LETHAL SCORE

by Mannock, Mark

  I received no response bar a wave forward of the gun. Then came the sound again, the growl. Again, it went unnoticed by the man pointing the pistol at me. Under the streetlight I now recognized it as a 9mm Glock 17. It had a capacity of seventeen rounds. I knew that because I had one at home in L.A. I also knew that this man wouldn’t need anywhere near that number of bullets to do the job. That being said, he could shoot me all he wanted, and I still wasn’t going to move from that spot. Now I was feeling defiant.

  With a shrug of the shoulders he raised the gun and pointed it at my chest just as a mound of ice and snow plummeted from the rooftop above us. As the assassin’s finger tightened on the trigger, I threw myself to the right, under the shelter of a large eave. The snow and ice tumbled down, collecting my would-be assailant and knocking him off his feet. The man let out a surprised cry as his head thudded down on the hard ice.

  In a second I was standing above him, but he reacted with surprising speed, raising his gun toward me. I desperately kicked out with the heel of my shoe, sending the weapon spinning across the street. The assassin showed the same quick reaction, clawing at my ankle, finding his grip, and twisting hard. Sharp pain shot through my leg as I lost my balance, smashing to the ground. I landed awkwardly, bending my wrist as I fell. Despite the additional pain, I knew that staying down would be fatal. My assailant was already on his feet. I had no doubt he’d come with more than just a gun. Then there it was: he produced a long hunting knife from under his coat. Clambering backward, I ripped my own coat off and wrapped it around my hand and wrist, just missing his first jab with the blade as I retreated. As he came at me in a full-on attack, he slipped on the ice, just for a second. I was standing now, so I changed plan, unwrapping my coat and throwing it into his eyes. As he swiped it away, I sprang forward, my left leg hooking behind his right knee. He lost his purchase and hit the ice like a falling rock. I had one chance. I put all my weight behind the biggest punch I could muster, my right hand aiming directly at his heart—that would have to slow him down. At the same time, I reached for the knife with my left hand. I knew it was a dangerous move, I could easily grab the blade rather than the handle, but my choices were limited to non-existent. As I grabbed the knife a second punch to the heart did its job. My attacker loosened his grip on the knife and I ripped it from his hand.

  I then had a millisecond to make a decision. I knew the man struggling below to be Elena’s killer. I could give no room nor show any weakness. I plunged the knife directly into his eye. It had been a life-changing decision … I had decided to end his life.

  Chapter 18

  I stepped over the dead man’s body and ran back to our gästehaus. Unlocking the front door, I took the stairs two at a time and entered the apartment. Was it only less than two hours ago Elena and I had been happily ensconced there? I knew that any minute now the polizei would splinter the door and it would be over. I only hoped they hadn’t discovered my car yet. Two minutes later I was leaping down the stairs, bag in hand, and out the front entrance.

  I jogged as quickly as I could down the street, trying not to draw too much unwanted attention. I found my car, scraped what snow I could off the windscreen, climbed in, and started the engine. As I pulled out from the curb, the flashing blue light of a police car appeared in my rearview mirror. I floored the gas pedal; the wheels spun on the ice but the car refused to budge. I tried again with less power. Still no forward movement. I released my foot and tried yet again. It seemed to take forever for the wheels to find some traction as I eventually eased slowly up the street. I made it to the corner just as the police car pulled up outside the gästehaus. That had been way too close.

  I had to extract myself from the immediate area now and figure out where I was going later. As I turned the first corner, I saw more flashing blue lights fifty yards ahead. It was a polizei roadblock. There would be no talking my way through that. I spun the wheel and the car lurched violently to the left, my rear wheels sliding out on the icy road. As I headed down a small alleyway that wasn’t much wider than my vehicle, I prayed that none of the police at the roadblock had seen my clumsy attempt at avoidance. I was driving too fast, following the laneway as it veered gradually round to the right. Suddenly, a large building dominated the headlight’s beams. I slammed on my brakes, skidding on the ice. It was a dead end; there was nowhere left to go. Hemmed in and completely out of alternatives, I slapped the wheel in frustration.

  A flickering streetlamp on my right caught my attention. It was lighting a narrow walkway. The path was clearly not designed for cars. I backed up slightly, then inched forward, turning the wheel to the right. If the last road was a tight squeeze, this was almost impossible. I held my breath as the car crept along the path. The sound of solid limestone scraping against the metal door handles told me I had less than nothing to spare. Midway along I was forced to a stop as the car’s wheels began to spin wildly in the snow, fighting against the friction of a particularly narrow spot between two buildings. As if on cue, the reflection of flashing blue lights appeared in my mirror, growing brighter as they bounced off the walls behind me. A police car was driving down the laneway I’d just vacated. A minute later, the car had reached the dead end, its lights pointing straight ahead into the same building at the end of the street. The pulse of the flashing blue seemed to be everywhere. Well, almost everywhere. Fortunately, my walkway remained in shadow, out of their reach. Flicking my lights off, I stopped the engine, hoping that there was enough darkness on the footpath to conceal my car from all but a thorough search. I waited, well aware that if they ventured down my walkway I couldn’t even open a door to run.

  A few seconds later relief flooded through me as the flashing blue lights started to recede. I presumed the police had reversed back up the laneway. After some cajoling of the gas pedal I was eventually released from my limestone vice and drove forward down the walkway.

  Relieved at my newfound freedom, I drove a couple of miles down the road before pulling over onto a cul-de-sac sheltered by a thick strand of pines. My first priority was to get clear of Füssen and then try to get out of Germany. The more distance—bureaucratic and physical—I could put between myself and the German police force, the better. I was only a couple of miles away from the Austrian border. If I could cross it without having to produce any identification, I might have a chance.

  Twenty minutes later I was in Austria. At least I thought so. I wasn’t really sure because there had been no border guards and no apparent border. Thank God for small mercies. I pulled over at the next town. The sign I passed said it was called Reutte. I stopped the car and checked my map again. Yes, I was definitely in Austria, a little further out of the hands of the German authorities.

  It was time to develop a plan. The last twenty-four hours seemed to involve a lot of reacting and little or no forethought. Where to now? I knew I needed to make my way to Venice. But I was tired, way beyond tired. I’d been exhausted when I’d arrived in Füssen. I couldn’t drive all the way through the Austrian Alps and onto Venice in my current state. I looked outside the car. Snow pelted down, building an impenetrable cold white wall standing between me and freedom. If it kept falling at this rate the roads through the alps would quickly become impassable, yet I couldn’t stay where I was.

  I looked at the map again. The town of Innsbruck was around two hours away, probably four in this weather, presuming the roads remained open. It would be too late for a rail link from Innsbruck to Venice tonight, but I could most likely get one tomorrow. That was it, then: ahead of me I had an all-night drive on a dangerous alpine road through heavy snow with nearly zero visibility. Nicholas Sharp, unto the breach.

  An hour later I was seriously questioning my judgment. The car’s headlights seemed to light up only the pounding snow. I was traveling slowly, testing every facet of the Volvo’s reliability. The drive grew more treacherous with each mile. Thick snow now layered the roads. There had been no snow-clearing machinery, nor any other vehicle, for at least thirty
minutes. I didn’t need a weather forecast to tell me things were getting worse, but I couldn’t turn back now; it was only forwards.

  Every now and again, dim lights shone from distant towns way down in the alpine valleys. Seeing them didn’t encourage me. They only reminded me of the consequences if I missed a turn. The tires were finding it harder and harder to grip the frozen slurry. I drove on.

  I wanted to stop and think, but I couldn’t afford to. I may not have been able to get going again. So much had happened in the last few hours, but the driving needed all my concentration. Several times, back in the military, I had been single-minded in my focus as I concentrated on performing an extraction. Reflection comes later. I had to be in that mindset to extract myself from this situation now. But I felt myself slipping …

  I kept seeing Elena lying in the snow, soaked in her own blood. My stomach heaved every time.

  Concentrate on the road.

  Then I thought about our last night together. No, focus, damn it.

  Back to the road.

  Then came the questions. I wondered what Elena hadn’t told me. While I was in mid-thought the car shook and lunged violently to the left. I corrected, but in the challenging conditions I overdid it, and the car counter-lunged to the right, where I’d just seen distant lights in the valley below. The Volvo wouldn’t stop; despite correcting and braking, I had no control. It slid toward a void of blackness. I was going to go over the edge. Close your eyes and accept it, Sharp.

  Almost too late, the car found some grip and straightened up. I braked. The vehicle stopped as the engine stalled. It left only the sound of the wind outside and my throbbing heartbeat within.

  Focus on the road, you damn fool, or you won’t be around to ask any questions. Compartmentalize or perish.

  Five and a half hours after my journey began, the road started to widen and flatten out. I was past the worst of it and could put on a little speed. Sometimes you don’t feel the depth of the stress that has engulfed you until it stops. I felt my breathing and my muscles begin to relax as the road ahead became more manageable.

  An hour later, and again I was arriving in an unknown European town in the small hours of the morning. This time there would be no warm greeting. I desperately needed sleep, even just a few hours. If I slept in the car in these temperatures, I would freeze. All I could think to do was find a bland corporate chain hotel and hope I could check in for a few hours without having to produce any identification. Twenty minutes after that I was standing in the foyer of the very comfortable Marriot-Innsbruck hotel. The check-in clerk was professional but not overly attentive. When I explained that I’d accidentally left my passport in my car and didn’t want to go out in this weather to get it, she understood. Just bring it in in the morning, she instructed.

  Ten minutes after that I was lying on a large double bed. I knew I wouldn’t be awake for long. The last thought I had as I drifted off to sleep was how odd this all seemed. Today I was a fugitive, yet in forty-eight hours I was meant to be stepping on a stage in Venice in front of a thousand people. Go figure.

  Chapter 19

  The morning light hit me like a slap on the face as I awoke to a world without Elena. I had slept soundly; my body wouldn’t let me do otherwise. Up until now there hadn’t been any real chance to think, or to grieve. Now my waking thoughts were bouncing around my head like colliding atomic particles. The depth of my feeling toward the girl had been surprising. I knew she was a dangerous place to be, yet I had gone to her. Her death left a void in my world. That was surprising too. I would never have been able to completely trust her. Now she was gone, and I had killed her murderer. But I was certain that I hadn’t even begun to deal with the person who ordered her death. That would come.

  I got out of bed and opened the curtains fully. The weather had cleared. It was gray and overcast, but the snow had stopped. Innsbruck was a much bigger city than it had seemed last night. From eight floors up, I could see the snowcapped mountains surrounding the city, standing as sentries for the busy streets below. Directly in front of my window less than a mile away was an enormous ski-jumping stadium. It loomed out of the mountain like an artificial dragon. This was the land of winter sports.

  I made myself a coffee. It was good for hotel-room coffee. Despite my grief, it was time to move forward and chase the big picture. I had gone to Füssen in search of more information. I had gained some, but not in the manner I would have chosen. It was pointless to dwell on it now, but I should have asked Elena if she knew who was behind the explosion at the Palais Garnier. That conversation had been relegated to the evening together that never came.

  Then I felt as though I had betrayed her by just having that thought. Either way, it was too late for recriminations.

  I glanced at my watch. The train to Venice would leave at 1:22 p.m., just over two hours away. My first act would be to contact Greatrex. He would be worried, not to mention annoyed, that I had been out of communication so long.

  I got out my laptop and skyped him. It took all of five seconds before his face appeared on my screen. The big fella’s drawn skin and the blackness around his eyes told the story of a sleepless night; he was a screenshot of worry and frustration.

  “Well, back from the land of the lost.” Attitude.

  “Sorry, it was out of my hands.”

  “I had started throwing my things in my bag and was about to come looking for you.” My friend sounded a touch irritable.

  “There are things you need to know,” I explained. I think he picked up on my own angst and frustration because his tone softened slightly.

  “I’ve just been talking to the General,” he said. “I think the three of us need to have a chat. Where are you?”

  “Austria.”

  Greatrex paused for a moment. “Wasn’t expecting that.”

  “I haven’t expected much that’s happened in the last twenty-four hours,” I replied.

  “Why don’t I see if I can get the General back online? Then we can all talk together.”

  “Done deal.” I sipped my coffee and waited.

  A few minutes later the image of General Devlin-Waters’ face appeared on my screen next to Greatrex’s. He looked pissed.

  “Good morning, General,” I said.

  Fifteen minutes later I had filled in Greatrex and the General on the most salient points of the events in Füssen and my struggle to get to Austria.

  There was a moment of silence before I heard the General’s voice say, “And which part of ‘do not run around playing detective’ did you not understand?” Now he sounded pissed.

  “Yes, sir, you were right, and I know I’m in a bigger bind than I was when you said that but … on the other hand we have some more vital information regarding Elena’s involvement in all of this.” Nicholas Sharp for the defense.

  Greatrex allowed a smirk to appear on his face. He was obviously amused at my being reprimanded.

  “And the young lady has now lost her life,” added the General.

  Smirk gone - silence from both of us.

  “Well,” said the General. “I have some more information as well. You may as well get comfortable; this could take a while.”

  I took another large sip of my now cold coffee.

  “My people and I have done some serious digging around in the life of Antonio Ascardi,” he began. “It seems there are two schools of thought about the man. There are those - and I must say that they are in the clear majority - who believe he has done great work and deserves all the success that has come his way. They say he is a man of conviction who truly believes in what his media group and other interests stand for. They say he is what he appears to be.”

  “And the other point of view?” questioned Greatrex.

  “Well, that’s where things get a little more complicated,” responded the General. “Even his detractors say he is a man of principle, but they do question some of his ethics.”

  “In what way?” I asked.

  “Let’s go
back a bit. No one really knows where Ascardi got his start, but everyone we spoke to said he was bankrolled at some point early in his career. His money and initial success almost seem to come from nowhere.” The General hesitated as if deciding what to say next. “It’s possible, with Ascardi’s Italian heritage, that connections to the mafia could be an easily argued point. We have, however, found no definitive proof of that.”

  I interrupted. “I know of one man who knew Ascardi right from the beginning. He was there with him through the journey to success.”

  “Who’s that?” asked Greatrex.

  “Well, it won’t do us any good,” I replied. “It was Gabriel Arquette, minister of culture in the French government, and now he’s dead, killed in the explosion at the Palais Garnier.”

  Again, there was silence over the line. The General broke it. “Let me continue. It would appear that the common view of those who question Antonio Ascardi’s morals is that things changed for him after the death of his younger sister, Vittoria. His critics say he was badly affected by her passing. The word is his passions turned into obsessions. He began to ignore his closest advisers, discarding their views as ignorant and inconsequential. He seemed unable to temper his judgment with his usual reasoning. They say his modus operandi changed from consultative to compulsive.”

  “How did his sister die?” I asked.

  “She was murdered,” answered the General. “Culprit unknown.”

  Greatrex began to talk. “Let’s think for a minute about Elena’s involvement in the murder of Phillip Morton. How does Ascardi fit into that?

  “I haven’t got an answer to that,” I said. “It’s highly possible he had nothing to do with it.”

  “Nicholas, did you ask Elena who introduced her to the chancellor and who the information that he wanted to share was intended for?” asked the General.