by Trevor Scott
“Of course. They were giving him a place to stay.”
“Right. What will you do?”
“Heading to Zurich. “I’ll pick up a new partner there.”
“It’s been great working with you, Derrick.”
“Same to you.”
“Take care.”
Konrad simply nodded and clicked off the call, shoving his phone into his pocket. Then he went to his train and got into the first class car.
6
Rome, Italy
After a nice leisurely flight from Lamezia Terme to Rome Ciampino Airport, the alternative to the busy Fiumicino International Airport, the Spaniard’s people had a rental car available for Jake, Alexandra and Sergio Russo. It was a ubiquitous Fiat Tipo with the turbo diesel.
Jake drove toward the center of Rome, with Russo in the front passenger seat giving him directions to their meeting location. Alexandra sat quietly in the back seat behind Jake.
“What do you know about this guy we’re meeting tonight?” Jake asked Russo.
“He’s a cousin.”
“A first cousin?”
“We don’t care about first or second or third,” Russo said. “Blood is blood.”
Fair enough. “Do you trust him?”
Russo looked at Jake as if he had asked the most ignorant question possible. “He’s my cousin. I trust him with my life.”
“Do you know what kind of information he has?” Alexandra asked from the back seat.
Shaking his head, Russo said, “No. He said it was something big. Something about speculation of attack of Roma.”
“Why not drop a dime to the Polizia?” Jake asked, already knowing the answer. The Malavita didn’t cooperate with the police. But they did control certain aspects of the force.
“You’re a funny man, Jake.”
“It’s part of his charm,” Alexandra explained.
Jake shrugged. “Well, there is such a thing as anonymous tips.”
By now they were in the downtown area, first passing the Colosseum and then cutting past the Piazza Venezia. Then Jake turned right down the Via del Corso, a main shopping street that was like the spine of the city. His mind drifted back to the many times he had been here with Toni Contardo over the years, while she was assigned here with the Agency. From Via del Corso they could veer off in any direction to see landmarks like the Trevi Fountain, the Spanish Steps, or the Pantheon.
“Left, Jake,” Russo said.
Jake turned and soon saw that the road was blocked ahead.
“Park anywhere,” Russo said.
Jake pulled in behind a line of cars and shut down the engine. “Where from here?”
“We just passed it.”
Twisting around, Jake saw only a small church. “We’re meeting there?”
“Yes. My cousin is a priest.” Russo hesitated. “What? You think the whole family is part of the Malavita?”
“Maybe,” Jake mumbled.
Russo smiled. “Most of us are. Let’s go.”
Of the thousand churches in Rome, this one wouldn’t make the top 100, Jake guessed. It was a mini-Gothic structure with limited stained glass and a subdued alter. It was cold and dank and Jake thought that parishioners would need a down jacket in the summer to sit through an hour mass. A copula to the right held a small statue of some saint, with a bank of small white candles lit—perhaps more for warmth than prayer.
As the three of them wandered down the center aisle, Jake thought about a few other meetings he had taken in churches over the years. A couple had turned into major shoot outs, so he remained vigilant despite the sanctity of the setting.
When they got near the first row of pews, a priest came from behind the alter. He was a short, dumpy man with terminal baldness—genes that would not be passed on through progeny.
“Your cousin?” Jake whispered.
“Si.”
The priest met his cousin and they kissed on both cheeks. Then Russo introduced the priest to Jake and Alexandra. Instead of the familiar greeting, the priest kept it to a simple handshake with Jake. Alexandra got the full treatment.
“Please sit,” the priest said.
The three of them did that, while the padre remained standing.
“What do you have for us?” Jake asked, letting the priest know this wasn’t a social visit.
The priest seemed a bit put off by Jake’s brusque attitude. Finally, he said, “I need to frame this in a hypothetical situation.”
Jake understood this. The good priest had gotten his information from confessional, and he didn’t want to breech his trust with his parishioner. So Jake gave the man a little leash and waited patiently.
“Let’s say a person knows something that could harm a lot of people,” the priest said. “A vow is important, but the lives of the innocent are more so. We cannot allow death and destruction. Especially not in Roma.”
Thank God, Jake thought. A practical priest. “Go on.”
“A woman dates a man who does not have her best interest at heart.”
Jake considered this holy man’s English and his talking in riddles, and came to the conclusion he was quite well educated and intelligent. He had found this to be true of most priests he had come across over the years.
“What does this man have planned?” Russo asked his cousin. This sounded more like a demand than a request.
“This is difficult for me,” the priest said.
The three of them were silent now. Waiting.
Finally, the priest said, “They plan to strike a number of locations around the city simultaneously.”
“Muslim terrorists?” Russo asked.
The priest shook his head. “She said her boyfriend was a Muslim, but not a strict Muslim. I asked.”
Jake said, “But. . .”
“The targets are not specifically religious,” the priest said.
“You know the targets?” Jake asked.
“No. And she does not either. It’s just what her friend said.”
So, Jake surmised, this boyfriend was either all bluster to impress the girl, or he had enough sense not to divulge all of the plot. Still, this could be significant. Although many sites in Rome were not religious in nature, like the Colosseum, the city as a whole was host to more Catholic sites per square mile than any other on earth. “We need names,” Jake said.
The priest shook his head.
Russo stood up and got in his cousin’s face. Although Jake considered himself mostly fluent in Italian now, much that came out of the Malavita man’s mouth was filled with Calabrese slang. Luckily that’s where Jake learned most of the language, so he picked up enough to know that Russo was laying it on thick with his cousin. He was playing the role of Malavita capo now. And Jake guessed the man was good at his job.
“I only know the name of the young woman,” the priest finally said, the fear of God riddled across his face. “Marisa Carioti. She lives just three blocks from here with another young woman from the church.” The priest gave them the address. “She works at the Gatto Nero Ristorante near the Pantheon. She might be working now.”
“Do you have a picture of her?” Jake asked.
The priest shook his head. “Afraid not.”
Jake thanked the priest and headed for the front with Alexandra on his side. Russo stayed behind, his hands on the shoulders of his cousin. Then the two of them kissed and Russo followed them out.
“You were quiet back there,” Jake said to Alexandra once they got outside.
“I have a problem with the whole sanctity of confession,” she said. “I understand it in the abstract. I’m just glad this priest has the sense to say something to possibly save lives. My faith in humanity could be on the rise.”
She hadn’t been out in the field with Jake in a while, he thought. He guessed her feelings might have been due to her recent motherhood. Although she had been reared as a Catholic in Germany, Jake couldn’t remember a time when she had attended mass. The same could be said of Jake also, though. B
ut they had discussed the confessional in the past. She couldn’t understand why she couldn’t simply pray to God on her own, confessing her sins in the process, without an earthly vessel to intercede. Why not cut out the middle man?
The three of them walked quietly down the street toward the address for the young woman. Jake guessed this young woman might be pissed off that the priest betrayed her. “Let’s not mention the priest,” Jake said.
“How else can we justify our questioning of her?” Alexandra asked.
Jake smiled. “My guess is that she didn’t just open up to her priest. Who does a young girl usually confide in?”
Russo took this. “Her girlfriends.”
“Correct.”
They found the apartment and climbed up to the first floor through a dark stairwell. As they entered the corridor, it was obvious that something wasn’t right. It was in total darkness.
Instinctively, Jake drew his gun and moved forward as his eyes adjusted to the blackness. He checked the door numbers and saw that the woman’s apartment would be the next one ahead on the left. A sliver of light seeped out to the corridor.
Slowly he moved to the edge of the door and listened. But there was no sound. His heart raced, unsure of what he would find inside. With his left hand, he shoved the door open all the way. More light shone out to the corridor.
He glanced at Alexandra and Russo, who had not drawn their weapons. Maybe he was being overcautious. With one swift motion, he stepped into the apartment and swept his gun from one side of the room to the other.
Shit! Lying face down in the center of the room, blood seeping from several cuts through a white T-shirt, was a young woman in her underwear. Jake could see the kitchen area, but he needed to clear the back bedrooms. He pointed to the woman on the floor for Alexandra to check out while he covered them. By now Alexandra had her gun out and she knelt to check for a pulse. She shook her head and then got up, moving in close behind Jake as the two of them stepped gently toward the bedrooms.
Jake clicked on a light and cleared the first bedroom. Then they went to the far back bedroom and cleared that one. But whoever had stabbed this woman had gone.
When they got back to the living room, Russo was down on his knees looking at the woman.
“What do you see?” Jake asked.
“A knife,” Russo said. “A big knife, I think. I count at least five stab wounds.”
A large puddle of blood surrounded the torso of the woman.
“Probably more on the other side,” Jake said. He gently rolled the body over and pulled the long black hair from the dead woman’s face. He was right. There was one more stab wound in her chest between her smallish breasts. He turned to Alexandra. “Could you check for a purse and ID?”
Alexandra nodded and wandered through the apartment. Moments later she came back with a brown leather purse and pulled out a phone with an ID and credit cards. She pulled out a driver’s license and compared it with the woman. “This isn’t Marisa Carioti,” she said. “It’s the roommate. Elena Lombardo. Age twenty-two.”
“Damn it,” Jake said, setting the woman back into her original position. “Let’s go. We need to get to the restaurant pronto.”
The three of them rushed out of the apartment.
7
The Gatto Nero Ristorante sat on the corner of two streets a couple of blocks from the Pantheon, one of Rome’s most famous ancient landmarks.
Alexandra was driving now, and had parked the Fiat with a view of the restaurant ahead, and about a block beyond that a lightly armored military vehicle with two personnel armed with submachine guns stood guard.
Jake reached for the door handle and stopped. “Keep the car running. Let me get the girl alone.”
“I can go with you,” Russo said.
“I don’t want to scare the crap out of her,” Jake said. “Let’s not mention her roommate.”
He got out without a response from the others and wandered toward the front of the restaurant. Before he left the girl’s apartment, he had found a couple of photos of Marisa framed. So at least he would be able to pick her out of the wait staff.
The restaurant was packed. Jake scanned the room and saw various waiters and waitresses moving about from table to table. Finally, in the far back, he saw Marisa taking the orders of a large group.
This would take a delicate approach, Jake thought. How could he convince her to come with him without freaking her out?
As he approached her, he was suddenly shoved from behind as a man passed him.
The young waitress turned in shock to see the man before her.
When Jake saw the gun at the man’s leg, he rushed forward just as the other man was raising the gun toward Marisa.
Jake struck the man in the right kidney, buckling him to the ground. People started to scream and dive for cover.
Marisa stood in shock.
Twisting and snapping a kick, Jake knocked the gunman into a metal chair and under a table.
Then came a shot from behind him. Jake drew his gun and stepped in front of Marisa.
More shots from the front entrance.
Jake aimed and shot three times, hitting the guy center mass.
Marisa screamed and Jake turned to see the first gunman collecting his gun and aiming at her.
Jake shot three more times, hitting the man twice in the chest and once in the mouth.
More people screamed.
“Come with me or you will die,” Jake said in Italian to Marisa.
She nodded, but he could tell she was frozen in shock.
Jake grasped her hand and pulled her toward the front door. Into his mic Jake said, “A little help. Is the front clear?”
“On the way,” Alexandra said, “but the security from the Pantheon are on the way.”
“Cut down the front of the building,” Jake said.
As Jake rounded the front door, he heard a car peeling tires and speeding down the street.
Alexandra pulled up and Jake opened the back door, shoving Marisa inside and following her. “Follow that car,” Jake instructed.
“Already on it,” Alexandra said. She burned rubber as she sped away.
They were a block behind the other car, which happened to be another dark Audi like the one that had chased them the other night.
Alexandra looked at Jake in the rearview mirror. “What the hell happened?”
“They came for Marisa,” Jake said. Then he looked to his right and saw that the young woman was shaking and in shock.
“We can’t catch that Audi,” Alexandra said. “It’s too fast.”
Jake grasped Marisa’s arm and said, “Who are these people? And why do they want you dead?”
Marisa simply shrugged.
He hated to do this, but he pulled out his phone and brought up a picture of her roommate. “Do you want to end up like this?”
The young woman’s eyes got wide. “Elena?”
Jake took the phone back and shoved it into his pocket. “That’s right. She was butchered in your apartment. I’m guessing they were looking for you, which is why we came to find you.”
Her eyes darted to the right to avoid Jake’s intense gaze. Then the car took a sharp turn to the right and Marisa landed in Jake’s arms. When this happened, Marisa finally broke down and cried, hugging Jake like a scared child. Jake glanced to the front and saw Alexandra in the rearview mirror nodding her approval. He guessed she had made that turn sharper than necessary.
Despite their fast speed, Jake could look ahead and see that the Audi had lost them. Sirens echoed throughout this area of Rome now, seeming to come from every direction.
Once Alexandra had the car cruising at a relatively normal pace and Marisa had time to settle down, Jake backed away slightly and said, “Do you know why these men are trying to kill you?”
She said nothing at first, but her facial contortion said everything to Jake. She knew.
“You knew the men who tried to kill you at the restaurant,” Jake stat
ed.
Finally, she said, “The close man was my old boyfriend. The man you killed at the door was his friend.”
“And the driver of the car?” he asked.
“If I had to guess, I would say friends of my old boyfriend. They are roommates.”
“What’s the address?”
She said nothing.
Jake pushed her. “They will continue to try to kill you. And you know why. Because your dumbass ex-boyfriend couldn’t keep his mouth shut about his plans. Am I right?”
“How do you know this?” Marisa asked.
“Because dumbass boyfriends have been boasting about future conquests since Biblical times. Humans can’t help themselves.”
Marisa still had an anguished expression, but it seemed to have become a bit more manageable. Perhaps Jake was getting through to her.
Jake got her to give up the address where her old boyfriend lived. The two men would only be there long enough to grab their stuff and leave, he guessed. So they had to hurry. Russo directed Alexandra to the address. While they worked on getting there, Jake first made sure he had a full magazine in his gun. These men would not come easily. But he also knew he needed to interrogate at least one of them.
“Do you have names and nationalities of the men?” Jake asked.
Marisa shook her head. “Just first names. My old boyfriend was a Syrian. The man you shot at the front door was from Jordan.”
“And the other two?”
“One is a Turk, but the other is Italian. The apartment is his.”
She gave Jake the first names, but that wouldn’t really help much right now. Eventually, he would be able to look into the Italian’s background—assuming it mattered. For now, though, they just needed to take these two men alive. That was the only way to extract intel. To discover the plot against Rome.
8
Crotone, Italy
The drive from the Amalfi Coast south to Calabria had been enjoyable, yet arduous for Antonio Baroni. Since he was in his early 50s, he guessed his tiredness was understandable. He could see that in his math. With all the factors included—age, distance driven, atmospheric conditions, road construction, and crazy Italian drivers—factored with things like cappuccino per hour and the number of autostrada stops for relief, and his condition was completely known.
