Spider - Michael Morley [85]
Howie shared the same fear. ‘You got it. And you know these fuckers, Jack, they show beheadings of Western hostages and any manner of atrocity; they’ll probably be praying to Allah, or Mohammed, or whoever the hell it is, that something happens right in the middle of the fucking ratings sweeps.’
Jack let out a long sigh. ‘What are you going to do now, Howie? I guess your hot-shot new boss Joey Marsh is all over this and will be wanting a multi-agency briefing asap?’
‘You got it. Marsh is so attached to my butt that I may have to have him surgically removed. We need you over here, Jack; can you get out of your obligations to the Italians?’
Jack took a beat to think about the consequences. ‘Marsh okay with that?’
‘Yeah, more than okay. He suggested it even before me. It’s all going to kick off again, and this time this friggin’ BRK screwball is begging for us to come get him. You never know, buddy, he might just be about to make his one big mistake.’
Jack weighed up the possibilities. Howie could be right. If BRK was behind the video footage, then he was taking risks, and he would do that only if he was very close to killing again. It was a unique moment; never before had they been able to so accurately predict when the serial murderer was about to strike next. ‘I’ll sort it out with Massimo. I’ll come,’ he said. ‘I don’t know when the next flight from Rome to JFK is, but I’ll be on it. Meantime, get yourself all over this Tariq guy, clamp his balls in a vice and squeeze so hard that they come out of his ears. He’s got to know that what happens next isn’t about TV, it’s about someone’s life or death.’
PART SIX
Friday, 6 July
54
Rome
By the time Orsetta and Massimo arrived at their office, Jack was already en route to New York. The concierge at the hotel had managed to get him one of the few remaining seats on the 9.55 a.m. Lufthansa flight from Rome’s Fiumicino airport. It wasn’t going to be the best of journeys; Jack topped six foot and squeezing into Economy was one of his pet hates. To make matters worse, he had to change planes at Düsseldorf and make the last leg of the long haul also in ‘cattle class’. Orsetta and Massimo learned all this from the various messages he left on their answerphones. Just before boarding, he’d called Nancy and told her where he was heading and not to worry if she didn’t get calls at the times he’d promised. He’d been encouraged by how understanding she’d been. He also managed a brief chat with Massimo, during which he’d told him more about the breaking news on BRK and the reason why he had to leave so suddenly.
Orsetta sat in her boss’s office leaning her elbows on his giant desk. They both cradled espressos and discussed their disappointment at Jack’s departure.
Massimo resisted lighting a cigarette to go with his coffee, his new pledge to himself being not to smoke before lunchtime. He tapped the desk with his finger, as though he were banging ash from it. ‘Orsetta, I am hoping that Jack is right and that the murder of Cristina Barbuggiani is just a cruel decoy, but it is not a risk we can afford to take. When Benito comes in, we must impress upon him that our own investigations must remain fully focused. I do not want everyone sitting back and thinking the ball is now in the Americans’ side of the court. That might be a tragic mistake to make.’
Orsetta was ahead of him. ‘I spoke yesterday to the murder squad in Livorno and they are a determined team. I know the officer in charge, Marco Rem Picci, and he is not the kind to allow anyone to relax and do nothing.’
‘Good,’ said Massimo, the tension of the case showing in his red-rimmed eyes. ‘Almost every day now I have phone calls or e-mails from the Prime Minister’s office, the Minister of the Interior, the head of the Polizia Scientifica, the Direzione Centrale Anticrimine