by Jonas Saul
“Guns on the table,” she said.
Only one man slipped a hand inside his jacket, but no guns came out.
Her weapon came out of hiding. She aimed and shot the man who had reached in his jacket in the forehead. His eyes widened for a brief second, then his head plopped down onto the cloth napkin, bouncing once.
The two remaining men jerked. Marconi kept the red wine glass in his hand the whole time. His remaining guard now had a hand inside his jacket but didn’t know what to do.
“Pull it out slowly.”
The guard did.
“Set it down.”
He did, aiming it at the wall.
“Now, knock it off the table.”
Marconi’s man swept the gun to the floor with his arm.
“All hands on the table where I can see them.”
Marconi set his wine down.
“Join your hands together. Lock them to each other across the top of the table.”
“Are you Sarah Roberts?” Marconi asked, his demeanor cool, like violence and death were regular companions.
She chanced a look at her watch.
Two minutes.
She nodded her head at the couple closest to the front door who seemed paralyzed after watching a man get shot. “You two. Get out of here. Now!” she shouted. “Or I will have to shoot you, too.”
They got up slowly, walked to the door, the male placing a hand on the female’s back and stepped outside. Marconi and his man didn’t budge. They were probably waiting to make their move when the restaurant was empty.
The dead man beside Marconi bled out on the table, a crimson circle on the tablecloth around his head.
“Your turn,” she said to the other couple. “Get out of this restaurant or you will be dead in,” she checked her watch, “about a minute or so.”
The man got up so fast his chair tipped over. The woman ran for the door, banging into it on the way out, her man close behind.
Sarah started for the door, walking backwards.
“Aren’t you going to stay and chat?” Marconi asked. “I thought that was why you came here tonight.”
She kept the Sig aimed at him as she pulled out the restaurant’s keys. “Let me lock the door first. Wouldn’t want to be interrupted.”
Her heart was in her stomach. What if one of the timers was set a little early? What if her watch had slowed down?
The second hand ticked by the six on her watch.
Thirty seconds left.
She fired twice in Marconi’s general direction and bolted for the door. She opened it hard, spun and slammed it shut, her breath coming out in gasps. Any second, Marconi and his man would retrieve their weapons and fire at her.
She fumbled with the keys and then got the right one.
A police siren was close.
She locked the front door and turned to run. Movement inside the restaurant pulled her back.
Marconi’s guard was running at the door, a gun up and ready. She fired through the glass, hitting him in the thigh. He tumbled to the floor.
When she turned around, the Carabinieri rounded the far corner and started toward the restaurant.
Five seconds left.
She ran, her gun out front.
The police were advancing too fast.
She waved her arms and shouted, “Get back!”
They didn’t slow, the car’s engine revving.
She stopped, took careful aim and fired at their small car.
Instantly, the driver swerved and careened into the building to his right.
She looked over her shoulder and lifted her foot to run, but it never got to touch the cobblestone under it.
The building exploded behind her.
The shock wave lifted Sarah and shoved her thirty feet, where she smacked into a stone wall, falling amongst the debris and fiery shrapnel.
She moaned and opened her eyes. Chunks of stone and rock smashed the police car, breaking the windshield and denting the roof and the hood.
Pain littered her body as she slowly turned to look at the razed restaurant.
Another explosion rocked the area. More chunks of stone shot skyward. She tried to crawl away but a chunk of debris landed on her head, just behind her ear.
Sarah’s eyes closed. Her last thought was her sister’s name.
Chapter 37
Parkman got on the exit ramp and pulled off the E45 to Umbertide in his rental. A sign pointed toward the center of town. Memories of being here a few years ago with Sarah flooded back. His eyes teared up.
If only we could go back to those days …
He still refused to believe she was gone. Sarah’s parents had called several times, but he had nothing new for them. Caleb, Sarah’s father, wanted to know why he had flown to Italy. When Caleb asked for the brutal truth an hour ago, Parkman couldn’t lie. Not about something so serious.
“I’m sorry, Caleb.”
There was a pause.
“Parkman? What are you saying?”
“I’m in Italy to identify the body. But for the record,” his voice cracked. “I don’t believe she’s gone.”
“Parkman? Tell me you’re—” Caleb dropped the phone. Parkman waited. Scuffling noises came through. Then Caleb, wracked with sobs, said, “Tell me my little girl is okay.”
Amelia wailed in the background.
Parkman didn’t know what to say. “Caleb … I will meet with them in an hour. I’ll update you then.”
“If the unimaginable has happened, I want her body brought back here,” his voice weaker now, “flown back to the States for an honorable burial. You hear me, Parkman?”
“Yes, sir. It’ll happen as you wish. I won’t stand for anything less.”
Amelia wailed louder in the background.
“Just wait until I call you back. None of this makes sense. My gut tells me she’s okay. I could be wrong—”
“Parkman … Sarah …” The phone clicked off.
They wanted Sarah’s body shipped back to the States for a proper burial. Aaron was stuck in a jail cell. What would Aaron think when he heard? Parkman was sure Aaron would scream about how when he got out of jail he would hunt down the people who did this. He would make it his life mission.
He parked the rental near the center of town and walked into the main piazza. To his left, down a long corridor between the buildings, a roped off area where the razed hotel and restaurant had once been caught the attention of passersby. Now it was a pile of stone and brick, a backhoe out front as clean-up crews worked on the rubble. According to what Scott McPherson had said, Sarah had been here three nights ago. Now she was gone.
He shook his head and took a deep breath. From his pocket, he pulled a small gold box and opened it. Inside he found his dwindling supply of cinnamon toothpicks. He popped one in his mouth and continued to the police station.
Once inside, he waited at the front window. An officer turned and addressed him in Italian.
“Parkman. Here to see Scott McPherson about Sarah Roberts’ body.”
The officer stared, his eyes probing. He paused long enough for it to be uncomfortable.
“Scott McPherson?” Parkman repeated, moving the toothpick from one side of his mouth to the other.
The uniformed Italian officer shrugged and turned away. He spoke quietly into a microphone of some sort and sat down at a desk, his back to Parkman.
What the hell is his problem?
A moment later, a door opened and a tall, good-looking man walked through, his hand extended.
“You must be Parkman,” the man said in American English.
They shook hands. “McPherson?”
The man nodded. “I wish we could’ve met under other circumstances.”
“Me too.”
“You just finished eating?”
Parkman frowned. “No. Why’s that?”
“The toothpick.”
“Just a habit.”
It was McPherson’s turn to frown. “Follow me,” he said,
and turned toward the back of the station.
“Sarah’s back here? She’s not in the hospital morgue?”
McPherson stopped and glanced over his shoulder. “We need to talk first.”
“About what?” Parkman asked.
“Please. You’re in a foreign country. Turn off your investigator hat and turn on your listening cap. Just follow me and I’ll explain everything.”
“ID.”
“Excuse me?” McPherson turned to face him.
“Your name means nothing to me. The fact that I meet you in a police station is worthless. I’ve met the kind of men Sarah has had the misfortune of working with in the past. They’ve killed her in car accidents, tried to hide her in underground jails and done all sorts of atrocities against her, all in the name of forcing her to work for them. If she’s really dead, the game stops here. I want ID. I want to know who I’m talking to and why we’re talking. Otherwise, a major shit storm is coming down on this fucking charade. A price has to be paid for Sarah and I’m the collector with a toothpick in his mouth.” He flicked the pick back and forth with his tongue. “Trust me on this. So, ID.”
As Parkman talked, McPherson’s eyes had twitched. Then his face relaxed and his eyes moistened.
What an act.
“You remind me of Sarah. You’re a no bullshit guy.”
“I’m a no bullshit guy. Remember that.” Parkman rolled the toothpick to the other side of his mouth. From the corner of his eye, he caught the Italian officer behind the Plexiglas booth stand up and listen.
McPherson slowly pulled his ID and handed it over for Parkman to examine. After a moment, he handed it back.
“Looks real enough. You’ve got my attention.”
McPherson nodded, gave a half smile and walked away. Parkman followed him down the corridor and into a room that resembled an American interrogation room.
McPherson closed the door behind them.
“How well do you know Sarah?” McPherson asked.
“What is this?”
“Just answer the question.”
“I’ve got one for you. Why did that cop out there give me so much attitude as soon as I mentioned your name and Sarah in the same sentence?”
“Because three nights ago, Sarah Roberts set off bombs and blew up a part of their centro storico and killed six people while doing it. Four in the restaurant and a couple in the hotel above. Before the bombs went off, she ran outside and fired a weapon at an advancing police vehicle. So, understandably, it’s pretty tense around here.” McPherson leaned his shoulder against the door. “It doesn’t matter who showed up to collect Sarah’s body, they aren’t going to be well received.”
“So she is dead? Are you confirming it?”
“Give me your cell phone.”
“What?”
“Your cell phone. Hand it over.”
“What the hell for?”
“Deal time. Give me the cell or stay here all day and think about it. I’ll check in every once in a while to see if you’re willing to give it to me.”
“What the hell is going on?”
“Cell phone first or you don’t leave this building for a month or two.”
Parkman pulled his phone out and tossed it to McPherson.
“Perfect.” McPherson pocketed it.
“What happened to Sarah? Is she really dead?”
McPherson lowered his gaze. “I’m sorry, Parkman, but Sarah succumbed to her injuries sustained in the blast. There was nothing anyone could do for her.”
Chapter 38
Darwin used his computer program to search for everything he could find on Sarah Roberts in Italy. After the news of the blast three days ago, and with the GMO conference happening tomorrow afternoon, he hadn’t seen anything new on her or on the actions of Marconi and his men.
His own surveillance from afar had come up empty. There were seven bodies in the rubble according to the news. Four in the restaurant, two from the hotel and one unidentified female who had the misfortune of being too close to the building when it blew.
Yet three days later, none of the names had hit the media. The police were tight-lipped, releasing nothing new.
He couldn’t hack into the hospital computers, nor could he drive over and ask questions. Darwin and his family were supposed to be in their own protective custody, locked down. They had agreed in the lockdown until the GMO conference was finished and everyone had left the immediate area.
Exhausted, confused, and frustrated, he slammed a hand down on the desk.
“Damn it. Why do the good guys always have to pay the price?”
He suspected Sarah was the unidentified female that had been outside the building when it blew up. Either that or she was lying low until the conference.
He got up from his desk, grabbed his empty coffee cup and headed for the kitchen.
Rosina was chopping peppers when he walked in.
“Coffee on?” Darwin asked.
“Yeah, there’s still some in the pot. Anything on Sarah yet?”
“Nothing.”
The knife in Rosina’s hand stopped. She set it down and wiped her hands on the apron she wore.
“What are we going to do?” she asked.
Darwin poured coffee into his cup and set the pot back. “What can we do? We’re officially not even here.”
“If Sarah’s gone, then things will work themselves out. But if she’s not, is there anything we can do to help?”
“Even if there was,” Darwin faced her and leaned against the counter, “what would we be doing? Exposing ourselves and risking Bradley. We can’t go through what we went through before. Not with a newborn.” He shook his head then sipped from his cup.
“I know, but …”
Darwin eyed her. He set his cup on the counter and walked over to her. He put his hands on her arms and held her close. “What are you thinking, hun?”
“It’s just, Sarah was such a nice girl. She’s been through a lot.”
“I know.”
“She’s out there fighting this thing. I don’t know. There’s just something inside me that screams that we should be fighting, too. Or at least helping her if we can.”
Darwin pulled her into him and hugged her tight, wrapping her head up with his arms and resting it on his chest. “I know, baby. But this is the way the world works. The eternal fight between good and evil. Evil may win, but it’ll never conquer. People like us, we made it.” He pulled away and held her at arm’s length. “Sarah will, too. She’s got a little helper in her sister.” He nodded toward the ceiling. “She’ll be okay.”
“You don’t think she’s dead?”
Darwin shook his head. “No, I don’t.”
Rosina moved away and opened a drawer by the stove. She pulled out an Italian cookbook and set it on the cutting board.
“What’s this?” Darwin asked. “Gonna show me how to make a homemade pizza or an Alfredo sauce?” He smiled and picked up his coffee.
“What if you could help Sarah without anyone knowing about it?” Rosina asked.
He paused in mid sip, lowered his cup and stared at her. “What are you asking?”
“Just answer the question. If you could perform a task, and knew it would help Sarah, without anyone knowing about your involvement, would you do it? Would you leave our house, even though we’re in lockdown until this conference is over?”
“It would depend on the task.”
“No, it wouldn’t, not if you knew you were doing it anonymously.”
He thought about it as he walked to the kitchen table and sat down.
“I would. How do you feel about that?”
Rosina lifted the cookbook up and walked to the table. She scooted a chair closer and sat next to him. Then she opened the cookbook. A loose piece of paper had been sandwiched between the lasagna pages.
“What’s this?” Darwin asked.
“I found it in the night table in the guest room.” She unfolded the paper and held it up.
“Did she leave us a note?”
Rosina shook her head. “No. Her sister did.”
