Page 12 of Roberto

Enduring occasional price gouging was the cost of doing business.

Especially when ‘business’ included the possibility of being murdered.

“At least at these prices we won’t get blown up,” Niccolo joked. Then he added grimly, “…hopefully.”

The private jet was waiting for us at the airport when we arrived at 9 PM. Our cars drove right up on the tarmac next to the plane.

“Are we coming with you, boss?” Giorgio asked as he retrieved our luggage and my garment bag from the trunk.

Niccolo looked over at me. “What do you think?”

“No,” I replied. “We’ll be in and out in 48 hours. Fausto’s reach doesn’t extend to Hong Kong. Plus we’ll be under the protection of the Syndicate. We’ll be fine.”

Niccolo looked thoughtful. “Just playing Devil’s Advocate here… what ifFausto pays someone to come after us?”

“They can’t carry guns,” I said, gesturing to Giorgio and our other foot soldiers. “Hong Kong’s firearm laws arefarstricter than Italy’s. If the authorities catch them with a pistol, it’ll mean a decade in prison. And if they can’t carry guns, then there’s no reason for them to accompany us.”

“We could smuggle in a couple of guns using the compartments in our luggage,” Niccolo suggested.

He was referring to the fact that our suitcases had been specially designed with concealed compartments big enough to conceal a pistol or other contraband. The compartments were lined with lead, so they would block any attempts to scan the contents using an x-ray machine at an airport.

There were several decoy metal plates inserted, too, as part of the luggage’s rigid structure. An inattentive screener would see black areas on the x-ray monitor and think they were part of the bag’s ‘skeleton.’

Of course, anattentivescreener would immediately think something was wrong and rip the bag apart, so it wasn’t a perfect system – but it was better than nothing.

However, there was one obvious flaw in Niccolo’s suggestion.

“Getting the gunsintothe countryisn’t the issue,” I said. “It’s walking around with them that’s the problem.”

“We’ll take the chance,” Giorgio said, “if it’ll keep you safe.”

“I appreciate the sentiment, but that would be the easiest way for Fausto to fuck us over,” I replied. “All he has to do is make an anonymous call to the authorities and tell them you’re carrying. Then all of us would be arrested, and Niccolo and I would be charged as accomplices. Lars did three-and-a-half years in San Vittore for having an unregistered gun in Italy; I have no desire to repeat his experience in China.”

“I’m convinced,” Niccolo said and turned to Giorgio. “Get back home and guard Dario and the others.”

“Yes, sir,” Giorgio said. “If it’s all the same to you, though, we’ll wait until you’re safely in the air before we leave.”

“By all means,” Niccolo agreed.

The jet was magnificent: plush leather seats and lacquered wooden tables, plus a wide-screen television on one wall.

A stewardess hung up my garment bag, checked our passports, and took our suitcases to the back of the plane as we said goodbye to Giorgio. He offered once more to come with us, gun laws be damned; Niccolo thanked him, but told him to get back home as quickly as possible.

Niccolo and I sat down in seats that faced each other. As we were getting settled, the stewardess walked over and offered us glasses of champagne. I declined; Niccolo accepted.

“We also have filet mignon and lobster for dinner,” she said. “I’ll serve you an hour after takeoff.”

“Wonderful,” Niccolo replied with a smile.

When he saw my dour look, he said cheerfully in Italian, “It’s a flat fee no matter what. For 375,000 euros, I’m eating and drinking every goddamn thing on board.”

I couldn’t argue withthatlogic.

The pilot came out from the cockpit to greet us. He was a trim, middle-aged man in a blue uniform and spoke English with a pronounced French accent.

“Hong Kong ees six hours ahead in time. It ees approximately a 13-hour flight, so we should arrive around 4 PM local time.”

“Excellent,” Niccolo replied.

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