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.But, yes, I’m pretty good.I do a lot of interpreting of Italians who think they can speak English.It’s amazing how many of them believe that.”“You interpret into Italian, too? You can do that?”Kristin replied in perfect Roman dialect: “Er mestier mio è a fa’ capi’ fra loro du’ persone che parleno lingue differenti; e così ripeto a tutt’e due quello che je farebbe comodo d’ ave’ detto.I’m a diplomat.”“Ammazza,” said Blume.“You still look American, though.” He lowered his gaze to her ankles and the faded geometry on his mother’s thinning carpet, and said, “You said you were a legat.Do you carry an FBI badge around?”“What do you think?”“I bet you don’t.”Kristin stood up, undid the bottom button of her green silk blouse, and put her hand into the waistband of her skirt, briefly exposing her navel.Then she pulled out what Blume at first took to be part of the inner lining of the skirt, but turned out to be a black silk bag.“It’s not some special-issue FBI thing,” she said in response to his stare.“It’s a perfectly ordinary Eagle Creek money belt.”“I wasn’t looking at the belt.”She unzipped the bag, pulled out a plastic-covered ID badge, and tossed it to him.He could feel the warmth of her body on it.He cupped it in his hands, then examined the gold-and-blue emblem.“Fidelity, Bravery, Integrity,” he read out.“The FBI seal is the same as the European Union flag.”“Here.” She held out her hand, and he put the card into it.Her green blouse still hung loose, and the silk money bag sat on the sofa between them like a discarded undergarment.Blume felt suddenly parched.“I’m going for a glass of water.Can I offer you something?” Blume moved over to the door.“No, thanks.”When he returned to the study holding a glass, Kristin had stood up and was standing in the doorway.The slight breeze flowing from the kitchen window rippled her blouse.“It’s stuffy in there.”“My shrine, as you called it.”He set down the glass and kissed her.A fractional thought or phrase crossed his mind, something to do with lips sucking forth his soul, but flew completely out of his mind when he felt her mouth part under the pressure.All thoughts drained out of him, to be replaced by a single, all-embracing sense of joyful disbelief.With his one functional arm, he fumbled at her blouse.The straps of her bra felt rough and tight against her skin.He pushed and she walked backward into the room.He guided her feet over the creases and furrows of the Persian carpet without allowing her to fall until they reached the sofa.He labored at unbuttoning her blouse, then pulled down her bra until it was below her breasts, plumping them up.Kristin held up a warning finger, sat up and deftly released the fastener at the back while Blume gazed transfixed by a whirl of light freckles running down from her right shoulder.He started pulling at her skirt.It bunched and folded and rose, but he did not seem to be able to reach the end of it.Frustrated, he pulled his arm out of its sling and tried to get a better purchase on the sofa.“Wait.” She stood up and stepped out of her skirt as if it were three sizes too large.Then she held out her hand to him.“Not in here,” she said.“Let’s go into your room.”Blume checked the clock.It was already seven forty-five.He should have gotten going earlier.He got up, showered, and dressed, then went into the kitchen, wondering what he could offer her for breakfast.He was standing at the open window of his kitchen, staring down at the street below, when Kristin touched him on the back.“It’s noisy in here,” she said, raising her voice above the traffic noise.She folded her arms across her breasts.“I know,” roared Blume as an ambulance went whooping by.“Why have you got all the windows open, then?”“Because of some rotten kitchen that was in the chicken fridge.”“What?”“Other way round.Rotten chicken in the kitchen fridge.” He closed the window.“I opened the fridge to get some milk for my coffee.The smell is pretty foul.Also, there’s no milk.”“Any other food in there?”“Not so as you’d recognize it.”Kristin wrinkled her nose.“How about we go out for breakfast?”“Good idea,” said Blume.“You get dressed, I’ve got some calls to make.”Kristin left to shower and dress, and Blume phoned Principe.This time he answered, though he sounded like he was still in bed.Blume said he needed to get a team into Pernazzo’s flat.Circumstances had changed, he said, even though they had not.Before Principe could raise any objections, Blume gave him the address and said he’d meet him there in ninety minutes.That way, Principe would have time to prepare the warrants or his excuses, and Blume would have time to have breakfast with Kristin.Then, at twenty past eight, they left the house together.50SUNDAY, SEPTEMBER 5, 8:22 A.M.PERNAZZO WAS ON the point of turning on the engine and driving away when his target, arm in a sling, appeared in front of the apartment building.Pernazzo took Alleva’s Davis P-32 out of Clemente’s backpack and climbed out, but held back to calculate line of sight, distance, and pace.The front door of the building opened again and a woman stepped out.She fell in beside the target and linked her arm through his good arm.The woman was an unforeseen element, but as she was blocking the commissioner’s only means of defense, her presence was almost certainly an advantage.He would simply walk up behind them and plug the two bullets into the back of his head, and plant the third one in his face if he came down backward—at the top of his spine if he went down forward.The woman would scream.Maybe two-two, one-one would be the best combination.Clack-clack, then people would look round in mild surprise and hear a soft pop, then another.He’d see the stupid looks of puzzlement on the faces of the passersby, like when he did that idiot outside the pizzeria.There would be disapproving frowns at the two people suddenly lolling on the sidewalk, then a gradual reappraisal and alarm.Some would even smile, as if recognizing something.Pernazzo stayed on the opposite side and allowed Blume and the woman to remain thirty paces ahead.Outside mobile telephone shops and take-out pizza outlets, entire committees of early-rising Sunday time-wasters loitered on the sidewalk.He glanced up and down the street and made a rapid count of the people he could see.Apart from the targets, he could see a pair of girls walking toward them and him, five people standing outside or ready to enter their apartment buildings, four or maybe five people behind him.The bright marble statues of Jesus and John the Baptist poised on the top of the facade of San Giovanni were visible at the end of the street, their arms raised as if in gentle appeal to the traffic below to shut the fuck up just for once.Pernazzo crossed over to the same side of the street as his two targets and picked up his pace.A small knot of bus and tram drivers in blue stood on the sidewalk, for no visible purpose, and he passed them by rapidly.A fat man with a small dog stared at Pernazzo as he hurried by.Pernazzo stared at the dog, which was crapping right in the middle of the sidewalk [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]