Chasing The Dawn (Luke Temple - Book 2) (Luke Temple Series) (3 page)

The first thing he had done was locate a post office in the town; there had been a few options, but he had chosen one which appeared the least busy, tucked away on a little back street. It had one elderly lady behind the short counter and no cameras. The woman looked aggrieved when he had asked if the office contained any drop boxes or safety deposit boxes. She had mumbled some Italian expletives and waddled out a rear entrance. With great effort she returned and unlocked a cut-away door in the counter, ushering him out back. Beyond a very untidy corridor stacked with cardboard boxes and bundled magazines stood a grid of stained metallic boxes, each with a single keyhole. The woman explained it was twenty euros a week to rent a box. Luke had given her a wad of cash that would last a month, and the presence of fresh euros made the need for formal identification magically disappear. He put a fake name and signature on a scrappy piece of headed paper and she gave him the key, leaving him in private. The box was only small but it would hold what he needed. He stashed two fake passports, a range of travel documents and 1,000Ein cash, a reserve fund. He closed the door, locked it and checked it would hold. Could the post office be trusted? Did they have second keys to each box? Luke dismissed these reflexive thoughts. Some risks just had to be taken.

The next operational procedure when first on the ground was to pick up as many local newspapers as possible. Luke was fluent in Italian, as well as eight other European languages, so reading them wasn’t an issue. He needed to tune into and gauge the local mode of thought. What were the local issues? The important events? Who were the influential people? He had no idea how long his stay in Teramo would last.
It is the small touches that paint the most complex pictures
.

Hours had been spent walking the Teramo streets. Orientation underpinned everything on the ground. . If he didn’t have a high-level knowledge of the routes and interlinking streets he was tying his arms behind his back.

The hotel he was stood opposite had also been selected very carefully. It was located at Via Guido Montauti to the north east of the town, just near the university campus. It was far enough away from the town to allow a clear picture of anyone tailing him.

There was no suspicious activity, so Luke ended his one-sided phone call. He crossed the road and climbed the three stone steps leading to the ornate hotel frontage. Inside he was greeted with the warmth of an open fire. He strode across to the attractive dark-haired woman stood behind reception.

“Buona sera, signor.”

“Buona sera.”

“How can I help you this evening?” The receptionist seemed to be busy collating various welcome packs for new guests. Stacked behind her were six rows of polished brass letterboxes.

“One of my friends was meant to check in this afternoon. I told him to ask for the room next to mine, I wonder if you could tell me if he has checked in yet at all?”

“Certainly signor, let me just check, what room are you staying in?”

“Thirty four.”

“Ok, yes, good evening Mr Reid. And your friend’s name please?”

“Mr Raimi, Daniel Raimi.”

The receptionist bent down to the computer, flicked through a couple of screens and brought up a spreadsheet.

“Sorry Mr Reid, it does not appear that your friend has booked in, and I’m afraid both rooms either side of you are now occupied.”

Luke gave a fake moan. “Oh that’s a shame, he is probably running late, honestly that man will be late for his own funeral.”

The receptionist gave a generous laugh.

“Oh well, thank you for your help.”

“No problem signor, have a good evening.”

Luke walked away from the desk. No hotel would ever divulge the names of guests, but Luke hadn’t needed them to. The spreadsheet had been reflected perfectly in the polished brass. In room thirty-three was a Mr. P. Languine, and in room thirty-five was a Mr J. Kandor. Next to J. Kandor’s name was a plus sign and the number three; Luke knew that this meant it was a family occupying the room. Neither name rang alarm bells, but he would make a note of each and keep vigilant. There was no such thing as paranoia in Luke’s world.

He took the steps two at a time and emerged out into the hallway. He listened hard as he walked towards his room, his footsteps silenced by the thick blue carpet. As he reached his room door he dropped down onto one knee and checked the small piece of transparent tape he had stuck across the door frame, it was still intact.

The curtains were still open and the moonlight streamed in. Luke didn’t bother to put the light on; hanging the coat on the wardrobe door he pulled the Sig Sauer out of his waistband and placed it on the bedside table. There were advantages to being back in the employment of Group 9, and moving weapons across frontiers was one. The room was small but opulent, it had everything he needed. He would stay for a maximum of five days, if he hadn’t completed his objectives by then he would shift to a different hotel.

Sitting gently on the end of the bed, he rolled his neck, in the morning the real work would begin. He ran a hand through his short wavy hair and closed his eyes, his head fell back onto the duvet. Luke made sure his mind was occupied with details; he feared the wandering thoughts that the silence brought with it, the thoughts and emotions that were constantly fighting for attention ...
Sarah.

Sunday 11
^th
November

“Yes! I said yes!” Beltrano jabbed his finger at the “cancel call” button on his mobile phone and threw it onto the table.

He mumbled an expletive, it had not been a conversation he had wanted to have, and the cappuccino and complimentary biscotti had now lost their appeal.

He brushed his fingers across his grey-flecked stubble; it was rapidly becoming a beard. Beltrano’s dark complexion and dark hair made him look much younger than his fifty-five years; however, his deep-set eyes were a giveaway, anyone looking deep enough into them would see a lifetime sparkling.

He looked up at the novelty wall clock, the hands were stereotypical Italian chefs, their large chef hats pointed at the roman numerals. It was 10.40 a.m. Beltrano wiped his mouth after downing as much cappuccino as possible in one mouthful and threw the paper napkin onto the table as he left. He had to swing by the station to get Delvechi then head back to the Gran Sasso facility.

He felt the familiar shot of adrenaline as he ran over what lay before him.

The inside of the Audi was actually quite a luxurious place compared to most observation posts. Slowly over the next few days Luke knew it would start to feel more and more like a prison, but that was the nature of OPs, and he had been in many. A gentle memory fluttered over him as the low midday winter sun poured over the car; it was a memory from a distant life. He was stood in a large marquee, and the desert wind was causing the material to flap and bulge. Three men stood around a Black & Decker workbench scanning a map, they were tough members of the famed SAS. One of them looked up at and jabbed a finger to a spot on the map. “Right, that’s where we will lay up. Get eyes on target.”

Luke had tried to suggest a better spot on flatter ground but the soldier had just stared at him. “Listen Mystic Meg, observation posts are our second home, in fact our first home. We eat, shit, sleep and die in them. And just like at home you don’t want some stranger showing up unannounced and ruining your fucking day. We are setting up here.”

Mystic Meg was a nickname the soldiers and officers had affectionately given him because of his ability to seemingly predict strategic action and its outcomes. He was no soldier back then, just on loan from GCHQ.

The memory faded into a haze. It was not who he was anymore.

A car engine rattled behind him on the road. Opposite him rose the breathtaking mountain range. The laboratory stood about 800 yards down in front of him, there was an aura around the place, and Luke wasn’t sure if it was because very few people on the planet could grasp the work that went on there.

All of a sudden, there was movement down in the Gran Sasso facility car park. Luke reached down and lifted his brand new binoculars to his eyes, honing in on a black Mazda 4x4 that was pulling into a parking space. As the two front doors opened simultaneously, he readjusted focus to zoom in on faces. The passenger was easily six-feet-three tall, and no older than twenty-five. He wore a pristine Carabinieri uniform, the black jacket and hat were perfectly pressed. The driver was a direct contrast to the neatly turned-out passenger, he was a lot older, wore a freshly grown beard and had dark skin, Luke guessed he was Sicilian by birth. He was not a small man but compared to his younger colleague he looked it. He did not wear a uniform, instead he was dressed smart casual in a pair of beige chinos and a long black overcoat that was buttoned up to the top; from his demeanor it was obvious he was in charge.

Luke committed both faces to memory. There was no surprise in the Carabinieri being involved, it was a high-profile case, perhaps not in terms of global media but Group 9 did not concern itself with trivial things, there was something deeper at work. Luke could feel in his bones that it all centred around the specific work Professor Vittorio had been undertaking. Staring out over the facility, framed by the snow-peaked mountains, Luke wondered about the mind-bending work that was taking place beneath the earth.

He stretched his legs into the footwell trying to keep blood moving and stop cramp setting in. He was intrigued by the Carabinieri officers and decided that he would wait for them to leave and then follow. They were as good a place to start as any.

***

Chung Su passed the taxi driver a wad of euros through the plastic partition. His eyes lit up and he stammered and mumbled thanks in Italian, before running around to open her door. She stepped out into the low afternoon sun, slid on her thin black sunglasses and straightened her immaculate black trouser-suit. The driver placed her one suitcase onto the tarmac of Via Alcide De Gasperi, then jumped back in his taxi and drove off.

Chung Su looked up at the Hotel Sporting, it was not a particularly appealing building, it reminded her of a spacecraft launch site due to the interconnecting array of walkways extending from its right-hand side. It had been a long journey, an epically long journey but she had arrived now and needed to focus. She extended the handle on the travel case and headed toward the main entrance.

“Buon pomeriggio, Signorina. How may I help you this afternoon?”

Chung Su was still a little unsure with Italian, she hadn’t been given long to learn.

“Good afternoon, I would like to check in, I have a reservation under Chung, Chung Su.” She lifted off the sunglasses as she spoke.

The man checked his computer, “yes, here we are, welcome Miss Chung. I believe you will be staying with us for seven days, is that correct?”

“Yes, that is correct,” she hoped it would be a lot less.

“Fantastic, you will be in one of our top-floor suites. I shall get Roberto to help you with your luggage and show you to your room. I hope you enjoy your stay with us and if you need anything please do not hesitate to ask.”

“Thank you.”

The receptionist waved over a porter, who scurried across the floor and grabbed Chung Su’s case. . She felt anxious; the Gala was not for another two days and in her current state that seemed a long time away.

“Excuse me, Signor, would you like another?”

“No thank you.”

The waiter let out a sigh and walked back towards his vantage point by the cake counter. It was the fourth time he had asked Luke if he could get him anything else, and it was the fourth time Luke had answered no. He had been nursing the same latte for the past forty-five minutes. He was pretending to read the Sunday Teramo newspaper but in fact had spent the time stealing glances at the aged Carabinieri and his young colleague who were sat on the opposite side of the café chatting and reading through files. He was still wary of the older more senior officer, he was conscious of his surroundings and kept a sharp eye on the people entering and leaving the premises. Luke spent his life assessing and judging individuals, it allowed him to predict their behaviour, and he was trying to build a picture of the two men. He was fairly confident that they were the only people really pursuing and investigating the Vittorio case, the facial expressions and the lazy way they chatted seemed to indicate that they had no real information to act upon. Perhaps he would do some exploration himself for the rest of the day and then pick the officers back up in the evening, maybe they would have made some progress. He took a handful of napkins from a silver centerpiece holder and proceeded to wipe the rim and handle of his cup. He then stuffed the napkins into his pocket and dropped some change onto the saucer before leaving the café and heading west back towards his car.The air was starting to become sharp as the sun descended in the sky; the breeze was now a harsh wind. Luke made sure that once away from the Café Massif he put as many angles between it and him as he could, every few hundred yards he would swap street sides and make a point of checking both ways before he crossed.

There was no one following.

What made this operation difficult was the lack of information he had been provided. It was evident that the whole operation had been cobbled together in a rush, and as per usual it was the ground operative who was expected to patch things together. Still, Luke had never needed micro-management. In truth, he liked the isolation of his work, Group 9 operatives always worked alone, and it suited him. He never felt fully connected to the world he inhabited, people passed by and he saw them as nothing but items to assess. Each turn in the road, every street corner he passed, they were all just objects that came together in his mind as a tapestry of assessments and conclusions, he had no emotional connection to any of them. They were just objectives … objectives were the only real companion he had, and a vital one. Just as a friend can alleviate pain, so objectives consoled Luke Temple. They were his coping mechanism, and his Group 9 handlers had been only too ready to encourage it. All of this was what kept him alive, but it came at a price, a price that he battled with every day.