And boom! China are drawn into the war,’ concluded Wells.
Gilmore shot Wells a look.
‘Figure of speech,’ Wells shrugged.
‘Security will be tight,’ Driver said. ‘He’ll use the ID card to make it past security, along with whatever Locatelli built him to take out the minister.’
‘But why here in Rome?’ Anna asked, a napkin to her lips. ‘Why not in China, or a foreign embassy like the other attacks?’
‘Because he’s vulnerable in Rome,’ Lim said. ‘And the embassies will be locked down after Moscow.’
Wells’ eyes widened in a sudden realisation. ‘Shit, the minister… It’s Li Dong Chiang.’
He turned to look over his shoulder. Driver followed his gaze and found Lim behind them, staring at the screen.
Driver failed to see the significance, and hated not knowing the full story. She looked to Gilmore for an explanation.
Annoyingly he was wearing his best poker face. ‘When’s this happening?’ he asked, leaning in over Mo.
Mo scanned the screen. ‘It says, uh, tomorrow at noon.’
‘Holy shit,’ Gilmore said. ‘Could this get any worse?’
‘It couldn’t get any better,’ Driver said, revved up at the prospect. ‘We get to take down McNeil in the act. Isn’t that why we’re here?’
‘We’re an infiltration team, not a SWAT unit,’ Gilmore said. ‘And we’re two men down.’
‘Yeah, ’cause you sent them to Vegas, chasing wild geese.’
Wells clapped his hands and chewed the last of his pizza. ‘So we alert the authorities.’
‘Oh sure,’ Gilmore replied. ‘And have the entire global intelligence community converging on our position.’
‘Besides,’ Driver said. ‘McNeil’s got people everywhere: CIA, MI6, SVR, Mossad.’
‘He said that?’ Anna asked.
Driver nodded. ‘He said as much.’
‘So what are you suggesting?’ Wells asked Driver. ‘We use Chiang as bait?’
‘This is a human being we’re talking about,’ Anna pleaded.
‘That’s debatable,’ Driver heard Lim mutter.
‘And what about the hundreds of innocent people who are going to be there tomorrow?’ Wells added. ‘Don’t they count?’
‘We won’t be alone out there,’ Driver said, agitated by Wells’ reluctance. ‘The place will be on high alert. Armed police, Italian secret service—’
‘Making it harder to operate unseen,’ continued Wells.
Driver looked him in the eyes. ‘You scared of a challenge?’
‘I say we go in,’ Lim said.
Wells lost his cool, pointing a finger at Lim. ‘You’re not going anywhere near that man.’
Rios launched out of her seat and squared up to Wells. ‘What’s your problem, gringo?’
‘Gringo?’ Wells said.
‘Everyone simmer down,’ Gilmore said, getting in the middle of Wells and Rios. ‘This isn’t Capitol fucking Hill.’ Gilmore looked around the group. ‘Let me think a minute.’ He paced towards the tall, ornate windows, a clenched fist to his mouth. Gilmore looked out over the twinkling lights of the city. ‘Okay, here’s the deal,’ he continued, turning to face Driver and the team. ‘We go after McNeil.’
Driver wanted to punch the air. She refrained.
‘But we do it my way,’ Gilmore ordered. ‘Lim, you’re sitting this one out.’
Lim dropped her pizza on the table. ‘What?’
‘We need her,’ Rios said. ‘The job’s gonna be a motherfucker as it is.’
‘Eloquently put,’ Gilmore replied. ‘But I’ll take that as a unanimous yes.’ He checked his watch. ‘Now go and relax, sleep, shit, jerk off. Whatever it takes to clear your heads… We’re at strike two already. We’ll only get one more swing.’
As the team filtered out, Gilmore picked up the phone on his desk and made a call. He spoke in a hushed tone, an eye on Lim, who lingered by the table. Driver sensed he was up to something. In spite of his gruff manner, Gilmore was always thinking. And from her years working under him at Langley, she knew he often thought a couple of steps ahead of everyone else.
Driver looked at the remains of the pizza on the table. She was in no mood to eat. But she forced herself, picking up a remaining quarter of pepperoni pizza. Rios was right. Why didn’t they cut it? She searched the boxes. ‘Anyone seen my knife? Driver asked. Her question was met with silence, so she sifted through the mess of napkins. Where was the damn thing? Driver shrugged and folded the giant slice in two and bit on the end. If they were going after Tom again, she could do with the carbs.
Meanwhile, Lim perched herself on the end of the table, apparently deep in thought. She slid off onto her feet and walked across the room. As she headed for the door, Lim gave Gilmore a look that could have set him on fire.
‘Do it,’ Gilmore said into the telephone. ‘Do it now.’
As he slammed down the phone, Driver left the operations room chewing on her pizza. Rios wasn’t wrong. It was the best she’d tasted outside of NYC. She followed Lim along the hallway towards her room. Suddenly, four armed security guards ghosted out of doorways, boxing in the slender woman. They yelled at her to get down, forcing her to the floor with rifles aimed at her head.
Lim seemed as surprised as Driver, a look of shock on her face as the security team bound her wrists and ankles with plastic ties. They hauled her up and carried her into a room at the end of the hall. They threw her inside and she hit the carpet on her front, Driver flinching at the pain of the hard landing. The security team backed up fast as a unit behind their rifle sights.
Driver watched helpless as Lim lay on her stomach, accusing eyes focused on her. ‘This wasn’t me.’
Before Driver could protest, a security guard slammed the door, applying twin locks and a pair of deadbolts. Rios and Wells appeared in the hallway, drawn by the commotion.
Driver turned to see Gilmore lurking in the ops room doorway. ‘So we’re down to three now? We need all the bodies we can get.’
Rios was quick to her side. ‘Yeah, man, what the fuck?’
Gilmore was defiant. ‘It had to be done. And I’ll hear no more about it.’ He shared a brief yet knowing look with Wells.
Driver latched onto the silent exchange as Gilmore disappeared. ‘Care to explain?’ she asked Wells. She waited with Rios for an answer.
Wells was as cold as winter. ‘Like the man said, it had to be done.’