LETHAL SCORE

by Mannock, Mark

  “Well, that’s it then,” said Ascardi. “We’ll be in touch in the morning for the final arrangements. In the meantime, you have a choice to make. I suggest you choose wisely. Oh, and, Nicholas, you know that I put great import on precision. I cannot stress enough the importance of timing in this situation. Your window is limited; there will be no opportunity for hesitation.” With that, he nodded at his two offsiders, turned around, and marched out the door.

  “Shit,” I repeated after they had gone.

  “Exactly,” said Jack Greatrex.

  Chapter 27

  Jack Greatrex and I must have sat in that room for another forty minutes going over every option available to us. We couldn’t go to the authorities; no one would believe us. There was no going back. I was in so deep now, not even the General could dig me out.

  All the options Ascardi presented would result in unjustified bloodshed. It even occurred to us to just leave town, but we realized Ascardi would probably kill those innocent people in the Piazza San Marco just to make his point.

  We had nothing. It couldn’t get any worse … and then it did.

  Eventually, we decided to head back to our hotel. At least we knew Antonio Ascardi wasn’t staying there. While the tour was in Venice, he was based at his own palatial home just off the Grand Canal. But he was more likely at his undisclosed location.

  Although the tour was the least of our problems, it was with sadness that I realized it was over. Performing with Aislinn and Patrick Jay had been a great experience. We knew taking them into our confidence would only endanger them.

  As we left the room and walked to the top of the Grand Staircase in the opera house foyer, it occurred to me that I may have performed my last show. Whatever happened tomorrow, I could tell myself I left in style.

  “Mr. Sharp,” came a voice from the bottom of the stairs.

  I looked down to see the distinctive blond hair of Jasper De Vries from Europol. A bad day just got worse.

  We descended the stairs, but not by choice. De Vries was accompanied by three uniformed officers I assumed to be local police. De Vries himself conveyed no more warmth than he had in our first meeting in Paris. His eyes still radiated the warmth of a snowstorm, perhaps this time with a glint of self-satisfaction.

  There was no offering of hands. “Mr. Sharp, this is Ispettore Davide Romana of the Polizia di Stato.”

  De Vries eyed off Greatrex. “Mr. Jack Greatrex, I presume.”

  Greatrex just nodded.

  “Sharp, I was told I might find you here. Since we last met, I have been digging into your background a little more deeply. I have also received further information regarding some of your more recent activities. Perhaps you would care to explain these.”

  De Vries then produced his beloved tablet, flicked through a couple of screens, and passed it to me. No wonder he had looked so smug. The image on the screen was not of high quality, but it was clear enough to be used as evidence in court. It took less than three seconds for me to realize it depicted part of the Cinaed Nuclear Power Station. In the lower left corner of the picture, backdropped by an array of pipes and machinery, was the image of a man looking up at the camera. His body language suggested that he was uncomfortable and didn’t belong in that mechanical environment. The man’s face, however, was easily identifiable. It was me.

  “Well?” asked De Vries.

  Silence.

  “I can’t begin to explain,” I said eventually. Nothing had occurred to me that would in any way get me out of this. “But again, you’ve got this all wrong,” I continued, in vain.

  “You leave me little choice,” said De Vries, clearly not concerned with finding another.

  Ispettore Davide Romana of the Polizia di Stato stepped forward. He nodded to his two colleagues, who also stepped forward, taking their place either side of me. “Signor Nicholas Sharp, I am placing you under arrest for your involvement in terrorist activities at the Cinaed power station in Scotland, the murder of Sir Phillip Morton in London, the bombing of the Palais Garnier in Paris, and a murder in Füssen, Germany.”

  Again silence. Then Greatrex grunted. It was his raspy, low-pitched “what the?” grunt, denoting extreme vexation.

  If I was taken into custody, innocent people would die in the Piazza San Marco the following day.

  I looked directly into the cold blue eyes belonging to Jasper De Vries of Europol.

  I said, “I’m sorry, De Vries.”

  “For your crimes?” he asked.

  “No, for this.” I balled my right fist and, attempting to feign a relaxed stance to conceal my intent, I sucker punched him on his right cheek just below his eye.

  I knew that I had no time to wait for any reaction, not with police officers surrounding me. Taking advantage of a millisecond of confusion, I used all my weight to shove the officer to my right, placing my foot behind his ankle. He went down.

  The officer on my left was quicker, reaching into his buttoned leather holster for his weapon. Greatrex stepped forward to block him. I yelled out “No.” I needed Greatrex on the right side of the law.

  In that same moment I raised my left foot and kicked the officer hard with the heel of my shoe. The powerful blow landed on his hand as he fumbled for his gun. I heard the sickening crunch of breaking bone. That left only Ispettore Romana on his feet. To reach his service pistol he had to cast aside the charge sheet he had just read to me. His complete surprise at my reaction and the second he took to cast the paper aside it gave me the opportunity to charge. There was no technique, just sheer force as I ran straight over him. Continuing my lunge across the pink carpet and onto the hard stone floor, I heard the first bullet ricochet off one of the huge marble pillars in the foyer. The missed shot provided me a vital extra second. More gunfire peppered the glass surrounding the front door behind me as I ran into the night.

  Now it was official. I was a man on the run.

  I had to keep moving. Several alleyways branched off the small piazza in front of the opera house. I chose one for no reason other than it was close, and belted toward it. People and buildings flashed by in a blur as I attempted to put as much space as I could between me and the officers following me. My senses focused on the voices behind me and the enveloping sound of my own rapid breathing.

  I just ran, as fast and far as I was able.

  At any turn I could come to an unpassable dead end, and it would all be over. The shouting voices and the clatter of running feet behind me seemed to swell and recede as I turned each corner. My strained, heavy breathing remaining my one constant companion. I just kept running. The only saving grace was the many streets, alleys, and laneways that allowed me time and opportunity to change direction undetected.

  It made some difference that it was dark, and several shadowed doorways offered some potential refuge. Where possible, I chose the dimmer and less populated alleys to aid my escape.

  It was proving difficult to break free of my pursuers. Although there were people all over the place, no one seemed too fazed by a lone man running. That would change, of course, when they came across the police who were chasing me. I had no doubt fingers would be pointed and directions given.

  I just kept changing direction where I could. It was easy to give the impression I was running in no specific direction because I was running in no specific direction. Within minutes I had no idea where I was. Suddenly, I heard my pursuers way too clearly, they were close behind me, threateningly close. I turned a corner and stepped into the shadow of a large locked doorway. I held my breath waiting to be discovered. Two polizia in uniform dashed by. I didn’t recognize them; obviously, De Vries had called in backup.

  I stepped out of the shadows and turned down the next alleyway. I was beyond lost. At first my only aim was to avoid the big piazzas, where I would be too easily exposed. As I ran it became clear to me that I couldn’t keep this up forever. Eventually, I would come around a corner and the lawmen would be there, waiting. They were in front of me and behind me now. I
could feel myself being hemmed in. Still I kept moving.

  I looked upwards toward the evening sky, but I couldn’t see enough sky to gauge any sense of direction.

  More feet, more yelling, another doorway in shadow. My luck couldn’t hold out much longer.

  I decided my only chance was to make it back to my original hotel room. The bolt-hole. There was a chance that De Vries and the polizia didn’t yet know about it. I figured they would find out about it soon enough, but in the meantime, it could provide a temporary safe harbor and get me off the streets. The trouble was I had no idea which way to go.

  I found myself running down a singularly narrow alleyway and over a tiny low-slung bridge that crossed a small canal. I was surprised that even in this confined space there were gondoliers hawking for passengers and the tourist dollar. I was halfway over the bridge when I heard, “Signor Sharp, fermato ora per favore—stop now please!” I glanced behind me. Damn! It was the Ispettore, what was his name … Romana. “You have caused us a great deal of angst, signor,” He aimed his service-issue revolver at me. I stopped. Romana spoke into his phone, I assumed giving directions to our location.

  There was no point pleading with the man; in his mind I was guilty, and I couldn’t really blame him. To my left there was a young couple climbing on board their gondola; they were laughing and smiling in anticipation of their romantic ride. They stopped laughing when they saw Romano’s gun.

  “It’s all right,” he reassured them. “I am with the polizia.”

  He momentarily turned to the couple as he spoke. That was all I needed. I reached down into the gondola, wrenched the oar out of the gondolier’s hand and swung it across the bridge toward the policeman. He tried to move sideways but there was not enough room to get out of the way. I caught him hard on the side of his torso. The force sent him over the edge of the bridge and into the canal. I turned and sprinted off down the alley. Another friend gained.

  I was getting desperate. That was too close, and time was on everyone’s side but mine.

  Then I saw it—so simple I should have thought to look before. A yellow sign with black writing and a long thin arrow. It said “Per Rialto”—for Rialto. My bolt-hole was not far from the Rialto Bridge. All I had to do was follow the tourist signs.

  Twenty minutes and two more close calls later, I was at the Rialto Bridge. Three minutes after that I was passing through the front door of the Vecchio Hotel Canal and bolting up the long stairway. I was out of breath and looking decidedly disheveled when the receptionist looked up from his desk. His eyes seemed to bulge in surprise when he saw me.

  “Next time I think I’ll just walk up them.”

  The receptionist relaxed a little, offering a professional smile.

  I took my key, panting and trying to appear every bit the stupid turista he’d decided I was. “Those stairs are going to kill me one day.”

  Chapter 28

  I lay on my bed, trying to slow my breathing and quicken my thinking. As far as I knew, only Greatrex knew about this location. How safe was I in this hotel room? The answer depended on how quickly the authorities got my picture out though the press and the effectiveness of their processes for scanning registered hotel guests throughout the city. Given the reaction at the press conference earlier at the Sale Apollinee, I figured the media would lap this whole scenario up, meaning I’d have well less than twenty-four hours of sanctuary here. But in twenty-four hours this whole thing would be over, one way or another.

  Then there was the prospect of the next day’s events. That was troubling me big-time. The idea of what was expected of me cast an impenetrable cloud that I couldn’t seem to cut through. I had no doubt that at some point, however reluctantly, I was going to find myself, rifle in hand, scanning the Piazza San Marco for my target. Who would be that target?

  There had to be another way through this, but for the life of me I just couldn’t see it. I lay on the bed and let my mind wander, praying a solution would present itself.

  I must have dozed off because it was just after midnight when I looked down at my watch. I was hungry, but nothing could be done about that. I wasn’t going back out onto the streets.

  I wanted to call Greatrex. If he hadn’t been arrested, and I couldn’t see any reason why he should have been, he’d be back at the hotel. I knew with certainty I couldn’t risk using my own phone; the authorities would track it the moment it was turned on. I couldn’t use a hotel phone for the same reason; they could well be monitoring the big fella’s calls and would track the line to this location. Then the penny dropped. The giant from the Lido. I reached into my pocket. The phone I’d acquired from him hadn’t dropped out during the chase.

  “It’s me,” I knew he wouldn’t recognize the number.

  “Are you safe?”

  “For now. I’ve got to be brief. Any update?” I asked.

  “Ascardi now knows the police and Europol are trying to arrest you. He contacted me. If you’re arrested, he’ll still detonate the bomb in the square.”

  “Then I’d better stay free,” I replied.

  “He gave me instructions for tomorrow,” said Greatrex.

  Two minutes later I knew what was expected of me. The gist of it was that I needed to find my way to the roof of the Basilica San Marco by 1 p.m. No problem for the most wanted man in Venice.

  Greatrex finished with, “Are you going to be all right tonight?”

  “If they knew where I was, I would have been arrested by now, so I think so,” I responded. “I’d better go. This call has taken long enough.” I hung up.

  In the military I’d been trained to figuratively sleep with one eye open. A sniper often had to set up his hide well before the target arrived at the expected location. When the time came, you had to be alert enough to take a clean shot. Sometimes that meant sleeping in an exposed position. One eye open.

  I awoke just before sunrise. My half-sleep had been restless, disturbed again by images of Ascardi and the trail of death he’d left in his wake, and mine.

  I was particularly tormented by dreams of Elena. It was as though she was trying to tell me something, but I had no idea what. Whatever we’d had, and I didn’t understand what that was, had moved me. We’d shared a closeness that seemed to appear and disappear behind a veil of her making. She’d had so much to give; on the other hand, she was way past mischievous, more like devious really. Either way, she had been needlessly killed, and the anger I felt devoured me like a cancer.

  I was angry for all who had died at Ascardi’s hand, but with Elena, the fire of fury burned much closer to home.

  As I lay there on the bed, I consciously allowed the twisted bitterness to grow within me. Bullies and manipulators were the cesspit of humanity. Ascardi was both. Resolve overtook fatigue as I felt my outrage call me to arms. I would use my anger to make Ascardi pay for Elena’s death, and the deaths of the other victims. I would team my hunger for vengeance with my professional skills and stop him. Decision made.

  Suddenly, I heard excited voices and the movement of running footsteps resonate down the corridor. My bolt-hole had been discovered.

  I leaped off the bed. The room was at the end of a long corridor, and there was only one door out. Always a planner, I’d figured out an escape route the night before. Opening one of the bedroom windows, I heaved myself up and climbed out onto the window ledge, closing the casement behind me. The rooftop of the adjoining building was a manageable leap away, not more than two yards, but a fall down the cavernous space between buildings would be debilitating at best. I coiled my body and vaulted across the space. The strained scraping sound of the window behind me reopening added an unneeded motivation as I landed, cracking some terracotta tiles and crabbing across them, turning the skyline into an escape route.

  Because Venice was so crowded with buildings, it was easy to move across distances while maintaining height. I had frequently done the same thing in Iraq. It was all about balance and judgment. I rapidly put a decent space between me and
my pursuers. I had probably done more rooftop work than they had. That would give me a small advantage and a chance.

  Then I heard them … the faint sound of airborne engines. Then the throbbing of rotating metal blades growing louder. Helicopters.

  It shouldn’t have come as a surprise. With the severity of the charges against me, the authorities would have put the city under lockdown. That meant bringing in all the resources they could muster, including the choppers. Now I was totally exposed. Once they saw me, I felt certain they would shoot. From the sky I would be an easy target.

  I ran over the pitch of the nearest roof and slipped behind a large red-brick chimney. It was wide enough to conceal a man and thick enough to stop a bullet. As the first chopper flew over, I moved back around the chimney, keeping the structure between the aircraft and me. The helicopter flew past without deviating. I’d got away with it.

  Then came a second chopper. Damn, I was now totally exposed. I had no choice but to slide back to the other side of the chimney again. I hoped no one in the first chopper was looking backward. As it approached, the first kept a straight course. I was safe … then I wasn’t. The first chopper had swung around toward me. Worse, the crew had obviously radioed the second bird, which was now slowing down to a hover not far from where I hid.

  The first round impacted the chimney just above my head. Shards of shattered bricks rained down on my head. The people shooting at me were clearly not trying to take prisoners. The second round hit an inch away from my shoulder. I had no choice; it was time to move.

  I ran down the steep incline of the roof, slipping as some of the old tiles gave way. Shots rang out behind me. I was seconds away from a bullet. I scanned the skyline, desperate for a way down. Then I saw it. Two rooftops away a glass skylight reflected sharply in the morning sun. I would be heavily exposed if I went for it, but if I could make it and then get down through it, I’d be out of sight of the airborne marksmen. The rooftiles just behind my right foot disintegrated as another round hit. Go.