Page 15 of Roberto

“I’ll try,” he said, then fell silent.

After a few minutes, the change in his breathing told me he was asleep.

It tookmefar longer to drop off – and even when I did, I was haunted by a voice in my dreams that kept saying,If you don’t get the money back, we’re dead men.

If you don’t get the money back, we’re dead men…

If you don’t get the money back, we’re dead men…

10

Iwoke after a fitful night’s sleep, stiff and uncomfortable.

Niccolo was reading something on his phone in the darkness. I could see the glow of the screen on his face.

“Ah, you’re awake,” he said. “Sleep well?”

“Well enough,” I said grumpily. “What time is it?”

“Eight-thirty in the morning our time, so 2:30 PM Hong Kong,” he said as he lifted the shade on the nearest window.

I squinted against the blinding light streaming in.

“Care for breakfast before we land?” Niccolo asked in a chipper voice.

“Why not.”

The stewardess brought us croissants, butter, cheese, fruit, mimosas, and espresso.

A fairly nice breakfast… although for 375,000 euros, it should have included caviar and black truffles.

“We are now approaching Hong Kong,”the French pilot’s voice said over the speakers.

I peered out the window at the city far below us.

Hong Kong was a dense forest of skyscrapers on the shores of a bay. Although smaller in area than New York, thesheer number of buildings looked like someone had duplicated Manhattan several times over and placed everything along the water’s edge. The airport, however, was located on a sparsely populated island miles from the city.

Our landing was smooth as silk. As we taxied down the runway towards a hangar, I turned on my phone and found I had a voicemail with a Hong Kong area code. With a slight nervousness in my stomach, I played the message.

“Mr. Rosolini,”said Mr. Lau. He had an older man’s voice with a cultured British accent.“How nice to receive your message. Unfortunately, I have pressing plans this evening, but I can meet with you at my office at 5 PM. My associate, Mr. Han, will be waiting for you when you land and will bring you to me. I will see you soon.”

The message was neither good nor bad, but I still felt uneasy.

Niccolo could tell from my expression that something was off.

“Was that your contact?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Everything alright?”

“I’ll let you know in a couple of hours.”

Once our plane stopped inside the hangar, the stewardess opened the main hatch, and a representative of the private jet company came inside. He stamped our passports and had us sign some forms for customs.

Once we were cleared to disembark, we said goodbye to the stewardess and pilot and walked down the steps with our luggage in hand.

A wall of hot, humid air slapped us in the face – but I forgot all about my physical discomfort when I saw who was waiting for us.

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