Read Online Blue Moonlight by Vincent Zandri - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Vincent Zandri
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problem. In no time, Lola will be loving you again, Mr. Moonlight. But then, perhaps, that kind of love is already too broken for repair.”
My stomach sinks some more.
“My immediate priority is to get my hands on that flash drive.”
“I understand,” he says, sliding off the stool. “Let’s get started on it right away, shall we?”
He heads back behind his desk, opens the top right-hand drawer, pulls out an automatic. A .9 mm Walther PPK, along with two ammo clips filled with rounds, and its elastic shoulder holster. He sets the stuff down on the desk.
“I’m sure you’re familiar with one of these?” he says.
“Yes, sir,” I say. “James Bond’s preferred choice of hand cannon.”
“There will be considerable risk in this assignment. You must be cautious, vigilant.”
“I used to be a cop,” I reveal. “A New York cop. And truth be told, Francesco, someone’s always taking a shot at me. So it seems.”
He smiles. “Cloak and dagger,” he repeats.
Cloak and fucking dagger.
As I said, I’ve been to Florence before. Two decades, a wife, a life, an attempted suicide, and one beautiful little son ago. But Francesco is taking no chances. Together, we stand before the wall-mounted map of Florence. Using Il Ghiro as my benchmark, he employs his fingertip to trace the way to the Duomo and the large square it occupies. He also shows me the location of one of at least half a dozen cafés where Clyne, Barter, and Lola tend to spend a large part of their afternoons drinking coffee right out in the open like they haven’t a care in the world, other than mingling with the tourists. He also points out Harry’s Bar, which is located in a tall building not far from the banks of the Arno.
“Apparently, they feel they’re invisible,” I say.
“Or they are simply arrogant,” Francesco points out in his perfect but Italian-accented English. “Clyne has his hands on the locations of a whole bunch of nukes and has devised a scheme to sell the information to the highest bidder, be it the Russian mob or perhaps a rogue terrorist organization. It’s no coincidence that Barter has agreed to work with the former cop. It tells me it’s quite possible that Barter was already in on the project in one form or another even before the data drive landed on European soil. An investor perhaps, or even a first-level player.”
Francesco makes sense and I tell him so.
“
Si, si,
” agrees Francesco. “We might even suppose that, at this point, the only thing keeping Clyne alive is that he knows where the flash drive is hidden, and perhaps Barter does not. Or vice versa.”
“That’s definitely a possibility. You really think Lola could know of its location even if her boyfriend doesn’t?”
He cocks his head, his eyes glued to the map and the small black ovular reproduction of the Duomo and the cathedral it covers.
“No, I do not,” he tells me. “However, if you can perhaps find a way to get her to open up to you, she might be willing to help you find it. But she must feel she can trust you first.”
I take hold of his forearm. I don’t hold it tight, but I squeeze it just enough to get his attention. “I’m not about to place Lola in danger,” I say. “No matter what, I still love her, and if what I’m about to do exposes her to danger in any way, I’ll stop.”
I release his arm.
“Remember, this is love and war we’re dealing with, Mr. Moonlight,” he explains, his brown eyes glued to mine. “And all is fair.”
Francesco grabs my backpack. He leads me out of his office, down a narrow corridor, past the entrance doors, and finally to my room, the door of which is already open.
It’s a large room with a tile floor and stucco walls, a cathedral ceiling with thick beams running across it and a
Casablanca
fan hanging down. In the center of the room is a double bed supported by a metal frame, and two wall-mounted sconces for light on either side. To the right of the bed is a small end
My stomach sinks some more.
“My immediate priority is to get my hands on that flash drive.”
“I understand,” he says, sliding off the stool. “Let’s get started on it right away, shall we?”
He heads back behind his desk, opens the top right-hand drawer, pulls out an automatic. A .9 mm Walther PPK, along with two ammo clips filled with rounds, and its elastic shoulder holster. He sets the stuff down on the desk.
“I’m sure you’re familiar with one of these?” he says.
“Yes, sir,” I say. “James Bond’s preferred choice of hand cannon.”
“There will be considerable risk in this assignment. You must be cautious, vigilant.”
“I used to be a cop,” I reveal. “A New York cop. And truth be told, Francesco, someone’s always taking a shot at me. So it seems.”
He smiles. “Cloak and dagger,” he repeats.
Cloak and fucking dagger.
As I said, I’ve been to Florence before. Two decades, a wife, a life, an attempted suicide, and one beautiful little son ago. But Francesco is taking no chances. Together, we stand before the wall-mounted map of Florence. Using Il Ghiro as my benchmark, he employs his fingertip to trace the way to the Duomo and the large square it occupies. He also shows me the location of one of at least half a dozen cafés where Clyne, Barter, and Lola tend to spend a large part of their afternoons drinking coffee right out in the open like they haven’t a care in the world, other than mingling with the tourists. He also points out Harry’s Bar, which is located in a tall building not far from the banks of the Arno.
“Apparently, they feel they’re invisible,” I say.
“Or they are simply arrogant,” Francesco points out in his perfect but Italian-accented English. “Clyne has his hands on the locations of a whole bunch of nukes and has devised a scheme to sell the information to the highest bidder, be it the Russian mob or perhaps a rogue terrorist organization. It’s no coincidence that Barter has agreed to work with the former cop. It tells me it’s quite possible that Barter was already in on the project in one form or another even before the data drive landed on European soil. An investor perhaps, or even a first-level player.”
Francesco makes sense and I tell him so.
“
Si, si,
” agrees Francesco. “We might even suppose that, at this point, the only thing keeping Clyne alive is that he knows where the flash drive is hidden, and perhaps Barter does not. Or vice versa.”
“That’s definitely a possibility. You really think Lola could know of its location even if her boyfriend doesn’t?”
He cocks his head, his eyes glued to the map and the small black ovular reproduction of the Duomo and the cathedral it covers.
“No, I do not,” he tells me. “However, if you can perhaps find a way to get her to open up to you, she might be willing to help you find it. But she must feel she can trust you first.”
I take hold of his forearm. I don’t hold it tight, but I squeeze it just enough to get his attention. “I’m not about to place Lola in danger,” I say. “No matter what, I still love her, and if what I’m about to do exposes her to danger in any way, I’ll stop.”
I release his arm.
“Remember, this is love and war we’re dealing with, Mr. Moonlight,” he explains, his brown eyes glued to mine. “And all is fair.”
Francesco grabs my backpack. He leads me out of his office, down a narrow corridor, past the entrance doors, and finally to my room, the door of which is already open.
It’s a large room with a tile floor and stucco walls, a cathedral ceiling with thick beams running across it and a
Casablanca
fan hanging down. In the center of the room is a double bed supported by a metal frame, and two wall-mounted sconces for light on either side. To the right of the bed is a small end
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