Licence To Howl by Helen Harper

Chapter Nineteen

‘It’sfortunate you called me, Scarlett,’ Moretti said, peering at Devereau. ‘He’s in a bad way.’ He clicked his tongue. ‘What did you think you were doing, man? You can’t push your body to such extremes so much in a short space of time. Not without giving yourself a break in between. No wolf can do that.’ He paused. ‘Well, I can but I’m special.’

Devereau grunted. ‘It was an emergency.’

‘Mmm. I take it the murders you discovered are related to the dire situation you mentioned earlier?’

Scarlett tipped her head. ‘Yes. Things have taken a turn for the unexpected.’

‘In a good way? Should we be pleased that these people are dead? Does it mean your concerns are over?’

Her mouth tightened. ‘Unfortunately not.’

Moretti sighed. ‘You English. You always like to complicate matters.’ He handed Devereau a plate piled high with meat. ‘Here. Eat this. It will help you recover.’ He sniffed. ‘Although what you really need is rest and lots of it.’

Devereau nodded his thanks and began to eat. It was only when the first mouthful hit his stomach that he realised how truly ravenous he was. He blotted out Scarlett and Moretti’s voice and turned his whole attention to devouring the food. He barely noticed when there was a polite knock at the door and Arsenio, the kid he’d beaten in the first fight, appeared and murmured something to Moretti.

He finished the entire plate in less than five minutes. The meaty sustenance was already working wonders and he was beginning to feel strength surge into his limbs. The fact that Vissier had managed to escape was still galling but he supposed that at least he now knew what the limits of his endurance were. And that he had limits. Devereau might be a supe but he wasn’t invincible. Far from it.

‘You had me worried there for a moment,’ Scarlett murmured. ‘Don’t do that again.’

Devereau’s eyes darted to hers. She smiled at him lightly and he felt his heart flip. The night’s physical exertions might have sapped his strength but he knew that Scarlett had the ability to do the same to his emotions with little more than an uplift of the corners of her mouth.

‘Where did Tatton go?’ Devereau asked, in a bid to appear slightly less pathetic and on top of matters.

‘One of Moretti’s crew took him home after they brought you here to Piazza Armerina,’ Scarlett said. ‘There didn’t seem much point in keeping him around and he certainly had no desire to stick around. I think he prefers to stay out of bloody massacres if he can.’

Fair enough. Devereau would prefer to stay out of them too.

Moretti gestured to Arsenio, sending him away, before folding his arms. ‘I hate to add fuel to the fire,’ the Italian alpha said, ‘but you have another problem now.’

Both Scarlett and Devereau looked at him.

‘The police are searching for you. Apparently you made quite the ruckus when you left that apartment. You also left the door open. One of the neighbours looked out their window and saw you leaving. They got suspicious enough to investigate and came across the bodies. You two,’ he wagged his fingers, ‘are now the number one suspects in the gruesome murder of five people.’

Devereau cursed under his breath. That was all they needed.

Scarlett appeared less concerned. ‘Three hundred people saw us at the Colosseum. That’s got to be more than enough of an alibi for the police.’

‘Eventually,’ Moretti agreed. ‘But that doesn’t mean they won’t haul you in for questioning for several hours first. You’ll be expected to explain why you were at the crime scene in the middle of the night.’ He looked at them both. ‘I doubt you’ll want to tell them the reasons why.’

Scarlett raised her eyebrows questioningly at Devereau. He shook his head. Sarah Greensmith had made it very clear that he was in Rome without appropriate jurisdiction. There was no explanation that he could offer up to the Italian authorities that they would accept.

‘You’re foreigners,’ Moretti reminded them. ‘And supe foreigners at that. You might spend days in a police cell before you’re cleared.’

Devereau growled. ‘We don’t have that kind of time to spare.’ He rubbed the back of his neck. Spy or not, this was not the sort of situation he’d expected to find himself in.

‘My offer of friendship before was genuine,’ Moretti said. ‘What can clan Lupo do to help you?’

Devereau considered the Italian’s words and stood up, his bones cracking. His whole body felt stiff and unyielding, pain seeping in through every pore despite the meal he’d just eaten. ‘Some clothes would be good,’ he admitted. ‘Preferably not a gladiatorial costume this time.’ Moretti smiled faintly while Devereau looked at Scarlett. ‘Vissier is Mr Motorcycle. Where do you think he was before he showed up at Solentino’s place?’ he asked her. ‘He only escaped a bullet in his skull because he wasn’t there.’ He had a theory but he wanted to hear her confirm it.

She raised her shoulders in a shrug. ‘Vissier followed us first to the hotel and then to the Colosseum. He left halfway through the fights. If he didn’t head straight to Solentino at that point then I reckon he went to Hotel Condotti to nosey around your room while you were obviously otherwise occupied. Solentino was probably dotting his Is and crossing his Ts and doing what he could to check that you would be trustworthy even if you did do as he requested and chop off my head.’

Moretti’s eyes widened slightly. ‘Goodness,’ he murmured. ‘How dramatic. What exactly have you gotten yourselves entangled in?’

‘A mess,’ Devereau said shortly. ‘Do the Italian police have our names yet?’

He shook his head. ‘Not yet. It’s only a matter of time though.’

He grimaced. It wouldn’t help that his phone was now lying amidst the debris of his scattered clothing at Solentino’s apartment. ‘We should have time to get to Hotel Condotti then,’ Devereau said. ‘We can check to see if there’s any evidence that Vissier did break into my room and I can also grab what I need.’

‘Then what?’ Scarlett inquired.

Devereau passed a hand over his forehead. In theory he should write another draft email for Greensmith so she was appraised of the situation. But it was now four o’clock in the morning in Rome and three o’clock in London. No matter how diligent the MI5 agent was, she’d surely be sleeping. Devereau didn’t want to have to wait around until she woke up. Until they knew who had killed Solentino and his men and why, they couldn’t afford to rest. No matter how shitty he was feeling.

‘We’ll go to the embassy,’ he said finally. ‘There’s someone there we can talk to.’

‘We?’ she asked.

‘You’re now implicated as much as I am,’ he said. ‘There’s no other choice.’

‘If you’re in as much of a hurry as I think you are,’ Moretti said, ‘let me send some of my people to the hotel to look around and pick up your things. In the event that the police do identify you quickly, that will be the best option for all of us. In the meantime, you can go straight to the British embassy and we can meet later.’ He paused. ‘If it’s possible to do so.’ He wagged his finger at Devereau. ‘I wasn’t lying before, however. You really do need considerable rest. You might end up doing yourself permanent damage if you keep pushing.’

‘I’ll be fine.’

‘You don’t look fine,’ Scarlett said, almost sternly.

‘Let’s worry about me later,’ he told her. ‘Let’s focus on who might have killed Solentino and nicked his plans for terrorism first.’

For the first time, Moretti looked genuinely concerned. ‘Terrorism? Things are that serious?’

Devereau recalled Solentino’s grim allusions to other terrible and tragic attacks. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I think they are.’

* * *

The British Embassywas a large squat building located on Via XX Settembre, smack bang in the centre of the city. The gates were firmly closed and, while the wall surrounding the building looked easy enough to climb, Devereau didn’t relish the thought of attempting any sort of minor acrobatics in his current state. Not to mention that any guards patrolling inside would be likely to shoot first and ask questions later. The last thing either he or Scarlett needed right now was to be peppered with damned bullets. Officially, the building didn’t open for another four hours. This was, however, an emergency.

‘Call the emergency embassy number on the website,’ he told Scarlett, ‘and ask for Maximillian Jones.’

She nodded and did as he asked. He watched while she waded through various recorded messages before finally managing to get hold of a real person. He wasn’t the only one who’d been suffering from their long night. Scarlett’s skin was far paler than normal and he knew she was feeling the same level of anxiety that he was. More lives could be resting on both their shoulders right now. It wasn’t a pleasant thought.

‘Someone is coming to meet us,’ she finally said, hanging up and tucking the phone into her pocket. ‘Whoever this Maximillian fellow is, he must be someone important. As soon as I mentioned his name, I was told we’d be admitted straight away.’

Almost on cue, the embassy gates began to swing open. It gave Devereau some hope that he was not only going to be taken seriously but that someone was already waking Sarah Greensmith up in London. ‘Go MI5,’ he murmured.

A young man with ruffled hair and an open shirt appeared at the embassy’s front door with a tablet in his hands. He was accompanied by two blank faced security guards holding large guns. The man beckoned them forward. Scarlett and Devereau wasted no time, slipping through the open gates and up the few steps.

‘I’m Devereau Webb.’

Scarlett inclined her head. ‘Scarlett Cook.’

The man said nothing. Instead he looked down at the screen of his tablet and looked up again. ‘Do you have your passports?’

‘No.’

‘You should have them on you at all times for identification.’ The man sighed as if this were all terribly inconvenient. Devereau bit his lip and tried to avoid snapping that he was supposed to be a fucking spy. He didn’t want to be identified at all times. ‘But very well,’ the young man continued. ‘Follow me.’

The two guards immediately moved, flanking Scarlett and Devereau as if they were dangerous criminals. ‘We have silver bullets,’ one of them said for no other reason than pointless intimidation. Devereau rolled his eyes. Even now, bruised, limping and serving his own damned country, he had to put up with the same old anti-supe bullshit.

‘Silver bullets?’ Scarlett cooed. ‘How exciting! Are they pretty? And shiny? I like shiny things.’ Her eyes drifted to the guard’s neck. ‘And blood. I like blood too. Especially from men in uniform.’

The guard couldn’t stop himself from recoiling. Devereau suppressed a grin.

‘Alright,’ the younger man with the tablet snapped. ‘Enough of that.’

Scarlett pouted. ‘He started it.’

Devereau pretended not to notice that the second security guard was eyeing Scarlett with lascivious interest. His buddy might not enjoy the thought of being fed upon by a vampire but he was clearly game. ‘Let’s get a move on,’ he said. He squared his shoulders, ignored the renewed flash of hot pain that rippled down his body, and strode inside the building.

They trailed through various wide corridors which were well appointed, clean, contained some interesting art work but still maintained the definite whiff of strict adherence to bureaucracy. Eventually, when it seemed as if they were deep in the very bowels of the embassy, they were deposited in a small room with a keypad entry. There was nobody inside. But there was an open laptop sitting atop a narrow aluminium desk with Sarah Greensmith’s face blinking blearily on the screen. She’d clearly been roused directly from her bed. Her eyes were heavy-lidded and, instead of her usual smart suit, she was wearing a terry cloth bathrobe. Still, as soon as Devereau came into view, she straightened up, her expression altering to its default business-like facade.

‘Mr Webb.’

Devereau nodded at her. ‘I was expecting Maximillian Jones.’

‘He doesn’t exist. His name is merely a code word for action stations. We are MI5, Mr Webb. We do like our little secretive games.’ She permitted herself a tiny smile. Then her gaze hardened. ‘The vampire has to wait outside.’

‘The vampire,’ he replied coolly, ‘already knows everything.’

Scarlett moved into view and waved enthusiastically. ‘It’s true. I do.’

Greensmith did not look pleased. ‘Nobody,’ she snapped, ‘is supposed to know what you’re doing or who you work for, Mr Webb. That’s been made clear to you on several occasions.’

‘She worked out that I’m with MI5 all on her own,’ Devereau said, ‘which is a shortcoming on your part, not mine. But if you want to scold me instead of finding out what the real problem is, then knock yourself out. For my part, I think we’ve got bigger problems than protocol.’

Greensmith scowled. From her expression, she wanted to pursue the matter of Scarlett’s involvement further and Devereau was certain it was a conversation he’d have to deal with later. Fortunately for all of them, however, she also knew when to prioritise. ‘Tell me,’ she said. ‘Go on then. What’s the problem and why is it an emergency?’

Devereau drew in a breath. Then he explained what had happened to Solentino and what they’d seen at his apartment, leaving out no details.

Sarah Greensmith listened, her face giving away none of her thoughts. It was only when Devereau finished speaking that she spoke. ‘Do you think this Geraint Vissier is the one responsible?’

‘I don’t think so. Not from the way he acted when he entered the apartment. He was as shocked as we were.’

‘In fact,’ Scarlett added, ‘he probably thinks that we’re the ones responsible. He certainly ran fast enough to indicate that he believed his own life was in danger.’

Greensmith sucked on her bottom lip. ‘And there was definitely no sign of Alina Bonnet’s body?’

‘Nope. It was her blood on the wall, however. If she’s still alive, I doubt she’s in good shape.’

‘Why take her and leave the others?’ she mused.

Devereau knew that Greensmith wasn’t expecting an answer from him. It was just as well. He didn’t have any answers to give.

‘Maybe whoever is responsible wanted to keep her alive because she has information about Solentino’s plans that they still want,’ Scarlett suggested. ‘Or maybe there’s more to Alina Bonnet than we realised and we’re underestimating her involvement. Or maybe the killer was simply squeamish because she’s female. Who the fuck knows?’

‘Hmm.’ Greensmith tapped her mouth thoughtfully. ‘Regardless of the outcome of Ms Bonnet’s disappearance, we have no way of knowing whether any of these developments will prove to be a good thing or a bad thing.’

Given the killer’s lack of compunction, not to mention the manner of Solentino’s death, Devereau strongly suspected the latter. He was the novice at all this stuff, however. He was prepared to defer to her, at least for now.

‘Give me five minutes,’ Greensmith told them. ‘I need to pass this up the chain of command. Don’t go anywhere.’ She glared at them both through the screen. ‘And don’t do anything stupid.’

‘A thank you would have been nice,’ Scarlett murmured, as the laptop screen went momentarily blank.

Devereau sat down heavily on a nearby chair and closed his eyes. His head was pounding and his legs were feeling shaky again.

‘R.B.P.L.’

‘Pardon?’ Scarlett asked.

‘The letters we found on that piece of paper. R. B. P. L. What could they mean?’

There was a pause. Devereau opened one eye and squinted at Scarlett. She waved her phone at him. ‘Google says Risk Based Profit and Loss.’

Huh. ‘Lots or risk,’ he muttered. ‘And so far, not very much profit.’

‘Indeed.’

A spasm of sharp pain assailed Devereau’s gut. He winced.

‘What is it?’

He rubbed his stomach. ‘Those damned laxatives.’

Scarlett pulled a face. ‘Still no sign of the ring?’

‘Not yet.’ He sighed. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘Hey, at least we know where it is.’

‘I wasn’t referring to the ring.’ Devereau shifted on the chair. ‘Well, I am sorry about the ring but what I really meant was that I’m sorry for getting you involved in all this. I shouldn’t have done it.’

Scarlett snorted. ‘You didn’t force me, Devereau. I am the master of my own fate, and perfectly capable of making my own decisions. I chose to come along and help out. I didn’t have to.’ She paused. ‘Although I did kind of think that being a spy meant more time hanging around casinos and jumping out of planes to ski down mountains.’

‘I know, right? I’ve not had a single Martini yet. Neither have I been given an Aston Martin to drive.’

Scarlett winked at him. ‘You do have a femme fatale by your side.’

‘You’re telling me,’ Devereau said.

The smile dropped from Scarlett’s face. For one long, outstretched moment, they both stared at each other. ‘Dev,’ she said. ‘Listen, I …’

‘Mr Webb?’ Sarah Greensmith’s tinny voice broke in. ‘Are you there?’

Damn it. Scarlett and he seemed fated to endure eternal interruptions. He stood up and returned to the laptop. ‘I’m here.’

Greensmith gazed out at them. She didn’t look remotely happy. ‘Okay, Mr Webb. I have booked you onto the next available flight out of Rome.’

Devereau stiffened. That was not what he’d been expecting.

‘Miss Cook,’ she continued, ‘will have to make her own arrangements.’ Greensmith’s eyes were flinty. ‘But we would appreciate it if she is included in the debrief when you return to London.’

‘This isn’t over,’ Devereau said. ‘We don’t know who murdered Solentino. We don’t know what’s happening with his terrorism plans.’

‘You also don’t know what those plans were, Mr Webb. You were tasked with infiltrating Solentino’s gang. With his death, alongside the deaths of the other known members of his cell, your role is now over. Other sections of MI5 will take up the baton from here. Those murders have escalated the situation and this is no longer merely about information gathering. We will liaise with the Italian security forces and then decide how to proceed.’ She paused. ‘But thank you for your efforts thus far. For your first assignment you did an excellent job.’

Devereau clenched his jaw. ‘I thought this was my second assignment,’ he said pointedly. ‘I dealt with the blackmail situation involving Alexander Carruthers, remember?’

Greensmith didn’t miss a beat. ‘I meant international assignment. Someone from the embassy there will transport you to the airport and somebody else will collect your things from your hotel room and ensure they are forwarded to your home address in London. In the meantime, I will send a car to pick you up at Heathrow and then we shall meet after that. Understood?’

He understood alright. ‘You’re shutting me out.’

Greensmith sighed. ‘That’s not what’s happening at all.’ Her expression, however, told otherwise.

‘I have a good grasp of the situation here in Rome,’ he lied. It was as good a grasp as anyone else had anyway. ‘I’ve met Solentino. I know how the man worked. I’m best placed to look into who killed him and what’s going to happen next.’

‘We have other agents and you’re very inexperienced, Mr Webb.’

‘I’m already here on the ground. Returning to London is stupid when things could already be in motion to put Solentino’s plans into action. Whoever killed him could already be making their move.’

‘You told me it would be after December 21^st.’

‘That was when Solentino was in charge. Now that he’s gone, the time line may well have changed.’ Devereau could feel his frustration growing.

‘We are aware of that and will factor it into what we do next,’ Greensmith told him. ‘I appreciate that you think of yourself as a lone wolf but MI5 is a large organisation. We require different services now and there are other people more suited to them. Not to mention that your new status as potential suspect for the murders makes it difficult for you to continue.’ She softened her voice. ‘It’s not a snub or any kind of rebuke, Devereau. Don’t treat it as such. You’ve provided us with great information so far. You remember you mentioned Bartan? The one who Avanopoulos was supposedly going to replace?’

‘Yes.’

‘We tracked him to Berlin. He was found dead two weeks ago. His throat was slit. There are no suspects and it appears that the German police aren’t looking very hard. Bartan was well known to them and had his own ties with various minor terrorist organisations. That information cements our concerns about what Solentino was up to. What you’ve done is provide us with the confirmation we need to proceed. You should feel pleased with what you’ve accomplished.’

Maybe. But it wasn’t enough. He counted to five in his head then bit out a nod. ‘Very well.’

‘I’ll see you in person soon,’ Greensmith said. ‘Take care.’ Then the screen went blank.

Devereau ground his teeth. He was invested now. Personally. It wasn’t easy to follow orders and take a step back.

‘So,’ Scarlett said, ‘it appears my career as a spy is over before it’s even really begun. And,’ she added, ‘my head remains thankfully on my shoulders.’ Then she glanced at him and murmured sotto voce, ‘you didn’t tell her that your belongings will no longer be at the hotel.’

Devereau flicked her a look. ‘No,’ he said, ‘I didn’t.’ He paused. ‘But then I didn’t get the chance.’

‘Uh huh.’

He shrugged at her, ignoring the brief ripple of pain which ran through his body as a result of that simple action.

Scarlett smiled slightly. ‘I’ll get Simon to pack my own things and send them to London. I might as well come to the airport with you now. I’m sure I can nab another seat on that same flight.’ Their eyes met. Devereau knew instantly that they were on the same page.

‘Sure,’ he said. ‘No problem.’