According to the blue light on Gabriel’s phone, Janson’s device was just west of the San Marco Museum, probably on the Via San Gallo. Unit 8200 had cautioned that the geolocation plot was accurate only to about forty meters, which meant the phone could also be on the Via Santa Reparata or the Via della Ruote. All three streets were lined with small discount hotels and hostels. Gabriel counted at least fourteen such establishments where Niklaus Janson might have found lodging.
The exact spot upon which the blue dot rested corresponded to the address of a hotel appropriately called the Piccolo. Directly across the street was a restaurant where Gabriel lunched in the manner of a man for whom time was of no consequence. Donati, his phone reassembled and operational, dined on the Via Santa Reparata; Chiara, around the corner on the Villa della Ruote.
Gabriel and Chiara each had a copy of Janson’s official Swiss Guard photograph on their phones. It showed a serious young man with short hair and small dark eyes set within an angular face. Trustworthy, thought Gabriel, but by no means a saint. Janson’s file listed his height as the metric equivalent of about six feet. His weight was seventy-five kilograms, or one hundred and sixty-five pounds.
By three fifteen they had seen no sign of him. Chiara moved to the restaurant opposite the Hotel Piccolo; Donati, to the Villa della Ruote. On the Via Santa Reparata, Gabriel spent much of the time staring at his phone, exhorting the winking blue light into movement. At five o’clock, twelve hours after its initialdiscovery, its position was unchanged. Despairing, Gabriel conjured an image of an unplugged smartphone expiring slowly in an abandoned room littered with empty takeaway cartons.
A text message from Chiara lifted his spirits.I’m now fifteen pounds overweight. Maybe we should just call the number.
What if he was involved?
I thought you said we weren’t there yet.
We aren’t. But we’re getting closer by the minute.
At half past five they changed positions a second time. Gabriel went to a restaurant on the Villa della Ruote. He took a table on the street and picked at a plate of spaghetti pomodoro without appetite.
“If it’s not to your liking,” said the waiter, “I can bring you something else.”
Gabriel ordered a double espresso, his fifth of the afternoon, and with a slightly trembling hand reached for his phone. There was another message from Chiara.
Twenty pounds. I’m begging you, please call him.
Gabriel was sorely tempted. Instead, he watched the tourists trudging back to their hotels after a long day sampling the delights of Florence. There were four hotels along the street. The inappropriately named Grand Hotel Medici was adjacent to the restaurant, directly in Gabriel’s line of sight.
He checked the time on his phone. It was six fifteen. Then he checked the position of the light on the geolocation graph and detected what appeared to be the faintest trace of a wobble. Thirty additional seconds of rigorous observation confirmed his suspicion. The light was definitely moving.
Because of the forty-meter margin for error, Gabriel quickly informed both Chiara and Donati of his findings. Donati replied that he saw no sign of Janson on the Via San Gallo, and a few seconds later Chiara reported the same from her outpost on the Via Santa Reparata. Gabriel replied to neither message, for he was scrutinizing the man who had just emerged from the Grand Hotel Medici.
Late twenties, short hair, about six feet, maybe a hundred and seventy pounds. He scanned the street in both directions, then headed to the right, past the restaurant. Gabriel dealt two crisp banknotes onto the table, counted slowly to ten, and rose. Trustworthy, he was thinking. But by no means a saint.
13
Florence
Chiara and Donatiwaited on the Via Ricasoli, buffeted by the outbound flow of patrons from the Galleria dell’Accademia. Without warning, she threw her arms around Donati’s neck and drew him close.
“Is this really necessary?”
“We don’t want him to see your face. At least not yet.”
She held Donati tightly as Niklaus Janson sliced through the crowds and passed them without a glance. Gabriel came along the street a moment later.
“Is there something you two would like to tell me?”
Donati freed himself and deliberately straightened his jacket. “Shall I call him now?”
“First we follow him. Then we call.”
“Why wait?”
“Because we need to know whether anyone else is following him.”
“What happens if you see someone?”
“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”
Gabriel and Donati set off along the street, trailed by Chiara. Before them was the Campanile di Giotto. Janson melted into the sea of tourists in the Piazza del Duomo and disappeared from view. When Gabriel finally spotted him again, the Swiss Guard was leaning against the octagonal baptistry, the mobile phone in his right hand. After a moment his thumb began tapping at the screen.
