Syracuse, Sicily
Mako and Saba sat slouched down in their seats near the rear of the balcony watching the activity below. It was a little surreal observing the group below clearly committing some kind of crime, from what was essentially a theater seat. All that was missing was popcorn.
Fortunately, the acoustics of the old stone building worked in their favor and they could hear the conversation, at least between Burga and Maldonado. The third man stood menacingly over the other two, clearly there for protection.
“They don’t have the expertise to do this themselves,” Saba whispered.
Mako flinched, silently watching the group below to see if the sound of her voice had carried. The thug was a bellwether, more concerned with what was going on around them, while Burga and Maldonado stared at the painting. From the man’s unchanged demeanor, Mako assumed he hadn’t heard.
“We’re still not sure what they’re doing,” Mako whispered.
“Changing the painting out—what else?”
Mako recalled his previous experience while he had inspected the painting from a ladder. Unless they had scaffolding somewhere, or a mechanical lift, there was no way two or even three men could manage the task. Though the painting was only canvas, the physical size of the painting alone would make it difficult.
Mako returned his attention to Burga and Maldonado, and shot forward when Maldonado withdrew the journal from his pocket. His job was to get the journal back, and only one man stood in his way. Once he had the journal, he would have some leverage to free his father and Faith. Slowly his right hand moved behind his back to his father’s .45.
Saba must have realized his intentions. Her hand reached across and grabbed his before it reached the pistol. Their fingers seemed to naturally intertwine, but Mako knew this was more of a restraint than a romantic gesture.
“There’s a bigger picture here than just the journal,” Saba whispered, squeezing his hand to let him know he wasn’t alone in this.
Mako wasn’t sure what their relationship was. In chapter one he had been a victim; chapter two, they had acted like wannabe lovers, and now, an uneasy partnership had settled over them. He wondered if there would be a chapter three after this was over. His long-standing Storm defect, an inability to express emotion or verbalize things, wasn’t going to help.
Just as Mako was about to protest, a loud beeping sound came from outside the main entrance. The thug looked at Burga, who nodded. Mako and Saba instinctively slid down in their chairs as he crossed to the double doors. From the balcony they had no direct view of the entrance, which was underneath them. Mako thought about moving to the railing for a better look, but when a shaft of light penetrated the church and the beeping sound grew louder, he knew what was happening.
The claxon filled the building, echoing off the stone walls as a mechanized lift came into view. Once it cleared the seats, the church fell into shadows again as the doors were closed.
Mako moved his gaze to Maldonado. The bishop was unfazed by the activity. On his hands and knees, he studied the painting, checking the journal that lay beside him every few minutes.
The lift was moved into place and Burga, the security man, and the two mechanics fixed their attention on the bishop.
Maldonado looked up at the altarpiece as if thanking God and rose. “It is the real thing.”
Mako gave Saba a questioning look. “What now?”
“If they are planning on taking down the forgery and hanging the original, let them make it right. Then I’ll arrange for backup and arrest them for possession of the forgery.”
“And the journal?” Mako asked.
“I’m not so sure your contract will be worth anything if the Church is the benefactor.”
The incessant beeping had stopped and Mako looked down at the work being done behind the altar while he thought about her answer. The high-lift had been positioned in front of the painting. The basket, holding the two men who had delivered the equipment, started to rise. Powered by batteries, the lift elevated the men to the top of the painting in relative silence. With the men working to remove the forgery the church was far from quiet, and Mako felt at ease to continue the conversation.
“I need to find Alicia,” Mako said, pulling out his phone and studying the screen, which showed only his wallpaper. There were no messages or voicemails. He thought for a minute. “If I can deliver the journal to the CIA contact before they find out Maldonado’s behind this mess, they’ll pay.”
“Maybe we can work something out.” Saba squeezed Mako’s hand, then picked up her phone and started texting.
Mako assumed she was arranging for backup to arrest the bishop and Burga. They sat in silence for what seemed like hours as the two men removed the forgery and started to install the original painting. It took a while, but as Mako watched, he slowly came to the realization that Saba’s plan wasn’t going to benefit his father and Faith.
“John and Faith are aboard the ship. If you arrest the gang here, there is nothing keeping Longino from killing them.”
“You’re assuming he has any intention to release them.”
“Truth.” He needed to do something to change the playing field.
The muffled sound of his phone ringing took him by surprise. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled it out and silenced the ringer. It was too late, the sound had reverberated through the cavernous church. That the name on the screen was Alicia’s did little to help when all eyes swung up to the balcony.
Mako and Saba ducked, but Burga and her associate were already running toward the stairs. Maldonado called an order to the men working on the painting. It wasn’t audible to Mako, who was crawling along the row of seats behind Saba. He expected it was a command to speed up to their work.
“Is there another exit?” Mako whispered.
Saba didn’t answer. With an awkward bear crawl, she was moving toward the other end of the balcony. Once she reached the end of the aisle, they were left staring at a blank stone wall. There was only one egress.
“Follow me, and stay low.”
She turned toward the last row of seats and started up the slight incline. When they reached the rearmost row, they crawled back the way they had come. Mako understood the ploy. Their pursuers would likely start at the bottom and work toward the top. They reached the end of the row and waited.
Burga was first to appear. With a pistol held in front of her, she scanned the balcony, then started toward the first row. The other man followed, beginning his search a few rows higher. Mako knew they wouldn’t escape undetected, but their goal, at least the immediate one, was to get off the balcony.
Once Burga and the thug were past the halfway mark of their respective rows, Saba dashed from cover to the stairway, Mako right on her heels. He waited until they were on the stairs before risking a look back. Burga had seen them and reversed course, calling to her man. Hopefully he and Saba were far enough ahead.
Taking the stairs three at a time, Mako passed Saba, reaching the ground floor first. Looking around, he locked eyes with Maldonado. When the bishop reached into his coat pocket Mako knew why, before seeing the cold steel of the pistol. A shot fired, ricocheting off the stone. Mako grabbed Saba’s hand and ran toward the green doors.
Reaching the doors, he threw the bolt and pushed into daylight. He heard the unmistakable sound of pursuit behind them. Immediately he sought cover and, with the lunch crowd on the streets and in the cafes, he used the bodies of the people to screen him and Saba from Burga and the thug.
Before leaving the plaza, he risked a glance back. Burga and her accomplice looked determined.
Disregarding the bystanders, Mako and Saba pushed and shoved their way through the crowd. They were closing the gap.
“We need to lose these two and get back to Maldonado. He has the journal,” Saba said.
“The market.” Mako didn’t wait for an answer.
“It’s by the marina, too. Maldonado is sure to be heading for the boat.”
&n
bsp; They took off at a dead run, leaving the plaza behind. A quick turn into a side street allowed them to put some space between them and their pursuers. Mako had speed, and Saba wasn’t far behind. Burga was lithe, but her man was muscular and heavier. Advantage: Team Storm.
There was no need for a map or directions. Both the market and marina were located in the northern end of the city, which was just over a quarter-mile wide. It would be impossible to get lost if they stuck to the main streets, which would provide better cover.
Mako was hitting his stride as they entered a traffic circle. He headed toward a fountain gracing a small island in the middle. Once they reached it, a large avenue branched off from the northern point of the circle. Sprinting through traffic, they reached the street and ran, dodging between the road and sidewalk to avoid pedestrians and vehicles.
A large excavation labeled The Temple of Apollo was directly in front of them, with another plaza laying just beyond. Mako had seen enough Roman ruins for two lifetimes in the last week, and sped past it without a second look. The outskirts of the market were not an organized affair. Carts selling everything from seafood to shawls were parked intermittently along the sidewalk, forcing the pedestrians into the street. Dodging the small groups of tourists milling around the few vendors that had set up their carts, Mako and Saba found themselves in the midst of a throng of people heading toward the main market. There was no choice but to slow their pace.
This worked to Burga’s advantage. Screams coming from behind alerted them to the proximity of their pursuers—close—too close.
Reaching the main thoroughfare, Mako and Saba turned right, hoping to lose their pursuers in the crowds of people milling around the stalls. If they were going to make a move, it had to be now. Several shots rang out and the crowds darted for cover. People were yelling, screaming, and crying, but Mako could see no sign of injury. His best guess was that Burga had fired the shots into the air to disperse the crowd.
Whatever her intent, it worked. The street was empty, the crowds of shoppers hunkered down in between and underneath the stalls. Only a lone sandwich-maker wearing headphones continued to work, oblivious to what was happening around him. Several more shots were fired, sounding like different weapons from the previous blasts. This time bullets ricocheted closely around them.
“We’ve got to find cover,” Saba said, breathlessly.
Mako could tell from her voice she was almost spent. He was feeling winded as well. What they needed to do was eliminate their pursuers, not avoid them.
Mako skidded to a stop, swinging behind a cart for cover. He pulled the 1911 from his waistband and, fighting to control his heaving lungs, took aim at Burga and the man coming toward them. Both shots missed.
“Give me that,” Saba said, yanking the pistol from his hands.
Somehow, she had caught her breath. Mako watched as she leaned around the corner, using the building for support. She extended both arms, and lined up the sights on the thug. Pausing for a brief second, she slowly squeezed the trigger. Mako was close enough that the spent casing hit him in the head, temporarily distracting him. When he looked up, the man beside Burga was on the ground.
Saba shot again. This time Burga was ready and darted behind a lamppost. As Saba fired once more, Mako clearly saw the intense look on Burga’s face.
He dropped to the side just as a shot rang out. It went wide. They were too close to aim now. A gunshot at this range could easily kill the shooter. Mako frantically looked around for another weapon.
“Get down. I got this,” he yelled to Saba as he rose and ran to the next stall. Seafood lined its counter, and he spotted the head of a swordfish. In a macabre display, the vendor had cut the head off and set it on the counter with the bill standing vertically. Beneath it was the body of the fish, cut up for sale.
Mako lunged for the bill, slashing his hands on its surprisingly rough surface. Swinging around in one smooth movement, he surprised Burga, who was speeding toward him. She tried to stop. The look of horror on her face when she realized her fate was small consolation to Mako as the bill pierced her chest.
53
Key Largo, Florida
The still water inside the marina reflected the ambulance lights, doubling their intensity. With everything tinged in red, the scene around them looked ominous. Mac squinted as if it were daylight as he approached the dock. Once they had gotten TJ aboard and were underway, Alicia had called 911 and set up a location to transfer TJ to an ambulance.
To make matters worse, the full marina had little room to negotiate the approach. It was probably a simple matter during daylight hours. In the dark of night everything was harder and the flashing red lights made it even more difficult.
“I can’t see a damned thing,” Mac called out to Alicia as he dropped down to idle speed. The approach to the dock was hidden in the blinding lights.
“Haven’t seen a light show like this since the last time I saw the Dead,” TJ said, causing both Mac and Alicia to smile.
She reached across, grabbing the microphone for the VHF radio and hailing anyone monitoring channel 16. The response was immediate. The lights were extinguished. Flashes seemed to continue as Mac’s eyes adjusted to the sudden darkness. Blinking rapidly to encourage his night vision to return, he waited until he could see the dock and eased into an empty slip.
EMTs, firemen, and uniformed police officers streamed toward the trawler. Mac deflected all questions until TJ was strapped to a gurney and rolling down the dock toward the ambulance.
“You want me to go with you?” Mac asked Alicia.
“I have to go home and figure this out. We’ve got assets in the field.” She must have realized how cold she sounded. “I want to be with him, but there’s little I can do there.”
Mac thought the “assets in the field” part sounded funny, especially if she was referring to Mako. He understood her conflict. “I’m not feeling like running back to Marathon in the dark. I’ll snag a ride to the hospital and stay with him.”
“I’ll go with you,” Jen said.
Alicia rushed up and threw her arms around him. Mac held on, letting the pent-up emotions of the last few hours pour out. He felt her ease the pressure on him, and released his grip. “You good?”
“Yup. Let me know how he’s doing. I’ve got some payback to arrange.” Alicia disappeared into the shadows.
Another smile crossed his face. Mac had been the one to introduce the couple. He remembered when he had first met Alicia. Straight out of the office, she had been as green a field agent as there ever was. She had proven to be willing to learn, and tough as nails. He glanced again at the shadows where he had last seen her, but she was gone.
Mac looked around for someone associated with the marina to ask where he could tie off Ghost Runner. Before he located anyone, the officers assigned to the call cornered him. Mac bit his tongue. His relationship with authority had never been good. Now, they were looking to him for answers he didn’t have, and he suspected the worst.
“You’re Mac Travis,” one of the officers said.
It was a statement, not a question, and there were no hands extended. Mac studied the man’s face, looking for a clue as to how he knew him.
“We’ll need a statement.” The other officer pulled a pad and pen from his shirt pocket.
“That was one of my best friends they just took to the hospital. I’d like to get over there and be with him.”
The two men looked at each other.
“Look, I got a call that he was missing.” They hadn’t seemed to notice Alicia was gone. “Ran up from Marathon to see if I could help. A fisherman said he had seen something on the surface. I found them and brought ‘em in. That’s it.”
“Sounds like your typical Mac Travis story.” The officer peered around Mac and looked at the boat. “Trufante’s not hiding down there, is he?”
Mac knew he was guilty by association. It was not surprising they recognized him because of his wayward deckhand. “He’s got no
thing to do with this.”
“Hey, I was there, too,” Jen said. The officers had been so focused on Mac that they hadn’t noticed her.
Without any obvious crime, the officers backed away slightly. “How about we give you a ride to the hospital and once your friends squared away, we’ll have a chat?”
Mac knew that was the best deal he was going to get. “That’ll work.”
54
Syracuse, Sicily
In the distance Mako and Saba could hear the distinctive European sirens closing on the scene as they fought their way through the crowd gathering around Burga’s body.
“Where’d Maldonado go?” Mako asked once they had extricated themselves from the group.
“I didn’t see,” Saba said. “We had more pressing matters.”
“He’s got the journal.”
“With the forgery replaced and the journal in hand, there’s no doubt he’ll run for Vatican City. He’s protected there.”
Mako continued walking. They were on the fringe of the market, just a block from the water. He crossed the street and stood at the cast-iron railing built to keep people off the rocks below. There was a fair amount of boat traffic now. The size and shape of the various crafts were mostly the same. Studying them for a minute, Mako determined that it was their course that allowed an observer to discern their purpose. Fishermen returning to port with their catch came from the open Mediterranean. Tourist boats ran along the shoreline, showing off the historic city from the water, giving the same view that scores of invaders had had over two millennium.
He recalled seeing the monster yacht from the balcony of the hotel, standing sentinel over the harbor on the other side of the island. He was just about to head down the road adjacent to the V-shaped channel that separated the old and new cities. While Mako’s attention was focused ahead, Saba scanned the water.
“There!” She pointed to a man climbing aboard a small skiff. “Maldonado.”
Mako changed direction even before she finished the sentence. He ran closer to the water, looking for a boat they could use. Paying for one would be preferable, but he was prepared to steal one if there was no other way. This side of the harbor was mainly privately-owned vessels, most of which were moored Mediterranean style, parallel to each other, and with their sterns to the dock to save space. Even if he could find a captain and vessel willing to take him, it would be too time-consuming to extricate the boat from its mooring.
Storm Surge: A Fast Paced International Adventure Thriller (Storm Thriller Series Book 3) Page 23
