Bruno nodded. “The distance calculator is a great feature, huh?”
“So is the targeting function,” laughed Aldo.
Bruno knelt down on one knee, resting the rifle’s bipod on the ledge. He aimed the rifle towards the pot next to the one Aldo had obliterated. He looked in the scope and saw the now-familiar green dot. Then he pushed the button on the side of the scope with his right thumb. After a second or so delay, bullet drop compensators with a flashing red dot appeared a little above and to the right of the pot. Bruno raised the rifle ever so slightly, matching the green dot over the red. When the dots matched, they blinked on and off as one. Bruno stood back up, shaking his head as he handed the rifle back to Aldo.
“Incredible,” Bruno said.
Aldo nodded. “Just activate target designation function, and move the green dot onto the red dot, then, BANG, it’s over.”
“Well,” said Bruno. “You still have to worry about shooting fundamentals: breath control, a stable platform, flinching, trigger pull, and all that.”
“Understood.”
Bruno continued, wanting to make sure they all heard him. “But you’ve got the best technique of anyone here.” He moved towards the rest of the group. “And that means that Aldo here should carry the rifle.” Everyone nodded their agreement. Even Stefano.
“I wonder why they left it there?” said Aldo.
Bruno shrugged. “Who knows? I wouldn’t shoot much farther than six hundred meters. The bullet is running out of punch by that distance. And 5.56 mm is not the ideal caliber for a sniper. Maybe the scope belonged on another rifle. Maybe they meant to come back for it.”
“Good thing they never did.”
Saverio spoke up. “Shall we get off the roof before we fry?”
Stefano looked up at the sky. “Yeah, still feels more like summer than fall.” Fair-weather clouds drifted in front of the sun, giving them a moment of shade. Stefano looked down, then looked up at Bruno before he spoke.
“We hate to see you go.”
Bruno smiled. Quite a change from the belligerence Stefano displayed not long ago. “We don’t want to go, either. But you know what we’re trying to do.”
Stefano nodded.
Bruno looked at the group. “It’s time.”
They made their way off the roof through a doorway that led downstairs to the ground floor of Paola’s lair. Bruno smiled to himself as he scooped up his backpack along with another from the glass entryway. “Paola’s lair” is what DeLuca called their hideout. Sounded like the name of some hip club in Milan. From the ground floor, they made their way back out through the courtyard, down the steps and to the street. The group spoke in low voices, talking but saying little. Out of the corner of his eye, Bruno watched Paola and DeLuca whispering together. DeLuca’s hand rested on her elbow as they spoke. The way DeLuca moved around Paola told Bruno everything he needed to know.
They assembled on the cobblestone street just outside the entrance to the group’s home. The motorcycle from the weapons cache stood gleaming black in the sun. Bruno loaded up the side car with his gear and DeLuca, tearing himself away from Paola, did the same. He would have to ride behind Bruno, since their backpacks took up most of the room in the sidecar.
DeLuca looked at Bruno as he arranged his gear. “Give me a second.”
“Sure.” Bruno watched as DeLuca moved off up the street a few meters, just out of earshot of the group, and Paola followed. Bruno stopped what he was doing and walked over to Saverio, Mauro, Stefano, and Aldo.
Bruno shook hands with each of them, smiling as he did so. Then he turned to Aldo, clapping him on the arm that held the rifle. Bruno glanced down as he spoke.
“Watch the ammo, Aldo. Remember, when the bullets run out, it’s back to clubs and knives.”
Aldo grasped Bruno’s own shoulder in response, his gaze serious as he spoke. “Thank you for teaching us how to use this.”
“Just watch your fundamentals.”
Bruno pulled the radio out of his jacket pocket and handed it to Stefano.
Stefano studied the radio for a moment. “I wrote down the transmission schedule. I’ll turn it on every time like you said.”
“Just make sure you turn it off after ten minutes. Don’t want to run down the charge,” said Bruno. “We’ll probably have to get on top of a building to get a signal out, so don’t worry if you don’t hear from us. We’ll just text—no voice unless we have a serious problem.”
Bruno looked at Stefano’s wrist. “Please tell me you have a watch.”
“Oh yeah,” laughed Stefano, tugging on his sleeve, revealing an analog watch. “I’m old-school like you, Bruno.” Stefano looked down at his watch and shrugged. “No telling how long the battery will last, though.”
“Hopefully long enough for this adventure.” Bruno looked up at the sky. “Shall we call this 10:00?” The exact time no longer had any meaning. All that mattered was that they agreed to some arbitrary time so that they would turn on their radios at the same moment.
“Works for me.”
Bruno looked down. “I wish one of you would come. You know what this is about. Paola, she doesn’t—”
The group looked at Bruno, then at each other. Mauro spoke first.
“We want to come,” said Mauro. “But Paola, she . . .”
Saverio chimed in when Mauro faltered. “She thinks what you’re doing is crazy. And she doesn’t trust you, not after what you told her you did.”
“We think she’s wrong,” said Stefano. “But we’re alive because of her judgment. I’m alive because of her, and we can’t just—”
“Right, I get it,” said Bruno, cutting Stefano off. Bruno realized even in this world, speaking the truth had consequences, and maybe lies were preferable after all.
“Hey, Bruno!” said DeLuca. Bruno turned and saw DeLuca sitting on the motorcycle. He seemed oddly eager to leave, but Bruno heard tension in his voice as he asked, “Are we ready?”
Bruno noticed that Paola still stood apart from the group. He walked over to her and spoke softly, so only she could hear.
“You know what we’re trying to do. Just let one of them come. We could use help.”
“DeLuca trusts you. That says something. But I don’t. And the signal? The blood? Even if you were my son, I’d tell you this is crazy.”
Bruno knew nothing he could say would change her mind, so he stayed silent while she spoke again.
“I’m trying to keep them safe, Bruno. Not send them on some stupid chase that might get them killed. Or risk revealing to people who would kill us that we’re here. And you? You’re reckless, volatile. You don’t give a goddamn about killing anymore, if you ever did.” She gestured toward the group. “You see how they are already. Imagine what they might have to do, how much worse things could be for them if they did go with you. Do you get that?”
Bruno opened his mouth to speak. Part of him wanted to fight, to justify all of what he’d done so that she would understand. Then he decided to stop making excuses to himself. He had stopped counting the people he had killed. And what would she think if she knew all that he had done on Tiberius’ Leap? To Father Tommaso? To the innocent woman he had killed for just getting near him? Maybe she was right after all.
“You could at least wish us luck.”
Paola nodded. “Good luck then, Bruno.”
He plodded back to the motorcycle, but he did not get on. Keeping his back to the group as he spoke, Bruno muttered, “Look, old man, I think you should stay.”
“Stay?” whispered DeLuca. “No, I’m going with you.”
“But Paola—”
DeLuca did not look over at Paola. “I know, Bruno, I know. She thinks this is insane. She thinks you . . .” DeLuca’s voice fell into silence. Then he continued. “You didn’t abandon me, Bruno, and I will never abandon you.”
Bruno looked down, fiddling with the ignition key on the motorcycle. He frowned. Then he nodded. Without looking up at DeLuca, Bruno said, “I hope yo
u won’t regret coming with me.”
DeLuca rested his hand on Bruno’s arm. “Believe me, no matter what happens, I won’t.”
Bruno nodded. “Let’s go before this gets any harder.”
He mounted the bike, putting on his dark sunglasses as he settled in. The motorcycle growled to life. With a wave, Bruno shot down the street. He felt DeLuca’s grip around his waist tighten as they sped off.
Bruno did not look back, but he wondered if DeLuca did.
Chapter 22
Bruno glanced behind him. Grim, Soviet-style apartment buildings now blocked any view of Vesuvius to the southeast. Turning the engine off, Bruno dismounted the motorcycle. DeLuca followed.
They surveyed the area. “Porca troia!” muttered Bruno as he pulled off his sunglasses. “Fucking hell! I should have known this would happen.”
The A3 Autostrada ran right into the heart of Naples. But now instead of ending in an intersection that flowed in and out of the city, as Bruno remembered, military trucks parked length-wise blocked both lanes and the narrow median. In front of the small space that wasn’t blocked by the trucks, thick tangles of barbed wire and metal barriers that looked like large jacks painted yellow barred the way. Bruno could see the nondescript apartment buildings and billboards of this part of Naples that lay behind the barrier. Apart from some ragged posters, half-stuck on streetlamps, flapping in the wind, Bruno saw no movement.
Motioning to DeLuca to stay back, he approached one of the trucks with one hand on the pistol at his back. Bruno looked in the cab. Empty. He scrambled in, looking for anything of use. To his surprise, he found the keys, put them in the ignition and turned. But to no avail. The engine didn’t even turn over.
Bruno put his head back on the seat and sighed. He kept his sunglasses off. A sheet of clouds had rolled in, blotting out the sun, but the still oddly warm temperature for this time of year made him sweat. Bruno wondered exactly what day or even what month it was. October he thought, or maybe the end of September? He glanced at his watch. October, if the thing was still right. Amazing how little something like the date meant anymore.
He walked back toward DeLuca.
“Strange,” DeLuca said. “Less than an hour’s ride from Sorrento to Naples, but it feels like we’re on another planet.”
Bruno grunted in acknowledgement, wiping his forehead with his sleeve. Noticing his watch as he raised his hand, Bruno unhooked it.
“Here,” said Bruno. “You’ve got the radio. You need the watch, too.”
As DeLuca fastened the watch on his wrist, they both looked around, each seeking a way through. On their right, a high brick wall topped by a metal fence separated the road from what Bruno thought must be railroad tracks, the once-electrified wires running in the air a telltale sign. To their left, a shorter vertical fence made of metal slats ran along the side of the road. Bruno glanced behind them. Both ran for kilometers back in the distance from whence they had come.
DeLuca followed Bruno’s gaze. “We’ll have to backtrack. Take the last off-ramp.”
Bruno shook his head. “No. We’ll go on foot from here.”
“On foot? Why?”
Bruno looked around. “The military probably blocked all the roads in and out of the city at the end, trying to keep Omega from spreading into or out of the city. We might run out of fuel long before we could find some side road that they forgot. Not to mention the noise of this thing would wake the dead.” Bruno looked back up the road from where they had come. “If we find the blood, we should go back to Sorrento, regroup before we decide what to do next. So, we need to leave the moto here. I’ll move it close to the truck so that it’ll be harder to spot.”
Without turning on the engine, Bruno rolled the motorcycle closer to the truck. As he did so, he nodded towards central Naples. “Check the map. We’re not that far from the cache now, I don’t think.”
DeLuca pulled the map out of his jacket pocket and unfurled it. He turned it over from the side that had the whole of the boot of Italy to the one with a focus on the major urban areas. He folded it again, leaving central Naples the only square exposed. “Yes, two kilometers or so. Can you believe it’s in a church, let alone that church?”
Bruno maneuvered the bike parallel to the part of the truck just behind the passenger cab. Then he glanced about, his eyes focusing on the low rooftops beyond the trucks in front of them, while DeLuca folded up the map. “We’d better get a move on. This used to be a key access point to the city from the south. They might have patrols here.”
DeLuca frowned. “Patrols? But aren’t they just savages, they can’t have—”
“They can,” interrupted Bruno. “Don’t you remember the last time we were here? They called it organized crime for a reason.”
Bruno rummaged through the backpacks, took some things out, and left them at the bottom of the passenger side of the truck, hidden under the mat. He hoped his things would still be there if he ever managed to come back.
“We’ve got to travel light,” said Bruno. “Some food, water. A couple of tools. That’s it.”
He tightened the straps on his backpack, handed DeLuca’s to him, and checked his pistol. Safety on and a round in the chamber. Bruno was ready. “We’ve wasted enough time already. Come on.”
He clambered into the truck with the open door and DeLuca followed. Bruno moved over to the driver’s side and looked out the window. The bright sun illuminated the open intersection. In the middle stood a stop sign amid a triangle overgrown with brown grass, the only remnant of nature. Harsh right angles of five- and six-storey grey concrete buildings dominated the area. A low stone wall festooned with faded billboards ran on the other side of the intersection, perpendicular to them, maybe a hundred meters away, until it reached the end of the block.
“Make for the wall and stick close to it. That’ll make us harder to hit.” Bruno pointed at what looked like a parking garage and some apartment buildings looming on the other side of the wall. “See those buildings beyond the wall? If someone is up there, they’ll have a clear shot at the whole area, so we’ve got to move fast.”
DeLuca moved forward a bit, tightening the pack on his back. “Ready when you are.”
Bruno put his hand on the driver’s side door handle. He peered out the window one last time, but saw nothing except the bones of an empty city. He turned to DeLuca.
“Stay low.”
Bruno threw open the door and jumped out. Without looking back, he ran in a crouch across the asphalt, his breath loud in his own ears. Bruno fixed his eyes on the wall. Though his feet churned beneath him, his backpack slowed him down and the wall seemed only to creep closer. As he approached the wall, Bruno almost felt like a fool as he ran, crouched, like a thousand eyes were watching. He knew Il Serbo couldn’t be everywhere. He could hear DeLuca’s footfalls just behind him, but then the sound of gunfire filled the air. Between bursts of gunfire, sounds of a nearby referee’s whistle filled the air. More whistles answered it. A grim realization swept over Bruno. They are coming.
Struggling through what felt like spider webs, Bruno lurched into the wall, with DeLuca next to him. Bruno yanked his pistol out and DeLuca followed suit.
The shots stopped once they reached the wall, but those goddamned whistles wouldn’t stop. Bruno crouched down and spoke to DeLuca, his voice struggling to contain his rising panic. “I can’t tell where it’s coming from. We’ve got to find cover!”
“But how could they know? How could they—”
“No time for that now! Follow me!”
They hurried to the end of the wall, and Bruno risked peeking his head beyond it. The street moved into the heart of Naples. The dingy parking garage dominated the newer buildings at this end of the street. Bruno saw a flash of movement at the top of the garage. He pulled back, put his back against the wall and looked up at the overcast sky. He knew more were on their way, converging on this area and coming for them.
“Bruno,” hissed DeLuca. “What now?”
> For the first time in a long while, Bruno’s confidence faltered. He had no answers and did not know what to do. Still, Bruno understood they needed to move quickly, or they would surely be found and killed, or worse. If they escaped back to Sorrento, they might never find the blood, the cache, or any chance of destroying Omega. And if the gang had a working vehicle and could follow, they might lead this bunch of murdering thugs back to Paola and their new friends.
For long seconds, Bruno struggled with himself. Then he turned to DeLuca.
“Come on,” said Bruno. “We’re heading for the garage. Sniper’s on the top. Stay low, and follow me, as fast as you can.”
Bruno holstered his own pistol, then put his hand on the barrel of DeLuca’s. “Put it away—won’t do much good if you drop it. Once we’re in, he can’t shoot us. We’ll have to get out the other side, and hope we can lose them in the narrower streets.”
Bruno knew that not many people could hit a moving target from a distance like the top of the garage to the street. He hoped that the bullets to come held to the law of averages, since he was risking not just his life, but that of DeLuca as well.
“There’s a door, I think it’s open. That’s where we’re going.”
DeLuca nodded. “I’ll be right behind you.”
Bruno took two breaths and emerged running from behind the wall in a semi-crouch. Shots echoed around as they ran toward their goal. His heart in his throat, Bruno blasted into the entrance bar on the door, almost knocking it off its hinges.
The sound of DeLuca’s huffing filled Bruno’s ears as he shut the door behind him and looked around.
“Find something to block the door!”
DeLuca and Bruno both scrambled around the small area. They stood in a narrow room at the bottom of a staircase that led up to the other levels of the garage.
“There’s nothing here!”
Bruno glanced around, searching as much for an idea as for something to block the entrance. Going up the stairs would be suicide. They’d end up trapped on a higher level with no escape. Bruno peered into the semi-gloom of the lower level of the garage, just opposite the door they had used to enter. It was half-filled with cars coated in grey dust, but at least the inside offered the hope of an alternate exit.
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