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zabaglione
. The food was
delicious but as I ate I was aware of her examining me, watching every
mouthful, and I knew that I was still being tested.
“I’m very pleased with you, Yassen,” she said as the coffee was poured.
The whole meal had been served by two men in white jackets and black
trousers, her personal waiters. “Do you think you’re ready?”
“Yes, Mrs Rothman,” I replied.
“You can stop calling me that now.” She smiled at me and I was once
again struck by her film-star looks. “I prefer Julia.”
There was a file on the table beside her. It hadn’t been there when we
started. One of the waiters had brought it in with the coffee. She opened
it. First she took out a printed report.
“You’re naturally gifted … an excellent marksman. Hatsumi Saburo
speaks very highly of your abilities. I see also that you have learned from
the Countess. Your manners are faultless. Six months ago you wouldn’t
have been able to sit at a table like this without giving yourself away,
but you are very different from the street urchin I met back then.”
I nodded but said nothing. Another lesson. Never show gratitude unless
you hope to gain something from it.
“But now we must see if you can actually put into practice everything
that we have taught you in theory.” She took out a passport and slid it
across the table. “This is yours,” she said. “We have kept your family
name. There was no reason not to, particularly as your first name had
changed anyway. Yassen Gregorovich is what you are now and will
always be … unless of course we feel the need for you to travel under
cover.” An envelope followed. “You’ll find the details of your bank
account inside,” she said. “You are a client of the European Finance
Group. It’s a private bank based in Geneva. There are fifty thousand
American dollars, fifty thousand euros and fifty thousand pounds in the
account, and no matter how much you spend, these figures will always
remain the same. Of course, we will be watching your expenses.”
She was enjoying this, sending me out for the first time, almost
challenging me to show reluctance or any sign of fear. She took out a
second envelope, thicker than the first. This one was sealed with a strip
of black tape. There was a scorpion symbol stamped in the middle.
“This envelope contains a return air ticket to New York, which is
where your first assignment will take place. There is another thousand
dollars in here too … petty cash to get you started. You are flying
economy.”
That didn’t surprise me. I was young and I was entering the United
States on my own. Travelling business or first class might draw attention
to myself.
“You will be met at the airport and taken to your hotel. You will report
back to me here in Venice in one week’s time. Do you want to know who
you are going to kill?”
“I’m sure you’ll tell me when you want to,” I said.
“That’s right.” She smiled. “You’ll get all the information that you need
once you arrive. A weapon will also be delivered to you. Is that all
understood?”
“Yes,” I said. Of course I had questions. Above all I wanted a name and
a face somewhere; on the other side of the world, a man was going
about his business with no knowledge that I was on my way. What had
he done to anger Scorpia? Why did he have to lose his life? But I stayed
silent. I was being very careful not to show any sign of weakness.
“Then I think our evening is almost over,” Mrs Rothman said. She
reached out and, just for a moment, her fingers brushed against the back
of my hand. “You know, Yassen,” she said, “you are incredibly good-
looking. I thought that the moment I saw you and your five months on
Malagosto have done nothing but improve you.” She sighed and drew
her hand away. “Russian boys aren’t quite my thing,” she continued. “Or
else who knows what we might get up to? But it will certainly help you
in your work. Death should always come smartly dressed.”
She got up, as if about to leave. But then she had second thoughts and
turned back to me. “You were fond of that girl, Colette, weren’t you?”
“We spent a bit of time together,” I said. “We came into Venice once or
twice.” Julia Rothman would know that, anyway.
“Yes,” she murmured. “I had a feeling the two of you would hit it off.”
She was daring me to ask. So I did.
“How is she?”
“She’s dead.” Mrs Rothman brushed some imaginary dust from the
sleeve of her dress. “Her first assignment went very wrong. It wasn’t
entirely her fault. She took out the target but she was shot by the
Argentinian police.”
And that was when I knew what she had done to me. That was when I
knew exactly what Scorpia had made me.
I felt nothing. I said nothing. If I was sad, I didn’t show it. I simply
watched impassively as she left the room.
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