LETHAL SCORE

by Mannock, Mark

  The figure turned away from us and slipped the hood down around her shoulders. She flipped out her long dark hair and let it cascade down her back. Then she turned around.

  “Hello, Nicholas … now, don’t be angry.”

  She moved across the room while I sat there like a dumb shmuck. There was no sign of injury or a bullet wound. I had been played. Nicholas Sharp, victim. That label didn’t sit well with me.

  Elena walked up to Ascardi and kissed him on the cheek. Then she turned to face me.

  “I’m thinking we should talk,” she said, her eyes unreadable—just the eternal Atlantic swell.

  The schmuck just nodded his head.

  “I’m sure Tony has filled you in on my relationship with Vittoria. I was devastated when we lost her. She brought out the best in me; sometimes that could be very hard to find. I miss her every day.”

  I said nothing.

  “That being said, Nicholas, I want you to know, my feelings for you were genuine.”

  I was sure Elena wanted me to respond. I was wound too tight to say a word.

  “I once told you that you would be angry with me if I revealed the truth about Marina del Rey. You will be angry, but I will tell you.

  “I came to see you on behalf of Giles Winter. He wanted to know if you were still the man you once were. We had to test you. Unfortunately for you, you passed. I did tell you I worked in recruitment, of sorts. That was the last work I did for him. I then returned to London and the arms of my beloved Vittoria. As I said, she brought out the best in me. I decided to leave that world behind.”

  I was ready to leap across the room as a deep anger swelled within me. Then logic took hold: I was clearly outnumbered by Ascardi’s men.

  “I know,” she continued, “you are unhappy with me. As things turned out, when we lost Vittoria, I needed to step back into my covert world one more time, for her. You know how that feels, don’t you, Nicholas?”

  I ground my teeth.

  The girl in front of me continued her speech. “London, Füssen, yes, it was all real. But I had to disappear. Tony received word that the mafia were sending a professional assassin to kill me as a way to get to him. Vittoria all over again. Besides, you and I were getting too close; our relationship was clouding my perspective. I needed to die for you and the Mafia assassin to give up. But Tony and I underestimated you; we should have known better. You never give up, do you?”

  For a few seconds, she just stood there, her dark hair cascading recklessly down the sides of her face as she stared me down. Her clenched jawbone suggested an anger that matched her words, but I was also certain there was some level of regret in her eyes.

  “It was never my intention that you die. We didn’t realize the mafia hitman would come after you when he realized I was already dead. I could live with you going to prison. I always thought that was the worst-case scenario. It turned out I was wrong.”

  “What about Cinaed?” I finally asked, if only to prove to Ascardi that I had one more question in me.

  “Yes, that was my moment of hesitation. It had taken me a long time to come completely on board with Tony’s plans. My emotional devastation equaled his, but I was uncertain whether destroying a nuclear power station was the right strategy. So I led you there, knowing you would stop it. You always do the right thing, don’t you, Nicholas?”

  Elena looked at Ascardi; her expression softened, her eyes almost glazing over in a reluctant acceptance. “Of course, now I understand the lengths we have to go to … realize Tony’s vision.”

  Ascardi smiled.

  Chapter 40

  I stared vacantly through the bars at my new Italian friend. Despite Ascardi telling me he was alive, I was relieved to see it for myself. Vincenzo had brought me to the first building I’d searched on Poveglia, the old prison. The henchman stood behind me, far enough away that I couldn’t touch him. Even if I could reach him, my hands were zip-tied in front of me, nullifying any chance of engagement. Vincenzo’s left hand gripped a handgun, a Beretta M9, his right a flashlight pointing into the cell in front of me. On the other side of the bars, exposed by the light’s beam, was Joe Santoro. He lay on an old metal bed frame, his mass extending far beyond it. There was no mattress, and his right hand was handcuffed to the bedhead. His face was cragged with dogged frustration.

  “Nicholas,” he said.

  “Joe, are you all right?” I asked.

  “A mite pissed off at these cretini, but I will live.”

  “In all honesty, I don’t think that’s their plan,” I said to him.

  “Enough talk!” said Vincenzo. “Step aside.”

  I took a step to my left and watched as the henchman pulled a key out of his pocket.

  “Further.”

  I took another step and then watched Vincenzo use the key to unlock Joe’s cell.

  “In,” he instructed.

  “What if I don’t?” Nicholas Sharp, petulant child.

  “I’ll either shoot you as you stand or throw you in there and then shoot you,” he responded.

  Joe raised an eyebrow. I gave a small nod that I hoped Vincenzo wouldn’t see. I also hoped Joe and I were understanding each other.

  I turned back to Vincenzo. “Do what you’ve got to do,” I said.

  He grunted then raised his gun, pointing it directly at my head. I tensed up. His finger started to squeeze the trigger when he said, “No, this is too easy. I think I will hurt you a little first.”

  Vincenzo said it like he was going to enjoy it. You can always count on a bully to want to make it personal.

  He then took a step closer to me and shoved me hard in the back. I offered no resistance and fell forward into the cell. Vincenzo followed me in, holding the gun in front of him.

  He made it about three feet into the cell when there was an almighty roar. Joe the giant sprung to his feet, his speed belying his enormous size. Before Vincenzo could react, Joe had grasped the bed’s head with his cuffed hand, it’s base with his free hand, and swung the metal frame around toward the henchman, knocking the Beretta out of his hand in the process. By the time Vincenzo realized Joe’s plan and moved forward to defend himself, Joe had pushed the frame against Vincenzo’s torso, pinning the henchman’s body and arms between the bed frame and the cell’s bars.

  “Nicholas,” called the giant.

  I knew my cue. Running back into the corridor, I turned and slid my zip-tied hands between two of the bars just beside Vincenzo’s head. The henchman turned his head toward my hands and snapped at them. Joe was using all his strength to maintain the pressure of the bed against him so he couldn’t move his body at all. The henchman was lashing out angrily with his teeth, at one point grabbing part of the zip-tie with his mouth. I struggled to pull it free. Joe reacted by letting out another deepthroated scream. Vincenzo turned toward him just as Joe headbutted him on the bridge of his nose. The henchman momentarily slumped, his eyes glazed over but still open. I took the opportunity of his brief stupor to slip my hands over either side of his head, the zip-ties forming a necklace around his throat. Before he could react, I pulled hard with both my hands, the tie cutting into his neck as his head pressed hard against the bars. Vincenzo struggled with the adrenaline-boosted energy of a man facing near-certain death. He kicked at Joe under the bed frame; Joe grunted in pain but didn’t let up applying pressure with the bed to Vincenzo’s chest. I pulled harder. Vincenzo struggled desperately, somehow getting an arm out from under the frame. He tried to pull my hands off but couldn’t get a grip. He then took a swipe at Joe, but it was too late—his strength had deserted him.

  I felt his body go limp as Joe released the bed frame and the henchman quietly slipped to the ground.

  “Nice work, my friend,” I said.

  “I’ve had a little time sitting here, stewing in my anger. Anger breeds fortitude,” he responded.

  I nodded, bending down to search the henchman’s pockets for another key. I found it and unlocked Joe’s handcuffs. His arm looked strang
ely twisted, but all he did was exude the now familiar grunt as I released it. The giant could evidently stand a lot of pain.

  Joe used the key’s jagged edge to cut through the binding on my hands. I leaned down and grabbed Vincenzo’s Berretta.

  Five minutes later we were both outside the cell, and Vincenzo was locked within. I briefly filled Joe in on my conversation with Ascardi and Elena.

  “What do we do now?” he asked.

  “I want you to go down to the water, find the spot they’re most likely to bring their boat in. I have a friend arriving, and he’ll need help.” I told him about Greatrex and the situation he was in.

  “What will you do?” asked Joe.

  “I’m going back to Ascardi’s control room to stop him.”

  “On your own?” he asked.

  “I’m sure you and Jack will be along soon, but when I left him Ascardi was ready to act.” I said.

  I gave Joe the flashlight and directions to the asylum’s chapel.

  “You’ll also need this,” I said, passing him the Beretta.

  “So will you, my friend.”

  “I’ll pick something up on the way—now go.”

  The tightly drawn features on Joe’s face told me he wasn’t pleased. Still, he reluctantly took the weapon and we separated.

  I cautiously retraced my steps back to the asylum building. I wasn’t sure if Ascardi had stationed more men around the island. I was counting on he and his people being focused on their work in the control room.

  I made it back to the building and edged my way along the outer wall until I reached the old wooden doors. Keeping my back to the wall, I craned my head around to peer inside.

  Once again, the room seemed totally empty. I felt the same level of apprehension as I had the first time I’d stepped into the space, only this time it wasn’t past ghosts or the eeriness of the room that was causing me to sweat on a cold night.

  Suddenly, the world exploded as the first punch hit me straight on the face. It was a hard, painful blow that immediately caused my vision to blur. The second blow collected the side of my head; it felt like a hand grenade had just detonated inside my brain. The onslaught had surprised me completely, rendering my mind virtually incapable of a quick reaction. Peering through my stunned haze, I made out two tall and solid figures bearing down on me.

  I was already close to losing consciousness when the third punch loomed through the clouds of my impeded vision. All I could do was duck down, uncertain if I would make it back up. With relief I heard my attacker groan sharply as his hand crashed onto the edge of the solid wooden door where my head had just been.

  Flailing on the ground, I reached for a fist-sized piece of stone that was lying a couple of feet away. Despite my brain sending a message to my body to give up and rest, I climbed unsteadily back onto my feet. While one man was clutching his obviously injured hand, the other turned toward me. The lowered eyebrows and intensity on his face said anger; the way the muscles in his arms tensed and his fists were balled said revenge. If he connected with me, it would be over. Desperation and anger make dangerous bedfellows. Focusing all my energy on the rock held in my right hand, I waited a second for my attacker to maneuver back in close enough to strike me again. He drew his fist back ready for his final shot when I brought my hand up and rammed the stone into the side of his head. I didn’t even stop to assess the damage. I just ran like hell out the doorway.

  It had been my own stupid fault. Of course Ascardi would have had people watching. They had simply been smart enough to stay out of sight. I hadn’t. I ran out of the building and turned toward the thick undergrowth, the camouflage of the trees beckoning.

  The greenery enveloped me as I left the path outside the building. I ducked left and weaved right. I had no plan; I just needed to be unpredictable. Behind me voices yelled frantically through the wind. Beams from flashlights roamed haphazardly, lighting up the scrub around me. I lowered my head and kept moving forward.

  It came as no surprise when I heard the first gunshot. It didn’t come anywhere near me; my pursuers were firing blind, but with the scrub so open they would soon get lucky. More gunshots, too many. I hit the ground, making myself the smallest target I could be.

  The gunfire stopped. My assailants had changed strategy.

  Suddenly, there was movement through the trees not far away from where I lay. A flashlight beam bounced erratically across the branches, pausing only inches away from my position. I could hear only one set of footsteps rustling heavily through the bushes, and they were coming toward me. I couldn’t hear a second set of steps. They had split up.

  I raised myself into a crouch. If my stalker came within reach, I’d have him. I looked around. The moonlight dissipated in the thick undergrowth, casting only random shards of light. I couldn’t make out anything I could use as a weapon.

  It didn’t take long. A branch snapped a few feet away. Then I made out the shape of a man silently working his way through the scrub directly in front of me. It was Ascardi’s sidekick Elia. As the henchman passed just ahead of me, gun in hand, I vaulted forward out of the undergrowth. I opened my arms to reach around his thick neck. With momentum and surprise on my side we both hit the ground with an awkward thud. As we went down his gun flew out of his right hand into the bushes. I landed two quick jabs to the back of his head before Elia’s physical prowess came into play. He was large and strong and managed to elbow me sharply in the kidney and push me backward into the brush. I stumbled momentarily. As I regained my footing he turned toward me, pulling a knife out from his jacket. They always seem to have a knife.

  Before he could get the blade completely clear of his coat to launch an attack at me, I did the only thing I could do. I charged directly at him, throwing my body aggressively into his. The big man’s face radiated surprise as my body weight sent him back to the ground. His fist tightened around the knife. I grabbed at the weapon but couldn’t shake it free of his hand. Holding my forearm across his throat, I used my leverage to beat his knife arm against the ground. The henchman used his free left hand to punch my ribs, and then the back of my head, each blow sending me deeper into a numbing fog. I kept pounding the knife arm on the ground. Finally, it spun out of his hand. I stretched my arm, clutching desperately for the weapon. My fingertips finding the handle, I swept the knife into the air. The henchman landed one more powerful blow on the back of my head as the metal glinted in the moonlight above him. His eyes opened wide as he struggled to break free.

  With all my remaining strength I plunged the knife down between his ribs and into his heart. I held it there as the life seeped out of the big man. He gurgled, then he was gone.

  Now I had a knife.

  A second flashlight beam peppered the trees with light: the second henchman. As the beam pushed to my right, I moved to intercept it. Two minutes later, the light flicked past ten feet ahead of me. I slipped out of the bushes and onto the track just behind the dark figure. Raising my right hand, I began to plunge the knife toward the back of my pursuer’s neck.

  He must have heard me because he flipped around in an instant. Suddenly, we were face to face, but my knife hand was still in motion. In a textbook response my opponent did exactly what I had just done to Elia and grabbed the wrist of my knife hand. As he did so, he brought up his gun with his right hand. In an instant my role had changed from attacker to victim. The gun was everything. As the henchman leveled the weapon at my chest, I coiled my legs to use them as a spring. Before he could squeeze the trigger, I leaped up, kicking out with my left foot. The soul of my shoe connected solidly with the handle of the gun and the fingers that gripped it. My attacker cried out in pain as his wrist cracked and the gun flew out of his broken hand. The gun was now out of play, but the move had come at a price—I had dropped the knife. Sensing I was off balance, my attacker then lunged at me with all his weight and sent me to the hard ground. It was as though he was playing from my song sheet.

  On the ground we wrestled and punched at
each other, clawing for the knife. I’d received way too much battering over the last thirty minutes; my relationship with consciousness was now fragile at best. Each of my opponent’s punches gave him more advantage and caused me more grief. Fifteen seconds later the henchman found the weapon first. Before I even realized he had it, his left arm was silhouetted in the moonlight as he raised the blade above me. Even with the adrenaline flowing I could feel the energy of my tired body waning. I reached for his neck and wrapped my hands around his throat. His neck was too thick, and my hands weren’t large enough to have any effect. I could smell the liquored stench of the man’s breath as the knife began to come down. My only chance was to minimize the damage. The henchman’s arm had almost completed its arc when I rolled desperately to my left, knowing I couldn’t fully avoid the blade. I felt its sharpness pierce my side to the right of my ribcage. The pain seared through my body as though a hot poker had been plunged into me.

  My opponent withdrew the knife and raised it for a second blow. I had almost nothing left in me.

  I frantically rolled again, straight into the bushes. I was flailing wildly, reaching for anything, when my hand struck a metal object on the ground. I rolled again, clutching for the object as I went. I almost passed out with the pain as I rolled onto my wounded side. Then suddenly I was on my back and my attacker was on top. His knife arm was coming down again; I had nowhere to go. I wrapped my fingers around the metal object—it was the dropped gun. I raised it and fired blindly, but the knife still headed toward me. How could I have missed? I gritted my teeth waiting for the pain, but the knife bounced off my chest. My assailant hit the ground beside me, dead.

  I lay there for several minutes as my lungs screamed for air. Eventually, I reached down through my blood-soaked shirt to the knife wound. It wouldn’t be fatal, but the pain was debilitating. Somehow, I ripped the shirt from the body next to me for a makeshift bandage to match the one on my arm.

  The improvised first-aid treatment had consumed too much of my remaining energy. Forcing myself upright, I dragged myself to a nearby tree and leaned against it, gasping erratically. I looked around. No sign of Joe or Greatrex. No surprise, given the odds they had to overcome.