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, and who also owns Elio Alboreto.
Chapter 10|The Self Preservation Society
Standing in the apartment building's back doorway, Hilshire watched Carlotta sway her way across the block's shared central courtyard, form receding between tightly packed cars, crunch of gravel under her heeled boots succumbing beneath chirruping cicadas. Waiting until she disappeared from view, around stone walls onto the far street, he shut the door against afternoon heat, checking it was locked before starting up terrazzo steps. The stairwell's cool darkness was a welcome, if brief, respite from baking summer outside and, digging in a pocket for keys, he reached the third floor landing, rapping out an Agency-standard all clear on one of the scarred wood entries presented.
Stepping under its portal, heat hit him again, boiling through windows thrown wide to catch what little tepid breeze meandered past. At his entrance, Gaspare turned briefly from where he sat in the light from one, before a laptop computer, spare hand lifting from over a discarded holster to wave in welcome. That the German returned, but his comrade was already swivelling back to observation duty, cables trailing from the screen to a spotter's scope atop its tripod, mounted behind the four place table setting to point along scorching tarmac below, a more powerful camera and telephoto lens beside.
Aside from Fleccia's handler however, the apartment's large kitchen, dining, and living space remained deserted, lounge's low-set Dansk furniture empty as its inhabitants cowered away from incessant, energy sapping, heat, or caught up on sleep out of sight in darkened bedrooms. Despite being designed for a family, with six people in total spread across three sets of sleeping accommodation, things were getting cramped, a situation only likely to worsen in the near future.
Sighing, Hilshire turned to the pile of shopping bags which had been stacked on and beside the kitchen bench: evidence of Carlotta's visit. Having located Vito's safe house she had continued to prove useful, 'moving in' as cover for the SWA's arrival and running errands to limit exposure... not to mention leaving them free to keep tabs on their target's door, less than fifty metres distant.
Heaving open the refrigerator, the German spared half a moment to luxuriate in cool air which rolled from its depths, before pulling a bag toward himself, beginning the ongoing game of Tetris which was attempting to fit four adults and two cyborgs worth of food into the confined space.
Despite earlier misgivings, bringing the policewoman onboard seemed to have been very much the correct decision, though he was going to need to call Ferro about organising the operation a proper budget.
Rearranging shelves for the umpteenth time to squeeze in a pair of fat eggplants, the detective glanced back to where Gaspare was still staring tirelessly at the monocular's image. Had it not been for the occasional sway of a branch one could well have believed the computer to be displaying a still photo rather than real-time feed.
"Did anything happen while I was out?"
Setting his box recording, the Gen Two handler turned once more, feet shuffling carefully past a MSG-90 rifle rested on its bipod, ten round magazine hanging beneath.
"On Vito's end, not at all. Nothing in and nothing out, unless you count the cat jumping over a wall."
"That is two days since we last saw him, are we certain he is still there?"
"I presume so. He could have used another entrance, but if his bike's not been out I doubt he'll have gone far." Now the usually optimistic handler pulled a grimace. "Besides, if he knew we were watching I doubt the Padania would pass up the opportunity to wipe out two more fratelli."
Hilshire didn't reply, that statement's uncomfortable amount of contained truth curtailing any further response: the days of Agency cyborgs being enshrined as unstoppable daemons were long gone. Gathering up empty bags, he laid one out on the bench, smoothing thin plastic down to begin folding it into a tight package as, from the table, Gaspare continued.
"Other than that, Ribisi pulled in with your Section One hacker about ten minutes ago. I've got Fleccia and Triela moving into our room, so they can have the one the girls were using. It's going to be squeezy, but we'll just need to hot bunk or set up camp in here."
Hilshire's eyes glanced toward the lounge area: the sofa wasn't large enough to sleep on, even for a cyborg, slender wooden arms putting paid to any thoughts of letting feet dangle off one end. Besides, trying to sleep so close to their ongoing surveillance wasn't really viable anyway.
"I will see if Carlotta can find some cots, there is probably space between our beds to set two up. Hopefully it will not be for long."
"Well that's why we had Genco and company come down wasn't it?"
The German nodded and, folding the last bag into a neat triangle, he opened a cupboard door to place them with a growing stack of their brethren.
"It was, where did he park?"
"I had him stop out on the street around the back, figured yet another strange car turning up might spook the neighbours."
And speaking of Genco...
Closing the cupboard again, Hilshire made his way to the lounge, crouching down to open a duffel which had been stowed beside the low coffee table as Gaspare returned to his own task. Unzipping it, he extracted a small stack of folders, placing them on lightly varnished wood. Despite best intentions, communication between Turin and Trieste had not always been smooth, or regular, so a chance to compare notes would not go astray.
"Not precisely spacious is it?"
A glance up found Genco just entering the room, Raffele Bollai in tow, that utterance having come from the latter. Standing, Hilshire held out a hand, speaking as they shook.
"Only because we are trying to fit so many people in, unfortunately it was the best we could do on short notice."
"Well, beggars can't be choosers, I guess even Section Two has to watch its purse strings from time to time."
Ignoring that jab, the detective turned his attention to Genco. "Thank you for your help so far, and for bringing Raffele down."
The analyst made a slightly embarrassed shrug. "It was nothing, and it's nice to get out of the office from time to time."
That drew a grin from the hacker standing beside him. "That's what you say, I don't know how many desk drivers would share that opinion."
"Well most desk drivers probably don't continually get stories from..."
He tailed off, following the action with another embarrassed shrug, Section One man watching him curiously.
Feeling silence descend, Hilshire motioned to the coffee table with its accompanying sofa and chairs. "Now that we are in the same place, I think it might be wise if we compare notes before proceeding any further, and there are a few things I need you to look up and check before actually making a move. Can I offer either of you a drink or something to eat before we get started?"
There was a general shaking of heads, but Genco answered. "I think we'd both like to know what we're in for."
Giving both new arrivals a moment to settle, the detective took the sofa opposite, glancing between wafting curtains behind them as he leaned forward, pushing an open manila folder across the table, a photo laid atop its stacked papers.
"You have probably managed to get a rough idea of what has been going on by the questions coming back to Trieste, but the short version is your tipoff regarding Cifa Risso was a good one. We found Vito in the company of this woman." He tapped the photo. "So far we have no leads on her, so her identity was the first thing I need you working on, or if either of you have come across someone who matches her appearance in your travels?"
Genco had produced a notebook somewhere through the explanation, rapidly jotting down dot points as the Section One man beside him followed suit on a bright orange phone. Leaning forward, the analyst studied the picture, his pistol, Hilshire noted, jutting up against light shirt fabric where it was holstered at his four o'clock.
"Can't say I have..." something in the tone however drew a sharp look, but he let it slide as the young man continued, "...I did do some digging on Cifa Risso, which may give us a starting point: they're a Lloyds underwriter, primarily dealing in industrial and commercial operations... so big stuff. If she is from the business community though, you have to wonder what about her has drawn the Padania's interest, or is she fronting for the Padania on some purchase of their own?"
The German shook his head. "I do not think she is fronting for the Padania. The way Vito was acting made it seem he was more there to monitor proceedings than he was to keep her safe or, at least, he was not displaying any spycraft whilst in her presence I could discern."
"Playing a good little business assistant."
"It would appear so. Either way, I would like to know who she is before making any moves on Vito in case we accidentally worsen the situation."
Since sitting down, Raffele had been watching the pair talk closely, still tapping away at his phone, but now he spoke up. "If you give me somewhere more private to work, I can start setting up to have a nose around Cifa Risso myself. With a bit of time I can probably get a client list or something, maybe line up her visit with someone's appointments, like we did with Vito."
Hilshire however shook his head. "Unfortunately, time is not something I think we have in great supply right now, and I brought you down for a different job anyway."
"Is that so?"
"Going to give you pair of basement-dwellers a taste of field work." Gaspare's voice drifted over from the window again, and the three glanced toward him, staffers' faces hovering between interest and uncertainty, though whether at the prospect of getting their hands dirty or the apparent attitude was unclear. Tapping on light wood to draw their attention back, the closer handler continued.
"Yes. There is good reason we are crammed into this apartment and not somewhere better suited to our numbers."
Genco was quick to get in on the conversation again. "I assume that has something to do with why we were told to park around the back?"
"It does. Vito's safe house is about fifty metres up the road from here, we managed to track him to it after he split up with his contact, though he does not seem to have met her since. That said, we have not got access to the resources to safely tail him when he leaves, so are holding off until it is absolutely necessary."
Now it was Raffele's turn to take on the slightly high-handed tone. "So you're just leaving it to chance that he will come back? I don't do field work, but I doubt that would fly in Section One."
"Well Section One has more operatives, and hasn't been the subject of a concerted effort to try and root it out either."
Genco's words came slightly heated, but Hilshire let the jab slide again, pushing ahead with his briefing instead before either could make another retort.
"Unfortunately it is all we can do right now. As much as I would like Ricci, Alboreto, or the Blackers here, Lorenzo is not about to risk putting any of them with a pair of compromised fratelli." The hacker's ears pricked up at mention of that last fratello's name, and the detective gave himself a mental kick for letting it slip. If Section Two's personnel were generally ill informed regarding Jethro and Monty's activities, it was nothing to the information blackout beyond the cybernetics arm's walls, and he forged on. "Either way, we can only work with what we have. We are beginning to get a handle on Vito's routine, or at least as close to one as he has displayed and, as before, I do not think we have the time for extended observation."
"And so you're going to go in half cocked instead."
"Call it that if you like." The words came out sharper than intended and, feeling his patience beginning to wear thin, Hilshire took a mental breath before continuing. "We suspect Vito probably went to ground here after our impromptu raid on Primavera. If that is the case however, it probably will not take much to spook him again." He gestured around the apartment. "We might get away with this for a few more weeks, but I do not think we can expect to go undetected much longer."
"For that matter, how did you get here in the first place?" Genco's voice this time.
"Local contact."
Now Raffele spoke up once more, words calmer again. "Okay, I can see why you brought Ribisi, but all this still doesn't explain why you wanted me as well. I would have thought the extra person would only complicate matters."
"I wanted you here because I presume Vito will have some sort of computer in his safe house, a desktop, laptop, hard drive... something. If he does, I do not want to be making second visits or giving him opportunity to destroy data, so we need to break into those machines first time. That is why you are here."
A trace of uncertainty flashed across the hacker's face at that. "You realise I did not exactly come equipped to go playing cat burglar."
"Triela and Fleccia will be on point, you just need to deal with any machines of Vito's."
"Just the cyborgs?"
"Not just the cyborgs, both handlers will be there also, as will Genco. We have yet to finalise plans, but at the moment Triela and myself will probably go in first, then you with Gaspare and Fleccia as escort. That is still fluid at the moment, Vito seems to be avoiding any unnecessary exposure, though when he does leave the trips are a decent duration, an hour at least. We will have the SRT tail him to be certain, unless I can get resources from elsewhere."
Genco, who had been listening in, now raised his eyebrows. "Your local contact?"
"Maybe, we shall see."
In the other chair, Raffele's expression had gone from unsure to annoyed. "An hour, you realise of course that hacking doesn't happen like in the movies right? I can't just snap my fingers and give you full access to someone's system. You saw what we were doing in Trieste, this shit takes time."
"Unfortunately that sort of time is not a luxury we have, surely there are a few tricks you can try?"
"Oh yeah sure, if I wanted to package up code and script kiddie, but it's less than a perfect solution."
"World's imperfect out here in the wild grasshopper, sometimes you just have to make do."
The Section One man's head swung around toward Gaspare again and, in his own seat, Genco leaned back involuntarily, out of the way of their conversation as the former pointed toward the rifle propped up at his opposite's feet.
"I don't see you getting ready to machinegun the street in order to take out one bloke, I don't like bringing the wrong tools for the job either."
Across the table, Hilshire cleared his throat, intervening again. "Be that as it may, like you said, I have seen the proper tools being used, but we also cannot ask Vito if he could kindly stay out for an extra hour. I can try to give you as much opportunity to prepare as possible, but be aware I cannot guarantee either that time, nor time to work once we are in."
Raffele's attention however had wandered again, this time behind the handler to where Fleccia had just walked through from the bedrooms, red hair framing a freckled face, its tips brushing her shoulders, and Genco noted he seemed to tense in his chair.
"Uhh... sure. It's just not the best way to go about things, but I'll... see what I can do." His words were suddenly distracted.
The cyborg had however also noticed the new arrivals and, shifting a pile of books to one arm, used the other to give a small, lethargic wave. "Hello Mr. Ribisi, Gaspare said you were coming down."
"Yes, for a few days."
Glancing from her handler to Hilshire, she apparently decided to stop there, hefting books again and wandering over to the kitchen table, saying something quietly to her own custodian as she arrived which received a brief shake of the head. Instead of sitting behind the computer, she found a seat which would allow her a view down the street, opening a note pad and heavy volume before her.
Standing himself, Gaspare looked across at the seated group. "Well, I'm going to have a shower and find somewhere cooler to work."
Nodding at his compatriot, the other handler turned back to the two staffers. "I do not have much more to say either. Did you have any questions?"
Raffele shook his head, still looking unhappy, and Genco followed suit, leaning forward to gather up the folder as he did so. "Not that I can think of immediately, I'll take a look through this though and see if I can't add anything."
"Good." Standing, Hilshire glanced toward the hacker. "Get settled and see what you can do toward preparation. I apologise for the lack of time and certainty, but we will have to make do."
That got an affirmative, if still reluctant, response and, apparently accepting it, he followed off toward the bedrooms.
Silence fell, street noise from below mixing with the drone of cicadas pouring past gossamer fabric. Opening the folder again, Genco was suddenly aware of the room's other remaining adult leaning over to him and, when he spoke, Raffele's voice was low.
"How on earth do you act so naturally around, well..." he jerked his thumb toward where Fleccia was sitting, her back to them, "...with that? The handlers sure, but..."
He tailed off and, staring blankly for a moment, the analyst took a moment to comprehend what had been asked. How did he... after the initial shock of Section Two's business wore off, he had not really seen the girls as anything other than just what they were: young girls. Maybe it was a self defence mechanism, but there was certainly nothing he found discomforting about them anymore.
"The cyborgs? They're just as human as anyone else."
"But..."
"Have you ever actually talked to them?"
"Well..."
A twinge of annoyance flicked across his thoughts, and he continued, loudly enough that his voice would carry to the kitchen. "Come on, I'll introduce you."
Standing quickly so the other man would not have time to protest, he moved across to the table, Raffele, seemingly following the conventions of politeness he had just been entrapped by, in tow.
Sitting down in the position vacated by Gaspare, he leaned into Fleccia's view. "Hello again."
Looking up from her book, the girl nodded an acknowledgement. "Hello, did you have a good trip?"
"Easy enough, and I've brought a new friend for you." At the light tone a twitch of annoyance flickered across the red head's face, but it escaped Genco's attention as he continued. "Fleccia, this is Raffele Bollai, from Section One. Raffele, this is Fleccia, Gaspare's cyborg."
"Pleased to meet you, Mr. Bollai."
"Umm, likewise."
"Take a seat Raff." The analyst's words remained bright, full of polite, helpful, innocence and, apparently realising he would not be escaping quickly, the hacker slid into a chair opposite his new acquaintance.
Leaning in, Genco studied her notebook. "What're you working on?"
That question received a grimace.
"History..." glancing around with a furtive expression to see she remained unobserved, Fleccia's low tone became a grumble, "...just my luck, getting sent on assignment with the one handler who will keep giving out homework... but don't tell Triela I said so."
He hid a grin at that: frankly, Section Two's Princess would probably level the same complaint, though not in public. Face remaining sober however, he shrugged. "No harm in learning history."
"I don't see what use it's going to be to me."
"It stood us in pretty good stead during the Roman Sniper incident. If Mr. Hilshire and Mr. Blacker had not been up on their history, we would not have wrapped that one up anywhere near so quickly."
"Which is well and good for Triela and Monty, but I could do without."
"What particular part of history?"
Before she could answer however, Raffele blurted, "So you... do observation work too?"
Two sets of eyes turned his direction, and the man seemed to shrink, as if realising just how silly that had sounded, and he rushed to qualify. "I mean, I thought cyborgs were, well... were weapons."
"It depends on the cyborg, and her handler." Internally, Genco breathed a sigh of relief as the girl replied matter-of-factly. Jesus, he hadn't considered that: some others may have taken offence. Fortunately though they had got Fleccia and, with Gaspare hailing from a military background, that statement had not been received as quite the insult it could have. "But yeah, Gaspare lets me do some other things, usually when there's not much chance anything will happen, like now."
"It depends on what the fratello in question is tasked with as well," added the analyst, "and, frankly, we're finding that fratelli who can only door kick are becoming less useful, which is why the second generation was made to be a bit more flexible than the first. Perhaps ironically, there are also more specialists amongst the Second Gens."
The hacker however appeared fixated on the girl. "And are you..."
"Second generation, yes. You can tell, we look older... though we still get the same lessons as the young ones."
"Most of the Generation Ones are technically around your age or better."
"Yes, but they still act like little girls."
That Genco did not answer, but he would be interested to hear Triela's view on the statement, wherever the senior cyborg had disappeared to. Across the table, Raffele also had gone silent, gaze directed out the window, occasionally flicking back to the teenager opposite, before just as quickly turning away once more. Frankly, he wasn't certain if that was making headway with the man or not and, leaning in again, he went back to his previous question.
"So, what part of history has Mr. Hilshire got you learning?"
"Central American."
Not really his area of expertise, and he fought for something to say.
"Sounds... interesting."
"It's doing my head in, I don't rote memorise well." She thumped at the textbook. "I mean, what use is Central American history to me? Italian history, Roman history, ok, I'll pay that, but Aztecs and Conquistadors? See if you can make any sense of it."
Turing the book around, she laid it out for him to read, small text arranged tightly around black and white lithographs, and Genco stifled another chuckle. He had a great deal of respect for Victor Hilshire, but trust the German to find the dustiest, dullest, least interesting way possible to tell what should have been a very exciting story. Still, tactics for rote memorisation were something he could help with...
"Give me a look?"
Across the table, Raffele was leaning in also, face set, but apparently intent on trying to show willing after his earlier blunder. The interruption was apparently as much a surprise to Fleccia, her own attention snapping to him, and the hacker went on, seemingly beset by the need to explain.
"I... did a project on the Aztecs in high school, so I might, uhh, might be able to help."
Well, it was a start.
Despite Turin's summer days having turned also to torturous heat, night still brought with it some level of relief, long evening hours giving time for warmth trapped by sun drenched stone to leak away, leaving in their wake a comfortable cool. Standing on a balcony to look down into the paved courtyard below, Hilshire shifted to take a sip of coffee, before leaning more heavily on the rail. Even the cicadas had quieted, occasional chirrup reminding those listening to enjoy the peace while it lasted.
While the peace lasted.
Bringing Raffele had been a gamble, but he had seemed amiable enough in Trieste. Here though, out of his element perhaps, the interdepartmental divide was obviously still very much alive, running strong under the surface, and Gaspare's newly spiky attitude was not helping. That brought an internal grimace: not what he had expected from the normally optimistic handler. Was this the sort of thing Jean contended with every time he put an operation together? If so, he was not certain he was entirely up to it, and Jean at least had the option to pull rank.
Now he really did scowl, taking another sip from his glass in the process. For that matter, he had not precisely been prepared to run an operation full stop, but rather had become a victim of his own investigation snowballing. Eight people and counting was a far cry from only needing to worry about Triela.
At that thought, he glanced back to where the girl in question was sitting, currently engrossed in her book, killing time while Gaspare and Fleccia took their first turn in bed, and he stifled a yawn. Yet another thing not planned for, leaving his own fratello doing an extra stint awake while they switched shifts.
...And speaking of which, he glanced at his watch, he needed to get some time in looking through what information had been brought from Trieste before taking over on the monocular.
Turning away from the darkened courtyard, his passage was however interrupted as one of the small balcony's French doors squeaked open, hallway behind spilling light out amongst the few scattered windows still burning against darkened walls. From the gap squeezed Genco, folder held in his trailing arm. Glancing between assembled fratello members, the analyst let his gaze come to rest on Hilshire.
"Do you have a moment, Victor?"
"Of course."
Stepping over to the small table Triela resided at, he placed the folder down, positioning it to sit in the lance of illumination still escaping from between heavy curtains and, when he spoke, his voice was low.
"How long ago was the last update you sent Monty?"
"I sent everything we had found regarding Primavera and Vito before leaving Trieste, but nothing since."
That got a wry smile. "She may be chomping at the bit for another download by now."
"Maybe, but I have also heard nothing back. She and Jethro seem to have done their usual disappearing act... and I am finally beginning to understand why it annoys Jean so much."
"So she hasn't seen any of this yet?"
"No. I was going to wait until we had been through Vito's place."
Extracting the glossy print which had headlined their earlier conversation, Genco placed it in the light. "Well, that explains that then. I didn't want to say too much in front of Raff, but there is no need to run a check on this woman. I do recognise her: this is Eleni Anagnos, CEO of Anagnos Shipping out of Greek Cyprus."
"That name is familiar."
"It should be: it was one of their ships Monty saw being loaded in Ukraine, and the same vessel again we raided as a result in Genoa." He paused, leaving a beat for effect, and Hilshire found himself waiting for the other shoe to drop. "Perhaps more to the point however, it was whilst targeting Eleni that the Blackers first encountered Vito, though they could only guess at any connection at the time."
Picking up the picture, the detective studied it more closely. He remembered the Anagnos name now, had there even been a picture of its CEO in Monty's packet? God, it felt like that long ago he would have to dig up his notes from the original briefing, seemingly aeons past in the SWA's Spook Pit.
Another thought occurred to him. "If she is from a shipping company, then her visiting Cifa Risso makes more sense."
"It does, and seeing her here with Vito also suggests some answers to one of our earlier question as to whether his primary interest was in Anagnos or the Blackers. Suffice to say, I think it's a reasonable assumption he was tailing them in Cyprus because they visited Eleni, rather than due to any particular business with them personally."
"I am sure that will be some relief."
"I suspect so."
Suddenly very aware of how exposed they themselves were, Hilshire slid the photo back out of sight, before crouching down to bring himself eye to eye with the seated analyst and cyborg, voice lowering. "If Vito's interest was not in the Blackers though, what is his interest in Eleni? Her company is under Padania control, but he does not seem to be protecting her or acting in a security function when we have seen them together. In fact, I would go so far to say that he was deliberately avoiding any actions which may give away his background."
Looking up from her book, Triela piped up. "Could Ms. Anagnos not know what he is?"
"Possibly, or he does not want to draw attention to himself. Having someone not of Italian descent present would make good cover for carrying out insurgent activities. "
"I would hazard a guess and say it was a bit all the above," put in Genco, leaning toward the group. "Jethro and Monty theorised he was there to ride herd on Eleni were they not his target, and what you're saying supports that somewhat. Anagnos Shipping itself was on the edge of filing for bankruptcy when it was taken over by Marittima Italiana, so it is entirely possible the takeover was not friendly, and Eleni has no stake in the Padania's fight herself. If they're using the company bearing her name to do their dirty work, they may well wish to ensure she doesn't suddenly develop cold feet."
"And I think all the evidence suggests Anagnos is being used to do the Padania's dirty work. Questions of loyalty notwithstanding, having Vito associated would make for easier monitoring of any operations being channelled through it." Hilshire took another sip from his cup, last grinds coursing bitterly across his tongue. "It is a little concerning just how much global reach that would give them."
"Running global operations, and yet he still has time to recruit local muscle? We have always known the Padania had to be receiving support from, and pursuing interests, beyond Italy's borders, if we didn't there would have been no Blackers to kick this whole thing off to begin with. However, if Vito has time to steer those operations, and recruit on the ground, their global interests may not be as extensive as we previously suspected."
"He does not necessarily need to have a hand in all of them, and from talking to Anasetti's associates we gather his recruitment began long before he ever arrived back in Italy. The Padania leadership is wealthy: they have plenty of reason to travel and make contacts overseas themselves, probably write it off as a business expense. The organisation can spread that load easily enough." He paused, another thought floating to the surface. "It is entirely possible Vito manages their more clandestine work however, or those operations which cannot be run through an existing legitimate front. When you get a chance, see if Anagnos or any of its associated companies was helping supply the military where Anasetti's unit was operating. If they were, it may give us a lead on where he made contact, and who else may be at risk."
As Genco pulled out his notepad again to scribble that down Triela, who had apparently still been listening, spoke again. "So does this mean a change of plans?"
Hilshire shook his head. "No. In fact, I think getting Vito and whatever data he may have in that safe house has just become more urgent than ever."
Leaning forward, Hilshire peered closer at the monocular's feed, Vito's window a warm, bright, patch against cold pre-dawn light. On it, a shadowy figure moved behind drawn sheer curtains, carrying something which it placed down on what, presumably, was a bed, pushing hard as if forcing the burden into some smaller container.
"Looks like he is getting ready to leave."
"Better not be another fucking false alarm."
"Language."
Behind him, the massive form of Fausto Martinello straightened from where it had been craning in to see what the fuss was about and, while his eyes did not leave the monitor, Hilshire could picture the sheepish expression he would be wearing.
"Sorry, Ms. Triela."
Letting their exchange finish, the handler spoke again. "Fausto, go raise the others. Send Gaspare in here, then you and Carlos get ready to tail Vito."
"Onnit Boss."
SRT commando leaving after his assigned task, Hilshire returned to watching as the shadowy figure passed once again by its window. Whatever he was up to, Vito wasn't rushing, it was perhaps a little earlier than they were used to seeing him mobile, but the movements showed no urgency.
They had not shown any urgency the last few times though either, each ending in long waits and frayed tempers as their promised mark failed to appear.
But the early start...
False alarm or no however, soon the SWA's apartment was beginning to rouse itself, Gaspare first to appear, the former paratrooper zipping up a canvas jacket to conceal his plate carrier, black duffel in hand. Putting the bag down with a clatter, he leaned over the German's shoulder.
"We're for real this time?"
"I hope so."
"If not I say we just go in there and drag that stronzo out anyway."
Hilshire twisted around, the option was certainly becoming more tempting with each passing day, however...
"Fausto and Carlos can grab him, but only once we are sure any data he may have is secured."
That received an unimpressed sound in reply and, standing, the detective motioned to his vacated seat. "Take over while I go and get Genco and Raffele moving."
Leaving Gaspare to slide soundlessly into position he headed for the bedrooms, pausing at the hall entrance to let their two SRT escorts pass, followed by Fleccia, that latter in the process of doing up a rig almost identical to her handler's.
The staff types were already awake, but only part dressed, very obviously bereft the instant alertness enjoyed by those arriving from military backgrounds and, quietly, the detective could not blame them. Were their positions reversed, it was highly doubtful he would have fared any better.
Rapping once on the doorframe he stepped through, trying for his best Jean Croce impression. "Are you two ready yet?"
Looking over from where he was helping Raffele into a bullet proof vest, Genco nodded. "Just about."
The hacker seemed less pleased, words coming out in a grumble. "What does it matter if we are or are not? We're just going to wind up sitting around, waiting for nothing to happen, anyway."
"Whether we do or do not is not for you to decide." He paused, changing gears. "You remember what you are supposed to do?"
"Yes..." the word had a singsong tetchiness to it, "...we wait here with Gaspare and his cyborg until you are in the building, and they will take us across. Then we wait again until you have cleared Vito's apartment, and will be escorted up."
"Good, and?"
This time it was Genco who answered, his tone less sarcastic. "And don't shoot at anything unless Gaspare or Fleccia tell us to, or it shoots first."
"Good again, I will see you outside in five minutes."
Leaving them be, Hilshire moved into his own shared room. Sitting on one of the cots crammed between two proper beds, he fired off a text message which would hopefully result in the Police leaving their area alone, presuming Carlotta was awake to receive it.
Stripping off to place flexible body armour beneath shirt and tie, the detective rummaged in a draw to extract a radio, running the device's wire against Kevlar weave to appear from his collar, before setting its attached ear bug in place. God he hoped he was doing this right, the last thing the SWA needed was another dead fratello, and should he get Raffele killed, then who knew how Section One would react. On went a shoulder holster, quick check of his pistol finding it loaded, then the suit jacket was replaced and, taking a deep breath, he strode back toward the living area.
Fausto and Carlos were already gone, their priorities lying elsewhere with a beaten, SWA supplied, Renault Twingo, but Triela was waiting for him, heavy shotgun case slung over one shoulder, and he knelt down before her. "Do you have everything you need?"
"Of course."
"Just... be careful."
"Of course."
The handler paused, trying to think of something else to say in reply. Nothing made itself apparent however and, clearing his throat, he stood again as Genco and Raffele entered the room, the latter still fiddling with his vest. Nodding an acknowledgement, he touched his earpiece.
"Alright, radio check."
Replies came back one by one, fading away to leave another awkward silence, broken only by a thud as Raffele settled heavily into one of the comfortable wood and fabric armchairs. Obviously he did not expect to be going anywhere in a hurry.
Another minute passed and, studying his watch intently, Hilshire traced the seconds hand as it climbed again toward the twelve o'clock marker. The hacker may yet be correct...
Suddenly, Gaspare shifted. "Hang on, there's movement."
Five heads snapped around as, from street level, drifted the distinctive note of a boxer twin, echoing clearly between stone facades. No-one spoke, ears straining as the engine revved once, twice, before coming on strong and accelerating away, receding into the distance.
"And there he goes, headed down the road, away from us."
Activating his radio again, Hilshire spoke quickly. "Tupo Uno, Zero Alpha. Target is moving west, your direction."
"Tupo Uno, roger that Zero Alpha." There was a pause. "Alright, we have him, moving to pursue, we'll give you a call if anything changes."
"Roger that Tupo Uno, we will do the same. Zero Alpha, out." Looking around the room he caught each set of eyes in turn, now suddenly more alert than they had been in days. "We are probably only going to get one shot at this, any neighbour with eyes and ears will know something is up. Once is risky enough, so let's get it right now and not need to try a second time."
Silence followed and, again devoid of anything more to say, he headed for the door, ushering Triela before him, merely human ears missing the muttered comment about a stirring pep talk trailing behind.
It was only a short trip down, and soon the fratello was stepping onto quiet pavements. Grey dawn light was strengthening now, picking out the shapes of parked cars and buildings above in dull relief. It was a static scene, the city deserted at this hour, its citizenry sound asleep, occasional far off engine and clack of rail carriages the only reminders that anyone existed here at all. Through the empty landscape the fratello's small figures threaded, past motionless vehicles, Triela's long trench coat billowing around bare legs, and Hilshire was suddenly acutely aware of how much they must stand out. Pausing opposite Vito's building, he scanned windows above, looking for signs of life and, finding none, hurried across the street, cyborg in tow. A flat metal card dealt with the main entry lock and, slipping inside, he looked around. This building was newer than that the SWA contingent had set up in, wide lobby running right through to a glass door leading onto the block's central courtyard, another corridor branching off to one side just before. Above, concrete stairs spiralled upward, atrium's full height visible between steel balustrading.
"Montenero, Zero Alpha. We're inside, lobby seems clear, moving on."
Gaspare's response was quick arriving. "Roger that, I'll start bringing the rest across now."
"Come on."
Moving up the stair, the detective slowed to a more casual pace, for all the good it would do: visitors at this time of the morning were hardly a normal occurrence. Still, the thought was there and, counting off landings, they finally reached that corresponding to Vito's floor. Looking around he paused, scanning doors on either side, trying to match them against the mental image he had of the building's facade. Four doors, four apartments... he could hardly mess that up and, selecting an entry on the front wall, farthest from the SWA encampment, he motioned Triela over.
"It should be this one."
"Do you want me to break it down?"
There was a heartbeat's pause.
"No, people are still asleep, let's not cause a commotion. You can start getting ready though, but keep an eye out."
"Yes, sir."
Her reply was equally quiet and, kneeling down, back to him, she began to unzip her shotgun case. Returning to the door, Hilshire inspected its frame quickly. No chance of using the card here and, instead extracting a set of lock picks, he set to work.
Hopefully he would be quick enough.
Standing quietly in shadow, Genco fingered the strap of his heavy rucksack nervously. Leading their trailing contingent, Gaspare had bypassed the apartment block's main entrance, instead levering open its vehicle gate to halt in an open alley, leading toward another shared courtyard. Along the nearer wall, individual garages faced onto the drive, the presence of which probably explained why Vito had chosen this particular building to begin with.
The hiding spot they provided however was fast disappearing as the sun began to rise, and he slunk closer to cool brickwork. Nearer the building's rear, Gaspare and Fleccia had taken up position by another doorway, already coerced open. With their arrival, any semblance of civilian mores had been dispensed with, black duffel disgorging two P90 submachine guns, long suppressors affixed to normally stubby barrels and, releasing the strap, he extracted his own pistol, quickly checking it had a round chambered and the safety off. Beside their escorting fratello's futuristic looking weapons, the little Beretta 1934 appeared decidedly old-fashioned, but the movements for its operation were coming more naturally now... almost.
Glancing around, he found the shape of Raffele standing between him and Fleccia. If he was combating a sense of displacement, it was nothing compared to what the hacker seemed to be enduring, computer bag gripped tightly in one hand, other free to fidget and, taking pity, the analyst sidled over.
"Don't worry, the Hilshire and Spada fratelli are some of the best we've got."
The other man's eyes flicked his direction, words coming shortly after, sarcastic tone somewhat ruined by an insistent quaver. "So good that an analyst needs to go armed as well? Some safety there. Do all desk jockeys in Section Two feel required to defend themselves?"
Genco glanced down at his gun again, remembering just in time not to rise to the bait. "Not all."
"Then what makes you so special."
"Reasons."
Conversation halted again, stalling as Raffele appeared to search for a response.
Fortunately he was not given opportunity as their earpieces crackled. "Montenero, Zero Alpha. We are in, you can bring them up. Third floor, first apartment on your right."
Pushing the door open, Gaspare held it as Fleccia advanced swiftly through, gun shouldered, zipper on her coat parting the only noise as she went. Moments later, her voice echoed quietly back out of the darkened passage.
"Clear."
Still holding the door, her handler's attention turned to his temporary wards. "Alright cupcakes, let's move."
Genco jerked his head toward the door. "Go on, you're better off closest to Fleccia."
There was the slightest hesitation from the Section One man, but he recovered quickly, moving forward behind the cyborg, disappearing into gloom beyond. Gun still drawn, the analyst made to follow, but found himself halted by the waiting commando.
"Put that away, before you hurt someone with it."
Glancing down at his pistol again he caught the other man's expression, and slipped it back into its holster without argument, before taking off after his compatriots.
Fleccia had already reached the corridor's far end, P90 pointed straight down as she peeked around the corner, waiting for her handler to catch up before ushering them out into the deserted lobby and up stairs at its centre. The first flight disappeared beneath hasty footsteps without incident, but the morning was beginning to get on, early hours' peaceful quiet slipping away and, as they reached the second landing, the clack of a door opening sounded above.
On point, the cyborg froze, glancing back along the line of people to her handler at its tail as voices wafted down toward them, and he motioned her to keep going: nothing to gain in stopping, nowhere to hide.
Her pace quickened, and Genco found himself beginning to struggle. No matter how hard he tried, at this speed each footfall sounded like the thunder of elephants, someone was going to hear them. The voices had quieted now, though it was difficult to tell over the more personal noises filling his ears and, reaching the third floor landing, Fleccia paused once more, submachine gun held low so she could peer over the balustrade. Finding it still clear she moved hastily forward to Vito's door, rapping out an urgent 'all clear'. Pulling up behind her, the analyst listened hard, trying for a tense few seconds to pick up evidence of someone descending from above.
He never got the chance to find out if their upward charge had been a false alarm or not however, and the door swung open, Triela beckoning them through, cyborg escort again leading inside.
Safely out of sight, the girl's tense stance melted away, movements relaxing as she traipsed down a short hallway into this new space's living area.
"Special delivery."
Following her and Raffele, he looked around, taking in cheap, Spartan, furnishings, scattered across a polished terrazzo floor. This was obviously a place meant to be slept in and little else. A kitchen occupied one end of the room, but no table accompanied it. Instead, against one outside wall, a computer desk had been positioned so as to... Genco walked over... yes, so as to give its occupant a view onto the garages they had just come from. A few near-empty folders were stacked up by scuffed plasterboard but, before he could pick one up, Hilshire spoke from the doorway, words addressed to Gaspare who had again brought up the rear.
"Did anyone see you on your way in?"
"Not that I noticed."
"Good." The German now looked around. "Triela and I have already given the apartment a once over, and it appears to be clear, but be careful. Triela, with me."
Seemingly without anything more to say he turned away, and Genco bent down, collecting a folder to leaf through its contained thin sheaf of paper. Not much to go on, they looked like simple household records, but if that was all he had, then that was all he had. Unfortunately he also seemed unlikely to find anywhere to work other than the floor and, retrieving the remaining files, he spread them out across a sunlit patch of cool terrazzo, opening the first to its front page. Unshipping his rucksack he released the canvas top flap, extracting a set of aluminium rods which were screwed to a light frame and placed over the folder. Next the group's high quality DSLR slotted into place, telephoto setup replaced by a flat prime lens. Connecting a remote shutter release, the intelligence analyst turned it on and, checking it remained at full auto, hit the lead's button, hearing its mirror cycle.
Standing again in the doorway, Hilshire watched as he leaned forward to flip the pages over before photographing the next spread, and shook his head: technology had come a long way, but how it was applied remained rudimentary at best. Triela had been tasked to searching a similarly sparely furnished bedroom and bathroom, but his own attention was required elsewhere.
Opposite Genco, by the room's far wall, Raffele was crouched down, fiddling with something near the floor. Finally standing, he moved back to the computer desk, setting the cheap all-in-one machine it supported booting, own laptop already humming away beside. Walking closer, the detective inspected what had been left behind; a small box, now placed between the phone connection and router cable.
"It's an interrupt." Turning, Hilshire found the hacker watching his movements, laying a hand on his machine as he continued. "It monitors line traffic so I can watch it here. I'll put something a bit more discreet in place once I'm into his box, but that will cover us for now. If Vito's computer tries screaming for help, or if someone tries sending data to it, I will know and, perhaps more to the point, be able to stop it, change it, or whatever else I feel like doing."
"And you can read that?"
"If it's not encrypted, but the final version will sit before anything like that."
A sly grin accompanied those last words, the tension and caustic attitude which had been such a chore contending with over the previous few days now dissipated. Whether that was because he was back in his element, or due to the lack of cyborgs currently present however, remained unclear.
Opportunity to find which did not take long long in presenting itself and, as the sentence trailed off, Fleccia ambled through the doorway, jacket removed and P90 hanging toward the floor from a sling around her neck. Their charges safely delivered, there was little for the more combat-biased fratello to do other than continue playing bodyguard. Wandering over to the computer desk as well, she leaned in, hands folded casually on her weapon's short buttstock.
"Are you in yet?"
"Give me a break, the computer's a heap of junk, so will take awhile to boot again." The words still had a tetchy edge, but there was barely a flinch this time; maybe being cooped up with the pair of girls had done him some good, and the next came out in a steadier tone again. "There we go, password screen. This is a Windows box, so if Plan A doesn't fly I've a pretty solid set of rainbow tables but, since we don't need to start from scratch..."
Spinning to his own laptop, the hacker selected a file, replacing part of the code in the text editor window it opened, before closing that and moving to another, fingers blurring before slamming 'enter' with an air of finality.
"Ok, give that a moment to compile."
"And that will break into his computer?" Fleccia was speaking again, and Hilshire let her, taking a step backward. Raffele seemed to find her the less threatening presence, which was probably an improvement, though an obvious battle was still being fought behind his eyes. For now however, the urge to teach an interested party seemingly trumped any lingering discomfiture at her cybernetic nature.
"Hardly," now his eyes did flick to Hilshire, and he continued, "you've not given me a lot of time, so I'm having to quick and dirty brute force this one. Most people are terrible at security anyway, even those who should know better; we ran an assessment of Vito's activities and passwords at Primavera, so now have a list of potential options to try anywhere else. We'll just keep trying those in until one works or we reach the end of the list."
Whatever had been running on his laptop was now finished and, extracting a tiny memory card, he slotted it into the holder on a small circuit board which appeared from his bag, a USB adaptor hanging off one end.
"Did you make that yourself?"
"Ha, no, these you can buy off the internet, but it types faster than I do." Reaching forward, he plugged the device in. "Give that a moment to work..."
On the monitor, character placeholder dots began appearing, each set that returned incorrect immediately flashing away to be replaced by another.
"...and now, we wait. As I said: quick and dirty."
Still behind Fleccia, Hilshire watched on as combination after combination was tested and discarded. The effect was strangely mesmerising, so much so it wasn't until the peal of his phone erupted from one pocket that he snapped away, jumping slightly in surprise.
Stepping back, he dug quickly for the mobile, checking its screen: Fausto. Mesmerising or no, Raffele's toy had better hurry up. If they needed to grab Vito early…
When he answered, the news was not what he had been expecting, and even less welcome.
"Hilshire, Fausto. Our friend has just dumped his bike in the airport car park and is heading for the terminal."
It took a moment to digest that.
"He is leaving?"
"Looks like."
"He did not have enough luggage for an extended trip."
"Maybe not, but I doubt he's collecting someone from departures."
At that, the detective suppressed the urge to curse. Picking up Vito now would ruin Raffele's plan, but if they lost Vito the plan did them no good anyway, and who knew when he would be back... if at all. "Can you grab him?"
"Not in the airport, not without causing a scene."
It was tempting, but...
"Where is he going?"
"How the fuck should I know?"
"Well follow him and find out!"
There was another pause from the line's far end, and in it, Hilshire took a breath, steadying after the uncharacteristic outburst. Finally, the reply came.
"Will do. I'm still in the car, but Carlos is pursuing on foot, I'll let him know."
Ringing off, the detective stared at his phone. If Vito was leaving, his destination was going to be a vital piece in the puzzle, not to mention discovering his intentions once there.
"And we're in."
His head swung back. "What was the password?"
"No idea. Quick and dirty, remember? Give me a couple of minutes and I'll see if there's anything interesting looking."
Glancing around, he took in the rest of the apartment. Raffele still needed watching, but the last thing he wanted was to distract him, and since Fleccia had seemingly taken to hovering around he could probably afford to step back a little and question the cyborg later. Nearer front windows, Genco was still crouched on the floor, moving onto the last folder, and he was about to go inspect the analyst's progress when Triela walked through the door. Stepping quickly over she held out her hand.
"Mr. Hilshire? I found these in the rubbish bin."
In her palm lay thin slithers of coloured plastic, some bearing raised letters and numbers, edges white where they had been sheared through. Picking up one he inspected its side, messy cuts giving way briefly to crushed silicone and circuitry.
"Bring them over here."
Spreading shattered pieces of credit card across the kitchen bench, Hilshire began sorting. By the looks of things the remains of at least two cards had been mixed together and, dividing their number, he pushed half toward Triela. If they could reassemble them, it might give some inkling as to what alias Vito had been using for his work with Anagnos and, more importantly, a traceable history of purchases.
In which case though, why destroy them now? Did he consider these compromised?
It was painstaking work but, slowly, two small rectangles began to form. They were just about complete when Genco's voice wafted over, and the tone was dry.
"I'll bet you anything those belong to these."
The analyst was standing behind, rucksack back on one shoulder, stack of folders still cradled in his arms, the topmost of which he patted awkwardly. Realising the lead handler's attention was now his, he stepped forward, leaning down to inspect the cards.
"Yeah, see?" Glancing around again, the SWA staffer quickly dumped part of his burden on the floor, before spreading his last folio across the free-standing stove's hotplates.
"See?" he repeated, and Hilshire leaned closer to peer at the bill on which his finger rested. "The names match. If I were to take a guess, I would say those cards were used for running this safe house."
"And if he's cut them up..." A sinking feeling had entered the detective's stomach. Not now, not after getting so close. Surely there was some other reason, a security measure for going away perhaps...
But then why not take them with him?
It was a treacherous thought, but who knew, maybe Vito just did not want to risk being caught with that alias in his pocket? Surely they could not have been found out already. The surveillance setup he had never expected to last forever, it was far too slipshod, too hastily assembled, but it should have remained innocuous for at least a few more weeks. Maybe...
"Shit."
Despite sharing its sentiment, the word had not been his, and Hilshire's head snapped around again as Raffele's hands slapped down onto the desk before him. Hurrying over, he peered once more over the hacker's shoulder.
"What is it?"
"It's wiped, the whole fucking computer's been wiped."
"Wiped?"
"No data. Zip, zero, zilch... nought... and just to rub salt in the wound that Vito clown didn't simply nuke the drive, oh no, he left just enough OS there to so we could waste time getting in... for fucking nothing."
The sinking feeling that had come with Genco's theory now became fully fledged freefall: safe house cleared out, computer cleaned...
"He's gone."
It was a statement, words coming out hard and, not waiting for those present to reply, the detective grabbed his phone again. If Vito were not too far advanced through the airport, following him remained an option, hopefully the SRT would have better news.
It barely got to the second ring before being answered.
"Martinello."
"Where's Vito?"
There was the briefest pause as the other man caught up.
"He's past emigration and they're just boarding."
"Can you pursue?"
Only after the words left his mouth did what had been said register. If their target was going through emigration...
Fausto finished the thought for him. "Maybe, we might get there in time but he's headed international and neither of us have a passport. Getting off at the other end could be a bit of a fucking problem."
"But you at least know his destination?"
"Yeah, that I found out, it's fucking Hong Kong."
Hong Kong. That was it, they'd lost him, tripped up at the last hurdle, by the time the SRT could contact anyone the plane would be long departed.
Well, there was nothing else for it.
Pinching the bridge of his nose, Hilshire sighed. Suddenly, he was extraordinarily tired. "Alright, see he gets away safely, note the plane registration and flight number, then come back in."
"Will do."
Dropping the phone from his ear, the detective looked around. "He has escaped, headed for Hong Kong."
"Hong Kong?" Raffele's words were incredulous.
"Yes, Raffele, Hong Kong." He sighed again. "Give this place another look through and see if there is anything else of use, then pack up, I want us headed back to Trieste by the end of the day. Tomorrow, we begin again, from square one."
"Did you want to take his computer?"
"If you think it will help, do what you like. Take everything if you want." Looking around, the Section Two man's eyes fell on another of their number. "Genco, a moment."
Beckoning the analyst away from their tame hacker, he lowered his voice. "Once we are back, bundle up everything found to date and send it on to Monty."
"She's still in France, I don't know if what we have will be of that much help."
Hilshire shrugged. Right now, he was past the point of quibbling, of trying to interpret instructions, of trying to help generally.
"I do not care. She said she wanted to be sent everything, so let's do as she asks."