Zara began to laugh. All the others joined in. Then came news that the Bussento was running again and the mood flipped like a switch. Dov and his men were veterans, however, trained to respond to adversity with discipline and cool heads. They headed calmly but briskly for the staircase. But Avram had no intention of leaving without his trophy. ‘Here!’ he shouted.
‘The river’s running,’ said Dov curtly. ‘We need out of here.’
‘It’s started running,’ retorted Avram. ‘Or has the Sayeret Matkal taken to recruiting cowards?’
‘Fuck you,’ said Dov. But the taunt did the trick. He and his men went grudgingly to help. They heaved the Menorah above their heads, staggering beneath its weight. Avram meanwhile packed pairs of the silver trumpets into three waterproof bags that he then handed to Cesco, Zara and Carmen. They hurried downstairs. Serpents of foamy water slithered towards them across the Yggdrasil chamber floor, more spilling in at every moment, dragging at their ankles as they climbed the steps to the tomb mouth. They jumped down into the river, flowing strongly enough now that they had to lean into it like a slope. Cesco lost hold of his curtain robe and it was swept off down the sinkhole. Zara called for help closing the tomb lid to spare the tomb from further flooding. It took all their effort. The renewed cold made Cesco shudder. He looked around for something warm, saw only Carmen’s trousers lying on the bank. He stuffed them in his trumpet bag for her to put on later.
They gathered at the sinkhole. The Israelis had tied a rope around the Menorah and were lowering it while the Bussento banged it against the walls then ripped it entirely from their grasp. A frantic scramble for the ladder ensued. Carmen, Zara and Cesco were pushed ever further back. Cesco waited till last of all, taking the full force of the Bussento on his head and shoulders. It was all he could do to cling on. Then, with a fearful screech of metal, the ladder simply buckled and collapsed. He fell on top of Carmen even as she turned onto her side and clutched her bag against her stomach to protect the trumpets within. He rolled off her as quickly as he could, tried to help her after him. But her ankle had got trapped between two rungs, and now the river was smashing down upon her. He grabbed her beneath her arms and dragged her out of the torrent, the ladder still caught around her foot like some toothless mantrap.
Most of the others had by now reached the inflatables, tugged tight against their mooring ropes by the reinvigorated river. They loaded the Menorah into the larger of the two, Avram and Dov sitting either side of it as its self-appointed stewards. But that was as much as it would take, forcing the other Israelis into the water to cling to its sides as they released it from its mooring. That left Zara with Yani and another Israeli in the second dinghy. Cesco yelled at them to wait, but they cast off anyway. He turned back to Carmen. She was bleeding and hobbling badly. The river had turned the ramp into a terrifying deluge. The only way down was on the rope Dov had left in the ceiling. He took Carmen’s trumpet bag then hoisted her up by her waist. She gripped the rope with both hands, looped her good foot around it too. He watched anxiously as she worked her way down to the bottom, where she lowered herself gingerly, crying out when she dropped down and her ankle took the jolt.
He tossed down the two trumpet bags then grabbed the rope and quickly followed. He dropped down beside her. The bags were watertight. He unzipped them each a little way then blew air into them before sealing them tight again, making them as buoyant as he could. Their only light was from the lamps on the two dinghies ahead, being swept downriver so rapidly they had no need for their outboards. No time for further thought. They launched themselves into the river on their bags and instantly were whirled about like coracles in a storm. Cesco fed his arm through the straps of Carmen’s bag to keep them together. Their ankles and knees kept banging and scraping rocks they couldn’t see. They choked on unexpected mouthfuls of water. The cold was corrosive and exhausting. But eventually the turbulence began to slacken. It grew calmer. The glow of lamps was still in view ahead. Cesco kicked with his legs to keep pace, while they both steered and paddled with their free arms. Before they knew it, they heard the outboard of the Menorah dinghy going into reverse to slow it down as it neared the landing spot. Its occupants dragged it ashore then reached inside for their great treasure.
It was at that moment that they heard a shout, and then a deafening blast of gunfire erupted from up the passage, tearing into everything in its path.
II
Dov wasn’t sure exactly what it was he heard: maybe the scuff of a boot or the creak of new leather; maybe a whispered command or a round being chambered. But his heart began pumping and his mind came to maximum alert even before the first shot was fired. He knew instantly what was going on. Those ’Ndrangheta killers from Cosenza had somehow tracked them down. And now they were in mortal peril.
He yelled warning to the others then ducked low and charged up the passage even as gunfire burst out above his head, muzzle flashes exploding in bright yellow bursts ahead of him and on either side. The dazzle of it after the darkness left him blinded. But the gunmen would be blinded too, and now he had their positions. He flung his fist at the nearest man, hit him in the gut with satisfying force. He grunted and went down, knocking into the man behind. Dov grabbed his right arm as he fell. He slid his hands down to his wrist then twisted his handgun from him. Exultation filled him as he brought it up to bear, the same exultation as when he’d faced the waterfall the night before. These Mafiosi fucks had no idea who they were dealing with. He was invincible, untouchable, a veteran of the Sayeret Matkal, the greatest fighting unit in the history of—
Something punched him in the ribcage. Then it punched him again, this time with such obscene force that it threw him onto his back. Above his head, the gunfire rattled on until a man shouted stop. Dov lay there bewildered. He didn’t understand what was going on. He tried to sit up but there was a great weight upon his chest. It was all he could do to lift his chin. Several Mafiosi hurried past him down the passage to the landing point, but two of them sauntered over to him with insulting calm, shone torches down at his face. ‘You,’ grunted the smaller of them in amusement. He held up his gun for Dov to look at. ‘Gonna take this one off me too?’ he said.
‘I’ll kill you,’ vowed Dov, his voice barely a whisper. ‘I’ll kill you both.’
‘Sure you will,’ said his companion. He stooped to press the hot muzzle of his handgun against the bridge of Dov’s nose. ‘Night, night,’ he said.
III
Three of the Israelis were lying sprawled on the rocks at the landing place by the time Tomas reached them. A quick glance assured him that none of them was a threat. The only one showing any signs of life was keening with pain and exertion as he dragged himself with his one good arm into the water, while Umberto and Salvatore stood either side of him, cracking tasteless jokes at his expense.
‘Enough,’ said Tomas irritably. ‘Finish him.’
‘Fine,’ grumbled Salvatore. There came a volley of gunfire and he fell still.
Tomas turned to the others, lighting up their faces in turn, turning away as Guido finished them off. The last of them was an old bastard, lying half in and out of the water, hands clasped over his gut in a futile attempt to staunch the dark red slick. Tomas aimed down at his face. ‘The American woman and her friend. Where?’
‘Go to hell,’ said the man.
Tomas didn’t mean to pull the trigger. It was pure irritation. A fleck of bone and hair went flying from the man’s forehead. Blood bubbled weakly out. He stepped back to avoid getting it on his shoes.
‘Boss,’ muttered Manfredo. ‘Look at this.’
He turned to see him and Aldo standing either side of the deflated dinghy, their torches spotlighting a huge seven-branched candelabra inside. It looked like gold, except it surely couldn’t be. Then they tried to lift it, and failed. He felt a sudden fluttering in his chest, like all the bats they’d disturbed in this great cavern. So Alaric’s tomb hadn’t been empty after all. Its riches were his for the taking
. ‘Up to the cars with it,’ he ordered. ‘Then come straight back.’
He watched Guido and the others heave it above their heads. They set off up the passage. But his mind was already elsewhere. There’d been eight people in the grotto, according to Noah Zuckman – though he’d lied about the tomb being empty so maybe he’d lied about that too. But if he were right, it would leave three unaccounted for. He stepped up to the water’s edge, shone his torch this way and that. To his profound astonishment, a small black inflatable was even at that moment drifting by him on the current, three neoprene-clad figures hunkered down in it, a woman and two men, one of whom was lying prone on its floor and aiming a handgun directly at him – his own damned handgun, it had to be, the one taken from him in Cosenza. He dived for the floor even as the man fired, bullets hitting the rocks behind him, ricochets buzzing like angry hornets. He scurried for the passage then took stock. If he stayed here, the fight would be on equal terms. But if he could make the bridge…
He sprinted back up the passage, pushing past his men with the Menorah, yelling at Guido and a couple of others to follow. His footsteps and breathing echoed unnervingly in the confined space. He burst out onto the viewing platform, shone his torch both ways. Nothing. He leaned over the railing and there was the dinghy directly beneath, the gunman already stretched out on his back to aim straight up at him. He snapped off two more quick shots that made Tomas jump backwards. The bullets pinged off the grotto’s ceiling.
Guido, Massimo and Umberto arrived on the bridge. He raised a hand to warn them then pointed beneath his feet. He counted down from three with his fingers then they all leaned over the railing and fired together. The gunman snapped off two more shots before they got him. Their bullets made his body dance. The second man in the dinghy grabbed for the dropped gun but they shot him too before he could turn it on them. But by then the woman had thrown herself overboard and vanished into the dark water.
The inflatable, meanwhile, was swept at increasing pace towards the grotto mouth, where an ancient rockfall forced the entire river through a narrow channel. It hit the first boulder so hard that it lifted clear up out of the water before slapping back down again, twisting onto its side and wedging fast. They turned their torches this way and that in an effort to find the woman. Instead, they found a man and woman clinging to a pair of buoyant bags. They turned to look up at the bridge when caught by the beams. Tomas’s heart leaped as he recognised them.
Rossi and Nero at last!
He emptied most of his clip at them, but only sent up useless tufts of water. And then they were out of range. A moment later the river slammed them into the inflatable, buffering them from the rocks while dislodging it too, so that they all funnelled together through the channel and out of view.
‘With me,’ yelled Tomas. Then he set off running for the staircase and the grotto mouth.
Chapter Forty-Eight
I
The Bussento exited the grotto like the world’s most brutal water slide. Zara was tossed this way and that as it churned between huge boulders. Her right leg caught in the cleft between two rocks and was twisted so sharply by her own momentum that her tibia snapped instantly and she felt splinters of bone rip through her skin. She opened her mouth to scream only for water to gush on in. She was certain she was about to drown when suddenly she was thrown backwards down a sharp drop into a narrow, deep lake, where the river seemed to take a breather after its violent emergence from the mountain.
She retched water from her lungs, composed herself a little. Her recent companion Yani was lying face down and motionless in shallows by the bank. She hardened her heart and swam right by him in a lopsided slow crawl, reaching the place where the river picked up again, sweeping her along with it, allowing her to concentrate on keeping her broken leg clear of its stony bed. Part of the right-hand bank ahead had collapsed into the river, creating a small inlet of still water covered by reeds and grasses and a skim of algae. She dragged herself over to it, turned onto her back. The pain from her leg was unbelievable. Only terror stopped her from crying out.
She glimpsed movement on the river. She held her breath. But it was only one of the waterproof bags floating by. The riverbank here was a mix of writhing pale roots and loamy soil. She dug her fingers into it to smear across her face for camouflage. She sank as low in the water as she could, stretched her legs out in front of her, tipped back her head to leave only her mouth, nose and eyes exposed. A rustling noise on the far bank. She caught and held her breath. Through the thin veil of reeds, she saw Cesco fighting his way through thorns then holding them aside for Carmen, limping badly and with blood dripping down her flank. She felt relief that they’d made it out this far, and longed to cry out to them, that they might share this ordeal together; but she knew too that she would only slow them down and give those bastard gunmen an easy quarry, so somehow she bit her tongue.
And then they were gone.
Silence fell. Half a minute passed. Cold and shock made her shiver, despite her neoprene. Her shivers turned to shudders. More rustling. Men’s voices. Pain hammered at her leg like a miner at a coalface. She bit her hand to stop herself crying out. She had a sudden yearning for her parents, to see them once more before she died. What a fool she’d been, to let the estrangement persist. What a proud and stupid fool. She vowed to herself that it would be the first thing she’d put right if by some miracle she got out of this and made it home again. Then she shut her eyes and, for the first time in over a decade, she began to pray.
II
Tomas led Guido and four others out of the grotto into the grey morning murk. The river roared below them and to their left. He fought through trees and undergrowth then scrambled down a steep embankment to the edge of a lake. One of the Israelis was lying face down by the bank. He kicked him onto his back. A bullet hole in his neoprene suit had snagged on the rocks, tearing a zippered pouch wide open, allowing gemstones of astonishing size and colour to spill into the shallow, reddened water around him. At once, Massimo and the others lunged for them like piglets for a tit, stirring up sediment to obscure what they were after.
‘Leave it,’ yelled Tomas. But it was useless. Greed had them in its grip. He looked around, spied smears of blood on rocks on the far bank. He grabbed Guido by his arm as he scrabbled for gems with the others. ‘Forget the damned stones,’ he said. ‘We need Rossi and the girl.’
Guido held up a ruby with childish awe. ‘But look at the size of it!’
‘Forget it,’ snapped Tomas. ‘If we get Rossi and the girl, it’s all ours. The whole tomb. We’ll be the richest men in Italy.’
Guido blinked and came back to his senses. ‘Where are they?’ he asked, lumbering to his feet.
Tomas pointed across the lake. They waded out into the water, swam with their guns above their heads. They climbed out the far bank, brushed themselves down. A thin animal track beside the river was marked by telltale wet footprints and spatters of blood.
‘Ready, oh my brother?’ asked Tomas.
Guido nodded. ‘Let’s do it,’ he said.
III
Baldassare was not a man to send others into danger while he himself held back. Yet he, Giuseppe and Zeno were older and less capable than the others here, and liable only to get in the way.
Besides, they had a different contribution to make.
It was Baldassare himself who took the wheel, leading the way down the hairpin road towards the cottage. He drove slowly and with his headlights on full beam, both to dazzle the two ’Ndrangheta men while making it as easy as possible for the cars behind to follow, even with their own engines and headlights off. He passed by the cottage and carried on along the road while they peeled off one by one, freewheeling down the drive to the cottage forecourt. They pulled up in a row and piled yelling from their cars, overwhelming the two men without a shot being fired, then going through the cottage room by room to make sure it was clear.
It was all over before Baldassare joined them. The two thugs were a
lready cuffed and sitting on hard chairs in separate rooms. But it took him only a single look into their eyes to reveal that the first shock of their capture had already passed, to be replaced by a familiar surly defiance. Give him a day or two and he might break them. But he didn’t have a day or two. He had no time at all.
‘Go outside,’ murmured Aldo. ‘I’ll get them talking.’
Baldassare shook his head. He loathed these men more than words could say, and the lives of Cesco and Carmen were very much at stake. Yet he’d dedicated his life to the rule of law. And it wasn’t in him to change that now, not even for this. But where did that leave him? What options did he have? He was still dithering when the kitchen door banged open and Sandro rushed in, his two-way radio crackling in his hand. ‘Your woman,’ he said. ‘Your American woman.’
‘What about her?’ asked Baldassare.
‘They’ve got a signal from her phone at last,’ he said. ‘And it seems she’s on the move.’
Chapter Forty-Nine
I
The shock of being shot at then swept out of the grotto through the rocks had flooded Carmen’s system with so much adrenaline that it was only now that she and Cesco were fleeing along this narrow track that her injuries began to announce themselves. Her twisted left ankle had swollen up and turned ugly colours, making her flinch every time she put weight on it. Her right knee was wrenched and there was a bad gash beneath her shoulder blade that had already stained her shirt red, with more blood spilling in watery streams down her legs to leave telltale marks with every step. She ripped off her sleeve and folded it into a wad with which to staunch it, yet it was hard to apply pressure while on the move.
The Sacred Spoils Page 35
