Cell

'Expecting more trouble?' Paula enquired.

'Someone may have used his mobile to warn that we have arrived.'

'But both those thugs in the limo were knocked out,' she protested.

'You're forgetting the man on the express – Coiffeured Hair as you called him. He probably saw what happened and has again phoned ahead. There's the building, Murano's HQ and home.'

There were fewer shops, few pedestrians, but still plenty of traffic. Beaurain had nodded towards a strange building which jutted out into the street, narrowing it. Constructed of large blocks of grey stone, it had a weird eyebrow window on the first floor, an entrance below of two heavy wooden doors. Reaching it, Beaurain pressed the bell alongside a speaker phone. Before he could say anything an accented voice spoke in English.

'Saw you come, my dear Jules. Push the right-hand door, when it opens walk in and up the stairs. Door closes automatically behind you

…'

'It's very quiet round here,' Paula remarked.

'Too quiet,' Beaurain snapped.

Beaurain led the way across a small stone-paved entrance hall. He began to climb a spiral stone staircase in a corner, its sides solid stone. It curved all the way to the top, where someone opened a door. They entered a large stone-paved room with a low ceiling, so low Beaurain had to dip his head. He gestured to Paula, made an introduction to the sole occupant of the room.

Mario Murano was short and stocky. His hair was brown and short, his plump face wreathed in a welcoming smile. He reminded Paula of a teddy bear as he took her hand in both of his. He was garbed in a sleeveless leather jacket, leather trousers, suede shoes.

'You bring me a lovely present,' he gurgled. 'This beautiful young lady, who wears an air of competence, knows what she is doing. A professional. I sense it.'

His English was fluent and with barely a trace of an Italian accent. Paula immediately felt at home in this strange room. She smiled back at him.

'You exaggerate, Signer Murano…'

'Mario! Please. I am Mario to my friends. I can tell you are already a good friend. Now, you find my home interesting, I can tell. Explore! Please do while I am pouring the wine.'

'Thank you, Mario. Yes, I do find your home interesting. It is so unusual…'

Her eyes had scanned the room swiftly. A quick scan to avoid giving offence. But Mario had noticed. She went over to the only window in the room, the eyebrow-shaped window she had noticed when they were walking along the street.

To examine it she had to crouch. Its base line was flush with the floor. At either end it curved upwards in an artistic arch. From the tip of the arch to the base it was no more than three feet high. She was looking down the street and pavement they had walked along. She stood up.

'So this is how you spotted that we were coming.'

'Yes, indeed.' Mario chuckled. 'Now come and join your friend, Jules, who has already made himself comfortable. But only when you have completed your exploration. I can tell it interests you, my rabbit's warren.'

Beaurain had quickly seated himself in one of the high-backed chairs with armrests. The chairs were covered with old and tasteful tapestry, placed round a heavy and large antique table. Paula continued her exploration, while Jules sat with an amused smile.

In three of the stone walls facing the window were alcoves which began at knee-height above the floor. She looked at several of the leather-bound books perched spine to spine. They covered a variety of subjects in different languages, including a number on espionage going back to the foundation of the British Secret Service in the time of Queen Elizabeth I.

'The wine is Chianti,' Mario told her. 'If you don't like it, the pot contains freshly made coffee. Also a carafe of water. Take your choice.'

'Your English is so perfect,' she remarked, sipping the wine.

'Ah! You see when I was young I spent three years in London working in a fish and chip shop. They don't make such wonderful chips in Italy! Your health, my dear.'

'Mario, we are short of time,' Beaurain broke in with a hint of impatience. 'I need to know what happens to all the money sent to you by that scoundrelly Belgian banker.'

'I take a small commission and then transmit the bulk electronically to Aruba in the Dutch Antilles.'

'South America now,' Paula commented.

'That's tough,' Beaurain commented. 'Persuading a banker on that island is easier than breaking into Fort Knox, but not much easier.'

'From there it is transmitted to a secret destination,' Mario said with a smile. 'Aruba once made a mistake and I was sent a copy of the onward transmission. It then goes to a Canadian bank in the Bahamas. I have the details.'

'Fancy a trip to the Bahamas?' Beaurain asked Paula with a touch of mockery.

Mario was fiddling inside a fat wallet he had produced from his jacket. He extracted a sheet of folded paper, unfolded it, handed it to Beaurain. He chuckled again.

'There are people – nasty people – who would pay a fortune for that information.' He waved a hand. 'No, Jules, I do not want a penny.'

'Ed Pendleton,' Beaurain said, reading from the paper. 'I do know the gentleman. He's their top director.'

'You see!' Mario waved his arms excitedly as he looked at Paula. 'Jules knows the whole world. An amazing man.'

'He doesn't know the route used by al-Qa'eda to send their murderous killers to Britain,' she observed.

The whole atmosphere changed. Mario was silent. His face now had a grave, almost nervous expression. Paula had drunk her glass of wine and, smiling at Mario, she poured herself coffee from the elegant pot after removing its cover. She drank some cautiously, still smiling at Mario to cheer him up. The coffee was very strong.

'If the reply is going to put you in danger we don't want to hear it,' she said, careful not to look at Beaurain.

'Danger.' Mario repeated the word solemnly. 'I should warn you there is danger everywhere in Milan. You must be very careful…'

A phone started ringing. Mario picked up a mobile from a stool by his side. He began talking rapidly in Italian. His whole personality had changed. His rounded jaw tightened, his eyes were half-closed, his voice rasping. When he put the mobile back on the stool he looked grim.

'A problem?' Beaurain enquired quietly.

'I must apologize,' Mario said, turning to Paula, handing her a plate of biscuits. She picked one up, slipped it into her mouth. It tasted good. 'I have to go and meet someone,' Mario continued, standing up. 'It should not take long so you wait until I return.' He looked at Beaurain. 'In case I do not come back…' Paula's stomach nerves rattled, 'you have to go to Verona to meet the man who can tell you the route these evil men use to reach their base in Britain. He is Aldo Petacci. Shall I spell it? No, you have got it. Aldo will tell you. I do not know that information.' Picking up the mobile, he pressed numbers. Again he spoke in rapid Italian, the gist of which Paula, with her limited Italian, could not catch.

Beaurain looked across at Paula. His expression was as grim as Mario's. He eased himself back in his chair, his right hand slipping under his coat. She knew he was checking on his revolver. Mario put down the mobile.

'I have spoken to Aldo. He will meet both of you at Verona tomorrow evening at 6 p.m. exactly. Inside the amphitheatre. You know it, Jules?'

'I know Verona. And the amphitheatre.'

'It all sounds dramatic, but Aldo is like that. Secretive.' He stood up. He extracted a card from his wallet, handed it to Beaurain. 'Give Aldo this. It confirms you are who you are. One more thing. If I do not return within about one hour…' Paula swallowed the third biscuit she had been eating to settle her stomach '… you leave here,' Mario continued, 'but not by the way you came in. You see that door over there? I will unlock it. You leave that way. It takes you down into a maze of alleys. Go quickly if you have to.'