Havoc (6 page)

CHAPTER 16

The morning after Duncan’s murder, Feng Wu paced his hotel room, waiting for the appointed time to call his company’s CEO.

As his watch advanced to 10:00 a.m. exactly, Wu activated the signal scrambler attached to his phone and dialed Xing Z
hǔ
xí’s private number.

As the call commenced, the encryption equipment infused their voices with a metallic timbre, but the transmission quality improved after the first thirty seconds as the two remote sets of equipment synchronized.

“So you have the first set of files?” asked Cúnchú’s top manager.

“Yes, Xing Z
hǔ
xí.”

“And you have paid for them?”

“Yes, exactly as we agreed with our contact. A transfer of—”

“Wait,” cut in Xing. “I know the terms of the agreement. Let’s not discuss anything unnecessary. Even an encrypted call such as this one carries risk.”

“Yes, sir. Of course, you are correct. My apologies.”

“And why did you request this call? Do you not understand your instructions?”

“I do, but I have a problem obtaining the remaining files.”

“What is this problem?”

“Wells and I finished the transaction,” said Wu. “After checking to ensure the proper amount had been deposited into his account, he handed me his phone, which contains the first half of the files, as agreed. I had just slipped the phone into my pocket and started to walk away when another man arrived. He pulled a gun on Wells, and I ran.”

“This other man—was he trying to acquire the files, too?”

“I believe so, but I did not hear what the other man said, so I cannot be certain. I think he was there to steal the files. But how did he know about our transaction?”

“Indeed.”

“I heard several shots from the gun, and I ran for my life. A second man started chasing me. He must have been the first man’s friend. I evaded him by slipping into the shadows. He could not find me. Eventually, I returned to my hotel room.”

“I see. Have you verified the files are on Wells’ phone?”

“Yes, prior to transferring the payment to him, just as we agreed.”

“Good.”

“But today, I learned that Wells was killed. How am I to obtain the second half of the files?”

“That is for you to figure out, Wu. I sent you on this mission because I perceived you as a resourceful employee who could adapt to unexpected changes. Don’t make me regret my decision.”

“No, sir.”

“Find a way to obtain the other half of the files. You will find life more difficult…
much
more difficult…if you return without the complete set of files.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And Wu…in case you’re entertaining any notions of remaining in Rome, remember that in your absence, your wife would serve as your proxy, bearing the responsibility for your failure to return to your country with the files. You understand the penalties for such treason, correct?”

“Yes, sir. I will not fail.”

“Good. I’m glad we have an understanding. Send me a message every twenty-four hours or when you have new information to report.”

“I will.”

Feng Wu ended the call. He laid his chin on a balled fist and exhaled. He had to obtain the remaining Silverstar files, but how?

CHAPTER 17

That evening, Mallory received a phone call.

“Hello, Agent Wilson,” said the caller. “I am Tito Rossi. I am sorry to bother to you, but I am hoping for a favor.”

“Sure,” replied Mallory. “How can I help you, Inspector?” She switched her phone to speaker so Alton could hear.

“I asked Anna Wells to come to the station tomorrow morning to review some new evidence we have uncovered in her husband’s murder case. I know you are FBI agent. And I see in your records that you and Alton, your
fidanzato
, are clever with these kinds of cases. Would you mind coming in to my office while I review the new evidence with Anna? You were there. Maybe you will think of something you saw or heard.”

Mallory turned to Alton, who nodded.

“Of course,” said Mallory. “We’d be happy to help. What time should we be there?”

“Nine o’clock.”

In the morning, Alton and Mallory arrived at the police station and spotted Anna already waiting at Rossi’s desk. When she saw them approach, Anna’s anxiety seemed to dissipate a little, and she produced a wan smile, like a lost child recognizing a familiar face.

“Hello,” said Anna. “Did Inspector Rossi invite you here, too?”

“Yes,” replied Mallory. “I guess he figured two heads—or three—are better than one.”

The inspector greeted them and moved everyone into the same conference room they had occupied on the evening of Duncan’s murder.

“Do you have a motive for the crime, Inspector?” asked Alton, unable to tame his curiosity.

“We know Mr. Wells’ wallet was gone. So we believe this is a robbery.” As Rossi made the observation, however, his face exhibited a faraway look, as if he suspected there were more to the case.

“A robbery makes sense,” said Anna, “but why did Duncan enter the Colosseum in the first place? All he told me was that he was going to the bathroom.”

“Is good question,” replied Rossi. “That is what we are trying to find out. Did anyone sell you items on the street? Someone who might have seen a lot of money in your husband’s wallet?”

“We mostly paid with credit cards,” replied Anna. “Duncan had maybe fifty euros in his wallet, at most.”

“So, Inspector,” asked Alton, “are you thinking that someone knew Duncan carried money on him and lured him into the Colosseum with some kind of false story?”

“Yes, that is what I was thinking, but now I am not so sure.”

“Have you identified any of the men Alton and I saw in the Colosseum?” asked Mallory.

“Not yet, but we are making progress. Do you remember the cigarette you find that night?” asked Rossi, turning to Alton.

“Yes. It had some kind of Asian stamp on it.”

“Correct,” said Rossi. “The markings on the side of the cigarette recovered at the scene are those of Hongtashan, a popular Chinese brand. This can mean one of two things. One, the man who left this behind is from China. Or two, we are meant to
think
the man is from China.”

“So you’re thinking the cigarette could have been planted as a decoy?” asked Alton.

“Is possibility, yes,” said Rossi.

“Are Hongtashan cigarettes sold in Italy, Inspector?”

“No, we checked. No one in Rome sells them.”

“In that case,” said Alton, “it seems unlikely someone went all the way to China—or wherever they’d have to go to get this brand—just to plant false evidence. They could have been shipped here, but that also seems unlikely, given that the culprits probably wouldn’t have anticipated the need to plant bogus evidence in case they were being chased through the Colosseum by the police.

“The fact that this brand of cigarette was left behind suggests the smoker truly is a Chinese national who hasn’t been in Italy long enough to burn through his supply of Chinese smokes. If he had been here longer, he would have switched over to some locally-available brand.” Alton scratched his head. “It does seem suspiciously clumsy for the perp to have left something so obvious behind, though.”

“Not when shots are being fired,” pointed out Mallory. “That kind of limits the focus of your attention.”

“True,” admitted Alton.

“Inspector,” asked Mallory, “how difficult would it be to identify all Chinese nationals who arrived in Rome over the last three or four days?”

“Not very hard,” replied the inspector. “Passport control is computerized now. I can ask the Immigration Office to run a report and have it back to me in less than twenty-four hours.”

“I’m wondering,” said Alton. “If Hongtashan cigarettes are sold only in specific parts of China, you might be able to narrow your search even more. I believe some Chinese brands are sold only in certain regions. You could search for travelers whose incoming flights originated within the regions where Hongtashan smokes are sold.”

“Yes—is good idea,” said Rossi. “I like the way you think. I have another idea. I can check the guest receipts at Naumachia, the restaurant, for Chinese names, but I doubt I will find anyone. I watched the restaurant’s security footage from that night, and no one left their seat before Duncan Wells’ departure except an old lady. I don’t think our killers were paying customers.”

“But they knew Duncan would be there,” said Alton. “That suggests forethought and planning.”

“I agree. These men planned the attack. We still do not know why.”

Anna’s eyes darted from speaker to speaker, but she seemed too distraught to participate in the conversation herself.

“Would you like me to ask some of my FBI colleagues for ideas?” inquired Mallory.

“I already think of this. There is FBI agent who has been working in Rome for the last few weeks. He is coming this morning, too.” Rossi glanced over his shoulders before continuing. “But I must tell you…my boss, Captain Moretti—he does not like that I work with you two or this other FBI Agent.”

“Why?” asked Alton.

“My boss, well…he wants to be the boss. He doesn’t want me to tell him how to do his job, and he’s even less interested in your input.”

“I see.”

“So is better if the ideas, they come from me, if you know what I mean.”

“I understand you perfectly,” replied Alton. “Thanks for the heads up. That reminds me, though…We won’t be here in town much longer to share too many more ideas. Mallory and I are scheduled to travel to Naples the day after tomorrow. Is there any reason we should delay our journey?”

“No, you don’t need to stay here in Rome,” replied Rossi. “You already help me a lot.”

“Okay,” said Alton. “I know you already have Mallory’s number, but I should probably give you mine, too, just in case you can’t get through to her.” Alton called out the number, which Rossi typed into his phone. “Anna, would you like me to write it down for you?”

“Thanks, but I think I’ve got it,” replied Anna, holding her phone in front of her and reciting the number back. “Inspector, do you need anything else from me? I’m tired, and I’m getting a headache.”

“No, Mrs. Wells, you can go. I am sorry I do not have more information to tell you right now. I will let you know when I find out more.”

“Thank you,” replied Anna with a weary nod.

“Mrs. Wells, you are going to be in town a few more days?” asked Rossi.

“Yes,” replied Anna. “I’ve decided to stay long enough for you to find out what happened to Duncan. I’d feel strange returning in the middle of the investigation.”

“I see,” said Rossi. “In that case, I will call you every day to let you know how our investigation is going.”

“Thank you, Inspector.”

As Anna left the room, Rossi held up a detaining hand to Alton and Mallory.

“I did not want to say this in front of Mrs. Wells. It might upset her,” said Rossi, “but these people we are discussing…they are dangerous men. I think Duncan’s murder is more than just a robbery, but I cannot prove it yet. I think you need to be careful. These men might know you are helping me.”

“I appreciate the warning, Inspector,” said Alton, “but really, what can we do?”

Rossi glanced around the room. “These men used a handgun to kill Duncan Wells. If they come after you, they will have a handgun again, I think.”

“That makes sense,” said Alton.

“You were a soldier. I know you are familiar with rifles, but do you also know how to use a handgun?”

“Yes,” replied Alton. “I have a Colt forty-five back home.”

“How about a Beretta? Have you used this gun before?”

“A few times,” said Alton, remembering the older model his Army friend David Dunlow had picked up from a street vendor in Kabul, “but Mallory uses a handgun regularly, and she’s an FBI agent. Wouldn’t it make more sense for her—”

“Mr. Blackwell,” interjected Rossi. “Is fine with me, but you are in Italy. Is better if you carry the Beretta.”

Alton started to object, but Mallory shook her head. “It’s okay,” she said. “as long as one of us has it.”

“Okay,” continued Alton, “but is it legal for me to possess a weapon here? I thought handguns were tightly restricted.”

“You are right,” said Rossi. “It would take me weeks to issue you an official, permanent license, but I can give to you a temporary permit right now. Is only good for a month, but that is all the time you are in Italy, no?”

“Not even a month,” said Alton. “We fly back home in just over two weeks.”

“Then take this, my friend,” said Rossi, passing a Beretta 92FS to Alton. “I normally don’t pass out guns to tourists, but since you, Agent Wilson, are a member of the FBI, and you, Mr. Blackwell, are her consultant, I think will be okay. We allow FBI agents to carry their weapons here in Italy. And as I said, I think you may need this while you are here.”

“Do you have any extra ammo?” asked Mallory.

“Ahh…you are smart,” said Rossi, smiling. He unlocked a desk drawer and passed a box of rounds to Mallory. “Good thinking.”

“Well,” said Mallory, “I hope we don’t run into trouble, but if we do, I want to be prepared.”

“I do you a favor, right?” asked Rossi. “Now I need you to do me one. Don’t say anything about the Beretta to my Captain, okay? I think he will not like that I give it to you.”

“No problem,” said Alton, “and thanks again.”

Rossi filled out a pink form half the size of a standard sheet of notebook paper and handed it to Alton. “This is your permit for the gun. If a policeman ask, this is what you give to him.”

Alton nodded. “Thanks. Hopefully, I won’t need the permit or the Beretta.”

As Rossi left the room, Alton tucked the weapon into the rear waistband of his pants.

Upon exiting the conference room, Mallory started in surprise as she glanced down the hallway. “Gowin! What are you doing here?”

A middle-age, slightly balding man wearing a white dress shirt and solid burgundy tie looked up and walked in her direction. “Hey, Wilson! I’ve been in town for a joint FBI/Interpol anti-terrorism meeting for the past couple of weeks. I got a call from a guy here…” He looked down at his phone. “Tito Rossi called and asked if I could advise on a case. He said another FBI agent had already given him some good input and wondered if I had any more thoughts. He didn’t tell me the other agent was you, though.”

“Well, I’m just here on vacation, actually. We were on-scene when a murder went down and got sucked into the investigation. Oh, Henry Gowin, this is my boyfriend, Alton Blackwell.”

“Boyfriend, huh?” exclaimed Gowin. “It’s nice to meet you, Alton.” Turning to Mallory, he asked, “What about Tom?”

Mallory wore a distinct look of embarrassment. “Tom?” she asked, clearly flustered.

Gowin seemed to have forgotten Alton’s presence. “Yeah, the guy you used to talk about all the time when you first joined the Bureau. Guess you moved on, huh?”

“Oh, that was nothing. Alton is the perfect man for me. He knows that,” replied Mallory, grasping Alton’s arm. Turning to Gowin, she asked, “Have you met Inspector Rossi yet?”

“No—I just got here.”

“We were talking with him a minute ago. Let me take you to his desk. It’s right down the hall.”

They started down the hallway together, but Gowin opened his cellphone to an e-mail app and soon fell behind.

Alton leaned over to Mallory. “Who’s Tom?”

“I thought we agreed we wouldn’t discuss past relationships.”

“We did, but that was when we were talking about our high-school and college days. If Gowin’s bringing this up, you must have met Tom after you moved to Washington. Does Tom work for the FBI?”

“Sweetie, please don’t worry about it. It’s in the past.”

Alton dropped the subject but continued to ponder it. Always feeling a little undeserving of Mallory, he had waited a good many months to propose for the fixed purpose of giving her ample time to conclude in her own mind that her future happiness could be secured with him. He had hoped the test of time and a better knowledge of each other would impart to Mallory a confidence in the wisdom of their union.

Now, with this new intelligence, fresh doubts crept into Alton’s mind. If Tom was FBI, did Mallory see the man every day? Mallory
seemed
happy, but were her feelings for Tom truly over, or were they simply dormant? Would today’s reminder of the regard she once held for him lead her down a path of doubt?