Richard spent three hours studying the area around the bank. He covered all the adjacent eateries, businesses and scanned the parked vehicles that were close enough to prove dangerous. Satisfied the area was clean, he decided to risk their move on going for the money.

René sat across from the junior direttore, poised and confident, while he went over the papers she had supplied. She had entered the bank with little trepidation, Richard's coaching had been scrupulous, yet she did not see herself as being this person and it took a moment to achieve character.

Now, after meeting the assistant direttore, she sensed a relaxing of her muscles and her breathing eased back to normal. She should be used to deception, she thought, with some irony.

"I will also require the Signorina's identification please."

She opened her purse and gave him her credit card and her municipal identity card, which showed a photo of her from a year ago.

"This, Mister Arthur Glebeholme, he is where, did you say?"

"Mister Glebeholme is resting in his villa in France; he is recovering from a minor surgical procedure. He asked me to do this because he has some projects pending that require substantial investments to conclude and time is a critical factor."

"I will have to pass this by the senior direttore. As you can appreciate, the sum is indeed substantial."

"I can only reiterate that time is critical." She smiled pointedly.

"Of course, if you will give me a few moments." He stood, bowed slightly and swept away to the line of dark-stained offices, disappearing into the last one in the row.

René felt a fresh dampness under arms and she squeezed her fingers together to maintain an outward calm. Looking about the bank she saw a couple of people she had a nodding acquaintance with, plus a rather large man with a nasty scar on his chin.

The man was thumbing through bank brochures but he wasn't really paying attention and she felt instantly alert at the prospect that it might be one of Richard's hunters following her.

The assistant appeared in front of her suddenly. "Direttore, Lupa asks if you will come to his office please."

René stood and walked around the desk to where the junior direttore was waiting.

"Right this way, please." He moved with a half turn down the row of offices, like a pet dog keeping track of its master.

She paused at the doorway and glanced back at the man with the brochures; he was staring intently after her.

"Signorina Morreau, please. Sit." The unctuous little man, who held the title of Bank Direttore, smiled an oily smile and waved a finger in the direction of the huge leather covered chair beside his desk.

"Signorina," he laced his stubby fingers together and leaned toward her, "is it a coincidence that Signorina Vitti, the other firmatario of this account has an appointment here this morning to do exactly as you are asking?"

She blinked but retained her composure. "I know nothing of any such person. I am simply doing the bidding of my employer, Signore Glebeholme." She felt the dampness spread beneath her arms and she prayed it didn't show.

"But surely you can see my dilemma, Signorina. I think it would be best to await Signorina Vitti and then discuss what is to be done."

She wet her lips and sat straighter in the chair. "I have told your junior direttore that it is critical Signore Glebeholme have his funds available for a very time sensitive investment. Now, if necessary, we can call Signore Glebeholme at his villa and he can tell you himself, but I warn you, he is recovering from surgery and to be disturbed at this time will not endear your bank to his future business."

"I think I understand, but you must also understand my position, Signorina. As the person ultimately responsible for the security of the bank's funds and client accounts, I cannot simply grant your request until I have discussed the matter with the other firmatario. Has there been a conflict of duties and you are both attempting the same one, or does one know what the other is doing?"

"The account was set up with only one signature and the two passcodes required to transact business, Direttore Lupa. I am afraid this is a very disappointing way for the bank to treat a client of Signore Glebeholme's station."

He sat back and considered her then his wristwatch. He pressed a button and a moment later the assistant appeared.

"What time was Signorina Vitti's appointment?"

"Ten, direttore. She said she would be here promptly."

"It is half past." He raised his eyebrows and shoulders together in question. "Can you contact her?" The assistant tap danced in the doorway and blushed over the lack of that possibility.

"Signorina, I am willing to wait one half hour more for Signorina Vitti and then I will place a call to Signore Glebeholme, risking his ire, and we will conclude business."

René gave a small sigh and then stared directly at the man awaiting her response.

"If you wish, Direttore, but the risk will indeed bring my employer's ire down on you and this bank. If his investment timing is missed you will never see another euro of business from him or any of his companies."

"I appreciate the risk, Signorina, but . . ." He held out his hands in a helpless gesture.

She groaned inwardly and resettled for the wait.

"May I offer you a cappuccino or something?"

"No thank you, I'm fine."

"I hope then you won't object if I have one?"

"Not at all."

He rose from his desk and she was surprised to see he was not only short, but had an artificial leg. He limped around the desk and out into the corridor, returning several minutes later with a tall white mug, capped with a dollop of whipped cream.

"One of my sins." He smiled, re-seating himself behind his desk.

They checked their wristwatches simultaneously.

************

The car pulled up in front of the villa and Monique heard the front door slam and the side door slide open. The hood over her head made breathing stuffy and she coughed as she was wrestled out onto the drive. She felt a hand on her breast and she tried to turn away but another hand held her bound wrists behind her back.

Her torn top hung raggedly from her shoulder where they had confirmed the tattoo and only her bra separated her from the rough hand.

"You lose, my friend. They are real. Alphonso will crap himself." There was a cruel laugh and then another painful squeeze as she stumbled ahead and up some steps.

She was pulled to a halt and there was a moment of quiet before she heard the tap of feet on stairs.

"As requested, padrone. She was heading for the St. George."

"Take the hood off." The voice was gruff and Monique gave a small cry as the hood was yanked from over her face.

She blinked and staggered for a second then focused on the man leaning on the balustrade, glaring at her.

"What is the meaning of this?" She tried for anger but it came out in a strident whine.

Jean came across the foyer and stood directly in front of her. The slap rang her head painfully and she could only try to rest the painful area on her bare shoulder while she reset her bearings.

"The meaning of this is a lesson for playing in my back yard." He stepped back and told his men to take her up to his room.

Monique was half dragged and carried up the long staircase and down a painting filled hallway to a large set of white double doors trimmed in gold. The door opened and a slim brunette in a silk dressing gown stood back, one hand on a generous hip, the other contemplatively on her cheek.

"Over there." She said, backing away to let them pass. The men tossed her on the bed and left without a word.

Monique watched the woman silently. With her hands tied behind her back, she could only try to wriggle into a sitting position and the satin sheets made that difficult.

"Save your strength, prostituta, you'll need it." The woman stood at the side of the bed studying Monique's body with a professional eye.

"I am not a prostitute." Monique snapped and was rewarded with another ringing smack to her face.

"Easy Marie, we need the face too. Swelling and bruising will detract, no?"

"Si, cher." She swept across the carpet and melded her body to Jean's as he sneered a smile.

Monique curdled inside. This was about her phone call and the set up of Angelo and Richard. She strained at the ties on her wrists but all she succeeded in doing was increase the pain.

Jean approached the bed and stared down at her.

"You must have thought your little game would be easy; that I wouldn't catch on and you could walk away with my diamonds." He reached down and lifted her chin. "Don't bother with lies and excuses, Monique St. Croix, Angelo was very informative."

She trembled under his touch and it crossed her mind that this could even be worse than Murray.

"I'm going to untie your wrists. If you try anything, anything at all, I will make your last moments the most unforgettably devastating time you can imagine. Are we clear?" He produced a knife that snicked open at the press of a button.

She nodded, still shaking as he pushed her over and cut the ties in one quick slash of his knife. She rolled back and massaged her red creased wrists, drawing her knees up protectively.

Jean directed Marie to get her into the shower and scrub all the cheap makeup off. He held up a finger to Monique and repeated his warning with deadly earnest.