Forgive No More

by Seb Kirby

  “Let me drive.”

  “You do not know well enough how we Italians drive or the Alpine roads, James.”

  Gina interrupted with a solution. “I’ll drive. I’m fresh. I’ve been sleeping.”

  I looked at Ferrara. He stared back. His look said, Why not?

  Ferrara spoke first. “You can handle that?”

  She nodded. “I drove for two years in and around New York, didn’t I?”

  We pulled into the Autogrill Santemo Est to refuel the Giulietta and for much-needed food and drink. As we sat with panini and coffee, two armed State Police officers came in and sat nearby. I kept my head down, hoping that Manieri had not yet gone through with the threat of putting out an arrest warrant for me.

  We left one at a time and met at the Giulietta.

  Gina was a good driver, respecting the speed limit more than Ferrara ever did. He took the back seat, I was up front.

  Concerns about being chased by Heller were not now at the front of our thoughts. We headed on north, bypassing Verona on the A22, making steady progress through agricultural North Italy.

  It was time to make my peace with Gina.

  “I’m sorry for what happened.”

  “What do you have to be sorry about?”

  “You were listening to what I was saying to Nico?”

  “Enough of the time. Was it so obvious?”

  “No one sleeps for long when there’s so much trouble around them.”

  “So, let’s come out and say it. I forgive you. It’s not you doing the killing. It’s the Landos and their henchmen.”

  “I’m not going to be able to forgive myself for not knowing about the phone.”

  “Anyone could be forgiven for thinking it was safe if it was switched off.”

  “But that led them to Arndt. No, I led them to Arndt and I led them to you.”

  She spoke with a maturity that came from the streets. “You need to get off the guilt trip, Mr. Blake.”

  “My name is James.”

  “Get off it, James. Don’t you see, it’s always been the way of the Landos. Making the people they exploit feel guilt for what the Landos themselves have done. They’re merciless in the way they use people’s fears to gain control over them. So, look at you. Feeling all that guilt that Arndt Schreiber was killed.”

  I shook my head.

  “Did you have any ill feelings against him? Did you fire the weapon that ended his life? No, it was the Landos. They did it.”

  “You’re just saying that to help me.”

  “No, James. I’m telling you this because if you’d lived in the shadow of these people like I have you’d know every word of it was true.”

  “You’re not on a guilt trip yourself?”

  “Sure. I can agree with that. Yeah, look at me. Feeling the guilt of not understanding the parents who raised me, being on the streets in Italy, being the reason why my sister was drawn to Florence and is now missing. Being the reason Arndt went to Ostuni. Did I pull my sister off the street and imprison her? Did I shoot Arndt?”

  “No.”

  “Then say it. It was the Landos. That’s where the guilt should lie. But you know what? They’re incapable of feeling guilt. They have no conscience. That’s what makes them what they are. The quicker you understand that and quit blaming yourself, the sooner you might have a chance of beating them.”

  I thought of my brother Miles and the guilt he felt about being involved in sending Julia to Florence and how what happened to her there had cast such a shadow over his life. “Gina, you’re right.”

  She smiled. “Who am I to talk like this? Someone who’s made such a mess of her life.”

  “Thanks for saying it.”

  We had been on ascending sections of the Autostrada for some time. The flat plains of southern Veneto were behind us and we were in the more mountainous terrain of Trentino as the highway tracked alongside the Adige River and carved its way towards the white-capped Italian Alps we could see in the distance.

  I was keen to discover what Gina knew about Arndt Schreiber. “Tell me, Gina, what do you think drew Arndt to Florence?”

  “You mean to people like me?”

  “No, I don’t mean that. Except for the fact that you’re a twin.”

  She understood what I meant. “He didn’t tell me a great deal about what motivated him. He was the private type. But he was sincere in his belief he would track down those responsible for his brother’s death. It made him the kind of man you want to trust even when you’ve met so many bad types you wouldn’t want to trust another man again. So, yes, he had a thing about twins. But there was nothing sinister about that.”

  “He didn’t tell you why?”

  “As I said he was the private type. There wasn’t much he wanted to talk about.”

  “Nor why he came to Florence?”

  “I don’t know why. I had the idea he was certain he should be there because he was closer to uncovering what had happened to his brother. But he would never be specific. He told me I would be safer that way.”

  “He must have had something to say when he heard about the abduction of your sister?”

  “He was as alarmed as I was, as worried about what was happening to her. When he heard about the threats to me, he was quick to say we should leave for the South. Something told me he knew about the kind of abuse she would be suffering and what would happen to me if I stayed. I didn’t need to spell it out for him. He already knew.”

  “And that’s all you know about why Arndt was in Florence?”

  “Yes. And that art was important to him. Art that had gone missing. He kept asking me if I’d seen any paintings of unusual subjects in and around the Lando properties. I told him in truth I’d seen nothing.”

  “You got no indication of where he might have been looking?”

  “As I told you, he was protecting me. One time I looked over his shoulder as he was typing a message to someone on his laptop. He became angry, stopped typing and told me to forget what I’d seen.”

  “What did you see?”

  “I don’t recall much about the detail of the message. It was routine stuff. He was asking someone what they knew about IDDL.”

  “IDDL?”

  “Some organization with those initials. I asked him to tell me what it stood for and he wouldn’t say, just that it was important for my safety that I knew nothing about it.”

  I knew it was important to discover what Schreiber had been referring to but also that it was clear Gina knew no more and I should not press her further.

  I thanked her for being so open in talking about a man who died in her full sight just a few hours ago.

  I needed to concentrate on what was coming next. We were passing through Trento. Soon, we’d be arriving at the Austrian border. Later we would be crossing into Germany.

  I didn’t know what to expect. Would Manieri have alerted them to look for me?

  I turned my head so Ferrara could hear. “Nico, what kind of checks will there be at the Austrian and German borders?”

  He called back. “You should have nothing to worry about, James. They are both Schengen countries. There are no border restrictions.”

  “But they could be alerted to look for us? For not remaining at the scene at Ostuni?”

  He agreed. “Of course it is possible. But I suspect the only people who know about the Giulietta are Heller and the Landos. They are not going to want to allow their contact in the Florence Questura to be known and broadcast that elsewhere with the authorities. They will want to use what they know to take us out, if and when they please.”

  “If they find us?”

  “Yes, if not when. As to your own prospects of arrest, James, I suggest the only way to know about that is to cross the borders. My guess is the system is so slow that even if the Florence police have sounded the alarm about you, there has not yet been time to set anything up to detain you.”

  He was right. The road at the border at Brennero looked no different fr
om any other stretch of the highway, except there was an exit lane at which vehicles could be asked to stop.

  As the Giulietta swept through unchecked, Gina was reassuring. “Welcome to Austria!”

  The A14 Brennerautobahn opened up before us and provided a quick ride along the Brenner Pass to Innsbruck.

  After another quick stop for coffee, Ferrara resumed the driving as we sped on towards the Austria-German border near Kufstein.

  I shouldn’t have been concerned about being stopped. As at Brennero, the Giulietta sailed through, unimpeded.

  Ferrara looked at the onboard timer. “Not bad. In another hour we will be in Munich.”

  The feeling of relief was evident.

  We had escaped Italy.

  Chapter 62

  When Miles Blake and Luiz Reyas made it back to Tijuana, they decided to split up. Miles would go to the Anglia Hotel to let Debbie Miller know they had the sample of the explosive. Luiz would make sure his cover with the Soto cartel wasn’t blown by any wash-back from the trip to Juarez.

  It was a surprise for Miles on entering the hotel to be taken to a back room where Police Chief Martinez was waiting.

  Miles took this as a bad sign. “Tell me why you’re here.”

  Martinez tried to calm him. “We tracked your progress back from Juarez as soon as you entered the Baja. I came here to meet you because we need to talk.”

  “About what?”

  “About Agent Miller. Don’t worry. She will be OK. There was an incident.”

  “What kind of incident?”

  “She was captured by the Soto.”

  “I need to see her.”

  “Not yet. There are matters we need to agree. Agent Miller was rescued by a fellow American, a Federal Agent. Mexican lives were lost. I need you to be aware of the sensitivities involved. If this is known, it would set back our fight against the cartels by years.”

  “Who died?”

  “Two Soto foot soldiers. But more important is the one who was wounded. El Romero, the cartel head. He is in Hospital Centenario, in a coma. They are saying he might not regain consciousness.”

  Miles was thinking fast, trying to work out how this might affect the plans. “So, if it wasn’t the FBI, who are you saying rescued Debbie Miller?”

  Martinez’s eyes sparkled. “Who else, Senor, but the FDM, my own specialist unit.”

  “And why are you telling me this?”

  “Because you are a journalist, Senor, and because we have an agreement to assist each other.”

  “You’re not asking me to report a false story?”

  “Indeed not. You report nothing of the incident. Nothing that Senora Miller tells you.”

  Miles had no choice but to agree. The police chief thanked him. When he was let into the room, Miles saw at once that Debbie Miller was still in pain. The right side of her face was swollen. Scratch marks covered her neck.

  Miles sat on the edge of the bed. “Debbie, you’re all right?”

  She spoke through swollen lips. “I’ll live. They tortured me. Ripped out a tooth. But I didn’t tell them anything they wanted to know.”

  Miles held her hand. “Who saved you?”

  “Agent Ashley. Dillon Ashley.”

  “How come?”

  “He was sent here by Craven to follow me but he laid his life on the line for me.”

  “So, where does Ashley stand? It’s important because I have the sample from Rivenza.”

  She was pleased but because of her injuries found it hard to show it. “Then the plan goes ahead. If we play this right we can keep Ashley on side. He’ll feed Craven the news that we’re on to the drugs shipments. That should keep Craven thinking.”

  “And put you in danger.”

  “It’s just until the analysis of the explosive comes through.”

  “You’re sure about this?”

  “Yes. Martinez paints us out of the picture. Craven and the rest of the world will get to know the Federales shot and captured El Romero. No need for us to be involved.”

  “It doesn’t matter if Craven gets to know the truth about who killed El Romero?”

  “Ashley has every reason to keep it from him. But even if Craven does find out, it’s all connected to the drugs racket. Something that will throw him further off the trail.”

  “So what’s next?”

  Her voice was weakening. “We need time to get the right report back to Craven. Nothing to alert him to what we’re doing. I’ll arrange to get the sample analyzed. Then I head back to Washington and stall Craven until the results of the analysis come through.”

  “You’ll need a courier to get the sample to the lab. Someone we can trust.”

  “I’ll speak with Bill Maynard in London. Ask him to find a courier.”

  Chapter 63

  Agent Marvin Bryce was clear about the instructions. Get yourself to London. Get the mess cleared up. Get out clean. It sounded simple the way Craven had put it. Yet it was true. Their future depended on getting this right.

  The pretext for Bryce arriving in London was good enough. Craven’s team was alarmed to discover that one of their key targets, James Blake, had exited the US and, when last heard of, was on the loose in London, communicating with men like Adam Weston who were themselves under surveillance for breaches of security. What was left unsaid was that the real mission was to eliminate Maynard and Bedford and to close down anything that might lead to the drugs operation out of Tijuana being compromised.

  When Bryce arrived at the London office and showed his credentials, Maynard was not welcoming. “I can’t see why Craven needs men on the ground in London when he has so much to do back there after Town Lake.”

  Bryce tried to keep the man calm by making his reply sound matter-of-fact. “It’s just procedure. We’ve lost Blake. We want him back.”

  “Then why not just ask us for him?”

  “Of course, Chief. It’s just what we’ve done all along. We all want the same thing. To keep the country safe. It’s just that we need to take a more personal interest in Mr. Blake. And we’d heard your men are thin on the ground right now.”

  Maynard banged the table. “It’s still damn close to saying we can’t be trusted here to deliver. And I won’t have any operation of mine criticized.”

  “Think of it more like we’re sure you do a great job but I’m here as some extra help. An extra man on the ground in recognition of what’s at stake.”

  “And just what do you think is at stake?”

  “Blake’s the link in the chain that can lead us to his brother. And as you know, Chief, brother Miles is one of those liberal journalists ruining the security of the country, encouraging whistleblowers to divulge state secrets we’re pledged to protect. We have to take an interest in bringing Blake in and getting to the bottom of what his brother is doing.”

  “No need to spell it out, Bryce. We’re on the case.”

  “So why turn down an extra pair of hands?”

  Maynard didn’t look any more convinced but was sounding more accepting. “OK, Bryce. You may have a point. Let’s say you’re here to help. Join our team for a while. I can go with that. But if I get the slightest indication you’ve got any other kind of agenda, you’re out. You get me?”

  “OK, Chief. Where do I start?”

  Maynard called in Agent Bedford and introduced the two men. “Bedford, we have reinforcements, all the way from the U S of A. Agent Marvin Bryce will be joining the team.”

  Bedford shook the man’s hand. “It’s a great honor, sir. I’ve followed your career. You don’t know how much it means to me to be able to work with you.”

  Bryce was pleased this young agent was overawed and his reputation in drugs enforcement had preceded him. This would make it easier. “Just doing the job.”

  Maynard reddened. “OK. We don’t have time for the mutual admiration society. Bedford, give us a heads up on your take on the Weston-Blake association. And keep it brief.”

  Before Bedford could begin,
the phone rang. Maynard picked it up, listened for a while and swore. “Look, there’s something else I have to deal with, and it won’t wait.” He turned to Bedford. “Take Agent Bryce to your office.”

  Back in Bedford’s office, Bryce gave a smile. “Is he always like that?”

  “Every day. All the time. He’s on my back twenty-four seven.”

  “Kind of grinds a man down.”

  Bedford nodded. “I was a happier man when I was back room. It’s what I came into this business for. You know, tracking hackers, cracking down on Internet fraud. But Maynard has me out on the street and is making my life hell. That’s the top and bottom of it.”

  “So it’s true. The man is the devil to work with.”

  * * *

  Bedford didn’t know how to play this. He knew Bryce was part of the Craven team. But given the man’s reputation, he couldn’t believe Bryce had anything to do with the trade out of Tijuana. Craven wouldn’t have told Bedford anyway. It was the way Craven played it with everyone. No one knew where they stood. It gave him his power over them. Bedford decided he would have to play it straight. “OK, here’s the briefing.”

  He told Bryce about the surveillance carried out on Adam Weston and James Blake.

  When he’d finished, Bryce had a question. “You have the recording?”

  Bedford stalled. “You know about that?”

  “Craven briefed me. You have it logged at a secure location?”

  “Somewhere safe. That’s between Craven and me right now.”

  “You don’t have Weston or Blake under surveillance. Why are you so confident you can run them down?”

  Bedford looked down. “Blake has escaped, could be somewhere in Italy. But we have Adam Weston and once we get him to talk, I’m sure he’ll lead us to Blake.”

  “It must have been tough when you told Maynard?”

  “You don’t want to know.”

  Bryce smiled. It was possible, just possible, there was a way of closing this thing down before it was too late.

  Chapter 64

  There was a week to go before Oktoberfest began and the hotels were not yet full. The Condor Hotel Munchen on Sparkassenstrasse had rooms.