‘Signor Newman appears to have spent much of his time with a notary named Nicola Mantega. What was the subject under discussion when they met?’
‘I couldn’t say. Pete never mentioned the name, but that’s normal. He was a self-starter, made his own contacts. We didn’t expect detailed reports as long as he got results.’
Zen considered this in silence for a moment.
‘And what about you, Signor, er — ’
‘Nguyen,’ Tom interposed.
‘What about me?’ the other man demanded.
‘Have you been in touch with Mantega since your arrival here?’
‘No.’
‘Do you plan to be?’
‘What business is that of yours?’
Zen gazed for some time at the window, as though there was something of vital importance to be glimpsed through the luminous screening of the blinds.
‘Signor Mantega is an interesting man,’ he remarked blandly. ‘He specialises in arranging deals between crooked businessmen and corrupt politicians. One therefore asks oneself why your company should have required his services.’
Nguyen’s face hardened.
‘Are you in fact asking yourself, or are you asking me?’
Zen pretended to consider this for a moment.
‘Well, since you put it that way, I suppose I’m asking you.’
‘Then I want a lawyer present,’ Nguyen replied curtly.
Zen sighed in a weary way.
‘I have no time for that nonsense. I’ve had a hard night, signore. I was simply hoping for your cooperation in providing some background to the case that concerns me now. But, to be honest, recent developments have rendered your status entirely peripheral and your resulting interest to me minimal. I therefore invite you to take your leave.’
After witnessing the initial confrontation, Arnone had remained standing in the corner of the room throughout. With a sweep of his hand, Zen signalled him to escort Martin Nguyen out, then turned to face Tom Newman.
‘I’m afraid I have some bad news,’ he said.
The spiny dorsal fin of the coast slipped past unnoticed beyond the vast expanse of glass shielding the saloon. Luciano Aldobrandini lay embedded in a winged leather recliner, naked except for a black thong, watching his personal recut for DVD of the film which had won him the silver at Venice back in the 1960s. It should have been the gold, but Visconti’s people had packed the jury.
All things considered, it had held up pretty well, he thought. Artless and unsophisticated, of course, and given to crude over-emphasis at times. He would make it very differently now, but it was questionable whether the result would necessarily have been an improvement. Primitive though it was in many respects, the original had a raw, driven quality to it, a sense of energy to burn, amounting to sheer recklessness at times, that now felt very, very precious.
He switched off the DVD player and summoned Pippo.
‘Bring me a Singapore Sling, darling.’
The lad frowned ominously.
‘It’s only ten to twelve.’
‘Don’t be a bore. In Singapore, it’s cocktail time.’
His phone chirruped. Luciano glanced at the screen. It was Marcello.
‘Where are you?’ the agent asked, with a brittle tone and lack of the customary foreplay which suggested a state of some agitation.
‘On board the Narcisso, southward bound to start preparations for the shoot,’ his master replied. ‘A calm sea and a prosperous voyage, since you haven’t bothered to ask. At least, I trust it will prove to be prosperous. Some of my crew members are joining me in a few days and I intend to put on a show of having started principal photography by the end of the week, as per your instructions.’
Marcello grunted.
‘From what I’ve heard, an advance crew is already in place and has been for several weeks.’
‘Heard from whom?’
‘Another client of mine.’
‘Which specific talentless cunt are you referring to?’
‘That’s privileged information, Luciano. Anyway, you wouldn’t be any the wiser if I told you. He’s a rapper.’
‘A what?’
‘You see? Right now he’s trekking on horseback along the edge of the Sila range above Cosenza. I called him about a business thing and asked how his holiday was going. “It would be blissful if it weren’t for that damned helicopter that Luciano has hired,” he said. It seems there’s a lot of very noisy low-level flying going on. When my client asked what it was about, he was told it was preparatory location scouting for your movie.’
Aldobrandini straightened up abruptly.
‘That’s absurd! You know I never delegate that sort of work.’
‘Exactly. So I engaged the services of an ex-spook who now works as a private eye in Reggio. Last night he raided the compound on the outskirts of Cosenza which this outfit uses as a base, and has just reported his findings. Briefly, the helicopter has been hired by an American company called Aeroscan Surveying. He broke into the machine and took a look inside. The entire cargo space is filled with electronic equipment and screens and seats for the operators. Further research on my part has revealed that Aeroscan is a specialised firm which uses ground-penetrating radar devices to locate objects concealed underground. Everything from unmapped sewage lines to military bunkers and archaeological remains. Are you planning to film underground, Luciano?’
‘Not till they plant me there.’
Pippo returned with a brimming glass. His master downed the contents in one and commanded a refill.
‘So this raises the question of why they are using your movie as the justification for their activities,’ Marcello went on.
‘And how they found out about the film project in the first place.’
‘Fortunately, my employee also took a look inside the temporary office they’ve set up at the site. Tacked to the wall of one of the offices was a large-scale map of the whole area around Cosenza, stamped at the bottom with a form showing details of the surveying job. The box for the title of the relevant contract contained the words “Rapture Works”.’
There was a long silence.
‘It’s beginning to look as if Jeremy’s agent was right,’ Marcello went on. ‘I’m afraid we’ve been scammed.’