Storm Surge: A Fast Paced International Adventure Thriller (Storm Thriller Series Book 3)

by Steven Becker

“You good?” Alicia asked, before turning to the diver in the water.

  “Thank you, ma’am,” the diver replied in a business-like tone.

  Alicia smiled despite the response. She didn’t know it was a military thing, but folks were usually way more excited after a dive. Working with adaptive divers had become one of her passions. The other was the future of the reef, currently being decimated by rising water temperatures, sewage outflow, and disease. If things continued to go well today, they had another dive planned the next day for these two veterans, where they would be diving with a local non-profit to plant farmed coral on the reef.

  The first diver waited patiently, helping as he could, while Alicia and TJ repeated the procedure. A few minutes later, she left the divers with a cold drink and, ignoring the pile of gear on the deck, climbed the stainless-steel ladder to the flybridge.

  “Mako needs you,” TJ said, handing her the phone. “I’ll square things away down there. Jen also called to ask if we’re still on for tomorrow.”

  The young woman from the Coral Restoration Foundation was scheduled to go out with them and help the disabled veterans replant the reef tomorrow.

  “Mako.” She spoke softly into the phone, knowing her voice would be relayed to the bud in his ear. While she waited for him to reply, she leaned over the railing to check on the divers, catching their eyes as they looked back at her. Before Mako’s voice distracted her, she noticed there was something different about the men. After a successful dive, most of the veterans she worked with were almost euphoric. These two acted as if there was something more important than the dive. Thinking they might be apprehensive about the intricate tasks they were going to perform tomorrow, she turned her attention back to Mako.

  3

  Old Rome

  Pelted by the steady downpour, Mako made his way back to the compound. Two blocks from the building, he stopped under the small awning of a very expensive shoe store and pulled up a satellite image of the area on his phone. Zooming in lost much of the detail he needed. A birds-eye view didn’t help much, either. Unless the picture was taken from directly above, the buildings obscured any alleys or small driveways. Rome was generally not known as a “tall” city. From Mako’s point of view, it was a “close” city. With almost a thousand churches, a multitude of museums, and ruins everywhere, real estate available for commercial use was at a premium; every inch of space was utilized.

  Putting the phone away, Mako reviewed what he knew of the area: There seemed to be only three ways to reach the double doors guarding the compound: the two ends of the street and the back door of the cafe. The gunmen would likely be watching the street, making the cafe the less dangerous option—even with the deadly stare of the woman behind the counter.

  Turning back to the intersection he’d just passed, Mako studied the street before crossing diagonally and darting into the alley behind the cafe.

  Finding the overturned trash can he had collided with earlier identified the door, and reaching it, Mako tested the lever. It moved easily, and he was about to open it when he decided to knock instead. He wanted the woman’s cooperation. Using his elbow he pounded on the steel door. A minute later the door cracked open and he was momentarily speechless when he found himself staring into those mesmerizing green eyes.

  “I need your help,” he whispered.

  “Saba,” she said, holding out her hand and moving to the side to allow him entry.

  “Mako.” He returned her grasp. “Some men—” he paused— “Thugs. They’re in the street. I need to make my way across to number 471. Can I cut through your place?”

  She flicked her head at the matronly woman. “Who am I to say no?”

  The old woman screeched something in Italian, causing Saba to flinch. Mako looked at Saba, catching her eyes and noticing a strange look passing over her face. Her glance suddenly darted away.

  “Don’t mind her.” Saba looked back at him.

  If only I had more time, Mako thought as he moved into the seating area of the cafe. Careful not to meet the eyes of the old woman, he stood to the side of the front door and studied the street. The rain had let up enough for him to see the adjacent intersections where the black sedans had entered the street to let off the gunmen. They were clear now, as was the entire block—almost too clear. The drones were invisible from this angle; all he could hope for was that their batteries had forced them to abort.

  The street looked clear, and he placed his hand on the lever.

  Pausing for a second, he checked again. Without prior observation of pedestrian and vehicular traffic patterns, he had no way of knowing if this was normal or not.

  “Alicia? You there?” he whispered into the bone mic.

  “Just a second. I think I have an alternate way in.”

  Before the words reached his brain he had opened the door. “Don’t need it. The street’s cool now.”

  “Don’t,” she warned.

  It was too late. Mako had stepped out onto the sidewalk. The second he did the sedans emerged.

  “Open the lock.”

  “You idiot.”

  “Just do it.” Mako ran across the street. Before he reached the opposite sidewalk, gunshots rang out. Instinctively he headed back toward cover. Had he trusted the doors to be unlocked, he would have gone for it, but if he had found them locked he would be a sitting duck.

  The cafe was his only way out. Turning, his course set, he yanked the door open and ran through the cafe. Just before he reached the back door, a hand grasped his elbow.

  “Not that way. They saw you come in.”

  It was Saba. Despite the life or death situation, her grasp felt warm and her green eyes were reassuring. Using his wrong head, Mako blindly followed her lead as she moved him near a table, which she slid several feet to the side, revealing a trapdoor. Taking his hand, she led him down a short flight of stairs that opened to a storeroom. Once he was in, she reached up and pulled a cord, bringing the cover down over the opening and leaving them in the dark. Seconds later, Mako heard the table being pulled into place above. She might not have liked him, but the older woman was protecting Saba.

  Darkness surrounded them. Saba had moved several feet away. He listened but could hear nothing over the blood pounding in his ears. Slowly his heart rate slowed and he heard voices above. It was two men, but they were speaking in Italian. It appeared every man incurred the old woman’s ire, as she lashed out at them.

  “What are they saying?” Mako whispered.

  Just as Saba’s finger touched her lips, Alicia’s voice was in his ear.

  “What the hell are you doing? I opened the door, but you never showed! We’re about to lose the contract.”

  As Alicia continued talking, Mako knew the best course was to wait out her temper. The CIA—at least he assumed it was the agency that had sponsored the contract—would always be there. The small journal in his pocket was gold.

  Finally, the connection fell quiet, and he told her, “I’m good. Across the street in a basement.”

  By this time, his eyes had acclimated to the darkness. He assumed there was a light, but if on, it might have leaked out the cracks around the opening. Saba had chosen to shroud them in darkness, but he could see the outline of her body clearly. It was too dark to see her features, especially those eyes, but he could see her curves. Just as he started to appraise her, she reached out and pulled the bud from his ear. He started to protest, but her finger on his lips quieted him. She held up a single finger and touched her ear, then pointed upstairs.

  The only sound Mako could hear was her soft breath, and as they waited, he wondered how it would feel against his skin. Before his imagination got the best of him, Saba pointed to the faint outline of a door in the sidewall of the basement.

  Rome was famous for its underground caverns, tunnels, and catacombs. He had been fascinated to learn on a tour earlier this week that most of ancient Rome had been buried over the centuries and only in the last few hundred years had it been excavate
d. Two millennia of silt, as well as the practice of filling older buildings as foundations for newer ones, had buried the ancient city. With an entire city beneath the ground, the owners of nearly every construction project waited with bated breath through the excavation phase of their jobs; most were affected in some way, and some were halted completely.

  Saba opened the slide bolt and cracked the door. As she pulled the door open to creep into the dark passage, a musty breeze surprised Mako.

  Heading into the subterranean unknown was not in Mako’s comfort zone. As much as he hated having Alicia in his ear, he missed her guidance now.

  Mako paused at the threshold. If nothing else, he figured it was safe to talk now. “Where are we going?”

  “Where those men can’t find you. Rome is filled with secrets, don’t worry.”

  He was afraid of that. Going back was not an option, so Mako ducked his head and followed Saba. He tried to engage her several times, but she ignored him. Moving through what appeared to be a tunnel, Mako walked heel to toe in order to avoid tripping on the rocks and roots scattered along the hard-packed dirt floor, while his hands raked against what felt like stone walls. They were wet, probably from the rain seeping through the ground, but it did give him some comfort that there was a level of engineering to the structure rather than a makeshift mineshaft.

  He estimated they had been working their way along for fifteen minutes when he felt the tunnel suddenly start to ascend. Converting the steps he had been counting into an estimate of the distance they had traveled, it seemed they had covered about a half-mile. The pace they moved reconciled with his guess, but still left him clueless as to the direction, although it soon became clear when they reached a grate that overlooked the Tiber River.

  Mako glanced at the padlocked gate. Before he could ask, Saba picked up a rock and slammed it against the old mechanism, which fell away, and they stepped out into daylight. It wasn’t his first look at the famed waterway, and like the first time he was disappointed. The Tiber, at least from the old Roman accounts, summoned romantic images. Now, graffiti covered the concrete embankments and litter was scattered along the sidewalks. The scene had a barren look to it, but regardless, stepping out of the tunnel he felt relieved.

  “Thanks. I owe you for this,” Mako said, as he stretched backwards to work the kinks out. Mako’s eyes were drawn like a magnet to Saba, who was dusting the dirt from her jeans. Sorting out his thoughts, he knew he needed some answers. Her beautiful veneer might have thrown another man, but Mako had been burnt by beautiful women before. Her appearance and help had been all too convenient.

  “Dinner?” He was glad Alicia wasn’t in his ear when he asked. She would doubtless have scolded him for his womanizing tendencies, but in this case, it was information that Mako was after.

  “I suppose I saved your ass. Probably the least you could do,” she said. Her tone implied that this wasn’t the first time she had been in this kind of situation. “There’s a place I know on the other side of the river.”

  “Right on. Lead the way.”

  Side by side, not as close as lovers, nor as far away as strangers, they walked toward the bridge. They moved quickly away from the gate, and Mako looked back at the tunnel entrance to see if they had been followed. It took him several long seconds to find the well-disguised grate. He realized they had traversed the city through a storm drain, or at least a passage disguised as one. Looking at the concrete wall running adjacent to the Tiber, he saw a similar arched opening repeating every hundred yards.

  “Are they all like that?” he asked.

  Saba followed his gaze and understood. She winked. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

  The off-the-cuff comment added to Mako’s growing list of questions. He hoped a good bottle of wine with dinner might shed some light on his mysterious savior. The rain was intermittent now, but when a drop landed in the ear his bud had been, he remembered Saba had Alicia in her pocket. It might have been amusing, but it was not a good place for his handler. Adding the recovery of the bud to his list, he followed Saba across the Ponte Umberto.

  On the other bank stood a large, cylindrical tower. Looking for a conversation starter, he asked Saba about the fortress.

  “It’s the Castel Sant’Angelo, otherwise known as Hadrian’s tomb. Another relic built with the sweat of slaves. It does have some interesting features, though, like a covered walkway eight hundred meters to Vatican City. Even the pope needs a secret exit.”

  “Not so secret, though.”

  “Would you like to see it?”

  “Had enough of tunnels for the day, thanks.” What he really wanted was a drink, to stare into Saba’s green eyes, and see if they were the pathway to her soul—or something else.

  4

  Trastevere District, Rome

  The feel of cold, damp concrete startled Mako awake, and he found himself shivering under the rough material of a threadbare blanket. Sitting up slowly, he cast the worn rag aside. It took a few seconds to get his bearings. He noticed the river stretching in front of him, much the same as it had last night, except this morning he had a blinding headache, no hot babe beside him, and no recollection of how he got here.

  Though he suspected the journal was gone, Mako needed to check. He patted the inside pocket of his jacket. Empty. Sticking his finger in his ear, he found the bud had vanished, as well as his phone.

  His wallet, however, remained in his pocket. With the journal’s contract value well into six figures, whoever had taken it had no need for his money.

  Mako sat up and rubbed his eyes, trying to recall how he’d gotten here. As his senses fully returned, he felt movement around him. It turned out he had neighbors—about twenty, from the looks of the sleeping bags and shopping carts nearby.

  Then he remembered her eyes. The jade-green eyes that changed with the light. Her face appeared in his mind’s eye, and then her name: Saba. As the cobwebs in his mind cleared, he looked around. The graffiti covering the brick embankment across the river looked familiar, as did the bridge. Memories from yesterday started to flood back, none of them good. He had been set up. And with the journal stolen, the contract was lost.

  Without the phone and earbud, Alicia was gone as well. His guide, work mom, handler, or whatever she was often irritated him, but her guidance was essential. He was on his own.

  Mako was not one to wallow in self-pity. His father, John, a CIA legend, put out to pasture with the last round of budget cuts, had been hard on him. For most of his childhood, it had been just the two of them, but with John often away on “business,” Mako was raised by doting grandparents. His mother was nothing but a fond memory, one that he had probably fabricated. She had died when he was young; a car accident, he was told at the time. It wasn’t until he had joined the agency himself that his father had told him the truth—she had been killed by a Russian assassin.

  Rising to his feet, Mako staggered for several steps. Glancing around to see if his neighbors had noticed, he figured he could have fallen into the river for all the attention it got him. The other vagrants assumed he was probably high, a condition they were familiar with.

  After several ungainly steps, Mako got his bearings and started walking more normally. The appearance of the Castel Sant’Angelo gave him the landmark he needed. Turning to the south, he started following the river. Without his phone, trying to make his way through the city would be impossible. His father would chide him if he knew, but the old man was the only one he knew that still used paper maps. At least he recognized several landmarks and decided, with the fortress behind him, to continue along the banks of the Tiber until he found the Vittorio Emanuel II Monument, built in honor of the first king of a unified Italy. The twentieth-century neoclassical building loomed large over the city. It might have been gaudy, but was easy to find. From there he could make his way back to what he hoped was still his safe house, an apartment in the Monti district.

  Mako followed the straight section of the river for a few miles,
passing several other homeless camps. The city was starting to come to life by the time he reached the first bend in the river that told him he was getting close. Groups of bicycle riders and joggers invaded the sidewalk, forcing him to the side. Then, an island appeared mid-stream. Mako remembered the landmark. To his left, a steep staircase broke the expanse of the concrete embankment. After ascending the old stone stairs, Mako looked to the left and saw the monument. It was a simple matter now. Once he reached the Piazza Venezia, he followed the Via dei Fori Imperiali toward the Colosseum.

  Halfway to the iconic ruin, he found the street, and turned left. A block removed from the main avenue, the neighborhood took over. Walking past the shuttered wine bars and restaurants, the street had a quiet feel, though that would change later. There was no traffic. It was too narrow for a thoroughfare. In the death maze of the city’s layout, unless you owned or rented a garage or were looking for an elusive parking spot, there was no reason to travel the cobblestone street.

  Finding the building, Mako reached into his pocket. Relieved when he felt the shape of the keys, he pulled them out. Finding them was the first thing that had gone right in two days. Then he noticed the main entry door was ajar, and worried that someone had penetrated his upper-floor safe house. Removing a wad of paper that had been stuck in the door jamb to stop the bolt from engaging, Mako pushed open the door. Aware that the apartment could have been compromised, he crept up the uneven stone stairs, stopping at each floor to listen. Reaching the third-floor landing, he moved toward the wooden apartment door and ran his fingers around the jamb, checking for the telltale hair he had placed on top of the door.

  Convinced he was safe, Mako unlocked the door, and entered the sanctuary. In no rush to incur Alicia’s wrath, he walked past the phone, and entered the bathroom. A steaming hot shower, shave, and change of clothes later, Mako brewed a cup of coffee, sat down, and reviewed what had happened.