Chasing The Dawn (Luke Temple - Book 2) (Luke Temple Series) (10 page)

Delvechi wriggled in his seat, extending and retracting his neck to try and get some give in his shirt collar. The suit and black tie combination that he had chosen seemed very modern to Beltrano. The jacket was single-breasted, the shirt was a tight fit and shone ever slightly, and the tie was pencil-thin. Beltrano had gone for something far more traditional, a double-breasted tuxedo with black bow tie and white shirt. As well as liking the design it also gave him added peace of mind that it covered the shoulder holster and 9 mm semi-automatic Beretta that was strapped in it. He had told Delvechi to come holstered, but with his choice of suit he was now a little anxious that the gun would be flapping around for all to see. The firearms were just a precautionary measure; if everything went smoothly then they would not see light.

Delvechi caught his superior eyeing his holster. “It is fine, Sir. Like James Bond, huh?”

Beltrano didn’t answer; he was focused on a private taxi that had pulled up behind a silver Mercedes; as the passenger emerged his senses tingled to life.

“Wow, science just got interesting.” Delvechi leaned forward in his seat. The petite Asian woman stood talking to the two security men was without doubt stunning. She wore a black ballgown that was tightly fitted across her shoulders and chest, a slight cleavage was on show and the necklace she wore finished the look off perfectly. The gown loosened from the hips creating a flowing feel, her hair was as straight as an arrow down to her waist, a neat fringe framed sharp symmetrical cheekbones, and her wide brown eyes were set off by thick eyelashes, but there was little make-up worn.

“Holy mother of God, she cannot be here as one of them, surely?” Delvechi stared open-mouthed. “I mean … she is …”

“Close your mouth, you are getting the carpet wet.” Beltrano didn’t take his eyes off her.

“Maybe she is the entertainment?” Delvechi chuckled at his own joke.

Beltrano’s eyes bored into the back of the woman. He was not interested in her beauty. She was carrying only a clutch bag, and the dress was too tight to be concealing anything more violent. The two security men almost fought over frisking her. He studied every move until she disappeared through the entrance and down to the hall.

Without warning he pushed open his driver’s-side door.

“Are we going in?” Delvechi reached for the handle.

“No. Wait here. I will be back.”

“Where are you going, Sir?”

“I need to make a phone call.”

Luke gave another grunt of recognition. It was a game he had been playing for the last twenty-five minutes with the taxi driver. He had walked to a local taxi firm rather than being picked up; if things went noisy then one less person knowing where he was staying wouldn’t hurt.

He had then led the taxi driver on strategic manoeuvre, twice getting him to drive past the turn-off for the Observatory, claiming he had forgotten the road of his destination. It gave Luke a chance to absorb as much about the lay of the land as possible. The taxi driver had not minded the diversions, if anything he relished them as they gave him longer to keep talking. He was in his late sixties, and wore a flat brown synthetic leather cap and black driving gloves. He had been talking non-stop from the taxi office, taking Luke through his family history. It seemed that his ancestors had settled around the Gran Massif range and started life as shepherds; from there they began to gain a reputation for selling the finest wool in the region, building it into a mini wool empire. In between expansive gestures and high-pitched exclamations, Luke deciphered that the driver had been running the empire for the past forty years but since the economic collapse of Italy and the rest of Europe he had been driven to close the business and now drove people like Luke around for money.

With the darkness whipping by outside Luke tuned in to the situation at hand. In another five minutes he would get the driver to drop him on the side of the road, from there it would only be a few minutes’ walk to the Observatory and the entrance to the gala. Luke had been on a close-quarter recce during the day, bringing the Audi up to scout around the external grounds. That was why he didn’t want to bring the car back, he had taken note of small CCTV cameras dotted around.

After tipping the driver and waiting for him to drive away, Luke took a moment to zone in to the noises. Apart from the rustling of the wind the road was silent, and he could feel his hands already getting cold. Luke had been on a spending spree with his cash – he was wearing a black tuxedo with accompanying black bow tie and leather shoes, over the top of it all was a thick wool-lined coat.

After a short walk, Luke arrived at the small gated road that led up to the Collurania Observatory. He paused for a moment to scan around. The wind brought the faint rumbling of the road, but in the immediate region there was silence. There was not a cloud in the sky, thousands of stars glistened, and the mountain range loomed like an indifferent spectator, reminding the world that there were bigger things at work than human endeavor.

Another taxi approached along the Contrada Specola, throwing its headlights across Luke. It slowed at the gate to make sure it didn’t scrape its wing mirrors on the narrow entrance and headed up to the gala. Luke took a deep breath and followed the taxi up.

Checking around to make sure no one was looking, he twisted his arm up behind his back and tapped gently between his shoulder blades, checking for the lump. Security was going to be an unknown entity; it was impossible to predict whether it would be state-backed or private. But there was no way he would enter the gala without a weapon, past experience and preparation dictated that.

That same experience had taught him the key areas of the body that were searched during pat-downs: wrist, arm, waist, inside leg and ankles, and that made the central back and the pubis region the two areas that received the least attention. Luke had chosen to tape the Sig Sauer between his shoulder blades, using the tape to reduce the sharp outlines of the pistol. It was a gamble to bring a weapon but Luke was betting on the security not expecting anything high-risk. He had chosen a slightly baggier shirt and jacket to aid with the cover. Once inside the event he would head for the toilet and unstrap the pistol to relocate it to the familiar waistband position.

Emerging from the tree-lined road Luke spotted a security person stood outside a small outhouse building to the left of the hall. As he walked around to the main area he saw two more security men stood at the entrance to the hall. Immediately Luke’s brain began assessing and processing. The security was most definitely private, one of the men had an earring and they stood like two amateur bouncers. Both were over six feet tall and had short cropped hair.

“Good evening, Signor.” The earring-wearing guard spoke in heavily accented English.

Up close, they looked like twins, both had blue eyes and jet black hair. They were no strangers to a good workout judging by the stiffness in their movements.

“Ticket please.”

Luke had not received any pick-up information from Davison about tickets, but that was nothing unusual,
improvise.

“Sorry chaps, I feel a little embarrassed but I think I have left the invite in my hotel room. But my name should be down, Robert Reid from Amnesty.” Luke put on his well-spoken Englishman act.

The twins gave each other a look, a look that was more
dickhead
than suspicious. The one with the earring walked away to the entrance and slipped inside. His twin gestured for Luke to raise his arms. Luke focused on relaxing his limbs.
I have nothing to hide.
It was vital that he did not twitch or recoil if the man got near the taped weapon on his back. The brain always tries to predict the future, guessing where the danger will come from and then making moves to avoid it. It is a subconscious reaction that is a primal inbuilt survival mechanism, but if it occurred in this situation it would be a dead giveaway.

The search began: armpits, arms, wrists, waist, inner leg, ankles. The man stood back up and Luke lowered his arms. The twin gestured to him to raise them again and to turn around. Luke didn’t hesitate, forcing himself to appear calm. The man then stood in close behind him. Luke could smell his cologne; his giant hands clasped under his belt and tapped his waistband. Luke waited for him to press his back. It didn’t happen.

“Ok Signor.”

Luke turned to see the other twin re-emerge and give a nod to his brother as he joined them.

“Straight down the stairs. Have a good evening.”

Luke smiled and walked past them, a slight sweat building under his coat and shirt. Almost all covert government work across the Western world used three main covers: diplomatic envoy, the Red Cross or Amnesty International. Group 9’s default should it be needed was Amnesty for operations within Europe and America, the Red Cross for operations outside Europe and America, and in some special situations they would bring in diplomatic cover.

As the doors closed behind him, Luke could hear the conversation and classical music coming from the main hall down at the bottom of the stairs. He took a deep breath and proceeded into the belly of the beast.

Chung Su sipped at her glass of Champagne, the bubbles tingling in her mouth. She had never been a drinker and was being cautious, alcohol mixed with her nerves would render her drunk fast.

The bunker-like room was a cacophony of noise, alive with talking, laughter and music. Many of the guests greeted each other as old friends eager to dive into talking about their new findings or theorems.

Chung Su recognised several of the congregation from periodicals and books. In other circumstances it would have been like her Oscars; the mix of people stood in front of her had changed the face of science. Her heart sank and the sickness returned; the reminder that this would not be the special night it should have been. She stood on her own by a makeshift bar, keeping away from the mingling. The room was trying its best to be a good venue, but the decorations and dressed tables gave the whole space an uncomfortable feel, life was being forced into a space where it did not fit.

She spied the professor sat alone at the head table, sharing the same isolation. He looked dour and taciturn, constantly rubbing behind his ears and mumbling through some papers that were spread out on the table. Chung Su thought he looked like a man wrestling with demons. She empathised. Now that Professor Vittorio was missing everything had fallen onto Professor Brun’s shoulders, and he looked like it was too much for him
. We do not get to choose our destiny
. Her grandfather had told her this many times growing up.

People were attempting conversation with her but it was impossible to focus and engage properly; she batted them away faking insufficient language skill. A chirpy Brazilian biologist had introduced himself and begun chatting about how he was using various particle interaction theories in his research into human genomes. Normally such conversation would have sparked a fire inside her heart and she would have chatted for hours, but her mind was wandering through what she had to achieve, what her country expected of her, the consequences if she failed, and she felt claustrophobic, trapped.

The large Einstein clock gave the time as 8.45 p.m. Looking around, Chung Su had no idea where to start,
come on, you must find a way.
Perhaps she should go about it the only way she knew how, treat it like an experiment. Normally she would take it in stages: form a theorem based on known information, move to testing the theorem, collate information and analysis, then with all data collected re-run the tests again and again, then draw a conclusion. It was the only way her brain worked.
But where do I start?
She looked across the room …
Professor Brun.

Just as she was about to cross the room Signor Malfi suddenly climbed onto a chair and shouted above the din that dinner would be served promptly and everyone should take their seats. The chattering intensified as people searched for their name tags on the tables.

Chung Su found her name on table number eight; the table was positioned three back from the head table and slightly to its left. She was one of the last to take her seat at the table and everyone greeted her cordially. There was an empty seat to her left. The other seats were filled with two men and two women; she guessed they were couples and they all carried on their own conversations.

“Excuse me Signorina, it seems as though we will be having dinner together.”

Chung Su span round, taking the empty seat next to her was a smartly dressed man who had a well-trimmed beard, flecked with grey as was his neatly parted hair; his skin was leathery but when he looked in Chung Su’s eyes she saw a twinkle in his dark pupils. She gripped his proffered hand loosely and shook.

“A pleasure Signorina, I am Officer Beltrano.”

***

Luke inhaled the food; the golden rule when on operations was to eat when you could, operatives never knew when their next meal may be.

He was on table five, which was positioned in the centre of the room, two rows back from the head table. His chair was facing away from the head table looking towards the main entrance. Luke’s senses had flicked to full alert when he had first entered the room, immediate examination revealed only two exits: the one he had entered through and another door to the left of the main table. He had not been able to check where the door led to but above it a sign read
Uscita,
written on a bit of card. Having only two exits made it a prison.

“It is nice, no?”

Luke nodded with a smile. The small man sat next to him was obviously enjoying the event as he had not stopped bobbing around on his seat and smiling. He was no more than five foot tall, with jet black hair and constantly flushed chubby cheeks. His left arm lay limp on the table, the hand disfigured and twisted.

“A very good evening, yes, very good.”

His English was limited which suited Luke, it meant he could claim he did not understand the small man’s native Catalan. Luke had become an expert at inane chat whilst working in the field; it was part of the job, in fact a key part. The trick was to keep it general, not to engage too deeply in specific topics. That was why charitable organisations were such solid cover for Group 9 and intelligence operatives globally. Such work meant only having to know an organisation’s activities and not having to be part of the bigger picture. The cover story was always him being involved in educational programs in the local community, hence why he had been chosen to be at the gala.