by Rob Jones
Alex nodded. “Sure.”
“We’ll keep away from the press as much as we can, but they always get something, okay?”
Another nod. They always get something, she thought. Pictures of the poor wheelchair-bound President’s daughter splashed across the tabloids; column inches devoted to what had happened to her, what life she led, what she was wearing, her hairstyle. “Thanks Brandon,” she said quietly.
“No problem. It’s my job. I’m on your security detail, not the President’s, and I’ll do my best to make sure you’re protected at all times.”
A sense of politeness made her give him another brief smile, but the truth was she still had not come to terms with her father’s new role as the world’s most powerful man, and that coupled with a sense of her own vulnerability made her uneasy. Now, glancing out the window she saw the green fields of England’s rural south as Air Force One turned to final approach and its landing at Heathrow Airport. Wondering what Joe Hawke and the rest of ECHO were doing, she closed her eyes and prepared for a whirlwind couple of days.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Lea Donovan opened her eyes and saw nothing but white. She blinked and noticed an ornate chandelier suspended from the ceiling. The scent of roses and cedar wood drifted over her face. She blinked again and heaved herself up on her elbows.
She was on a large four poster bed covered in white sheets, and beside her was a small table with a glass of water and a bowl of potpourri. Now she smelled the cinnamon and cloves. It was all very comfortable.
But not safe.
She took a deep breath and swung her legs off the bed. Pushing through some silk voiles. She emerged into a large, expensively furnished bedroom and took in her surroundings. Modern, clean lines and abstract art on the walls. Eclectic tastes.
A scream.
“What the hell was that?” she muttered, walking over to the window.
She heard another horrifying, blood-curdling scream. Was it some kind of animal? It sounded almost like a bull in tremendous pain, but there was a human quality to the agony that gave her the jitters.
The room had two large windows each with its own juliet balcony. She went around to the other window and pushed it open. The screams were louder now, and coming from behind the house. She considered climbing over the balcony and lowering herself down to the ground. Leaning over the top rail of the balcony she counted the windows down the ground and realized she was three floors up: no dice on the escape plan.
With the hideous bellowing gradually fading out, she turned back into the room and saw a short man with slicked-back hair and deep, cavernous eyes standing in the doorway. He was leaning on the door jamb with his arms casually crossed over his chest. He stared at her intensely, and she recognized the eyes at once: this was the man who had kidnapped her in Dublin.
“Ciao, bella.”
Lea took a step back, and returned his gaze. She didn’t want to break eye contact and show fear or weakness, but she searched the room with her peripheral vision for anything she could use as a weapon. The only thing that came to mind was the crystal potpourri bowl. She reckoned it was heavy enough to knock the man out if she got a good enough swipe at him, but she had no way of knowing what sort of hand-to-hand combat skills he could bring to bear on her during a struggle.
She took a step toward the small table with the lamp and the potpourri. “Who are you?”
“I am Toscano. I work here.”
“And where is here?”
The man smiled grimly and pushed himself off the door jamb. He moved into the room and pulled a Beretta Neos from a shoulder holster beneath his jacket. “Hands in the air and step away from the table.”
Damn. He had figured her out. It was pretty obvious when you thought about, she considered.
She did as he instructed and raised her hands. The man took a step away from her to increase the distance between them and raised the gun to point at her chest. “We’re going for a little walk.”
He waved the gun in the direction of the door and took another step back so there was at least six feet between them as she stepped out into the corridor. To say Toscano was giving off a bad vibe was the understatement of the century, so Lea was only too happy with the large space he was putting between them.
“So where are we going?” she asked.
“You will see soon enough.”
He ordered her along the corridor and then down a broad, sweeping staircase rendered in polished white marble. “So what was that screaming noise?” she said.
“I heard no screams,” Toscano said quietly. He sounded a little less cocky now.
They came to a set of heavy double doors and Toscano ordered her to stand still. She obeyed and then he stepped forward and knocked three times. A short pause, pregnant with serious tension, was ended when a deep, fat voice told them to come in.
Toscano straightened his tie and pushed open the door to reveal a large dining room. A long wooden table stretched away to the other end of the room. At the far end of the table, a heavy-set man in a suit was fiddling with a large sauce-stained buttonhole napkin which was hanging down from his collar.
With a mouth full of food, he sloppily waved Toscano and Lea into the room, as if he were greeting the oldest of friends. “Come closer.”
Toscano pushed her forward with a light nudge between her shoulders and she made her way toward the other man. As she drew closer to him she noticed that nestling among the elaborate table décor was a matte black pistol with a wooden grip which she recognized at once as a Pardini GT9. Beside it was the golden idol they had found in Maggie Donovan’s things, but no sign of the manuscript.
Closer now she saw he was just about to start eating a large lobster. It was sitting on a broad silver dinner plate surrounded by a lavish avocado and grapefruit salad. A second plate of lobster was at an empty seat beside him.
“Who are you and why have you brought me here?”
The man pulled off one of the lobster’s claws and held it in his hand for a moment. “Don’t you know?”
“I wouldn’t have asked if I knew,” she said defensively.
He picked up some metal crackers and broke open the lower part of the claw. “I am Giancarlo Zito.” He cracked open one of the knuckles and pushed out the meat with a wooden fork before sliding it into his mouth and chewing. He picked up the tail, pushed more meat out and began to peel it with the fork. Speaking with his mouth full of the lobster meat, he said, “Everyone around here knows my name.”
“I’m not from around here.”
He stared at her and nodded sagely. Dipping the tail meat into a bowl of hot water beside his dinner plate, he sighed loudly and then ate some more. This time he waited until he had finished before continuing. “You think I don’t know where you are from? My men took you off the streets of Dublin. I know where you are from. If you were from here, you wouldn’t be so relaxed right now.” He leaned forward in his chair and swigged from a generous glass of Viognier. “Are you not going to eat your lobster?”
Lea pushed the plate away. “I don’t seem to have an appetite. Being kidnapped by a bunch of hoodlums does that to a girl.”
“Such a shame – this is Maine lobster I had flown in just a few hours ago, live. As fresh as it gets.”
“Why am I here Mr Zito?”
Zito stopped eating and set his wine glass down. “You are here because someone wants you to be here.”
“You?”
“Not me, no. I couldn’t care less about you – no offense.”
Lea never broke eye contact. “None taken.”
Zito pushed his chair back and rose to his feet. He raised one of his hands and snapped his fingers. “Toscano – bring Miss Donovan the zabaione.”
“I already told you, I’m not hungry.”
Zito stared out across the sun-drenched Tyrrhenian Sea and admired the view for a few tense moments. “In the mythology of Ancient Greece, it was believed that Aeolus kept the four winds hidden in the cliffs surrounding t
hese water – the Mistral from the north, the Libeccio from the southwest and the Ostro and fierce sirocco from the south. This region is steeped in ancient folklore and myth. It is why I choose to live here.”
“Who ordered you to steal the manuscript and kidnap me?”
Zito was still studying the rise and fall of the sea. “This is a very big question, and I am not sure you will like the answer.”
“Try me.”
“Both the manuscript and you are to be delivered tomorrow.” He turned and faced her. He offered a sympathetic smile. “Then, you will have your answer.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
It was nearly dawn when Hawke saw the headlights. He rubbed his eyes and yawned, and stared along the winding road until it vanished on a bend to the south. The lights swept along the side of the villa and then he heard the grumble of the truck’s diesel engine. A moment later it died, and the lights went dark.
“Looks like we’re on,” he whispered. “They obviously park up here and then walk down to the beach to collect the drugs.”
No reply.
He turned and saw both Lexi and Devlin were fast asleep. He shook them by their shoulders and they awoke, startled but silent. “It’s on – a truck just pulled up in Zito’s villa. Keep an eye out for the sub.”
He listened as the cab doors swung open and then slammed shut again. Then he heard the gentle, subdued chatter of men trying to talk on the quiet. He struggled to hear the Italian words with the cicadas chirping all around them.
He turned back to Lexi and Devlin. “Any sign of the Aurora?”
“Not yet,” Lexi said.
Devlin leaned forward. “Why don’t we whack these guys before the sub turns up?”
Hawke shook his head. “Not a good idea. They’ll have a signal for the sub to come ashore and we don’t know it.”
Devlin moved to respond when Lexi interupted him. “There – to the south of those cliffs! Do you see it?”
Hawke followed her arm and saw the dim glow of a light around a kilometer or so out at sea. “That could be them.”
“Could be?” Devlin said.
“Yes,” Hawke said, his voice rising. “Could be.”
They all watched the light and when it closer they saw it was a fishing trawler. Hawke gave Devlin a look as the trawler chugged past Arienzo and headed into Positano.
He opened his mouth to say something but then Lexi saw a second light, smaller and fainter. “There!”
“And look,” Hawke said, indicating the truck parked up on the cliff at the side of the villa. “Watch the headlights.”
One of the men had climbed back inside the truck and was flicking the lights on and off.
“It’s Morse code,” Hawke said, quick as flash. “Just says: All Clear.”
“Well, I’ll be damned,” Devlin said with a grin. “The sub’s coming in now, and no mistake.”
He was right, and so was Hawke – as it drew closer to the cove’s little beach he could now see it was an Aurora, and it looked like it had a crew of one. The other seats were presumably stuffed full of Afghani heroin. This was one particular shipment that wasn’t going to hit the streets and destroy the lives of hundreds of innocent people.
“Looks like there’s one in the sub and three up at the truck,” Hawke said quietly. “Three of us versus four of them doesn’t seem like a fair fight,” he added with a grin.
“You can say that again,” Lexi said.
Devlin nodded. “Let’s pan them bastards out up at the truck before their buddies come in.”
“Agreed.”
“So come on now,” Devlin said, rolling up his sleeves. “Let the dog see the rabbit!”
“When I give the order,” Hawke said.
But the Irishman was gone. He clambered to his feet, climbed up over the low wall and moved across the villa’s lawn.
“Danny!” Hawke moved to pull him back but Lexi grabbed his arm.
“He’s not an idiot, Joe!” she said. “Give him a break – Lea says he’s as brave as they come.”
“Maybe, it’s just that...”
Before he could finish the sentence, they both heard Devlin shouting through the trees. “I’ll knock your pan in, you silly twat!”
“Oh, shit,” Lexi said.
Hawke frowned. “You were saying?”
They climbed the wall and ran along the lawn toward the truck just in time to see Danny Devlin ramming his fist forward into one of the men’s chops. He knocked him hard to the ground but the other men were now making a break for it up the villa’s narrow drive, and one had a phone in his hand.
“Oh, this is just fantastic!” Hawke said.
“Don’t lose your lunch, young man,” Devlin said cheerily. “He’s not going anywhere.”
And with that Devlin took off after the fleeing men.
Hawke looked at Lexi and sighed, but there was no time to discuss Lea’s former commandant. They watched as another four men tumbled out the back of the truck and headed over to them.
“This is just great,” Hawke said. “We’re outnumbered three to one.”
“Is that all?” Lexi said.
Zito’s men bundled in from every angle, taking them all by surprise. If they’d been able to watch the truck for longer they could have counted how many men were in the back but thanks to Devlin they were now in the thick of it and fighting hard to keep a lid on things. If just one of them made a call to Zito the whole operation would be blown and Lea’s life put in greater jeopardy.
Hawke took a punch to the jaw and tumbled backwards toward the cliff. His fall to an early and painful death was stopped by the trunk of a large umbrella pine. The man punched him again, aiming right for the nose, but this time Hawke was ready. He dodged his head to the right and the man’s fist smashed into the hard tree trunk, splitting his knuckles open and breaking some of his fingers.
Hawke punched the wounded man hard in the face and knocked him down in the gravel. As the man propped himself up on his elbows Hawke booted him in the face and knocked him out. Before he knew what was happening he was pulled sharply backward by another one of the men who had grabbed him by his collar.
He spun around fast and smashed a hefty left-hook into the man’s jaw, sending him tumbling over toward the cliff edge. He tottered on the edge of the cliff, eyes wide with fear. Straining to keep himself from falling off, he flailed wildly with his arms, but then a typhoon tore past him.
And its name was Lexi Zhang.
Still fighting with another man, she took a few steps back and spun around to deliver a mighty, spinning hook kick into the middle of his terrified face. Her boot heel slashed across his cheek and powered his head hard to the side, knocking him back off the cliff. He screamed all the way down to the rocks below, but Lexi never heard because she was once again focussing on the fight with the other man.
“Thanks for that, Lex,” Hawke said.
“Welcome,” she said, smashing a hammer punch into her opponent’s nose and knocking him out. He collapsed to the floor beside the man Hawke had belted. “We’re starting to get a little collection of scumbags here.”
“Where’s Danny?” Hawke said.
Hearing a grunt of pain, they looked up to see Devlin appear from behind the truck. He was fighting with the last of the men.
“Question asked, question answered,” Lexi said.
They rushed over to help him as he brawled with the men and as Lexi kicked one of them in the back, Hawke launched himself at the other. Grabbing him by the shoulders, he hauled him away from Devlin and spun him around so he could plant a hefty smack in his face.
That was the plan, but the reality was different: the man was much faster than Hawke had anticipated and was prepared for the attack. He fired a punch at Hawke and struck him hard in the jaw.
The blow sent Hawke reeling toward the edge of the cliff and before he knew what had happened he felt himself going over, tumbling back in the night with nothing below him but a two hundred foot fall to the rocks b
elow.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
He reached out and grabbed anything he could find to save his life. His hands found a wild array of root complex pushing out the side of the cliff-edge from one of the umbrella pines above him. He wrapped his fingers around them as hard as he could to stop his fall, but he was still dangling hundreds of feet above the rocks.
He took a second to get his breath back and realized both Lexi and Devlin were still fighting for their own lives and unaware of his plight. He felt the wind blowing through his hair as he swung off the root complex. His mind raced to come up with anything that would get himself out of the situation.
He was too far from the top of the cliff to attempt to climb back over to safety without help, but he was way too high up to consider leaping and aiming for the sea. He’s done enough tomb-stoning in his youth to know he was too far away from the water to guarantee hitting it, and if he landed on the rocks they’d be taking him home in a bucket.
The roots started to break way from the crumbling rocks above his head – slow at first and then more rapidly. He felt something snap and then he slid rapidly down another half-meter. Releasing the handful of dead, broken roots he realized there was now nothing more than half a dozen of them keeping him alive.
He looked up to see a boot flying down toward his hands. The man he had been fighting was now intent on finishing the job and kicking his hands away from the crumbling roots.
The blows rained down, smashing into his fingers. He cried out in pain and every instinct told him to move his hands out of the way, but that meant certain death so he had no choice but to hang on and let the man break his fingers and hands.
But then the kicking stopped and a second later he saw his assailant fly over his head in the night sky and fall down into the rocks with a distant crunching sound.
