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“As you say, sir.”
The huff of air is audible even over the phone. “Hickman, I don’t like your tone. Do the job, then get back here. Bring the diamonds with you. And I want proof you’ve followed my instructions.”
“Proof? But you said wanted the body to disappear.”
“That’s right...” He falls silent for several seconds. “Bring me that tattoo she has on the back of her neck.”
Parroting the words, “The tattoo, sir?”
“That’s right. It’s unique. Slice off the skin and bring it back with you. A little memento of my traitorous ex-lover.”
My mouth is dry. My tongue spongy. “Yes, sir.”
“And call me tonight when it’s done.”
“Yes, sir.”
The line disconnects and I sag down onto the edge of the bath, my mind whirling.
Murder her?
Murder Katya?
Spy in the camp?
?
No…
?
Surely not?
It doesn’t feel right.
My gut says it’s not right.
Turning off the water, I ease the door open an inch or so. Katya’s still out on the balcony, the coffee cup cradled in her palm and, eyes closed, her face raised to the sun.
Perching on the side of the bath, I scrub hands over my face.
In La Dolce Vita, what happened?
What actually happened?
The gunman, down, aiming upwards… Aiming for Romano…
Was he aiming for Romano?
Think…
The line of sight…
Where was he trying to aim?
Romano’s face morphing from anger to surprise to wide-eyed shock…
… grabbing hold of Katya, holding her for a frozen moment then diving, taking her with him…
