"Dibdin, Michael - Aurelio Zen 02 - Vendetta UC - part 04" - читать интересную книгу автора (Dibdin Michael)

preoccupied, his former high spirits quite doused. Fabri
had disappeared again.
Zen uncovered the phone. 'I'm sor.y. I was inter-
rupted.'
'So that's agreed, is it?' the voice said. It was a question
in form only.
'Well...'
'I'll expect you in about twenty minutes.'
The line went dead.
Zen thought briefly about calling Archives, but what
was the point? It was obvious what had happened. Fabri
had told them that the tape of the Burolo killings was
blank and they were urgently trying to contact Zen to find
out what had happened to the original. This was no doubt
the news that he had been gleefully passing on to De
Angelis.
But how had Fabri found out so quickly that Zen had
been t'he previous borrower? Presumably Archives must
have told him. Unless, of course...
Unless it had been the video tape, and not a wallet or
pocket-book, that had been the thief's target all along. It
would have been a simple matter for Fabri to find some
pickpocket who would have been only too glad to do a
favour for such an influential man. Once the tape was in
his hands, Fabri had put in an urgent request for the tape
at Archives, ensuring that Zen was officially com-
promised. Now he would no doubt sell the original to the
highest bidder, thus making himself a small fortune and at
the same time creating a scandal which might well lead to
criminal charges being brought against his enemy. It was a
masterpiece of unscrupulousness against which Zen was
absolutely defenceless.
As he emerged from the portals of the Ministry and
made his way down the steps and through the steel barrier
under the eye of the armed sentries, Zen wondered if he
was letting his imagination run away with him. In the
warm hazy sunlight the whole thing suddenly seemed a
bit far-fetched. He lit a cigarette as he waited for the taxi he
had ordered. He had decided against using an official car,
since the caller had left him in some doubt as to whether or
not this was an official visit. In fact, he had left him in
doubt about almost everything, including his name. The
only thing Zen knew for certain was that the call had come
from Palazzo Sisti. The significance of this was still obscure
to Zen, but the name was evidently familiar enough to the
taxi driver, who switched on his meter without requesting
further directions.
They drove down the shallow valley between the Vimi-
nale and Quirinale hills, leaving behind the broad
utilitarian boulevards of the nineteenth-century suburbs,