by L. T. Ryan
Noble pinched the bridge of his nose as he scanned the restaurant; peered into the darkness on the other side of the front window. “He’s probably been on the phone with someone back in Naples, working on getting a team here. Or worse, they’re already here. Was there anything you said to Beck that would lead him to Genoa?”
Clarissa’s eyes danced as she searched her memory. “It’s been months since we were in constant contact, but, no, Genoa was never a thing for us. We stayed local to Naples, going to Rome occasionally, and Sicily once.”
“Brandon didn’t know, not for sure. Somehow, he tracked you, or me, to Genoa, and knew to come to this restaurant.”
Clarissa’s eyebrows knit and rose into her forehead. “Was he tracking us when you were staying with me?”
“We can only guess, and there’s no time for that now.” Noble turned to Arabella. “Can we go out the back?”
“Yes, follow me.” Arabella led them into the kitchen where Nando and Maurizio broke into wide grins when they saw Jack and Clarissa. But those smiles faded when they noticed the look on the couple’s faces.
“What’s wrong?” Nando asked.
“I hate to ask you this question,” Jack said. “Do you have a handgun I can use?”
He glanced at Maurizio and nodded. The taller, wiry man with matching hair ran through the dining room, presumably to go upstairs to Arabella and Nando’s apartment.
Jack looked back and waved for the man who had warned them to come into the kitchen. He grabbed the phone and showed Beck’s picture to Nando. “If you see this man, or he comes in, give him what he wants. Do not argue or fight with him. OK? He’s a member of the U.S. Secret Service, but he may either be in danger, or wanting to bring danger to us.”
Nando mocked stabbing motions with his chef’s knife. “Let him bring it to me.”
“This is serious,” Jack said. “This guy could kill you.”
Nando’s demeanor shifted as he nodded and lowered his blade. “We’ll tell him you were here earlier, and mentioned you’d be heading to Paris tonight. That’ll throw them off.”
Maurizio returned with a Beretta, and after a nod from Nando, offered it to Jack.
“I’ll repay you tenfold, sir.”
“Just stay alive. I must cook another steak for you.”
Arabella led Clarissa and Jack to the back door. Noble cracked it open, waited, watched.
“Clear.”
Arabella wrapped her arms around both of them, pulled them close, like the good Italian mother she was. “Be safe out there.”
“We will.”
Jack threaded his fingers with Clarissa’s and led her into the darkness.
Chapter 54
Centuries-old buildings rose into the nighttime sky. Weathered facades spanning generations of design influence mashed together along the hilly streets of Genoa. Every street vastly different from the others, yet all looked the same in the soft light of streetlamps.
The alleys told another story. Trash strewn about. Homeless sheltering where they had staked their claim to a little section of the city. The smell of human waste and trash and used kitchen fryer oil mixed into a repulsive odor that the human sense of smell adapted to rather quickly.
The plan was to get to the harbor, where the metro lines ran, boats were available, and crowds lingered.
Jack led Clarissa through a maze of side streets, traveling clockwise, stopping when each spilled out onto a major roadway. There, they’d wait. And there, he’d ask her questions.
He leaned his shoulder into the wall and watched and listened. The breeze coming off the harbor chilled his clean-shaven face. An odd sensation, and one forgotten after having a beard for so long.
Shadows danced on the sidewalks, whipped into a frenzy when the gusts from passing cars rose through the trees.
“Let me preface this by saying I don’t care if you stole two hundred million dollars.”
Clarissa squeezed his arms. “Jack, I didn’t.”
“I’m not saying you did. But Beck had plenty of opinions on the matter.”
“Did he tell you I have bank accounts that are topped off every time I make a withdrawal?”
Jack took his gaze off the street for a moment and questioned her.
“It’s true.” She pulled out her cell phone. The screen cast her face in a blueish hue, her appearance alien-like when she looked up at him. “You can see here.”
“No, don’t,” he said. “It’ll give our position away.”
“This thing says I’m in Mongolia right now. Ain’t nothing being given away.” She tapped on the screen then reversed it so Jack could see.
He wondered if he looked like an alien now. After thinking it over, he had no doubt with his bald head and face. He ran his hand over his skull, glad that some stubble had already taken hold. Just add water, ch-ch-ch-chia. He doubled down on his focus and looked over the account. It sat at one hundred thousand exact.
“There’s two more,” she said. “And if I sent a message that I was concerned someone was on to me, they’d close these and spin up new ones.”
“And Beck is doing this for you?”
She nodded.
“Why?” Jack glanced over at a braking scooter driven by a guy wearing a pink helmet with a faux-mohawk. A dog crossed the center line and raced to the sidewalk. The scooter continued on. “Do you have something on him?”
“Nothing.”
“Do you think there’s something there? Was he involved?”
“I do, and I think he believes he’s buying my silence, but he’s not. I’m going to figure this thing out, and when I do, God help him because I will come down on him with the fury of a volcano awakened after a thousand years.”
“OK, look, you’re gonna have to break this thing down to me. So far, all I know is that two hundred million dollars went missing. Was this money ever in the possession of the Secret Service?”
“Sorta.”
“What kind of answer is that? Yes or no.”
“I can’t answer that way, Jack.” She closed her eyes and sighed as her shoulders clenched up and then relaxed. “This goes really deep. The guys, they were a front for some organization, probably a shadow organization. They came across as terrorists, but there was nothing fanatical about them. That was just to throw everyone off.”
“Who were the guys?”
They both snapped their heads back toward the other end of the alley as someone called out, “There they are!”
Jack reached for the Beretta. The textured grip felt like sandpaper against his palm. Clarissa placed her hand on his wrist, preventing him from aiming the pistol at the men.
“Not here,” she said. “Follow me.”
They turned right onto the street, downhill. This took the strain off their joints while allowing them to cover more distance in a short period of time. Footfalls rose from behind like galloping horses.
A scooter zoomed by. The driver wore a pink helmet with a faux-mohawk. This time Noble noticed a delivery bag on the back. The guy pulled over to the curb. Took off his helmet, set it on the seat, then opened the bag and pulled out someone’s dinner.
“Over here,” Jack squeezed out between labored breaths.
They slowed to a stop at the bike. Jack handed Clarissa the helmet as he straddled the seat. She pressed up behind him, her arm against his tightened stomach.
“Get to the bottom,” she said over the hum of the engine.
“Clarissa!”
The shout came from behind and faded with the rush of wind on their faces.
Clarissa tugged on one arm or the other to indicate where to turn. Noble followed the directions, though questioned where she was leading him. What did she have planned?
At the bottom of the hill, the buildings thinned out. Over the elevated road and train tracks, Jack spotted the Genova Wheel, which stood over two-hundred-fifty feet high. In the background, the skeletons of cranes working on the shipping docks silhouetted the night sky.
Ahea
d, the red light foretold a disastrous tale. Thick crowds of pedestrians crossed the road in all directions, failing to stick to the lined walkways. Jack skidded to a stop, planting his foot at the end to keep from falling over.
Clarissa hopped off and backed away, into the intersection.
“Where are you going?”
“Get across the street and leave the bike, Jack, then meet me by the Ferris wheel.”
“What are you talking about? We don’t know how many people are out there. Beck seems to know your every move. I don’t like this, Clarissa.”
But she was gone, racing across the street and melting into the back half of the throng that had crossed.
Why had she rushed away? Was she supposed to meet someone there? Was this how she’d slip away from him? But where could she go with a thirty-second head start? Then other thoughts popped into his head. Had this entire thing been coordinated between her and Beck? Was she betraying Noble?
The light hadn’t yet turned green when Jack rammed the throttle forward. The engine revved; the tire caught; the bike fishtailed until the tread gripped asphalt.
He never made it into the intersection. Not on the bike, at least.
The rear impact flung him off the scooter and sent him flying twenty feet in the air.
Chapter 55
The three-hundred-fifty-pound man who broke Noble’s fall lay unconscious on the ground. The contents of his thermos inches from his outstretched arm trickled toward the sea, the traffic lights reflecting red and green off the image. Jack remained in a daze with his nose buried in the guy’s armpits, which turned out to be as effective as smelling salts to revive him.
He popped up, careful not to move the guy’s head.
The man’s companion shrieked at Noble in Italian. He waved his arms defensively, but it only made her angrier.
Behind him, car doors opened. Heavy footfalls hit the road. He glanced back and saw two goons stepping into the intersection.
Jack reached into his back pocket and grabbed a wad of cash; tossed it to the woman while offering an apology.
The men rushed toward him. He looked past them toward the car. Were there more there? His question was answered when the sedan crept forward.
One of the men gained ground faster than the other. Noble decided to meet him head on. A quick strike, taking the guy out, might buy him some time.
But the first step in that direction told him he’d made a big mistake. Pain radiated from his calf to his hip. He stumbled to a knee. The first guy reached him. Jack didn’t hesitate to deliver a groin shot with the pistol butt. He dipped his shoulder after and used the guy’s forward momentum to flip him.
The next goon stopped short. The car’s progress stalled in the middle of the intersection. The crowd paused and looked on with horror. The man’s hands came up. Black gloves. Same guy from Luxembourg.
Noble raised the pistol and aimed it at the guy.
“I’m a member of the U.S. Secret Service, man. Don’t do it.”
“I don’t care.” Jack pulled the trigger. The bullet hit him in the right shoulder. He spun and dropped, clutching the wound.
The front doors opened and two men rushed to his aid. Neither were Beck.
Jack looked over his shoulder, spotted the man on the ground, scanned the crowd for signs of Clarissa or Beck. He turned as the first man got to his knees. Jack rushed forward, slammed the pistol across the bridge of the guy’s nose, sending him flailing backward.
“Don’t move,” one of the others commanded.
Jack didn’t listen. He busted through the red-rover looking line of tourists and locals out enjoying themselves before getting caught up in the mess.
The pain in his leg faded as he cleared the underpass. Adrenaline, perhaps. He didn’t care if it was broken. Only had to last him a few more minutes. The base of the ferris wheel came into view as cries erupted from the crowd behind him. Sirens followed moments later.
This crowd remained oblivious to all that had happened and each step forward pulled Jack into a new atmosphere as the sounds of a reggae band on a stage at the other end bled into the night.
Laser lights reflected off the sky, the water, the wheel, and the crowd. Jack wove his way through, feeling the bass hit harder, pounding in his chest, lulling his heart into rhythm. He breathed through it, emptied his head of all the questions racing through his mind.
Doesn’t matter what Clarissa’s doing. Need to find her and get her out of here.
Not far behind him, yelling, cursing, and a few cries erupted as presumably one or two of the men pushed forward in pursuit. Perhaps there were more he didn’t know about. At this point, anything was possible.
Jack continued to zigzag through the throng of people. He took off the hat, put on a pair of glasses. Might help. Might not. But if it bought him a few seconds before being recognized, he could take the other guys out.
A buzzing against his thigh filled him with dread. Had he left the phone on after his last transmission with Brandon? Were these guys here because of him?
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a Samsung phone. What? How did that get there? He dragged his finger across the screen and answered the call, shouting above the music and people surrounding him.
“Jack.” It was faint and decidedly not Brandon.
“Can’t hear,” he yelled.
“It’s Clarissa.”
He turned in a circle, spotting one of the goons, the driver, he thought. Ignoring the guy, he continued scanning, looking for Clarissa. She was nowhere in sight. He remained on the line telling her to keep talking, even though he couldn’t make out what she said. He pushed through the crowd on a line until he reached a platform that would give him a better view.
And make him a better target.
He vaulted onto the stage and looked over the crowd moving in time with the rhythm of the music. A cheer rose over the guitar solo at the sight of him.
A gunshot rang out behind him.
Time slowed for a moment or two, people and faces almost frozen, sound distorted. He saw her off in the distance at the entrance to a pier stretched out like a skeletal finger. The line went dead. The darkness concealed her as she turned and ran.
Noble dove off the stage. The awaiting crowd lifted their arms and caught him. He was passed along like a child caught in an undertow, unable to redirect himself to shore. So, he did as he was taught when he was a kid at the beach with his brother and sister.
Swim sideways.
And why not, the whole night had gone that direction.
A moment later, he found himself at the edge of the crowd, on his feet. He sprinted as fast as his legs could carry him with his pronounced limp. He heard the people behind him with all manner of accents, Italian, English, American, German, yelling and cussing and complaining, as the two men chasing Jack pushed them aside.
The cover of darkness was mere feet from him. He strained to see beyond the last light. What awaited him was unclear. But the trouble coming from the opposite direction had obvious deadly intentions.
Noble slowed his pace after crossing the threshold. Not to a standstill, and not as though he was walking in the park. But he had to remain cautious. Clarissa had led him to this location for a reason. What was it?
A minute later he spotted her at the end of the pier, talking with someone. He strained to see but could only make out shapes. If not for her brushing her bangs aside, then he couldn’t know with certainty it was Clarissa.
The sounds of the men behind him echoed. He turned, held the Beretta out, but couldn’t spot them. And as he swung back around, a man descended upon him. He had no time to react as a hand latched on to his elbow.
“Come on, Noble,” someone said. “We’re running out of time.”
Jack dropped the pistol and swiped down hard, breaking the connection. He jabbed the guy in the face, throat, diaphragm. Drove a knee into his gut. Shoved him to the ground. He scooped up the handgun and rushed forward.
“Jack, d
ammit, come back.”
Noble didn’t. He didn’t pause to contemplate why the guy knew his name or had an American accent or said what he had said.
Clarissa appeared to turn and react. Did she call his name?
Another shot rang out from behind. Noble ducked, so did the people at the end of the pier. He heard more voices from behind. He broke out into a full-on sprint. Clarissa’s face came into view. She appeared to be struggling with the man there. The man Jack recognized.
Beck.
Clarissa shoved Beck back, said something loud but indiscernible. Beck reached for her. She walked away and reached for something. He followed. Noble sprinted. They heard his heavy out-of-rhythm footfalls due to his injury. Beck turned to face him, his eyes narrowed, his mouth opened. He held up his hands as Jack launched into him.
Any other time, it would’ve been an unfair fight. And it was this time, just not in Noble’s favor. Beck had him pinned; gained control of the Beretta. He aimed it at Jack, looked up, adjusted his sights, and pulled the trigger.
The blast left Jack blinded and deaf for a few moments, but he felt no pain. His vision cleared but his ears still rang. Beck was saying something, shouting perhaps, but not a word of it reached Noble’s eardrums. The ringing got louder; the world swayed. Beck climbed off him. Jack struggled to his knees. He heard Beck curse, looked back, saw headlights.
“I gotta go, Jack.”
“What?” Noble turned around to see Clarissa climbing over the railing at the end of the pier. She held on with one hand, leaning over the water. She looked back at Jack, held up a single finger, and jumped.
Beck and another man grabbed Jack and started dragging him away. An engine revved. The vehicle approached. A struggle ensued between Jack and the men. One let go, stepped back, pulled a pistol, and fired at the approaching car. Jack broke free from Beck, but as he raced toward the end of the pier to jump in after Clarissa, he stumbled, and though he caught himself, he couldn’t stop his head from hitting the bicycle stand, painted black. The world went faded.
His last thought before succumbing to the dark was she’s gone.
