Detained, page 35
“What makes you think that?”
“Well, I can’t swear to it, but I thought she turned right. For some reason, my gut tells me she may be headed that way.”
“Okay. Follow up on that, and we’ll get reinforcements.”
The sound of smashing glass echoed from somewhere across the street. “What the—”
“What’s going on, Vinnie?”
“I heard something, boss. Sounds like somewhere across the street and down toward Via Giustiniani. I’m going to check it out.”
• • •
PANTHEON AREA
ROME, ITALY
3:05 A.M.
Emily jogged down a dark alley, past a row of cars parked in front of a row of townhouses. Off in the distance, she could see the columns of the ancient Roman Pantheon. She looked back over her shoulder.
Nothing.
No one there.
Emily checked her watch. It was after three. She needed to call Brady.
She stepped over between the back bumper of an Alfa Romeo and the front bumper of a Fiat and crouched down. She pulled her phone from her bag and powered the phone up.
Down at the end of the alley, about a hundred yards behind her, a flashlight beam cut through the dark.
“Dear Jesus.”
She powered off the phone and kept her hand over the face of it, praying that she would not be spotted.
The flashlight swept the alley in a crisscrossing pattern, first to the left, then to the right.
She froze in position, crouched down between the two cars, next to the right front tire of the Fiat to avoid the beams.
But the beams were getting brighter. Closer.
Now she could hear voices. First in the distance, then growing louder.
Her heart pounded like a jackhammer so hard that she heard a faint thump-thump-thump in her chest.
She tried to catch her breath and fought the powerful instinct to take off and run. After all, she had been a distance runner and jogged thirty miles a week back home. Maybe she could outrun them.
But even if she could run faster than these guys, no one could outrun a bullet. When in doubt, remain still.
Was it her imagination?
Wait a second.
No, not her imagination. The voices seemed more distant.
The flashlight beams disappeared.
Like a diminishing musical decrescendo, the voices faded, faded.
A moment later, the only sounds were from the wind as it whooshed through the alley and the distant beeping of car horns.
“Thank you, Jesus,” she whispered.
She reached down into her bag for her cell phone and powered it up. A moment later, she hit the speed dial that she had programmed in for Brady.
Two rings.
“Where are you?” His voice felt like a lifeline to a soul lost at sea.
“In an alley. Somewhere near the Pantheon.”
“Okay. I’m in the area. Can you make it to the Pantheon?”
“Yes, I think so.”
“I’m in a black four-door Mercedes. What are you wearing?”
“Navy warm-up suit. White running shoes.”
“I’ll pick you up in front of the Pantheon in five minutes. Jump in the car and let’s get the heck out of here.”
“Got it.”
She stood up, picked up her bag, and hung the straps over her shoulder.
She glanced at the dimly lit columns of the Pantheon and kept moving toward them. Once she reached the Pantheon, she would feel safe. She would be with Brady.
The hand came out of the night like a thunderbolt from the black. He grabbed her face and held it, like in a vise, squeezing her so that she felt excruciating pain. His arms were powerful, and he pulled her back against his body. She caught a whiff of expensive cologne as she was nearly choking from his grip. She pushed his arm with her hands, but his powerful muscles would not be budged.
“Thought you could outsmart us, my voluptuous little goddess?” The man’s deep voice spoke English in a heavy Italian accent. “Your government might be incompetent, but Italian free enterprise is efficient.”
The blade in his right hand glistened under a streetlight. “What a horrible waste of a lovely woman. Close your eyes. This will be painless.”
Emily closed her eyes and slumped.
“That’s right, my dear. This won’t take long.”
She reached into her bag, grabbed the jagged beer bottle, and jammed it into his neck.
“Aaahhhhhhh!”
He loosened his grip and dropped the knife on the sidewalk.
She turned around.
He leaned back against the alley wall, grabbing his neck, flailing in pain.
She grabbed her cell phone, lit it up. The knife lay on the sidewalk. She picked it up and shoved it into the other side of his neck.
The big man slumped over and fell to the ground, his neck gushing blood, his eyes and mouth wide open, black pupils staring into the heavens. Blood flowed from his mouth.
She bent over and opened his jacket.
The pistol was holstered on his right side.
She lifted the pistol from the holster, stuffed it in her bag, and took off in a wild sprint down the alley, her eyes on the Pantheon.
• • •
PANTHEON AREA
ROME, ITALY
3:07 A.M.
Static burst through Guido’s walkie-talkie. “Guido. It’s me, Gio. Where are you?”
“At Via Giustiniani. Sitting in the car with the motor off.”
“Did you hear that?”
“No. I didn’t hear nothing. What are you talking about?”
“I heard something, Guido. Like a yell or something.”
“Guido, it’s me, Tony.”
“What’s going on, Tony?”
“Vinnie and me, we was walking down an alley, heading toward the Pantheon. Then we split up. He ain’t answering his walkie-talkie, boss. I heard some kind of scream, too, that didn’t sound like no woman.”
“Tony, how far away are you from where you left him?”
“I ain’t far. A couple blocks.”
“Go check on him. I’ll try to raise him on my walkie-talkie.”
“On my way, boss.”
Guido switched to the band frequency for Vinnie. “Vinnie, this is Guido. What’s up, man?”
Static.
“Vinnie. Guido here. Answer me. Where are you?”
More static. No response.
“Guido! This is Tony! Vinnie’s dead!”
“Dead?”
“Somebody stabbed him in the neck! He’s got a beer bottle jammed in one side of his neck and a knife in his throat. It’s bad, boss!”
Guido cursed so loud that his voice echoed off the old stucco and brick buildings on the street. “Do you see anything or anybody, Tony?”
“No, boss. Whoever done this must’ve took off toward the Pantheon, because I’ve been at this end of the alley and I ain’t seen nobody.”
“It ain’t a matter of whoever done it, Tony. That American witch! She’s responsible!”
“You’re probably right, boss. She’s pretty good if she pulled this off.”
“Okay. Tony. Gio. Fan out and sweep the area. If you see the witch, shoot her in the head first and ask questions later. I’m driving toward the Pantheon to cut her off. Enough fooling around! Let’s find the witch and kill her!”
• • •
APPROACHING THE PANTHEON
ROME, ITALY
3:12 A.M.
The great eight-columned building with the broad triangular front roofline bore a striking resemblance to the United States Supreme Court in Washington. But unlike the Supreme Court, there was no great staircase leading up to the columns of the Pantheon. The base of the columns was down at street level, making it a less imposing structure.
The old Roman streets had been laid out all around it and even up close on each side, giving the Pantheon the odd appearance of a great classical building plopped down in the middle of a neighborhood.
Emily stood in the shadows, waiting.
Headlights flashed up to her left.
The black Mercedes slowed at the front entrance.
“Emily!” the voice called from the car.
The front passenger door swung open, and she sprinted to the car—and to the sound of the voice of the man who almost became her husband.
• • •
APPROACHING THE PANTHEON
VIA DEI PASTINI
ROME, ITALY
3:13 A.M.
The Maserati eased up to the square in front of the spotlit Pantheon. The driver scanned the area with his eyes. Nothing. Then, right beside the east portico of the Pantheon, a woman jumped into the front seat of a black Mercedes and slammed the door. The Mercedes moved out to the south, and the Maserati pulled in behind it.
“I’ve got her!” Guido blurted on the walkie-talkie. “She jumped into a black Mercedes on southbound Via dei Cestari. We’re moving south past the Pantheon. They won’t get far.”
• • •
PANTHEON AREA
SOUTHBOUND VIA DEI CESTARI
ROME, ITALY
3:14 A.M.
“Looks like we’ve got company.” Brady pressed the accelerator. “You might want to strap in. Here he comes.”
Emily turned and looked out the back window. The sports car was speeding up, matching the Mercedes’ acceleration, closing the distance. Brady sped up again, and the car matched the acceleration, again closing the distance to the Mercedes.
The car started flashing its headlights off and on in rapid fire.
“This guy’s not a happy camper,” Brady said. “Hang on. I’m getting ready to hang a right.”
The Mercedes swung a hard right in a squealing skid, slinging Emily to the left, her shoulder leaning against Brady’s.
“Is he still back there?”
Emily looked back. “He’s swinging around the corner.”
“Looks like he’s in a Maserati.” Brady glanced in the rearview. “This should be interesting. What’d you do to hack these people off?”
“I don’t know. Larceny? Murder in self-defense?”
“I’m not sure I want to hear it.”
Now the sound of the horn blaring from the car behind them.
“This guy’s serious,” Brady said. “Hang on, we’re swinging left.”
The Mercedes swung hard again, pushing Emily against the door.
“Is he still back there?” Brady asked.
“Here he comes.”
Brady pushed harder on the accelerator, and the Mercedes picked up his speed. The accelerator showed 60 mph, then 63 mph. Her heart pounded. She remembered Princess Diana, who was killed in a car race through another European city. Had she come this far to die in a car crash?
Whoever he was, he kept flashing his lights and beeping his horn. The horn blaring stopped.
Suddenly, gunshots pierced the night.
“Brady! He’s firing at us!”
She looked back again. The man’s arm was out the window. Two bright flashes were accompanied by two more sharp cracks of gunfire over the sound of the car engines.
“Okay, get down on the floor and keep your head down! We’re gonna swing right again! Hang on!”
The sound of more gunshots cracked the air as Emily ducked her head down low.
“Hang on, Em!”
Tires squealed. They were going to flip!
“Okay, okay!” Brady said. The Mercedes emerged from the turn and leveled out.
“Is he still back there?”
“He’s still there,” Brady said.
The car accelerated again, coming out of the curve.
She heard another shot fired. Then another.
The next shot was followed by an instant explosion of the glass. Shards of glass sprayed into the front seat. The bullet had smashed the back window and drilled a smaller bullet hole through the front windshield, under the rearview mirror.
“That was too close for comfort!” Brady said. “Hang on!”
The speedometer showed 70 mph.
Emily reached down into the bag and grabbed the pistol that she had taken off the thug she had stabbed in the neck. She worked the action to put a bullet in the chamber, then rolled down the passenger’s side window.
“What are you doing?” Brady said.
“Fighting fire with fire.”
“Em, stay down!”
She leaned her head out the window, and with the night wind whipping her hair, she aimed the pistol back at the pursuing Maserati and pulled the trigger in rapid succession, firing first at the grill, then at the tires. Sparks erupted on the pavement under the Maserati.
Another shot from the Maserati. This bullet smashed the rearview mirror, missing Brady’s head by inches.
“Em, get down! You’re gonna get shot!”
She ignored Brady’s order and pulled the trigger again, this time firing at the Maserati’s windshield.
The Maserati veered, spun, then smashed into a streetlight and burst into flames, flipped over, and came to rest on the sidewalk.
“Dear Jesus, help me.” Emily slipped back into the passenger’s seat.
“Nice shooting,” Brady said. “Where’d you get the gun?”
The wind was whistling in through the bullet hole in the front windshield. Emily breathed heavily, trying to get her adrenaline rush under control. She heard Brady’s question and thought about her answer. It had to be the truth.
“I took it off a dead guy.”
“I don’t want to know.” A pause. “I need to slow down before the Rome polizia are all over my rear.”
“Thank you.”
The Mercedes started onto a bridge over the Tiber River. Emily paused for a moment to take in the dazzling beauty of lights strung along both sides of the ancient river. The sight was a surreal peaceful contrast to the storm she found herself in.
On the other side, the Mercedes turned left, this time making more of a smooth, angled turn following the base of a Y.
The next sign proclaimed the name of the broad boulevard: Via della Conciliazione.
As the car swung onto the boulevard, the grand architectural marvel rising into the night ahead of them was breathtaking. Dozens of ornate lights flanked the boulevard. Standing at the end, like a masterpiece at the center of a great oil painting, was the cathedral, its bluish-green dome brilliantly lit with spotlights. Below the dome, magnificent white columns reached down to the street.
So magnificent was the architecture in front of her, with the many lights setting it off, that for a fleeting moment, Emily forgot what had just happened. She felt like a girl again, like Dorothy approaching the Emerald City.
Brady slowed the Mercedes as he turned into the broad circular plaza in front of the cathedral.
“You know where you are?”
The sound of sirens in the distance.
“Yes. Pictures don’t do it justice.”
“Once you cross that threshold, you’re in another country. They won’t follow you inside. This is the safest place for you right now. I want you to get out of the car, cross that threshold, go inside, find a priest, and ask for help. This is the best guarantee I have right now for keeping you alive.” The sirens were getting louder. “I’ve got to get out of here. I’ll look for you when things settle down. But you need to go, for your own safety and protection.”
“Thank you, Brady.” She kissed him on the cheek. “I hope to see you again.” She got out of the car, closed the door, and walked across the international border into the Vatican.
She turned around and watched as the Mercedes, its back window a jagged hole, drove out the boulevard, turned left, and was gone.
• • •
DEPARTMENT OF HOMELAND SECURITY JET
BOEING 777
FINAL APPROACH TO FIUMICINO INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT
ROME, ITALY
3:28 A.M.
“We’ll be touching down in two minutes, Mr. Porterfield,” the pilot said over the loudspeaker. “You may want to strap in, sir.”
“I don’t have time to strap in!” Porterfield snapped. “Not until I find out what’s going on on the ground.” He stood up in the aisle as the plane bumped from last-minute turbulence. “Bob, have you gotten Guido back on the phone yet?”
The lanky TSA ELITE Force agent lumbered up from the back of the plane, holding a phone in his hand. Another hard bump. Porterfield grabbed the seat but did not sit.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Porterfield,” the agent said. “I’ve tried raising him on his cell phone about twenty times in the last twenty minutes. He’s not answering, sir.”
Porterfield cursed. “For the $5 million we paid him as a down payment, he’d better answer the phone! Try him again. If he doesn’t answer, call somebody else. Try Gio; tell ’em the United States Department of Homeland Security demands action.”
“Yes, sir.”
Porterfield slumped down into his seat and looked out at the ocean of white lights sprinkled across the great Eternal City. The plane dropped again, then some more. As the ground lights of Fiumicino International Airport swooshed by in a blur, the jet’s wheels bumped onto the runway, followed by a whooshing sound as the pilots threw the jet engines in reverse to slow it.
“Yes, this is Bob Rosenfeld. United States Transportation Security Administration ELITE Force. Mr. Porterfield would like to speak with Guido Antonelli, please.”
Good, Porterfield thought. At least Rosenfeld appears to have someone on the phone.
“Say again?” Rosenfeld’s voice sounded shocked.
“What’s going on, Rosenfeld?” Porterfield turned around.
“Mr. Porterfield. I have Gio Valento on the phone. He says they found Guido dead, sir.”
“What? How? Give me that phone!” Porterfield snatched the phone. “This is Max Porterfield, federal agent with United States Homeland Security. Where is Guido?”
“We found him dead, boss. All shot up in a car chase.”
“Dead? Who killed him?”
“Don’t know, sir.”
“Where’s Emily Gardner?”
“Don’t know, Mr. Porterfield. We’re still looking.”
“Look, Valento. I’m in town now. And we wired your organization five million bucks. You’d better turn this city upside down and deliver me Emily Gardner, or I’ll have the president drop a nuclear bomb on this place, or even worse, I’ll recommend that he turn SEAL Team Six loose on your organization. Is that clear?”
