SIX DEGREES

A Gunslinger Girl fanfiction, based on works by Yu Aida.

With thanks to Officer_Charon for the continued loan of Fausto and Carlos, and Professor Voodoo for the similar ongoing use of Genco Ribisi. Elio Alboreto also belongs to Professor Voodoo, and Michele Pagani to Kiskaloo.

Chapter 09|The Minder

Leaning back against the safe house's small kitchen bench, Monty accepted another plate from her partner, scrubbing somewhat ineffectually at wet stoneware with an already damp towel before it tapped onto the scuffed table top. Careful not to bump Mary's tea in the process, she took the opportunity to glance closer at the laptop screen turned her direction, checking its transfer of data from her phone and, perhaps more importantly, ensuring nothing she didn't want seen went across. Credit where credit was due, the British agent had at least given them that, which was nice, though not nice enough to remove any lingering wariness.

Another semi-dry plate rattled atop its twin and, at that sound, the woman in question looked up from her place at the setting's head.

"You don't trust me, do you."

It was a statement, not a question, and Monty cocked an eyebrow. No point arguing. "Can you name a particularly compelling reason I should?"

"I can see why he holds on to you." Those words were quiet, muttered well below the limit of normal human hearing, but her next were at a more regular volume. "Not that I expect could convince you. In my defence however, I have provided safe harbour."

"She has that." Feeling an arm wrap around her, the girl gave an obligatory yelp as a wet hand found its way to her belly's lower curve, partner's chin resting on a shoulder to kiss at scowling lips turned his direction, before continuing. "For now, I think we give Mary here the benefit of the doubt."

"Like I told your boyfriend yesterday: in rooting out the Italians' forging operation, we're on the same side..."

And what about for everything after?

Her face, however, returned to impassivity, keeping that thought silent while her opposite continued.

"...and it's Katherine, by the way."

The eyebrow went up again. "Katherine?"

"My name, if it helps, is Katherine. Katherine Olivia Fuji, if you want the whole thing."

The hand removed itself, shifting to massage at a shoulder as her partner spoke, voice wry. "Your card said 'Mary Christmas'."

Now it was Katherine's turn administer the dry tone. "Yes, well, it was deemed appropriate by the brains trust for a potential Blacker Girl..." her eyes flicked once more to Monty, "...though Vauxhall wasn't aware you were already brining your own, which somewhat torpedoed plans for my keeping tabs on you."

Scowl briefly reasserting itself at that title's connotations, the girl turned the rest over in her head. So, their meeting in Monaco had not been accidental, no surprises there. Getting confirmation though did raise questions regards just what else had been a targeted move.

Presumably Jethro was thinking down similar lines, and she felt his hand tighten, movement almost imperceptible. "Nice M still cares, though how do we know you're not just feeding us another windup?"

At that, the SIS agent shot them both a wry smile. "As I said: I doubt what I say can convince you, so I'm afraid you're just going to have to trust I'm really offering an olive branch."

Tailing off, she held the fratello's gazes, sounds of Hong Kong life wafting up from busy streets below in the sudden silence, grating air conditioning unit's rhythmic scrape counting away beats as the pause dragged on.

Finally, the SWA man spoke again. "That, I guess we will."

With those words, Monty felt her partner's hand relax, and he continued in more natural tones. "Well you already know me, but if we're redoing introductions this is..."

"Monty, yes?" Katherine's attention returned to her. "I believe that is the name you were first introduced to Algy under, so I'm guessing it's the real one. We have three identities on file for you actually..." another wry snort escaped her lips, "...though most of the office still uses 'Vesper', I think they find it rather amusing."

"I'm sure they do." The tone was flat. "What I would like to know is how you got from Monaco to here."

"Via Grindelwald."

"Yes, via Grindelwald."

Silence fell again as the British agent halted, presumably evaluating how much to tell and, in the gap, dishes clattered as Jethro starting back about washing up. Accepting a fresh glass, Monty once more considered the response: no mention of Alexandria. It wasn't definitive proof, but suggested Katherine was not aware she had been sighted snooping around the deceased Nick and Shamus's boat. Question was, had her attention to Foreplay been a result of tracking the Padania's press, or of keeping tabs on a potential rogue agent, in which case, just how much did she know about their stint in Monaco?

Finally, the woman spoke up. "Jethro already knows this, but I presume you've worked out Charlie Wilkes, and Station H by extension, are not entirely straight."

The intensity of activity from the sink suddenly increased, and Monty's next words could have dehydrated oceans.

"I did have an inkling, yes."

"Parts of Vauxhall have suspected Wilkes might be in bed with the Chinese for some time, as well as pursuing... other interests... shall we say, on the side."

"Such as his own license to print money."

"Indeed. Both we had been catching sniffs of here and there, but never anything solid enough to nail him, or get him removed from Station Chieftanship."

Another semi-dried glass tapped onto the table top, swapped briefly for a coffee mug which was tilted back to draw from. "Define 'we'."

"Factions within the SIS, squabbling lieutenants by all accounts. Either way, since I had been chasing up some of those leads already, when we got wind the Italians were moving their operation east, Algy saw it as an opportunity to slip me in also. Fortunately I'm still junior enough that jumping sections isn't difficult, so technically I report directly to Wilkes."

The clatter of dishes paused, and Monty's head turned as her partner spoke. "Algy and Charlie don't exactly get along, he would have smelled a rat you coming from Panama."

"Not Panama, the European Section. Long story short, since I had touched on chasing the fake C-Note operation previously, Wilkes wasted no time in putting me to work on that again." Reaching forward to pick up her tea, Katherine took a sip before continuing. "That went fine for a bit, slow, but fine. Something must have got him riled though, because not too long after, Zhang's people started to take an interest, and now here we are."

"It couldn't have been the Chinese acting independently?"

"Could be, but I doubt it."

Now Monty piped up. "I suspect it isn't Zhang working off his own bat, not with his people and Case coordinating operations."

"Martin Case?" This time, genuine interest coloured Katherine's tone.

"Yes, before I headed down to Lei Yue Mun yesterday. They seem to be somewhat intent on bringing us in."

"Then it's a pity I can't use you for evidence, because that's the sort of thing would help me corner Wilkes..." a wry chuckle, "...Algy was rather hoping you two could do the leg work and maybe draw some fire. So much for that plan."

"Really? I think we managed quite handily."

Treating her partner to a flat expression, the cyborg continued. "Question is, if Zhang and Charlie are cooperating, then why shut you down?"

"Who knows, maybe they're worried I'll just find and toddle on off with the press myself, or push a report somewhere they don't want it."

Or they suspect an ulterior motive.

"And where does Charlie think you are at present?"

Jethro's voice again, sink gurgling behind and, folding her tea towel over once, the girl shoved it behind cupboard edging before plonking down on a wood and steel chair as her handler joined them, placing her between himself and Katherine as that latter answered.

"Right now he believes I've gone to ground, trying shed some Chinese interest before picking up the hunt again, which gives me an excuse to keep communication to a minimum. He also thinks I'm at a Station H safe house, so is 'steering clear'." She took another sip of tea. "Going back to your original question though, I could ask the same thing: how did you get here?"

One arm draping around his charge, the room's sole male occupant leaned forward. "You know how we got here."

"I know how you got from Paris, but what drew you there in the first place? I'm going to guess it wasn't just for the romantic cliché."

"It could have been." Twisting in her partner's grasp, Monty reprised her deadpan look, this time mimicked by the woman at her other flank, and she received a half grin in reply as he continued in more sober tones. "We were following a lead, then Algy turned up and saved us a few interim steps..."

The computer binged and, reaching forward, the girl unplugged her phone, slender fingered hand collecting mobile and cable from it in one movement. Jethro had a point though, Algy's package had probably rendered much just handed over redundant, and anything coming from the SWA couldn't be tabled without risk of compromising their own position. So far, there had been no indication the British were party to her true nature...

...but, if the SIS were even half as good as it was made out to be, it would have to be at least aware of increasingly prevalent cyborg rumours and, by all indicators, suspicion was that they worked for Italy. It wouldn't take a genius to put two and two together.

Her handler, however, was still speaking. "What I'd rather like to know is why Panama thought we'd take their bait."

"We're the SIS."

In which case, following Katherine's thwarted attempt to join Jethro, where had that information come from?

Pocketing her phone, the cyborg kept that thought to herself, next words dry. "You're parroting Algernon."

"You have your secrets, we have ours. Thing is, Algy's packet should have pretty much covered the sum total of what I've found to date."

The girl shrugged. "Much of what I've just given you will probably be rehashing old ground then I'm afraid, and you know where we're at in country."

"And was your trip up Long Harbour fruitful? I lost contact once you left Sam Mun Tsai, and when you got back, well..."

Trailing off, the woman opposite pulled a wry expression, one Monty found herself returning, taking the opportunity to weigh options as she did so and, when the reply came, its words were slow, cautious.

"A little. I presume those photos Algy provided were your handiwork, not actually someone toying across the internet?"

"From Kwai Tsing? Those were mine, yes."

"You didn't perchance see where the Italians' container went once it left the docks?"

That got a shake of the head. "I'm afraid not. One of the locals was supposed to be watching the exit."

The girl nodded. "Well it somehow got from there to the coves around Long Harbour. We suspect the press itself may have been transferred to another vessel, likely shallow drafted, possibly some variety of barge." A short sigh escaped her lips. "However, if you've not been able to keep tabs either there's no certainty it actually went all the way, and chasing down records of vessel traffic through the area is going to be difficult with Zhang sitting on us."

On her shoulder, Jethro's hand gave a reassuring squeeze. "There are other ways to deal with that if needs be. As it stands, none of us can move so well at present and, frankly, sneaking around out of sight is not entirely my cup of tea anyway." Now he looked toward Katherine. "I don't suppose you've any light to shed on the subject?"

That drew another sad headshake. "Sorry, I've only been in country a few months. Half of that has been spent holed up here, so I've not had much chance to build a network, and I suspect you'll have already tried the contacts Algy gave me. Feasibly I could go through Station H, but I'd avoid doing so for anything you don't want Zhang also immediately in on."

"Algernon didn't give you a way to contact him directly?"

"He did, but the more secure conduits are slow."

Picking up her mug, Monty tapped it with a finger, before looking over. "It might not hurt to feed Charlie the odd morsel or two."

"No, it doesn't, and I have been... just not often."

"If we do that too regularly they may be able to pull a pattern from it, no matter how careful we are," added Jethro. "I've a few contacts of my own, but they're old..."

"I'd rather not pay Tiger again, that was a very poor deal."

The girl's tone was harsh, and her handler gave her shoulder another calming squeeze before continuing.

"No, and I don't think I want to give him too much more of the picture anyway but, as I said, there are other options." His gaze turned to flick between the two women, and Monty followed it to their opposite number as well. "Of course, there will still be some leg work needs doing, which I'm afraid may fall to you two."

"Not to me," Katherine's reply was quick, "don't forget I spent my first month or so here in and out of the local office, so Wilkes's people can pick me fairly easily."

"And Zhang's have your mug shots to boot."

"Oh do they now?"

The tone was not of surprise or shock, but rather sardonic interest, and Monty studied their companion again across the rim of her coffee as her partner replied.

"There may have been some light break and enter involved, but yes... along with my mug shots and surveillance images of the three of us."

Now Katherine's gaze flicked between the two fratello members. "Could you do it again? The break and enter I mean."

At that, the girl felt herself pulled in against her partner, a kiss landing on the top of her head, "Sorry luv, by the sound of things this particular ball will be landing mostly in your court after all."

"Brilliant." Own eyes resting on the British agent, she continued. "Probably, why?"

"Because that might be enough to at least get some pressure on Wilkes from Vauxhall's end. If nothing else it would give him something to think about which is not us."

The girl kept her face impassive. Giving the competition a distraction was certainly tempting, but if Katherine managed to oust Charlie off the back of it that probably spelled an end for any cooperation they might receive in chasing the Padania's money stream. Not to mention she had little urge to push her luck twice.

It was Jethro, however, who replied, thumb beginning to massage idly at her shoulder. "It's certainly a thought, but maybe for later. The place is in Wan Chai, and I don't think any of us feel like trekking across the harbour in the near future. For now I posit we take a turn through what can be done regards chasing the Italians from here, not to mention Monty and I are still somewhat underequipped for a more stand-up fight."

"I could use a computer."

"Yes, and weapons not ours." Now he looked over at Katherine as well. "You and I agreed already it would be best if none of us put in a public showing for a few days, and I think we'd all prefer to avoid racking up any favours through Charlie's crowd. In the meantime we might as well pull together a list of what information and equipment we're short on, and look to divvying that up between those contacts we think are viable."

Slight unhappiness flickering across her features, the other woman nodded. "Only getting what we absolutely need would limit our exposure, I guess."

"Precisely," pointing to where folders of documents had been shifted into a heap beside the television, he continued, "and to that end, I propose a worthwhile starting point would be to hit the books and see what homework has already been done."

Unlike its more easterly cousin, Turin was being spared the worst of summer's wrath, a milder change sweeping from the Alps across baroque terracotta rooves, cooling the Piedmont city and beckoning its citizens under overcast skies onto previously torrid streets. Watching from the driver's seat of his borrowed BMW, Hilshire grimaced. While the weather was certainly more pleasant, he could have done without the extra foot traffic, each person here, deep in Padania territory, a potential informant...

...and it wasn't just his own back needed looking out for either.

Using a wing mirror to glance along this street, he found the dark blue shape of Gaspare's Peugeot coupé, wedged into a line of kerb-parked cars under concrete and stone escarpments. The other fratello's presence still made him slightly uneasy, two more faces confirmed as compromised doubling their chances of detection.

And Fleccia's bright red mop wasn't helping in that regard.

Jean's instructions had, however, been clear: compromised fratelli were not to go swanning around on their own and, to be fair, the additional firepower should they actually be spotted would be welcome.

The extra pairs of eyes were also handy and, leaving the 406's demure outline, his gaze moved to a covered doorway, black Maserati limousine moored alongside, sandwiched midway between the two SWA vehicles. While not a fast exercise to get him here, Section One's work in Trieste had finally paid off, eventually isolating a single employee in Primavera's system whose appointments and communications best mirrored Vito's known movements, with enough certainty at least to concentrate their efforts. Continued digging was now yielding a steady stream of information: airline bookings, expenses, clients... though some big holes as well. There was only so long he could afford to sit on his hands however, and progress had been enough to justify calling for help, yielding Genco Ribisi to ride herd in his stead, under explanation of the Blackers having gone quiet.

Which, of course, left him to trail across half of Italy from one location to another frequented by their suspect employee.

That thought brought a slight frown, he did seem to be spending an awful lot of time sitting on streets watching buildings of late, perhaps he should consider bringing some architecture books along for Triela. This one was at least a little more interesting to behold, Middle-Eastern window gratings and art nouveau awning at odds with otherwise baroque architecture.

No joy yet though.

Scanning the facade, his attention flashed across the brass plaque on its wall, too distant to read, but marking offices behind as Cifa Risso Insurance Brokers, according to Fausto and Carlos' nocturnal reconnaissance. Handing over to the fratelli before turning in, that pair's final task had been to charge Genco with chasing up information on the company, just in case the hackers were not keeping him busy enough.

"Someone's coming out."

Triela's voice snapped his attention back to the present, rear view mirror's tiny window just enough to discern two shadowy figures. One, taller and male, stood proud on the footpath, business trousers and jacket contrasting against the cream power suit of his dumpy, greying, female companion.

"Can you identify them?"

In her seat, the cyborg craned forward, staring closer at the passenger side wing mirror as the latter paused to say something back through heavy wood doors.

"No, they're facing away."

Damn.

Fumbling across age-brittled centre console plastic, the detective extracted a radio, pressing down its talk button.

"Montenero, Hilshire. You seem them?"

There was a moment's pause, before the device crackled, Gaspare's voice arriving distorted through its speaker.

"Yeah, we see them, that's definitely our man. Do you recognise the woman?"

"I cannot tell, we are having trouble getting a good look from here."

"Alright, we're on it."

Leaving the radio somewhere more accessible, Hilshire returned eyes to the brokers' office. Vito had reached the waiting Maserati now and, back remaining to his audience, opened a rear door for his charge, affording a quick glance at her face in the process. Like the plaque her features were blurred at this distance, but fortunately he did not need to use his own eyes.

"Triela?"

Beside him, the girl shook her head. "No, I don't recognise her."

Vito had closed the door now, trotting behind the limousine to reappear on its street flank before sliding into the car's rear also.

His brow furrowed again at that. They had no confirmation on the man's background as yet, but the general consensus was that it likely lay in some variety of espionage, corporate or government. That he had chosen not to drive suggested he was not currently working in a capacity for those skills to directly benefit whom he was with.

Or he was working with someone of similar previous engagement.

Those were thoughts for another time though as, behind, the big Maserati began to move, trundling down the street under hanging lamps toward them, away from Gaspare's waiting Peugeot. Letting it idle past, the detective kept his head lowered, counting seconds before firing the dark 5-Series into life and slipping into his target's wake.

Finding another gear, he picked up the radio again.

"Looks like he is going our way."

"That it does. Keep us posted."

Ahead, Vito's transport paused, indicator blinking as it swung into the street beyond, and Hilshire spoke once more, slowing for the same intersection

"Target is turning south..." the BMW jolted as its engine ran out of revs, and he lunged for the gear lever, juggling the handset to change down, "...onto Via Ormea."

"Roger that. I'll try get parallel and a bit ahead on the city side. That'll cover the railway tracks, but you'll need to deal with the river flank."

Turning out onto the main road, Hilshire got the car rolling properly before replying. "Will do."

Handset dropping from his mouth again, he eyed it grumpily: not a problem encountered with the E-Class's automatic box and, making a quick decision, he held it out.

"Triela, keep talking to Mr. Spada and let him know where we're going."

"Yes sir."

Not, as it turned out, that she had much to pass on. Whoever was carrying their target's driving duties certainly wasn't making any attempt to shake, or even identify, the trailing vehicle, none he could discern anyway, and the detective fell back a little farther in response. No point in making himself more visible than necessary, he would get to grips with this spy thing yet.

The radio crackled again.

"Hilshire, Montenero, I'm just crossing Dante Aligheri now."

Picturing the city's layout, the detective glanced at his cyborg briefly. Fortunately Gaspare was referencing major roads, which made things easier.

"He's about a block ahead of Vito." In her own seat, Triela began relaying the message as Hilshire continued. "Tell him to hold in Piazza Carducci if he can."

Evasive driving or no, the roads around Carducci were complex, and congested, and one of them going the wrong direction could spell disaster. The lack of any attempt at elusion however did suggest that Vito was, indeed, not acting in his espionage role, which raised the question of what he was doing. Surely he wasn't actually working for Primavera, with that latter in the dark. He was absent too often for that to be viable, so then what? Something to do with the woman?

The Maserati was turning again, right, toward Turin's centre, and Gaspare's position.

Mimicking his target's action, Hilshire's BMW merged onto a wide boulevard, expanse of the piazza visible ahead, effect of its open space amongst low-rise apartments somewhat marred by criss-cross tram power lines, ringing approaches and the roundabout at its centre.

"You see him?"

In her seat, Triela leaned forward, radio already at her lips as she replied, letting their compatriots in on the conversation.

"Yes, they're just entering the roundabout now, turning left, headed south again."

"We see them." Gaspare's response was almost instant. "I'll take over, you keep covering the river."

From the driver's seat, Hilshire gave his cyborg a nod, and she began to answer in the affirmative as he pulled up short of the piazza, a block behind Vito's route. Now, however, he had to replicate the other fratello's leading position and, accelerator pressed harder the 535i surged forward, six cylinder engine sending it charging through the median and left, back toward the Po River. Slowing for the next turn south, the handler bit back a swear word: one way, and not the way he wanted, forcing him on before the University of Turin's vast frontage. The next break was a campus entrance, also useless, but the intersection beyond let him swing onto river banks proper. At least he was headed the correct direction now, but it was too distant if Gaspare should require help, much too distant, and he accelerated again.

Surging along the waterfront, university walls still dominated his other flank, gaps in hulking stonework presenting the institution's own tarmac maze. That he did not feel like negotiating and, road opening out toward another roundabout the detective dropped a gear, braking hard to jostle right, away from the river's slow course, diving instead beneath campus grounds, engine note reverberating from hard tunnel walls.

From Triela's side came the radio's crackle, and she keyed it in reply.

"Say again?"

More static, no signal.

There was daylight visible now, and bursting from underground Hilshire took stock of what he could see. Ahead was another roundabout, red brick offices on its far flank, a water tower standing in the distance to his left, its base obscured by high fencing and trees: rail yards. They had cut right across the district, popping up on the chase's city side and, from her seat, his cyborg repeated her message.

The reply was quick coming.

"Target turned right after Corso Spezia and stopped at the AC Hotel Torino. Both passengers have gone in, I've taken up a position to watch the front."

Swinging left to parallel rail fencing, Hilshire let his BMW slow, idling between warehouses and chain wire toward the tower until he could get his bearings. Turning right would have brought Gaspare this direction, and he gestured for the radio back.

"Montenero, Hilshire. Can you see a water tower from where you are?"

A moment's pause.

"Yeah, big open car park behind the hotel, bloody great water tower directly after."

"Ok, I see the tower too..." on his flank, industrial walls gave way to wide asphalt and low buildings beyond, "...and I see the hotel, we are on the far side of the car park from you. We will take up position and wait to see if anyone comes out the back."

"Roger that, I'll get comfortable here then."

Placing the radio down once more, he glanced toward Triela, big saloon continuing its sauntering course toward where both perimeter road and car park terminated at another roundabout.

"See if you can pick us somewhere to stop. Not in the park itself mind."

Own attention turning that direction he scanned the space, concrete bollards separating him from its expanse, only a few vehicles scattered amongst white marked lines at this time of day, suggesting a more business focus for its clientele.

"Over there, off the next roundabout."

His cyborg's voice cut across those thoughts, and the handler followed to where she was pointing at one exit, a short stretch of tarmac leading through overgrown verge to barbed wire topped rolling gates. Sitting in the marshalling yard entrance didn't really appeal but...

"You can't see anywhere else?"

"No."

Well, the world was imperfect.

Pulling onto the circle, Hilshire slowed, checking for oncoming traffic, before backing into the private access and switching off, attention turning back to the target building. Illegal though it may have been, the position did offer a fair view of both approaches, as well as the parking lot beyond, intervening shrubs and signage helping obscure the waiting saloon.

Hopefully Vito would not be too long.

"Triela, keep an eye on the hotel."

"Just the hotel?" Her tone was testy.

"You know what I mean."

No reply and, extracting a notepad and pen, he began to jot down what had gone so far. Seemingly Vito was not playing spy, so what then was his purpose here? Was it in his capacity as a Primavera employee, keeping up appearances as it were? Or was his actual target the woman, and again, if so, was that being done through Primavera? The lead which brought them to Turin had certainly come via that institution, but that could easily have been unrelated cover and, if his intentions toward a customer were less than pure, would that business risk tarnishing their reputation by allowing him to work on them under the brand?

Of course, how much risk that latter would be willing to take probably boiled down to how much pressure had been brought to bear by the Padania leadership... or how loyal and passionate Primavera's own management was, at least that part which looked after their resident insurgent.

Pausing a moment in his scribbling, the detective tapped his pen's point against paper, thinking.

No, it couldn't be under the guise of Primavera. That company's trading had been frozen, quite publicly so, since the SWA's impromptu raid, employees scattered to the four winds or, at least, none had attempted to report to work since. Which put him right back where he had started: if not for business, and not as an agent on the ground, why was Vito here? Was he grooming another pawn like Anasetti? If so, his current target looked an unlikely sniper.

The key was the woman.

Adding another question mark to the end of that note, his thoughts were interrupted by a quiet, exasperated noise from the passenger seat and, placing pen and pad in one hand, he glanced over to the girl beside him. Her previous attitude he had written off as not wanting to be told the obvious but...

Frankly, trying to work out the minds of criminals was much easier.

"Are you alright? Triela?"

"Fine."

That sounded like a lie and, work being stowed in a jacket pocket, he turned back toward her, stifling his own sigh. "If there's something I can do..."

"I said I'm fine..." her voice trailed away and, looking toward him, she seemed to relent. "It's not anything you've done, if that's what you're worried about. It's just..." she made a sweeping gesture, "...call it a lack of progress."

His brow creased at that. "We have found Vito, haven't we?"

"Yes, but it has taken a long time to get here, even with Mr. Blacker and Monty's help."

A pause. There was some truth in that but, well...

"I don't think we can expect things to move as quickly as they have in the past. The Padania are getting smarter, they are learning, just like we are." He forced a more jocular tone. "At least we're not spread quite so thin anymore."

"If you call only having one detective 'not spread thin'," she glanced up, "look out."

Her sudden vocal change caused the handler also to glance up, and this time a small groan did escape as the white and green shape of a Polizia Municipale Fiat pulled across his car's bow. Watching two blue uniformed police exit their vehicle, he wound down his window, hands remaining where they would be visible as one officer approached, her partner standing back to keep an eye on the situation.

Leaning on the BMW's roof, she bent down to study its occupants, short, brown, hair falling either side of attractively middle-aged features.

"Are you broken down?"

For a moment, Hilshire was tempted to answer in the affirmative, but he knew exactly what the next question would be, and so he shook his head.

"No."

"Then can I ask what you're doing parked here?"

"Just waiting for a friend."

Gaze raising briefly, the woman looked around, letting dubiousness flash across her face, before returning to peer in under the headlining. "Strange place to wait. You are aware this is a no standing zone, yes?"

His eyes flicked automatically to the gate behind, appropriate signage reflected in his mirror. Too late, she would have spotted the movement, no way he could feign ignorance now, and he kicked himself for not having a cover story pre-prepared.

"Yes."

"I will need to see your license then please."

Across the road however, another movement had caught his attention, a figure threading its way between cars and walking quickly from the hotel.

"I said, license please."

Dammit, he was a detective, not a spy. Working for the law was normally enough to fend off those of a similar ilk. Well, it was just going to have to do so now as well, even in the North.

Reaching into a suit jacket pocket, Hilshire extracted his wallet, folding it open to show the identification within. "Agent Hilshire, Ministry of the Interior. I'm here on official business."

Outside, the policewoman's eyes flickered across presented credentials, then to Triela, then back to his credentials again.

"Why didn't you say so earlier?" Taking out her own pad, she jotted something down, before holding it up to show his ID number. "I'm sure you won't mind if I just check? Never can be too certain in these times."

Gritting his teeth, Hilshire nodded. "Never can be too certain."

Thank God he had chosen the Ministry card and not Europol, the former he was at least still officially registered with, not to mention the call should be quicker. Stepping away, the woman said something into her shoulder microphone, pausing a second before continuing, holding the pad up to read from it and, in the passenger seat, Triela spoke quietly.

"Vito just walked across the car park."

So it had been him.

"I saw."

From outside came the faint sound of a boxer twin engine starting up, and Hilshire glanced toward his current obstruction, urging her silently to hurry up. Catching his eye, she shrugged, one wrist raised to display her watch.

Waiting.

God, if he missed Vito as a result of this... and he dared not contact Gaspare with the two police still present.

Finally, the officer seemed to get a reply and, walking back, she leaned down again. "Apologies for the inconvenience Signor Hilshire, you should have just showed your identification first."

Gritting his teeth again, he forced another smile. "Well, as you said, you never can be too certain who is working for whom these days."

The responding expression was slightly cooler. "Not everyone here appreciates the Separatists, but I'll remember that if I ever make detective. Have a lovely day, and best of luck."

Then she was gone, striding back toward her car and, in the distance, the motorcycle engine revved once. Reaching forward, the SWA man cranked his own vehicle to life, as past the Fiat's stern appeared the shape of a bike: a large BMW twin, its rider dressed in a brown leather jacket, helmet obscuring his face.

"That's him."

Triela's statement was confirmation only.

The two police were in their car now and, across the way, Vito's bike slowed, rider standing on foot pegs to peer forward, down its sloped cowling, glancing quickly toward the halted vehicles as he did. The police presence couldn't have fazed him too badly as, approaching the car park kerb he bumped over, threading between concrete bollards and across verge footpath. Dropping safely back onto tarmac, the Padania agent settled into his seat before peeling right, accelerating rapidly away whence Hilshire had previously come.

The police were finally moving as well and, letting them disappear behind the roundabout's central greenery, Hilshire took off in pursuit of his quarry.

"Triela, get on the radio and let Gaspare know what's happening."

Vito had wasted no time piling on distance, brake light already blazing farther up the road as his big tourer slowed for the roundabout. Trying to close, the SWA man accelerated harder as the bike disappeared right, behind the same warehouses the fratello had passed previously.

To his side, he could hear Triela filling their compatriots in. She would have to make it quick before they dropped out of range again though and, approaching the junction also he glanced sideways, checking for traffic, suddenly slamming on brakes harder as he caught sight of his quarry again. Receding up a slip road above rather than into the tunnel entrance, back in toward Turin University, Vito's bike paused before banking left across its gaping maw. Too late, and Hilshire kept the stop pedal down, trying to swing his heavy saloon in pursuit, front wheels sliding onward, coming almost to a halt before it finally responded, accelerating up the same lane before also turning north.

In the distance could be seen Piazza Carducci once more between stone and concrete canyon walls, quarry continuing down the arrow straight road, weaving between traffic. He was going to have to stay closer. Still, for now he had half a minute of good sight lines, and he gestured to Triela to hand over the radio.

"Montenero, Hilshire. Target is headed north along Via Nizza. Recommend you hang back a bit for now, I can stay in contact but he will probably spot me before we reach his destination."

There was a pause.

"Hilshire, Montenero. Roger that. I'll take up a position on the river flank and try to stay out of sight. Keep me updated."

"Will do, Hilshire out."

Handing the device back, the detective glanced toward his charge. "You heard, keep him updated, and try to track where Vito goes as well."

"Yes sir."

Ahead, the motorcyclist had made it to the piazza's roundabout, idling between twin lines of cars to the queue's front, forcing the trailing fratello farther astern as lights turned green. Vito wasted no time staying ahead of the traffic's mechanical tide, twin-cylinder roar filtering through the BMW's aged sound deadening as he arced away, charging left and west, toward Turin's centre.

Boxed in by those around, Hilshire could only watch as the bike speared off, speed belying its size, Triela continuing her running commentary. That, he was going to struggle keeping up with and, as vehicles ahead began to peel off the circle, he took the opportunity to drop a gear, pushing the 5-Series forward again, forcing it into gaps he would never have dared risk under any other circumstance.

Despite those efforts however, by the time he crossed north south railway lines, Vito was a dot, disappearing through the gentle curve of an intersection almost half a kilometre ahead.

His target probably wasn't even going that fast, just he could get up to speed so much quicker, and stay there. If anyone was making a spectacle of themselves, it was himself.

Swerving around another trundling hatchback, Hilshire glanced once more at his cyborg.

"Tell Gaspare he's just gone west around the top of Piazza d'Armie, but we're having trouble maintaining contact."

At the tree lined boulevard's end, traffic lights flicked to yellow, and the handler floored the throttle, shooting between shifting signals. Squeezing through he braked hard to narrowly avoid careening across flower beds dividing the seven-way crossroads, hauling the car left after Vito's path, tyres protesting loudly as inertia tried to carry them on. Finally he got it pointed where he wanted to go and powered away, through the next set of lights, leaving honking horns in his wake.

"Mr. Spada says he's on Corso Rosselli and will try to get forward of us."

Corso Rosselli, that was the next major road north of here, running parallel. Hopefully Vito would be headed that direction.

Hope was one thing though, reality was another, and with no sign of his suspect ahead he charged on.

"Mr. Spada has him..." Triela's voice suddenly broke through again, "...headed north-west along Corso Raccogni."

"Alright, we'll try and get to the west of them."

No chance to slow down then and, as his ward began to relay that, he continued his swerving path through the next roundabout, swinging left and away as the road curved north. Two blocks passed, and he turned in beside the third, getting on a parallel course with the pursued. That would have cost him time though, and tightening streets were not helping matters as they headed into older neighbourhoods , military and commercial buildings melting into terracotta topped residential blocks.

"Turning right into Corso Pescheria."

Jesus, they were ages ahead of him.

Another block passed.

"Left at Piazza Sabotino."

He could see Corso Pesheria ahead now, a line of traffic forming at the intersection to cross its wide, tree-lined, boulevard.

"Left again into Via Vigone... and he's turning again, Mr. Spada thinks he might have been spotted."

The light turned green, Hilshire's finger tapping rapidly away at the top of the steering wheel as those ahead filtered through and, as it started to go yellow once more, he pushed his way in behind, horn blasting the person in front to clear the road, arcing right on the service lane and back east. They were almost there, if he could just...

"Target's lost."

Slamming on brakes, the detective brought their car to a screeching halt, using its remaining momentum to cost up onto the median between this auxiliary and the boulevard proper, coming to a bouncing rest to overlook its wide intersection with Corso Raccogni. Flicking on hazards he thumped the wheel, they had been so close. Now what? Back to the hotel and wait for Vito to show up again? Assuming he even would?

Across the intersection, ancient apartments rose from the street. Somewhere in there, his suspect had simply disappeared. Digging in the seat pocket behind Triela, he hauled out a city map, quickly finding their location and Vito's last known, motioning for the radio again.

"Montenero, Hilshire. Put yourself on the corner of Via Moretta and Corso Francesco Ferrucci, make sure you can see both streets."

Receiving an affirmative he looked back to the cyborg. "You watch Corso Pesheria, I'll keep an eye on Corso Raccogni. Presuming he has not already, that should let us see if he leaves."

"Do you think he will still be on the bike?"

"Probably, hopefully he won't expect anyone this direction."

It was a long shot at best, but Vito was somewhere in the area bounded by those four streets, assuming of course he had not left north or east already before the other handler could move to cover those compass points. However, with a bit of luck, he would still believe Gaspare to be operating on his own and would be more likely to exit through the 'open' west or south flanks, both visible from here.

And, if he didn't exit, then they at least had a rough idea where to start searching.

Tap, tap, tap, went the finger.

Which would take time though.

Tap.

Of course, having to go looking presented its own problems. Detective he may have been, but thanks to the Padan photographers' efforts, his ability to actually employ that skill set was severely hampered, and the last thing they wanted was to spook Vito by accidentally wandering past his window. Gaspare would be similarly useless, plus his background was not exactly one of subtlety.

Tap, tap, tap.

What he needed was someone to do the leg work. Genco wasn't a field agent, plus he remained in Trieste, and Fausto and Carlos were, ultimately, soldiers. Feasibly Jean might be convinced to send him a non-compromised fratello, but he doubted it.

Which did nothing toward solving his current problem.

Outside, the long summer's afternoon dragged on, traffic picking up as Turin's citizens began to make their way home from work, his 'parked' vehicle attracting the occasional odd look.

At least the police didn't seem to be taking an interest this time.

The police.

Another thought struck him and, picking up his phone again, he turned once more to Triela.

"The policewoman, did you get her badge number?"

That earned a quick shake of her head. "No, sorry."

"The car then?"

"Four-zero-seven."

"Keep watching, I need to make a call."

Beginning to dial the municipal organisation's headquarters he paused. No, considering where he was, better to disassociate himself slightly farther and, deleting the number, he instead moved to the contacts section, quickly finding that he wanted.

It only rang twice.

"Hello Victor."

Seemingly he was making this call too often.

"Genco, are you busy?"

"Would saying 'yes' make a difference?"

Ignoring that, the handler continued on. "I need you to look something up."

"Sure, just let me..." From the other end of the line came rummaging noises, before the analyst spoke again. "Ok, fire away."

Placing his notepad on a knee, the detective poised his pen above it. "First, I need to know what name Vito was going under for his trips to Turin, and any details you have for that identity..."

"Easy enough, hold on a tick."

The muted sound of a mouse followed those words, and Hilshire continued, "...I also need to know who was in Polizia Municipale Torino car four-zero-seven this afternoon, and contact details."

"Four-zero-seven... that might take a little longer." The clicking stopped. "Ok, Vito was going under Luca Silverio in Turin, no details of where he was staying though, and the phone number is his Primavera one, I'll have to get back to you on part two. How soon do you need it?"

"As soon as possible."

"Of course you do."

"Ring back please."

Hearing an acknowledgement, Hilshire hung up. Now all he could do was wait, and hope he was making the correct decision. Reading people was for the likes of Ricci, but the woman had seemed reliable enough, and the police would at least have a lower chance of harbouring Separatist sympathies. Either way, he needed someone to do the walking sooner rather than later.

Of course, he was still going to have to figure out how to phrase this as well and, turning over possible approaches, he continued to watch passing traffic for any sign of his suspect, markets cramming tarmac across the way not easing his task. That would be the ideal option: should Vito reappear, he would not even need to pursue this particular line of reasoning farther.

If he had to though, the last thing he wanted to do was to try and recruit someone off the cuff. Flicking through contacts in his phone again, his thumb hovered over another briefly, before closing it back to the home screen, and he glanced at his watch instead. No, the long wait was not just his imagination; Genco was certainly taking his time.

Reaching down, the handler picked up his radio.

"Montenero, Hilshire. Have you seen anything?"

There was a brief delay before the reply came back. "Not a thing, you?"

"No, I think there is a fair chance our suspect has gone to ground somewhere in there."

"Well, we can't exactly go walking street to street looking for him."

In the centre console, his phone rang and, glancing at who it was, he keyed the radio again. "No, we cannot."

Putting the handset back down, he swapped it for the vibrating mobile, raising that latter to his ear.

"Hilshire."

"Good news," Genco's voice sounded more resigned than excited, "I managed to track down who was in that car. The people you want are agente Marco Petri and agente scelto Carlotta Busto."

"Can you give me the phone number for that last?"

"I probably can."

Jotting down digits as they were read out, Hilshire thanked the analyst, before ringing off and picking up his radio again.

"Montenero, Hilshire. I might have an option for us. Hold position for another twenty minutes, if you have not heard from me, clear out. I think we can assume by then Vito has hidden somewhere, or slipped past us."

"Hilshire, Montenero. Roger that... and sorry for losing him."

"Hilshire, out."

Radio dropping once more, the German took a deep breath, exhaling slowly; in all reality, he was as guilty as Gaspare for letting their target go, unfair advantage the motorcycle had given or no.

No more procrastinating.

Finding his phone again, he dialled the number Genco had provided, hitting send before he could think any harder.

This time it was not picked up so quickly but, finally, a familiar female voice answered. "Hello?"

"Hello, am I speaking to agente scelto Carlotta Busto?"

"Yes, you are," the tone was cautious, "who is this?"

"This is agent Hilshire, we spoke earlier today. Tell me, were you actually interested in trying for a detective position?"

A pause, but then a reply, even more cautious than before. "Yes."

"Good, I have something I need you to do for me."

Wedged in amongst dark art nouveau panelling, Hilshire took another sip of beer, light Italian larger barely touching his throat before its glass was returned to be nursed upon the scarred wooden table. If there was one thing he did like about Turin, it was its architecture... easy to find an unobtrusive corner to hide in when he needed it, charcoal grey suit fading into the background beneath dim yellow lamps.

The table was a nice one too, not in an aesthetic sense, but it provided a slender view to the bar's entrance. Peering through hanging smoke haze, a blind eye obviously being turned to Italy's ostensibly strict smoking laws, he could see the last dregs of summer evening beyond finally turning to night, the two fratelli having called off their vigil hours earlier. If Vito had not gone to ground, then he was long disappeared to another part of the city. Of course, if he had slipped by, then they were back to square one, only real option to keep an eye on his companion's hotel and hope he turned up again, which could be a very long shot indeed.

Not to mention the man would most likely be very suspicious if he saw either car again.

That brought a wry chuckle: chasing spies, not really his game, were he in a movie this was about the point men in suits should have thrown the plucky detective off his case. In the cinema that had seemed incredibly unfair, but really he could have used someone better matched to the role, Ricci, for example, or Pagani, or Alboreto, those with experience in the counter-espionage game, especially if the Padania's man continued his more... competent... displays of awareness. None of those had yet been spotted in photosets dredged from Padan phones however, so his chances of begging any help from that quarter were slim to none.

Still, he would do what he could, starting with leaving Triela in the car. Even with them both on the compromised list, history had proven a split fratello was less readily identifiable, and so split the fratello he had, despite her protestations.

His eyes flicked around the space again, taking in its crowd, mostly adult, young couples and white collars: not to mention bringing a pre-teen here, at this time of night, by himself, may have raised brows. Sweeping their clamour once more, he caught a movement by the door, quickly focusing in on the new arrival. Devoid of a uniform to prompt recognition, the face took a moment to register, only clicking as agente scelto Busto stepped fully inside, other heads turning also in evaluation.

Late meeting organised so she could get off shift, police blues had been replaced by wide black trousers and a loose, airy blouse in some satiny fabric, broad collar plunging into a deep v-neck. Pausing on the threshold, the woman shucked off a clean-outlined trench coat, looking around as she did so, and Hilshire gave a small wave above his beer glass. Catching the signal, she draped her light garment over one arm, setting off between tables, heels clicking on the stone floor, cold officer from before seemingly melting away behind swaying hips.

Hopefully he was making the right decision. Hopefully this one would not be trouble.

Standing as she approached he began to offer a hand, but she moved in, quickly placing fingers on his upper arm to brush a cheek against his, then the other side, and he felt himself stiffen at the contact.

That was one Italian tradition he had yet to get used to.

"Buonasera, signor Hilshire."

Recovering, he gestured to a spare seat, returning the greeting as she settled down. "Buonasera, agente scelto Busto."

Taking his own position one again, the detective pointed to his glass. "Can I offer you a drink?"

"The house red."

As he flagged down a waiter to place the order, the policewoman rummaged in a pocket, producing a crumpled packet of Nazionalis. "Do you mind?"

"Go ahead." Pausing as she extracted a cigarette and lit up, Hilshire continued. "I must apologise for the late hour."

"No problem my... partner... is out of town anyway." Taking another drag she leaned back, exhaling slowly, smoke wafting in cascades rather than billowing, and the SWA man found himself being evaluated.

Returning the gaze calmly, he ran through his pre-rehearsed arguments. Don't jump the gun, don't scare her off... he really could have used a better judge of people here right now.

Finally, she spoke again. "So...?" Questioning eyebrows went up. "Well? You seem to know my first name, I think it's only fair I get to know yours."

"Victor."

"Well then, Victor, what can a humble beat cop do for the Ministry of the Interior?"

Or he could just dive straight in.

Conversation halting as the waiter returned with Carlotta's drink, Hilshire let the man leave before reaching inside a breast pocket to extract a photo, taken during the Genoa raid, and pushed it forward.

"We're looking for this man."

"I did check the name you gave me, nothing came up for 'Luca Silverio'."

"Not surprising." Across the table she picked up the glossy print, cigarette clasped between two fingers above as it was considered, and he continued. "We think he has a safe house somewhere in the area bounded by Via Moretta and Corso Pesheria, Corso Francesco Ferrucci and Corso Raccogni. I need someone to have a nose around and see if that is true or not."

Looking up from the photo, his companion's brows raised again. "So why not do it yourself, Signor Detective? Why call in a stranger, unless of course you had some other cause to see me again?"

"Reasons."

Now his eyes met hers, holding the gaze. That he could certainly manage, and finally she glanced down at the photo once more. "Is that so?"

"It is. I recommend you start with checking any cameras in the area, then try asking around once you have narrowed your search. Do it in plain clothes and try to be subtle. My phone number and a list of other aliases we have for Luca are on the back. I will be around Turin for a little longer, so call me when you have something, or if you need more information, or clearances."

"How very... Bond."

Flipping the print over, Carlotta studied what was written quickly, before tucking it inside her blouse as, standing, the detective began to do up his jacket. Before he could leave however, a hand shot out to rest on his arm.

"At least let me finish my drink. It would probably look better if we left together."

Taking the limb back hurriedly, the German shook his head. "No, for the same reasons I cannot go asking questions myself, it really would not."

Conceding to another quick brush of cheeks, Hilshire turned on his heel, heading for the door.

Trouble indeed.