by Thomas Locke
“Nonetheless, that is our role today.” Alessandro felt positively giddy. He always felt that way in the presence of danger. Only afterward, when he was safe and lying in his bed and reliving the moment—usually at three in the morning with Carla asleep beside him—did he know terror. Just now, however, he was having a wonderful time. “Isn’t this fun?”
Edoardo shot him a look of sour astonishment. “Now I know why they made you leave Naples. You are insane.”
“We’re saving some very good people from some very bad men. What could be more fun than that?”
“We’re two people against eight. One and a half, really, since you refuse to carry a gun. My SWAT team is trapped on the motorway inside a traffic jam sixty miles long and won’t be here until November. So for backup we have one carload of Como’s local constables.” Edoardo shook his head. “They’ll probably shoot us both.”
“They will do just fine.”
“And I am telling you this as a friend. Seek help before it’s too late.”
Alessandro’s phone chirped. He checked the readout and said, “It is our brave lads.” He had specifically ordered them not to use their radios. Italian police radios were so often tapped by the bad guys, they might as well use megaphones. “Hello?”
“We are entering Brunate now.”
“We are in the unmarked car around the corner from the funicular station. Pull up behind us.” He ended the call and conceded, “They do sound rather young.”
Edoardo sighed and reached over. “Give me that thing.” He had depleted his own phone’s battery yelling at his backup. He dialed a number, and instantly the tinny sound of sirens came from the cell phone’s speaker. He shouted, “How long?”
Alessandro said, “Not so loud, please. My ears.”
Edoardo hung up and said, “Another hour.”
“Which means two.” As soon as Alessandro held the phone, it chirped again. “It’s the Americans.” He put it to his ear. “Hello?”
Charlie said, “Two teams are inbound. Both Americans. Two carloads of locals are also parked outside the gates. It appears they’re assigned to a backup role. Can we leave them to you?”
“Of course. You are sure you would not rather have us—”
“Stick to the plan. Hazard out.”
Alessandro set down his phone. Felt the most delightful shiver of nerves. “It has begun.”
51
A sudden shift occurred just as Reese passed through the villa’s front gates. The rain did not simply stop, nor did the clouds lessen. Instead, the season of gloom completely vanished. The change was so drastic they might as well have left one world and entered another. The sky became a huge open field so vast it shamed the remaining clouds into scuttling away. A blast of wind caused the surrounding trees to give great shuddering heaves. Sunlight turned the falling droplets into gems.
Trace muttered, “Shame it couldn’t wait another ten minutes.”
“This is bad?”
“Makes us easier to spot.” He raised his hand. Keyed his earpiece. “Go . . . Okay. Which corner? . . . Roger that. Hold for the green light. I say again, hold position.” He released the mike and told his team, “Our spotter is in place. Top floor’s action is restricted to two rooms. In the room to our right somebody is playing a computer game. And a man is talking softly in the southeast corner, to your left and back against the cliff. Spotter says it sounds like the guy is counting.”
Reese stiffened. “This is not good. According to what we’ve managed to ascertain, counting is part of how they do this ascent thing.”
“So do we pull back?”
She stared at the villa, her focus so intense she could almost peel away the stones. Beyond the walls, the village was utterly silent. Not even a dog barked. “If they’re not out here waiting for us, it has to mean they haven’t been able to break through again.”
Trace said, “A lot depends on you being right.”
Reese started to snap that he was the one who didn’t want any more false starts. But an argument would get them nowhere. All she wanted was to get this over and done. The thought of her face on an international arrest warrant was a hot flame pressing her forward. “I say let’s do it.”
Trace walked over to where his teammate held a scanner. “Show me.”
The guy steadied the apparatus on one knee and took aim through the eyepiece. Trace knelt as his guy pulled a small flat-screen from the apparatus’s side, connected to the machine by a flexible cable. Reese moved in close beside Trace as the guy said, “Starting with the ground floor. Infrared first.” He did a slow sweep. “There. Back north room. Could be as many as six laid out on the floor, one person seated.”
“I see it.”
The screen was filled with a rose-colored glow near the base. A single figure rose above the cluster of light.
Trace asked, “That’s the best you can do?”
“It’s the stone. The walls must be two feet thick.”
“Try the other.”
“Switching to X-ray.” The screen went blank, then was filled with a faint bluish glow. The lone figure appeared on the screen. The image zoomed in closer. “He’s sitting down.”
“Any others?”
“They’re too close to the floor. The heat image is clearer. Switching back. I say a minimum of four, more like six. All but the one guy lying down.”
A sudden gust blasted through the trees, showering them with droplets. Reese cleared her face and said, “It’s how they ascend. One person directs while the others lie down and go.”
“I don’t understand a word you just said, and I don’t care. Are we good to go or not?”
She wanted desperately to say yes and saw the same taut desire on his face. “Check out the rest of the house.”
Trace turned back to the screen. “Go back to X-ray.”
“Roger that. Okay. Rest of the ground floor looks empty.”
“Go to the middle floor.”
“Middle floor looks totally vacant.”
“Top floor.”
“Activity on the top floor. Two rooms occupied. We’ve got what looks like a woman standing in an inside doorway in the middle bedroom. She was the one playing with the computer before. And there in the back is another guy seated.”
Reese said, “Where is everybody else?”
Trace said, “Switch to infrared.”
“Switching now. Okay, the north room here, it’s only got the lone woman. Here to the south, we’ve got the same deal as we saw on the ground floor. Only the glow is clearer. Walls must be thinner. Nothing on X-ray, they meld with the floor. Must be on pallets. But look, here’s the heat image. Okay, I count six prone bodies.”
Reese felt the steel bands about her chest ease slightly. She speed-dialed her phone.
Patel answered, “You are so in trouble with Weldon.”
“Where is he?”
“Pacing the top tier. Talking on the phone. Very angry.”
It could not be helped. The only response to Weldon angry was the same as to Weldon happy. Bring home the results. “Are you monitoring cell phone activity?”
“Of course I am.”
“And?”
“Twenty minutes ago, this Massimo spoke with his girl again. She is named Consuela. Another student called her mother and said she wanted to come home. The pharmacologist, Dr. Elizabeth Sayer, called her father.”
“I thought they were estranged.”
“They are. Is that a problem?”
Reese pondered that, then set it aside. “Go on.”
“Twenty minutes back, the conversations ended. We continue to monitor the cell phones. I can hear nothing through two of them. Through the third, Massimo’s, I might hear a man counting. Or chanting words. It is very faint. The phone must be in a backpack.”
She ran through everything another time. “The pharmacy van.”
“What about it?”
“Anybody say anything about being sick?”
“Not on the phone.
But we’ve accessed the Italian students’ university files. One of them is diabetic.”
“Okay.”
“Weldon wants a word.”
“Not now.” She ended the call. “Nada.”
Before Reese could say anything more, however, Weldon’s voice burrowed through her earpiece. “You think you can deny me access by shutting off her phone?”
Reese turned her back to the villa and the team. Not that it would do any good. Weldon was speaking through the open circuit, which would connect them all once they went in. They could all hear her as she hit the mike button and snapped, “No, Weldon. Being the pro you are, I assumed you would get the message that now is not the time.”
Weldon breathed twice, then cut the connection. Trace grinned at her. “Bosses are such a pain.”
“Okay, here’s my take,” Reese said. “They’re still blind. They’ve got everybody clustered in two teams, trying to get somebody out here to find us. It’s desperation on a new level.”
“So we go?”
Reese did not nod so much as shiver. “Right now.”
52
The four police officers who pried themselves from the car appeared scarcely removed from their teenage years. The lone woman was their senior officer. She asked, “Bailiff Gavi?”
“That would be me. Show them your badge, Edoardo, that’s a good man. My colleague is with the Guardia di Finanza.”
She saluted. “Officer Benedetti. The commandant says we are under your command.”
Edoardo growled, “How old are you?”
“Edoardo, please. Officer Benedetti, please forgive my colleague. He is just emerging from hibernation. He will be fine as soon as the action starts and he can feast upon the bad men.” Alessandro asked his friend, “How shall we do this?”
“Two teams. These officers will take the first car, we will go alone for the second.” He asked the four, “Have any of you made an armed arrest?”
Only Officer Benedetti lifted her hand. “I have, sir.”
Edoardo sighed.
Alessandro told the woman, “You will lead your team.”
Edoardo checked his watch. “The American truly says the attack has begun?”
“Charlie Hazard is not one to exaggerate.”
“We cannot wait for my men. We must move now.”
“Indeed.”
Edoardo’s scowl was enough to bring all four young officers to attention. “Listen carefully. There are eight thugs in two cars. Some of them may be private security personnel. If any of them flash a badge, I order you to ignore it. They will all be armed and ready for combat. The critical issue is to give them no chance. You will approach with weapons drawn. You will watch their hands and their eyes. If any of them make a move for their weapons, you fire. You shoot to kill. But only if they make a move. Because the raw fact is this: if we fire, they fire. And if that happens, one or more of us will never taste wine or pasta again. Do you understand what I am saying?”
Alessandro watched one of the young men go bone pale. But they all nodded assent. He said, “Let’s go.”
Alessandro and his little team moved forward on foot. It was half a kilometer to the villa’s entrance along an empty road. The road was steep enough to have them all puffing hard, even Edoardo. Alessandro was certain his own breathing was rough. But he could hear nothing. Not his breathing, nor his footsteps, nor the wind that lashed the trees overhead. There was nothing in his ears save the sound of his own life’s blood.
Which was the moment the sun broke through.
All six of them stopped for a moment. The effect was blinding. Every surface was wet. They were surrounded by a billion brilliant mirrors.
Alessandro realized, “This is our chance!”
Edoardo squinted. “What?”
“They are as blinded by this as we are.”
Edoardo hissed, “On the double, move!”
53
All the villa’s downstairs windows were barred, which meant Trace’s team was restricted to the front door, unless they used charges, which Reese nixed. The front door was massive. Reese clustered with two of the crew behind a huge elm as Trace and another man climbed the stairs. Trace swept the perimeter while his man picked the lock. Both teams were switched to the open frequency. Reese’s head was filled with the heavy breathing of nine highly amped men.
The lock picker opened the door a fraction, then backed up and scouted the perimeter. Trace slowly opened the door. He then turned and looked straight at Reese. She gave him a thumbs-up.
Through her earpiece, she heard him say, “Green light. I say again. We are green for go. Weapons hot. Remember your orders. First team, on my one. Three, two, one.”
The insertion was nothing like what she had expected. In her mind, the attack should have been full of testosterone and noise and speed. A lot of bangs, a lot of bullets, a lot of fear.
Instead, everything was silent. And slow.
The loudest sound was the screaming inside her brain.
As soon as they were all inside, Trace softly shut the front door. The entrance hall was paved in broad flagstones. Directly ahead rose the broad central staircase. To her left was a massive display case set in an alcove peaked like the front door. The glass shelves were filled with pottery and ceramics. To her right, a trio of stone steps led down to a gloomy hallway. The four men fanned out so that their backs were to the entrance. They scanned and they waited. In their left hands were spray canisters of nerve gas. One whiff and the recipient was out for ninety minutes. In their right hands were silenced pistols.
Back in the hotel Reese had heard Trace drill the men over and over. Left hand for the techies, right for everybody else. She had thought the repetition absurdly trivial. Now it was all she could do to remember which hand was which.
Trace pointed to his men. Two up the stairs. One with him down the hallway. He turned to Reese and pointed to his back. Then he pointed two fingers at his eyes. Stay behind him and watch. She nodded that she understood. Fine with her. Leading from behind suddenly held a huge amount of appeal. Trace must have understood her response, and his men as well. They all shared a final smile.
A voice in her ear whispered, “We’re on the roof. No movement.”
Trace whispered back, “Enter by the north and south balconies. Watch for our men coming up the stairs. Go.”
Trace and his man moved down the hall in a cautious rush. At each doorway the lead guy checked with Trace, then went in high, Trace low. Reese remained plastered to the wall just beyond the action. Her heart was a frantic bird, struggling for a way to escape her chest.
At the rear of the house the hall took a sharp left turn, then ended by a final door. The door was wooden, ancient, and painted a muted color that looked grey in the dim light. Reese watched as the two men positioned themselves. Steady as a pair of human rocks. Trace pointed to the man’s nerve gas, then to the floor. His crew member was to go for the people on the floor. Trace lifted his pistol. To Reese, the barrel and silencer looked six feet long.
Trace nodded. Go.
Then over her earphone, she heard a voice say, “What the—”
Trace’s man was already committed. But she felt Trace’s hand punch her back. Slamming her against the wall.
Over her earpiece she heard the sound of a sack dropping.
At the same moment, she watched as their lead man stiffened, slapped a hand to his neck, and fell. Hard.
He landed on a pallet. The pallet did not move. She realized with awful clarity that all the pallets were empty. There was nobody lying there.
Trace shouted, “Alert! The house is a kill zone! Shoot everything!”
Reese took a step back as Trace fired repeatedly through the open doorway. The gun’s flashes illuminated a room that was empty save for the man sprawled at his feet. Trace raked the room. He slapped a fresh load into his gun, leapt through the doorway, rolled, and came up firing.
Overhead and through her earpiece Reese heard a tempest of men yelli
ng and the crash of furniture and the quick whuffs of silenced gunfire. A man yelled that he was hit. Then another.
Trace’s gun ran out. He dropped the empty case and reached for his belt.
A man separated himself from the corner. To Reese it seemed as though he had drawn himself from the shadows.
The stranger flitted across the room. The air was filled with a whirring sound.
Trace used his empty gun to block the blow. The man’s baton made sparks when it struck the pistol. Trace whipped the gun down, trapping the baton on the barrel and pulling it down to where he could stomp on the weapon.
The man released it and went for Trace’s neck. Trace dropped and rolled and responded with a pair of kicks that sent the man flying.
But the man came up like his body was spring-loaded. Trace swept his other arm in the air between them. Reese heard a quiet hiss and realized Trace had released the nerve gas.
The man backed up farther and came up against the desk. Suddenly the air was full of missiles. A laptop, cables, monitors, headphones. Trace deflected them in a series of blocks but lost the canister in the process. Then the man tossed the table, easy as a kid shooting a Frisbee. Trace flipped over backward and tumbled.
The man shot her one look. A killer’s glance, holding her so tight her heart lost its ability to beat. Only then did she realize it was Charlie Hazard.
He did not move forward so much as stalk Trace. The men came together in a flurry of moves so fast as to meld together in the dim light. Their limbs and bodies blurred. There was no way two human beings could move that fast. They danced to the tune of huffs and blows and crashes.
Charlie seemed to toss Trace over his arm like he was flipping a towel. The move was impossibly smooth, even graceful. Yet Trace landed so hard his head cracked against the stone floor. He lay there, blinking slowly, too stunned to move.
Only then did Reese realize she was screaming. A high-pitched shriek, a release of hyper-tense steam that had to get out somehow.
Charlie paid her no mind whatsoever. He reached back into the shadows and came up with a rifle. The haft was shattered, clearly from one of Trace’s bullets. The rifle dangled from his arm as he moved back over and shot Trace at point-blank range.
