by Seb Kirby
I left the amphitheater and made my way towards the gallery. The shocks had caused permanent damage. Deep cracks streaked the floor, walls and ceiling of the passageways that I ran along.
As I neared the gallery, I saw at the end of the passageway the three of them coming towards me. They’d found the paintings in the room where I’d hidden them. They paused as they saw me. One of them reached under his robe for a weapon. I leveled my pistol and prepared to fire. “I just want the paintings. Hand them over and I won’t shoot.”
My words were lost. There was another intense shockwave as the earthquake hit again. I fell as the floor beneath me undulated like a cresting wave. Between me and the three initiates, a massive section of concrete roofing came down, blocking the passageway so I could no longer see them. They’d either been buried or entombed, I didn’t know which. The paintings were lost with them.
I waited. The shockwave had passed. Another would soon be coming.
The passageway behind me was still open. I hoped there was a chance to get back to Ferrara, Gina and Malika before the next shocks hit.
It was like a birth in reverse. As the shocks came closer together the result was inevitable. But this would be destruction not new life.
When I made it back to the cells, Ferrara was waiting. “James! We thought we had lost you.”
I surveyed the damage. This part of the structure had escaped the full impact of the shocks so far. “Gina and Malika, are they any more able to move?”
Gina called out. “I’m here, James. I can help Malika if you can find a way out of here.”
I unlocked the door to Cleary’s cell and walked in. He trembled as I leveled the pistol at his head. “I’m not about to shoot. Not yet. But you need to show us the way out.”
He held up his hands, making sure I wasn’t about to fire. “There’s an exit out onto the steps near Pizzale Michelangelo. It’s another way out if the entrance in San Berado churchyard is closed.”
I pushed Cleary out of the cell holding the pistol to the base of his skull.
We would have made easy targets as we left the prison area and climbed the stairs back to the upper level. But there was no one left to threaten us. The real fear was we would not make it out before the next shockwaves hit.
Cleary went first with the barrel of my pistol pressed against his head. At the same time, I supported Gina with my free arm. Malika, with Ferrara all but carrying her, brought up the rear.
When the next shockwaves came it was like an eruption. The whole structure, carved out of the hillside below San Berado with such cunning, was about to collapse down on itself, the hollowing out having introduced fatal weaknesses the earthquake was about to exploit.
The walls and ceilings in the passageways through which we were moving were falling in on flooring that itself was in constant flux.
Cleary began to run ahead. “The exit is just here.”
I didn’t shoot. He may still have secrets to reveal on how we could escape.
Yet we couldn’t run. Gina and Malika were still in need of support. We were moving at the best speed we could but Cleary was getting further away.
Then it hit me.
If Cleary could get to the exit, escape through it and close the exit from the outside, we’d be trapped in here.
I shouted to Gina. “Can you walk unaided?”
She shouted back, “I’ll be OK. Get after him.”
I sprinted after Cleary. I should never have allowed him such a head start. He was now out of sight, around a bend in the passageway. As I rounded the bend, I caught sight of him pulling back the bolts on an antique wooden door and preparing to open it.
There was another huge shock. The earthquake had peaked. The structure was imploding.
I kept my feet and continued to run until my lungs ached.
Cleary had drawn back the last of the bolts and was opening the door.
As he stepped through, I threw myself at him, landing on top of him, knocking the wind from his lungs.
I stunned him with a sharp blow of the pistol to his head and he lay on the ground, moaning.
Looking back through the open doorway, I could see only dust and falling masonry as the full violent impact of the earthquake took its toll.
There was no sign of Ferrara or Gina and Malika. I was sure they were lost.
There was no choice. I couldn’t leave Cleary as he was. When I went back into the passageway to look for Ferrara, Gina and her sister, I could not run the risk of Cleary coming round and bolting the door.
I pulled out the gun and pressed it to Cleary’s temple.
He whimpered. “You don’t need to do this. You can trust me.”
I squeezed the trigger and watched as his eyes opened wide, pleading.
I didn’t fire.
There was a hand on my shoulder. It was Ferrara. “Much as I would want you to, James, there is no need. We are out.”
Gina and Malika were with him.
There was an immense crashing and splintering of stone and metal behind us as the labyrinth collapsed, bringing down much of the hillside with it.
We began to run as best we could, fearful we might yet get sucked down into the boiling earth.
When the tremors stopped there was a sudden silence that was louder than any sound I’d ever heard.
We’d reached an area of made-up roadway on Pizzale Michelangelo and were at the base of one of the lesser statues of David that are common in Florence. Though the hillside had collapsed on itself throwing up a pall of white dust, the statue and the area around it were distant enough to have survived. We lay down exhausted at the base of the David.
Ferrara gave a weak smile. “I think it’s over. There will be no more shocks.”
I was breathless with the strain of running and supporting Gina. “I think you’re right. The annihilation of San Berado is complete. There’s nothing more to destroy.”
We checked Gina and Malika. They were groggy and in need of medical care but had survived.
Cleary was getting to his feet. I reached for the pistol but he did not respond. “You can put it away, now, Blake. It’s all changed now we’re out here. If you shoot me, what are you going to tell them when they arrest you for killing a well-respected retired British police officer? You had to shoot me because I’m a danger to the world? That’s not going to stand up in court and you know it. Not when all the evidence is buried under San Berado.”
Ferrara was angry. “You know, Cleary, in all the years I’ve studied mythology, I thought I understood the madness of men like you. I thought I understood the depths your blind vanity could take you to. But I was wrong. Until I saw it with my own eyes, until I felt the pain and suffering brought about by men like you, I couldn’t have known what a danger your kind pose to the future of the world.”
Cleary sneered. “I’m walking away now. Neither you nor Blake will stop me. You need to know that the dream of men like me lives on, despite the damage you have done. There are others like me all over the world. I’ll be joining them to pursue the dream. You’ll never stop us.”
He turned and was gone.
Ferrara looked angry. “You didn’t try to stop him.”
I whispered back, “He was right. How was I going to explain it? We’ve escaped with our lives. Isn’t that enough?”
The sirens we’d heard in the distance were closer now. The first of the emergency response teams was arriving.
When Gina and Malika were seen by the paramedics they were assumed to be earthquake survivors in shock. We said nothing to change that.
I said farewell to Gina as she and her sister were loaded aboard the ambulance. “You did it. You rescued your sister.”
She raised her eyes. “We’ll never forget you.”
As the ambulance pulled away I turned towards Ferrara. “No hospital for you?”
He smiled. “I don’t need them. I need to find my own way back to the life I knew.” He paused. “But you, James, you are still disturbed?”
<
br /> I told him about Julia. “While we were trapped here, Matteo Lando and Cleary sent Wolfgang Heller after my wife and son. There’s no joy in anything for me now. Bringing down the Landos is as nothing compared with losing the ones I love.”
He placed his arms round me and gave me a bear hug.
As he stood back I couldn’t help but stare at the blood that now covered his shirt. It was Matteo Lando’s. I looked down and took in for the first time the significance of my own clothes being soaked with the same blood. One thought and one thought alone came to my mind, as if in that moment I’d been released from a trance. “Nico. What have I done?”
Chapter 90
Miles Blake was certain the delays at the British Embassy in Mexico City were deliberate. Each time, the story was the same. His application for an emergency travel document was being considered. There was a growing backlog of applications. The Embassy was short staffed due to holiday leave.
He’d made his way to Mexico City by train from Tijuana without difficulty and was lying low while waiting for the travel papers. He was ever vigilant of the possibility he would be located down here by the Soto cartel or its supporters and this meant going against his natural instinct to concern himself with what must be happening back in Tijuana following the killing of El Romero and send copy back to his paper’s newsroom. He’d spent too much time alone in the hotel room watching TV reports of the deaths caused by the turf war that had broken out as the Rivenza cartel had sought to move in. He didn’t know if Luiz Reyas had survived but he’d kept to the agreement not to try to contact the young Mexican, for the sake of the safety of them both.
When Miles approached the Embassy enquiries desk again he expected the excuses for delay to be the same. But instead of the expected invitation to join the long queue of those waiting to complain, the desk officer asked Miles to follow a uniformed member of Embassy staff.
He was taken along marbled corridors to a private area at the rear of the building. The uniformed officer knocked on one of the polished wooden doors and ushered in Miles.
Seated at a long boardroom table was Debbie Miller. She smiled as she saw Miles’ look of surprise at seeing her here but any hint of informality didn’t last long. She gestured towards the large American seated beside her. “Miles, this is Agent Bill Maynard. He’s been looking forward to meeting you.”
Miles had so many questions in need of answers. What had happened when Debbie and Dillon Ashley took their plan to Washington? What had happened to Craven? But the formality of this meeting and the fact that he didn’t know what to make of the man beside Debbie meant those questions would not be the first to be answered. He offered his hand. “Miles Blake.”
Bill Maynard squeezed Miles’ hand. “I have a present for you, Mr. Blake.” He took a document from the file before him and placed it on the table. “It’s the emergency travel pass you need to return to Europe. The staff here are good at honoring a request from a trusted ally.”
Miles stared at the document. “A gift, just like that?”
Maynard smiled. “Not quite. There are a few ways we need to help each other.”
“So, conditions then?”
“Let’s say there are a number of matters we need to discuss,” Debbie Miller interrupted. “Before we get into that, Miles, there are some things you need to know.” She gestured towards Maynard once more. “I have clearance to tell him this?”
Maynard nodded.
Debbie told Miles that Nate Craven had been detained in an internal FBI investigation. His black ops had been exposed and much of the credit went to the man sitting beside her, Bill Maynard, her boss from way back. “So, you see, Miles, the situation has changed now the Agency knows what was happening in Tijuana. There’s room for you and us to be on the same side from an official Agency point of view, but we require certain safeguards.”
Miles could see what was coming next. “You’re saying I can’t have my story?”
Maynard weighed the travel documents in his hand. “You have your story. But you report nothing about Craven and his dealings in Tijuana. You report nothing about Dillon Ashley’s role in the killing of El Romero. You report nothing about Town Lake. And you give us a day during which you tell us everything you know about Agent Craven.”
“And in return?”
“You get to leave here.”
“And if I say no?”
“I’ve heard the British authorities would have no objection to withdrawing the permission to travel if they had a request from us.”
Miles knew what he would be giving up. “I’m going to need a little more from you.”
Maynard sat back. “Try me.”
“I need you to understand the claims about me threatening state security through my contacts in the State Department were inventions coming out of Craven’s black ops.”
Maynard nodded. “OK. What else?”
“And since that’s accepted, I need the Agency to withdraw any charges against Adam Weston. He’s helping me. He’s played his part in exposing Craven and deserves a break.”
“We can go with that. And?”
“Help me find my brother and his wife. Help me save them from the Landos.”
Debbie Miller cut in. “Miles, I can assure you, tracking down the Landos is a number one priority. But there are problems.”
“What kind of problems?”
“When we sent out a request to the Italians for access to Matteo Lando, the reply came back he couldn’t be found.”
“And his mother?”
“There’s no trace of Alessa Lando in any of the records.”
Miles had gained most of what he could to recompense him for giving up the chance to tell the world about Craven. “So we have an agreement?”
Maynard nodded and offered his hand once more. Miles took it.
Chapter 91
Julia rocked her baby in her arms. She spoke to him in a quiet whisper. “Listen to the sounds of the countryside. The animals are all around us.”
It was true. Before she spent time here, Julia had been unaware how much the simple presence of the surroundings of the farmhouse would come to mean to her. Swallows, come all the way from Africa, darted low across the fields feeding on the abundance of insect life. A pair of house martins had nested in the eaves of the old building and returned throughout the day with food for their squawking young.
Although the farmhouse was in private hands, the remainder of the holding functioned as a working enterprise. Farmer Ted Richards didn’t interfere in the daily life of the farmhouse but he could be seen once or twice most days moving sheep from field to field, using his collie dog to help with the herding. When the sheep were out in the field, they spent most of their time feeding. It was so quiet up here at times that if you listened carefully you could hear the sound of their teeth tearing at the blades of grass.
Further down the hill, at the huntsman’s cottage, once or twice a day there was the sound of the dogs being fed. Or if they were alerted by some unexpected event, there was the much louder sound of incessant barking. But such events were infrequent; the more regular sound of their presence was reassuring and did little to disturb the peace and tranquility of the place.
None of this made up for the absence of James.
It was a strange contrast that she could be here surrounded by such serenity, holding in her arms their beautiful son, when James was somewhere she knew nothing of, facing dangers she could only imagine.
There was a knock at the door. It was Mark Stone, the huntsman, on his evening round, shotgun at his side.
He didn’t plan to stay long. “Just calling by, Julia. Making sure everything is all right.”
Julia felt secure in the countryman’s presence. “Everything is fine.” She looked down at her baby. “He’s disturbed for some reason today. Crying more than usual. I hope it’s something that will pass.”
“Never knew of a baby that didn’t want to cry.”
“Thanks for calling by, Mark. You
know how much I appreciate what you’re doing for us.”
He smiled. “It’s nothing more than any neighbor should do.” He paused. “No sign of Faith tonight?”
“She’s visiting her cousin. She won’t be back ’til late.”
“No need to be concerned about being on your own here. We’ll keep a close eye on any intruders.”
Julia thanked him again as he left.
She listened as his footsteps faded as he returned down the lane to his cottage.
She spoke once more to her baby. “No, we’re not here on our own. We have each other for company.”
Chapter 92
Wolfgang Heller had been briefed well by Cleary. The farmhouse at the top of Rook Lane was defended by three locals – a close neighbor and two volunteers. The neighbor was the local huntsman who kept a pack of beagles. All three men and the dogs would have to be dealt with before any action in the farmhouse could be considered.
Heller made his way slowly up the steep rise of Rook Lane. The route was popular with walkers who used it to gain access to Sweden Bridge from where there are first-class views of the Ambleside Valley. Heller was dressed as one of those walkers. He would arouse little attention, even though the light was now fading.
Approaching the huntsman’s cottage without alerting the dogs was not going to be possible. The only option was to deal with the men first. He knew they would be patrolling, seeking to protect the Blake woman from harm.
He hid behind the dry stone wall facing onto the lane and this gave him a view of both the farmhouse and the huntsman’s cottage. From here he could observe the comings and goings of the men. One of them had just been seen leaving the farmhouse and walking back in the direction of the huntsman’s cottage. Perhaps this was the huntsman himself; it seemed that way. The dogs made no sound as he approached.
A few minutes later, Heller observed another of the protectors. He was standing against the wall of the old barn close to the farmhouse. He’d stopped to smoke a cigarette. Heller approached from behind, put his arm around the man’s throat and broke his neck. He cradled the body so it fell to the ground without a sound.
