“What now?” she asked Sci, but he was already rooting around in the holdall on the back seat. After a moment he turned back to face her with a tiny device and a remote control in his hand. The device looked like a wasp and was about the same size.
“Micro-drone,” he said. “It will give us eyes and ears very quickly.”
He switched on both devices and wound his window down to allow the miniature drone to fly out.
Faduma watched him use the screen on the remote control to pilot the small aircraft, which broadcast a live feed from a camera attached to its nose.
“This would be really useful,” Faduma said. “How can I get one?”
“Military grade,” Sci remarked, before cracking a smile. “Just kidding. We have a supplier who specializes in building them for law-enforcement and intelligence agencies around the world. I’m sure I can talk Jack into loaning you a couple if we have any left at the end of this.”
He turned his full attention to the screen as the drone approached the bar. He tried the windows first, but they were all closed.
“Let’s see about the air-conditioning,” he said, piloting the drone toward an AC intake. The vents had been covered with a micromesh and the resin fixing it looked fresh.
“This wasn’t here before,” Sci remarked.
The same mesh covered every pipe and inlet leading into the building.
“Then it’s going to have to be the front door,” Sci said, steering the drone around the group of smokers.
The front door swung wide and another member of the Dark Fates stepped out to join the smokers, which gave Sci the opportunity to pilot the drone inside the bar.
Suddenly, the image became a jumble of shapes and the remote control turned unresponsive. Moments later the screen cut to sudden static.
“Jeez,” he said, reviewing the last few seconds of footage. “They’ve put an air curtain above the door. Someone has helped them bolster their physical security.”
“What do we do?” Faduma asked, but she already knew the answer. “One of us needs to go inside, right? And it can’t be you.”
CHAPTER83
“IF THEY RECOGNIZE you—” Sci began, but Faduma cut him off.
“I’ll run. I just need to get one of those drones inside, don’t I?”
Sci nodded. “I can put it in Milan Verde’s office. Provided it doesn’t fly too much, we’ll get two days out of the batteries.”
“Then it’s worth doing,” Faduma said, taking a deep breath.
The Dark Fates were dangerous, but she had faced danger before. She’d crossed the Mediterranean in a tiny boat, seeing people in her flotilla die; she’d been up close to catastrophic loss, and it had forever changed her perspective on life, making her simultaneously more appreciative and less cautious. She cherished life, but she also knew there were times one had to risk sacrifice because it was the right thing to do.
Sci handed her another drone from the holdall and checked it was connected to the remote.
He nodded. “You’re good to go.”
Faduma smiled wanly and stepped out of the car.
The warm afternoon air combined with her nervousness to make her feel a little queasy, but she fought the rising nausea and forced her feet to move one step at a time toward the Inferno Bar. She could hear the sound of the television build up to the Roma—Inter Milan football match coming through the windows of nearby apartments. As she got closer to the bar, the sound of football was lost beneath thunderous music. She saw far-right insignia among the tattoos on the arms of some of the smokers on the pavement. She’d met many racists in her life, but was conscious of her increased personal risk in this situation. She didn’t need to be recognized as a journalist. One of these angry men or women just had to take a dislike to the color of her skin. She heard them talking, discussing some show on Netflix.
They fell silent as she drew near and she was suddenly very aware of her smart white linen trousers and red blouse, which were at odds with the biker/rock band roadie vibe of the place. She couldn’t have stood out more if she’d tried.
“This is a private bar,” the man closest to her said, drawing on a cigarette. “Foreigners aren’t welcome.”
The men and women around him chuckled.
“I don’t see a sign,” Faduma replied in Italian. “And I’m not a foreigner.”
“Well, you don’t look Italian.”
