Storming Venice

by Anna E Bendewald

  “Here with me, Ivar, and Yvania.”

  “Stay inside, await my word, and may God be with us.”

  “We will.”

  As he clicked off the call, the cardinals leaned forward in their chairs. Handing the phone back to his secretary, Casimir stood and addressed the group. “Our beloved Count Gabrieli Verona is dead.”

  Unable to contain themselves, the cardinals rose from their seats, awaiting a call to action. Casimir pointed to Cardinal Negrali. “Americo, return to Venezia, subito. Go to Raphielli, keep her safe.”

  Negrali hurried outside at a jog and ran with security in the direction of the helipad.

  Casimir knew the official security plan would make him a virtual prisoner in the Vatican, and he had no intention of letting Salvio run amok in Venice. He was going to stop Salvio’s war against the Veronas. Casimir addressed his head of security. “Alberto, take me to Castle Gandolfo at once. I must temporarily retreat from Vatican business and begin a period of mourning.” This was not a lie. Hunting Salvio would divert him from his scheduled Vatican activities.

  His security team brought his car around, and he spent the car ride in prayer. What would this mean for the vision Gabrieli had seen last night? He prayed for guidance.

  As soon as he arrived at Castle Gandolfo, he hopped out of the car, walked top speed up the steps, and headed for his private balcony overlooking the cold waters of the lake. He motioned for his security to stay back and give him privacy. He took out his phone and called Vincenzo. His godson’s choked voice answered, “Papa!”

  “Vincenzo, my boy, we are going to put an end to this. I need you to help me escape my guards. I am at Gandolfo right now. I will slip out into the ilex walk and hide amongst the trees. Meet me on the lane in an hour. I need you to take me straight back to Venice. Tell no one. We can only trust each other.”

  “I understand.” There was more life in the response. “I’ll come in the helicopter. I’ll be there soon, Papa.”

  Fauve moved through the tables of the café, fighting paranoia about the strange man dressed all in black that she’d just waited on. Maybe she was jumpy because of Elli’s call that a man tried to get into her shelter and the police just found her guard’s dead body in a canal. Salvio was alive, and he’d sent someone here to try to get at Giselle once before. If this guy in her café was one of Salvio’s men, she needed to stop him. Ignoring her fear, she approached the man’s table to suss out his vibe.

  “Everything satisfactory?” She eyed his untouched plate.

  He nodded but didn’t look up from his cell phone.

  “I haven’t seen you before. Are you staying in town?” She tried to draw him out.

  “Passing through.” He kept texting.

  “Oh? On your way to Charleville-Mézières?” It was a likely destination for people passing through town.

  He looked up with sudden interest. “Uh, no. Hey, I saw in the Paris papers that Giselle Verona is here. Is the rumor true that she’s pregnant?”

  His interest in Giselle set off alarm bells in her head—no one should know about her pregnancy—but she tried to act nonchalant. “You should never trust gossip rags.”

  Turning to go, she was so nervous she almost tripped over the black briefcase next to him on the floor. Fauve had to do something—she couldn’t ignore this feeling of danger. She went behind the counter, careful to act bored and pretending to take no more notice of the stranger, when an idea came to her. She plucked her cell phone out of her apron and, while dialing Raphielli, strolled into the back office and closed the door.

  When Raphielli answered, she was crying. “Chi è questo?”

  “Elli, it's Fauve. What’s wrong?”

  “I thought you were the cardinal or the police calling back. I’m here at the shelter.” Raphielli sounded distraught. “Detective Lampani just told me Salvio killed Gabrieli! And Cardinal Negrali called, he’s coming to take me home.”

  “Elli, shhh, I need you to calm down and think. This is important. Describe the man who tried to get into the shelter.”

  “Um, he had very thin brown hair that was brushed very smooth, like with oil and um, well, Kate was the one who saw him. I just saw a computer picture of him.”

  Fauve felt time slipping away. “Let me talk to Kate.”

  “I need to keep my phone. Cardinal Negrali will call back and I have to call Alphonso and Zelph and Gio.”

  Wondering who Gio was, she answered, “Right, I’ll call Kate directly.” Fauve grabbed the pad and pen out of her apron. “What’s Kate’s number?”

  After writing it down, Fauve urged her, “Until your cardinal gets there, find something to use as protection! Grab a knife! You need to get the Vitalis—anyone who can keep Salvio off you!”

  She ended the call and dialed the number. “Kate, my name is Fauve, I’m a friend of Raphielli and Giselle’s. Raphielli told me a man came to the shelter and it was probably someone working for Salvio.”

  “Sì, I know it was.” Kate sounded adamant. “He was trying to get inside, probably to kill her. I don’t know how I know it, but I’m trusting my instincts here. The police just found our security guard dead.”

  Fauve chewed her lip. “Kate, I’m near Giselle’s home in France. I have a strange man here in my café, and I have a terrible feeling about him. He asked me about Giselle, and if I’d heard a rumor that she’s pregnant.”

  “No stranger should know that!” Kate gasped. “Salvio is trying to get Giselle again! He just killed Gabrieli!”

  “I don’t have time to talk,” Fauve broke in. “Describe the man who tried to get in the shelter.”

  “He had thin greasy brown hair, really thin hair that you could see his scalp through, and combed like an oily helmet. He’s medium height, pale skin, long thin nose. He wore all black, like a uniform, and his black shoes were so glossy…”

  Fauve yelped, “Mon Dieu! I’ve got a man like that here! Not so much the hair—although it’s very thin—but the black uniform and the shoes!”

  “I’ll send you a photo of him. Can I text it to this number?”

  “Oui! Right away!” Fauve hung up and stared at her phone, willing the image to come through. “Come on! Come on!” A text came in with a three-quarters picture that looked eerily similar to the man in her café.

  She pocketed her phone as she hustled over to the door, opened it, and called over to the front desk. “Henri, can you help me with this delivery? I’m about to drop it.”

  Henri came into the office. “What delivery?”

  Fauve was frantically riffling through a box in the office bathroom cabinet. She hissed at him making frantic “shut the door” movements with her hand until he pulled the door closed behind him.

  “What’s going on?” He looked at her like she was crazy.

  Fauve rushed over to him with a syringe and a bottle of liquid that she started to shake. “Henri, I’m going to go knock out one of the café customers. He’s here to kill Giselle.”

  Henri’s brows drew together, and he exhaled as if punched. “Qu'est-ce que tu dis?”

  Fauve inverted the bottle, pushed the needle into the stopper cap’s rubber nipple, and drew out a dose of the drug.

  “Salvio just murdered Gabrieli, he sent someone to break into Raphielli’s shelter to try to kill her, he killed her security guard! And Salvio’s sent that man in the café to kill Giselle. I don’t have time to explain. Just help me.”

  “Gabrieli’s dead?” Henri whispered, “No, no, no.”

  “Oui! Now help me!”

  “You’re going to give him the tranquilizer we used on the billy goat?” Henri gaped at her.

  “You bet I am.” She was surprised at how strong her voice sounded.

  “Be careful. Before we could get the stretcher under the billy, it knocked him to his knees and then face first into the mud. Remember?”

  “Of course, I remember. What do you think gave me the idea? I don’t give a fuck if it drops that killer onto his plate of fricas
see. I’m not going to risk getting killed if he has a chance to react. Gabrielli is dead. These guys aren’t amateurs! We’ll incapacitate him with this tranquilizer till we figure out what to do. I’ll come up behind him while you distract him from the front. Try to keep him from hitting me.”

  Slipping her hand with the syringe into her apron pocket, she led the way into the café. She veered to the left, moving through the tables to approach the man from behind. Henri went to the right, coming around the front of the dining area, and then back through the tables in an aimless fashion as if checking on patrons who were in various stages of enjoying meals and drinks.

  As Fauve came up behind the man, she stared at his scalp through his thin film of brown, oily hair. It’s Salvio’s man! He couldn’t get Raphielli, so he was sent to kill Giselle! He was texting furiously and seemed oblivious. One of his glossy shoes was excitedly rat-tat-tat-ing on the floor under his table. Henri was closing in on the table from the front and looked to Fauve for a sign. She mimed that he should grab the man’s hands. He took a deep breath, stopped at the table, leaned over, and grabbed both of the man’s wrists, pinning them to the tabletop. The man’s phone dropped, and as he tried to pull away from Henri, he leaned back—right into the thrust of Fauve’s needle, which she emptied deep into his shoulder muscle.

  “Argh!” the man yelled and tried to overturn his chair to get away. “Help!”

  “Oh. Look, Henri.” Fauve tried to sound soothing. “He’s not well. Monsieur, are you feeling sick?”

  Henri lost control of one wrist and the man’s flailing knocked his phone to the floor. He was using his free hand to swat at Henri’s, but his movements were already feeble.

  “Whuh-wh…” he slurred and fell off his chair, unconscious.

  Old Josef Charet, who was sitting three tables over, grumbled in his loud voice, “His cell phone addiction gave him a stroke. People radiate their brains. Addicted. I saw him.” Monsieur Charet was quite loud when he wasn’t wearing his hearing aids.

  Henri nodded. “Probably in the area for champagne tastings. We’ll just let him sleep it off in the back room.” Fauve kneeled down, neatly swept the cell phone over to her and then into her apron. Henri got down next to her, and together they scooped up the man. They carried him between them, his arms slung around their shoulders, dragging the toes of his glossy shoes across the floorboards, into the office and laid him on the floor.

  “Run and get his briefcase!” Fauve panted.

  Henri retrieved the oversized briefcase and was back in the office in an instant.

  Fauve said, “Use the gardening twine just outside the back door to truss him.”

  “What are you doing?” He opened the back door and grabbed the twine off a porch shelf.

  She was fiddling with the man’s phone. “I’m scrolling through his text messages.”

  “You have his password?”

  “He was in the middle of a text, he’s still logged in.” She read his texts, and the whole plan was right there in her hand. “Merde! There are at least two more killers! He’s on a group text with guys named Miguel and Felix. They’re en route to Giselle’s château right now! Holy fuck! They plan to drown her in her lake!”

  Henri was hog-tying the unconscious man and yelped, “Drown her?”

  Fauve hissed the loudest “shhh” she could manage.

  Abandoning their captive, Henri opened the briefcase. Inside was a knife, a pistol fitted with a silencer, and a coil of amber-colored rope with a metal shackle at one end and a fancy knot near the other. Next, he pawed through the man’s pockets and found a wallet. “Bernardo Vitti, from Murano, Italy.”

  Fauve snatched her own phone out of her pocket and dialed Giselle as she read the salient part of the killer’s texts to her husband: “‘Kill the Russian. Sink Giselle into the nearby lake with rope around her left ankle.’ Salvio’s people have specific instructions for how to drown her! That fucking piece of shit!”

  When there was no answer on Giselle’s phone, she called the main château line. Markus picked up. “Alo?”

  “Markus!” She was on the edge of hysterics now. “Where’s Giselle?”

  “Here with me. She is on the phone with Vincenzo. The count has been murdered.”

  “I know. Salvio has men here in France!” Fauve tried to stop shaking but she was barely able to hang on to the phone. “They’re coming to kill you and Giselle! I’ve drugged one of the killers and I’ve got his cell phone. At least two more are on their way to the château! Get out of there!”

  CHAPTER

  20

  Markus hung up on Fauve and speed dialed Selma. She picked up on the first ring.

  Markus blurted. “Salvio has sent killers here for Giselle. Where are the dogs?”

  “Here, I just fed them.”

  “Let them out! Send them to patrol down here! I’m getting Giselle to safety.” He tossed the phone onto the couch and got to Giselle in two strides. “Pull on those boots, we are leaving.” He helped her up, grabbed her phone, and said, “Vincenzo, we have to hang up.”

  He pocketed her phone. “That was Fauve. Salvio’s men are on their way here to kill you. We have to leave now.”

  Giselle had shoved her feet into her boots and was dragging her sweater on as she followed him to the front door, where they saw headlights approaching through the darkening afternoon. Two cars were coming fast up the long driveway. The killers had blocked their main route off the property. Turning on their heels together, they ran back through the great rooms and down the hallway leading to the kitchen. They would use the back roads.

  Giselle snatched The Tank’s keys from the peg by the door and ran outside without looking left or right. She was already sprinting toward the back courtyard and the garage beyond it as a black car came to a stop just before the bend to the stable house. At least one of the killers had hoped to sneak into the château through the back. Giselle kept running, and Markus stayed on course behind her as the car door flew open. A big man in a black suit jumped out and ran straight at her. He didn’t move in a way that was particularly athletic, but he looked enraged and it lent speed to his full-out sprint. The man held a burlap bag that swung with the effort of his pumping arms.

  Giselle changed course to avoid the big man, who’d just cut her off from the garage. Markus paused for a beat to grab a hatchet from the woodpile as he raced past it, while Giselle banked toward the new shed, hauled the door open and disappeared inside. A second car pulled up as the big man disappeared after Giselle. Hatchet in hand, Markus sprinted to catch up with her and heard screaming.

  When Markus got to the open shed door he hopped into a skid and dug his shoes into the ground to stop. Giselle was scrambling on her knees through the far side of Star Fall. There was a rosy spray of poisonous mist in the air around the killer, who was on his knees clawing wildly at his face, neck, and shoulder. He’d smashed into the glass stars and the lethal irrodium had sprayed onto his upper body. The man inhaled the chemical vapor and crumpled lifeless to the ground.

  Giselle was now moving so fast that she was a blur. She swiped the broken latch, shoved the back door open, and shot out the other side of the enclosure. Markus reversed himself and backed away from the shed. Barely managing not to fall, he fought for traction and followed the outer edge of the shed to catch up with Giselle. He saw out of the corner of his eye that the second man was gaining on him, so he spun around and threw the hatchet. The man put his arms up and tried to dodge it, but it glanced off his arms and he tripped, sprawling to the ground.

  Markus turned to see Giselle vaulting over some patio furniture, and he ran wide to avoid the table and chairs as she disappeared into the garage. He heard The Tank’s engine roar to life just as he made it to the garage and ran inside. A bullet ricocheted off the truck as Giselle climbed into the driver’s seat and Markus dove for the passenger door. She put the great truck in reverse and, the second he was inside, she stomped on the gas and the behemoth flew backward out of the garage
, knocking one of the doors off, splintering the old wood at the hinges. She depressed the clutch and hit the brakes, skidding to a stop. As she put it in first gear, Markus looked through the windshield and saw the guard dogs racing toward them, followed by the tractor fitted with a plow blade on the front. Veronique was behind the wheel and must have had the accelerator to the floorboard. Selma was sitting halfway out of the passenger window with one leg gripping the door like a cowboy straddling a horse. She was holding a rifle.

  Felix dove to his right and rolled across the hard ground as a huge truck came shattering out of the garage. He’d anticipated an easy time on this sacred mission—just kill some feckless Russian. Miguel was supposed to drown a stiletto-wearing pregnant woman and earn supreme credit for ending the Verona lineage. What in the hell was happening here?

  The Russian moved like a cat, changing direction in a way that wasn’t natural, and Felix found himself dodging axes. Miguel didn’t make it out of the shed, and the Verona Madonna was some sort of parkour free-runner in Nike action boots who could hurdle furniture, and was apparently a stunt driver as well.

  He jumped up after nearly being run down by a military truck, and turned to see guard dogs bearing down on him, an old lady in a tractor with a giant plow blade heading straight for him, and a snarling woman in jeans taking aim at him with a rifle. He got down on one knee and took aim as the first dog got to him. He flipped onto his hip to kick at the dog as he fired a shot into the cab of the tractor. The old lady went down, but the tractor kept coming. A second dog now had his left arm as he squeezed off another shot, again hitting the windshield. Then he heard a woman yell, “Dégager!” and the dogs retreated.

  “Drop your gun!” The woman in jeans hollered from the side of the tractor that was about to run him over.

  Having failed in his mission, there was no hope for a place of prominence at the side of Scortini. Felix ended his holy quest with a quick shot to his own temple.