'He's right. I can hardly contact Warner and ask him what he thinks he is doing. You flew back from Paris then?'
'Caught the flight from Charles de Gaulle by the skin of my teeth. Then ran into the wall of security at Heathrow. I have decided to travel to Italy myself tomorrow, to see Mr Murano and ask him where the money from Brussels goes on to. Not just the rent. Someone code-named Brutus in Carpford sends huge sums. Anyone want to come with me?'
'Me!' Paula shot up her hand.
'You will permit?' Beaurain asked Tweed.
'She'll give me hell if I refuse.'
'That's settled.' Beaurain took out a notebook and wrote in it. Paula noticed he wrote as fast as he talked. He went over to her desk, gave her the sheet he'd torn from the notebook. 'My hotel, a small place near Victoria. My room number on the back. I'm registered as Mr Vance. We meet under the destination board at Waterloo at 4 p.m. tomorrow. Now, give me your Browning pistol. Thank you. I can smuggle this through with my own Beretta. Bring only one case., and plenty of warm clothes. I'll have the tickets. I'm off now!' He paused before opening the door. 'That nasty incident outside the Ivy. Don't overlook this man Palfry. He could have been waiting in the lobby until he saw you were leaving, dashed outside to signal those thugs, then back in to greet you. Au revoir…'
'Interesting what he told us about the information from Paris,' Tweed said half to himself. 'And they have an uncomplimentary version of the word London.'
'And I'm off to Italy,' Paula enthused. 'That will make an exciting change. I'll bet it's Milan.'
'Not too exciting, I hope,' Tweed replied with no enthusiasm at all.
13
Milano Centrale. The long-distance express glided to a halt. Beaurain, with Paula by his side, was already standing at the exit as the automatic doors opened. They stepped on to the platform, Paula gazed up at the vast cavern, curving above them like an arched cathedral.
'It's enormous.'
'It is,' Beaurain agreed as he grabbed her arm to hustle her along amid a vast crowd descending from another train. 'I want us out of here fast. We were followed all the way from Waterloo. That small smartly dressed man seated a few seats in front of us. Dark suit, carefully manicured hair which you called coiffeured. He used his mobile as we were coming in. I suspect someone unpleasant is waiting for us…'
It was late in the afternoon but still daylight. While on the express Beaurain had slipped something wrapped in thick glossy paper to her, suggesting she visited the toilet before unwrapping it.
Inside the toilet she had carefully unwrapped layer after layer of the paper, which felt strange to the touch. Inside she found her. 32 Browning and three magazines. Earlier, from the same suitcase which had contained Paula's weapon, Beaurain had extracted a similar package, had visited the toilet. In a hip holster he now wore his favourite gun, a. 38 Special Smith amp; Wesson with a shortened barrel, weighing only eighteen ounces.
When she had returned to her seat Paula had folded the odd-feeling paper and handed it to Beaurain. He had slipped it back inside his case, thanking her, remarking that it was very expensive.
As they approached the exit Paula looked to left and right. It appeared there were at least twenty platforms. Passing through the ticket barrier, they made their way across the crowded concourse to the exit, a long flight of very wide stone steps.
'Keep close to me,' Beaurain warned, his eyes everywhere.
As they descended towards a vast paved open space Paula gazed at the extraordinary edifice looming up higher than any of the other solid stone blocks situated round the space. A shaft of sunlight broke through the hazy clouds, beamed like a searchlight on the dominant edifice.
Immensely tall and slim, its sides were curved. They swung round at the end nearest to her, creating the impression of a gigantic cone. She sucked in her breath.
'That must be the world-famous Pirelli building. It really is an architectural masterpiece.'
'Yes, that's Pirelli…'
Beaurain sounded abstracted. He never stopped surveying the scene as though expecting trouble. No pedestrian coining towards them escaped his eagle eye, checked with a brief glance. They had left the steps and were walking towards Pirelli when Paula noticed a long black stretch limo parked by the kerb. As they reached the limo her attention was distracted by an Italian pushing a trolley towards them laden with fruit.
The rear door of the limo suddenly swung open, blocking Beaurain's way. At the same moment the Italian pushing the fruit trolley lost control. Fruit spilt all over the pavement.
'We have been expecting you, Signor Beaurain,' the expensively dressed businessman type seated inside the limo called out. 'We have made reservations at the Hassler…'
He stopped talking as Beaurain pointed his Smith amp; Wesson revolver at him. At the same moment the driver dashed out of his seat, ran round the front of the limo, holding a Clock pistol, a deadly weapon. He was aiming it at the Belgian's back when Paula rammed the muzzle of her Browning into his side.
'Drop that bloody gun,' she shouted. 'Or say goodbye now,' she snarled.
It was probably the ferocity in her voice which frightened the driver. He dropped the gun. She kicked it under the car. Beaurain leaned inside the car, struck the passenger savagely across the forehead. He slumped down in his seat.
'Let's go,' Beaurain whispered as he hit the driver such a blow on the jaw the man sagged to the pavement.
Bending down, he hoisted the unconscious driver up by the armpits, threw him into the back of the car, slammed the door shut.
'You're a major asset,' he said as he grasped Paula by the arm and hustled her out of the square. 'We can just catch that tram, I hope. ..'
They were inside as the automatic doors closed behind them and the almost empty tram began moving. With both their weapons already bolstered, they sank into a couple of seats together.
Paula wiped her clammy hands on her trousers. She had removed her gloves when Beaurain had warned her as they left Centrale. Despite the bitter cold which hit them on leaving the express she'd taken that precaution in case she had to use her weapon. At least it was warm inside the trundling tram. She rubbed her hands together.
'You know something?' she remarked. 'No one took any notice of what happened. Maybe it's an everyday occurrence in Milan. You know where we're going?'
'Yes. I know Milan well. This tram stops at a point near where we're going. Are you OK?'
'Never felt better,' she fibbed. 'Does our friend know we are coming?'
'You heard me calling someone on my mobile as we got near Milan. He knows the time that express arrives. And he's never been inside the Hassler in his life – equivalent to the Ritz in London.'
'Any idea who those two men were?'
'None at all. But I don't think they were interested in looking after our health…'
She peered out of the windows as the tram stopped. This street was lined on both sides with old four- and five-storey buildings. The ground floors were mostly small shops – bakeries, grocers, bookshops and the inevitable supermarket. The tram moved off again. Passengers had alighted, no one had come aboard. They were now the only travellers. Peering out, Paula watched women shrouded in headscarves, heads bent against the bitter wind, clutching plastic bags as they hurried along. The sun had vanished and it was getting dark.
'Next stop we get off,' Beaurain said. 'It's a bit of a walk but we can survey where we're going. Which is rather necessary after our reception at Centrale…'
When they got off after Beaurain had paid the fares Paula wrapped her woollen scarf round her head. Even so, the biting wind chilled her face. They walked along in silence as the tram passed them and Beaurain kept glancing back over his shoulder…