On the Road to Calabria
Blume found the Class A Mercedes 160 he had stolen a disappointingly boxy little car, though it ran smoothly, and, half an hour later, he had to admit it handled quite well as he engaged in the nifty steering needed to negotiate the alternating one-way lane of the A3 autostrada, in construction since 1964 and still unfinished.
He was not likely to make up the two-hour headstart Konrad had and stop him from doing something stupid, but he saw no harm in trying. He directed the Mercedes into the narrow lane demarcated on one side by traffic cones and on the other by orange plastic road studs that slapped against the wheels in a satisfyingly rhythmic way as he drove over them, then negotiated a hairpin bend formed by concrete blocks.
A faded warning sign with two arrows indicated that the traffic was now two-way, which, in view of the trucks now bearing down on him, was self-evident. The effect was so like a video game that he found it hard to take the threat of an imminent head-on collision entirely seriously. Seeking a soundtrack to his adventure, he turned on the car stereo, and was horrified as Gigi D’Alessio’s wavering little voice started bleating out a folksy Neapolitan love song. He pushed at random buttons hoping to get the radio, but the stereo flashed some sort of message and then went quiet. He gave up. It was high time he got his eyes back on the road.
The stretch of the Salerno-Reggio Calabria autostrada he was now on had given up any pretence of being a work in progress. The warning signs were themselves in need of some repair. The temporary concrete dividers had acquired an air of permanence. They were barriers to the south, actively discouraging visitors. The smallest act, a dropped piece of concrete, a broken-down vehicle, a misplaced barrier, effectively cut off road access to all southern Italy.
A truck had stopped next to a cluster of porta-potty cabins, two of them toppled over. A few yards further on, a woman was selling fruit from a stall covered by a tarpaulin, held down by guy lines attached to butane gas canisters, which were sitting in the emergency lane. Blume had allowed a convoy of trucks to go hurtling by, adjusted the trajectory of the car which had been thrown sideways and towards the divider by the heavy slipstream they left in their wake, when he heard a phone ringing, apparently coming from the car stereo. He glanced down at the stereo, which displayed the message ‘incoming call’.
A Bluetooth connection between his phone and stereo. Neat. Or it would be if he knew which button to press. There were a few on the steering wheel, and he gave them a try. The ringing stopped.
‘ Ma vaffanculo,’ he muttered, banging the steering wheel.
‘So you steal a ROS vehicle and then you’re the one who starts shouting obscenities at me?’ said the stereo speakers.
‘You heard that?’ said Blume. He found the volume control and dialled down Massimiliani’s voice.
‘What the fuck, Blume?’
‘I am in hot pursuit.’
‘Of Hoffmann? The genius recruits they sent have let it be known that Hoffmann’s nowhere to be found. So they managed to lose you, Hoffmann and their car. I foresee two short intelligence careers.’
‘Not their fault,’ said Blume. ‘One partner should always be considerably older, and they thought they had been detailed just to act as chauffeurs.’
‘Forget about them. Tell me what’s going on.’
‘I am following Hoffmann.’
‘He’s in the camper van and you’re behind him in a stolen ROS vehicle? So those two also missed an orange motor home pulling out of the hotel as they drove in?’
Blume thought about it. He wanted to talk to Konrad, maybe dissuade him, but he was not sure he wanted to hand Konrad over to Massimiliani just like that. Konrad had a big headstart but in a very slow vehicle, and Blume felt inclined to give him this advantage, at least for now. Also, though he suppressed the thought as best he could, he did not want Massimiliani to know he had been outwitted by Konrad.
‘Sure. I have him in my sights.’
‘This is unbelievable. Does he know you’re following him?’
‘No. I had to act quickly, though. No time to explain to the agents you sent.’
‘I didn’t send those two… If Konrad’s trying to get away, why didn’t he make a run for it during the night, or in the early hours of the morning?’
‘I don’t know. Ask him. Maybe he just found something out,’ said Blume. He rummaged with his free hand in his backpack and pulled out Konrad’s phone to make sure it was still on.
‘Talk about a loose cannon. Don’t let him out of your sight while we arrange a roadblock. We can use the signal from his phone to see where he is. Keep yours on, too.’
‘Sure,’ said Blume. ‘But I need to know where he’s going, what he’s doing.’
‘Not now. I’ll call back.’ Massimiliani’s voice vanished.
Blume was so busy pressing buttons on the car stereo that had turned into a speaker phone to see how it worked that he almost went hurtling into the back of a Y-10 with a number plate from the late ’80s dawdling along at around sixty kilometres an hour. His passing swerve took out three traffic cones. Then, unexpectedly, there was a brief section of genuine two-lane divided road, just like a motorway in an ordinary country.
He got the radio working, and turned up the volume the better to hear a woman singing a song, which sounded Disneyesque. He found her voice a bit nasal, too, but was sorry when the song ended, then was inordinately annoyed at the fact they did not identify what it had been. When had they stopped identifying songs on the radio? When he was young, they always told you before the song and then again afterwards. The unidentified song faded into another. But he recognized this as Beyonce. He remembered sitting in the company of Caterina’s son Elia and watching a music video, and actively committing the name to memory. Beyonce so called because she’s bouncy. Maybe it would be a second topic of conversation with Elia besides the perpetually disappointing performance of the Roma football team. Elia was too young for the bouncy woman anyhow. The voice had a nice growl and power and invincibility. Shoulda put a ring on it, uh-huh-huh. Good song to encourage reckless driving.
It was possible, if damned unlikely, the extra speed would eventually bring him up behind the camper van. The dangerous driving required his full attention, which kept his thoughts away from the complicated mess he was making of everything. He needed to catch up with Konrad, stop him, talk to him, and then turn him in. He needed to get down to Calabria, find out about this woman, Curmaci’s wife. Massimiliani, for all he thought he was subtle, had failed to register any surprise whatsoever that Hoffmann was headed southwards on the A3. Evidently they already knew Konrad’s destination.
Blume switched off the stereo that presumed to answer his calls for him, and when his phone rang a quarter of an hour later, he had to hold it against his ear in the normal manner of all the other drivers on the road.
‘Can you see him?’
‘At this precise moment, no,’ said Blume. ‘But we are on the A3. There is no other way to go.’
Massimiliani seemed to find Blume’s answer believable. ‘I’m going to call you back soon.’
He meant what he said. Three minutes later, he was back.
‘Look, before I get to asking you about the change in plans, I want you to fall back a little,’ said Massimiliani.
‘What?’
‘You’re too close. Your phones started moving away from the hotel at exactly the same time, and have remained locked at the same point ever since. From here it looks like you’re tailgating him. Drop back a bit. If he goes off the autostrada, we’ll let you know.’
‘You’d think Konrad would know better than to leave his phone on,’ said Blume. ‘He’ll probably turn it off any minute now, though I suppose you’re tracking the IMEI number, so he’d need to dump or destroy the phone…’
‘I wouldn’t know about that sort of stuff,’ said Massimiliani. ‘I’m just passing on some advice from a person here who knows more than me, and he says to drop back.’
‘OK,’ said Blume. He trapped the steering wheel between his knees and pulled Konrad’s phone out of his pocket with his other hand and tried to slide the battery cover off with his thumb. It would be suspicious if Konrad vanished from the network just as they were talking about it, but he saw no alternative. Finally, the battery cover popped off.
‘Of course, now we know his story, we know his destination,’ said Massimiliani.
‘We do?’ said Blume.
‘Sure. He’s headed towards Calabria. Where else does that road you’re on lead? You’re still too close, if you don’t mind me saying. Pull back.’
‘Konrad speeded up. I need to stay close.’
‘Yes, I noticed that. That camper van must have some engine,’ said Massimiliani.
Blume fingered the battery in Konrad’s phone. ‘Suppose you’re wrong?’
‘About his destination? No. We know it’s Calabria, but not for the reasons we thought.’
‘What are the reasons?’
‘You’ll get briefed in good time, but for now…’
‘Tell me what you know about Konrad. I’ll be waiting for your call,’ said Blume. He hung up and put both hands on the wheel.