Page 113 of One Minute Out

A couple more men had overwatch on the route Cage would take to the safe house, and Verdoorn was in near constant communication with Sean Hall so they could perfectly coordinate the movement of the principal during his short walk.

Verdoorn himself planned on taking an overwatch position, both today for Cage’s arrival at the safe house and this evening as Cage and his security men went to the market. The South African had a Belgian FN F2000 rifle with a scope and a laser, and he wished for nothing more in this world than to see Gentry in his sights today or tonight.

He was experienced enough to recognize that there was an extremely low probability of he himself killing the target, but this was his op, these were his men, and they’d received his training, so if any one of his boys took out the American assassin, he’d consider it his kill.

•••

After dropping Talyssa off at the airport I take the causeway to Venice and park the car at a lot on the western side of the 121 islands that make up the city proper. I climb out, stretching my legs and back. It’s just past noon; I have some time before my two p.m. appointment, so I use it to do some shopping and to rent a room for the night. I find a little place in Santa Croce on the Rio de Santa Maria Maggiore, and here I take a shower and then, with scissors and a razor purchased during my stop at a pharmacy, I go to work.

I’m wearing a suit I bought off the rack an hour and a half ago, and cherry wingtip shoes purchased just after that. My face is clean-shaven for the first time in months and my hair is slicked back with product, and although this is hardly my normal look, I’ve made a career out of blending in with my surroundings, and I am certainly dressed for the part I’m about to play.

Then I go back out onto the street to walk to my nearby meeting.

Venice is a tourist trap; the narrow streets and passages are packed so tightly with foreign travelers that you shuffle along like cattle, restaurants all sell the same food, and gift shops all sell the same few dozen items.

It’s the Disney World of Italy.

I’ve only been here once, doing a job for the Goon Squad a few years back. The Agency was tailing a Tunisian lawyer they thought had ties to Al Qaeda, and my unit of Ground Branch operators was brought in to roll him up, which we did in an alleyway near his flat on a moonless night.

It was a textbook op; we shuffled the guy to a waiting Cessna Citation, and then we watched it climb into the Italian sky.

Never heard what happened to the lawyer, or even if he was, in fact, tied to AQ, but that was standard operating procedure back then. I was a sled dog on a team; nobody told me where we were going, and my job was simply to respond to the crack of the whip.

Now I have authority over my actions, and I have discretion to move forward or to pull back. But Venice seems so much more ominous today, while working on my own, than it did back then as part of a cell of American operatives.

THIRTY-FOUR

At two p.m. I step up to the nondescript door of an equally nondescript building on the Fondamenta Santa Caterina. There is construction going on around this building and those nearby, and I look over some of the workers and wonder if they are really who they purport to be.

I’m guessing not. I’m assuming a lot of them are armed, and I’m pretty sure all of them knew I was coming.

I really hate being looked at, but in times like these, it’s part of the job.

I’m frisked inside the door by a pair of young guys wearing coveralls. I know for certain they are Italian mafia, and they are just wearing the blue-collar work duds as a cover. They take my phone and wallet, but I’ve left my pistol and the rest of my gear at the rental unit so as not to get anyone excited. A woman descends a wooden staircase and shakes my hand, then escorts me back up. She’s all smiles, but I see the armed goon watching me from the mezzanine and feel the presence of one of the guys I met at the front door looming close behind me now as I ascend.

Soon I enter the library and find myself face-to-face with Giancarlo Ricci, the security chief for the Alfonsi crime family, one of several mafia concerns here in northern Italy. The Alfonsis aren’t as connected and don’t have as much reach as some of the Sicilian and Calabrian groups, and they are nowhere near as powerful in Venice as the Mala del Brenta organization, but regionally they are relatively big players.

I’ve spoken with Ricci before but never in person. I’ve done work for him, and he’s been happy with the service I provided, so as soon as I knew I was heading to Venice without any support from the Agency, I decided to reach out to him.

Still, I’m going to have to do one hell of a dance to get any assistance from the Alfonsi clan. Just like the CIA, the Italian mob doesn’t simply hand out favors for the asking.

I’m wearing the suit and I’ve combed my hair and shaved my face for one reason only. I can’t come in here looking like the flailing, scrambling, exhausted, beat-to-shit, lost puppy that I am right now. I need an air of control, a visage of power, and at least a modicum of authority. Ricci would have me tossed out on my ass here if he didn’t think I was in a position to do something in exchange for what I am about to request from him.

Giancarlo Ricci stands and shakes my hand, but I can see that his eyes are wary. More than once he flashes a glance in the direction of the two men standing nearby, and their hands are crossed in front of them, where they can quickly reach inside their jackets to pull a weapon.

I wait for Ricci to talk, showing him the respect I imagine he garners from all his subordinates.

When he does talk I’m reminded how good his English is. It’s flawless, in fact. He has the look and demeanor of a European who grew up not in his home country but in a Swiss boarding school, where he was no doubt taught five languages.

He doesn’t ask me to sit down. Instead he says, “I spoke with the Gray Man over the phone a few times, as I recall. But I’ve never met him in person, and I’ve never seen a photograph. How do I know... that you... are you?”

“I did a job for you three years ago. I can go into detail if that will help.”

“No need. Just tell me what I told you when it was done.”

“You gave me a warning, in no uncertain terms. Told me not to double-cross you. You said the Alfonsi family wasn’t the largest organization around, but you have a lot of friends, and the right kind of friends to settle scores.”

“Almost correct. My employer, Luigi Alfonsi, he has friends. I myself do not have any.” He shrugs. “It comes with this life. You certainly understand that, don’t you?”

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