The Florentine by Tom Trott

Author:Tom Trott [Trott, Tom]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2022-05-05T16:00:00+00:00

Confusion mutated into horror, but it didn’t sink into her stomach like a heavy weight, like it had in Hong Kong. It all sat on the surface. All her feelings were muffled somehow. Overriding them all was a towering, existential tiredness. She was so tired. So goddamn tired. Who was Cain? How did he know that address? Had she got him wrong? These questions and more passed over Dolly Lightfoot’s mind like dark clouds.

‘A difficult address to forget, I would think,’ he said.

She went to say something but couldn’t find the words. Eventually she breathed just one: ‘How?’

He smiled, dropping a scrap of paper on the counter. The address was handwritten.

‘It was in her pocket.’

She breathed a sigh of relief, the dark clouds cleared. But newer, lighter questions skated across her mind. ‘Do you think she was going to kill Paulo too?’

Cain shook his head.

‘Wait,’ she said, ‘how did you know that was where I sent the film?’

‘I didn’t, that was a guess. An educated guess. You see, I have a theory.’

The man brought them a selection of panini with different cheeses and salami in, plus some croissants. They were beyond the staple Italian breakfast now and onto the stuff they kept on the menu for German and French tourists. They wolfed them down. Even the most important conversation could wait for food.

‘What’s your theory?’ she asked through a mouthful of provolone and fennel salami.

‘You won’t like it.’

‘I promise I won’t scream.’

‘I don’t think Paulo exists. Maybe the Network exist, maybe they’re real. But Paulo...’ He shook his head.

‘What do you mean, he doesn’t exist?’

‘It’s Maltby.’ He paused for dramatic effect. ‘We’ve both been played, right from the beginning. That’s why she had that address, it was where they were going to take you.’

He was right, she didn’t like it. At least he was finally admitting the obvious truth about his friend.

‘If that was the case, why didn’t he just get you to take me?’ she asked.

‘We’ve already established I was supposed to die.’

She frowned.

‘Think about it. He persuades you to steal a report that conveniently accuses me of all his crimes. He gives you an address to send it to. Some base of his, I guess. It all goes to plan—’ He stopped mid-sentence.

‘What?’

‘It all went to plan, so why do they need you? It’s not to keep you quiet, you don’t know anything about Maltby, you’ve never heard of him.’

She shrugged. ‘Because of Cabrera?’

‘No, why would they care if you’re arrested? If anything, it neatly ties up their whole narrative. All you know is that you spoke to some guy on a forum, and Cabrera and the NSA just blame the Network. There’s nothing tying any of this to Maltby, so why run the risk?’

‘To get you involved?’ she suggested. ‘You need to be dead for his plan to work, if his plan involves releasing the report.’

‘But there’s a million ways he could kill me. Why involve you? And why would he ever release the report? What does

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