by Jesse Jordan
Pulling it on, I know that regardless of whatever happens, tonight's going to mean one of two things. Either Rodrigo Camponini dies, or Omar Al Gazi dies. He took Jessica from me, and as I buckle the holster around my thigh, I realize that I care for her more than The Network, more than the FBI... more than my own life even.
“Somehow, some way, you'd catch me and save me before I drown. I trust you with my very life Master. So... let's walk that tightrope. I know you won't let me fall,” she said right before taking the most intense experience of her entire life. She trusts me, and as I double check my holster and pull a baggy t-shirt over top of my Kevlar, I vow that I won't let her down.
I hurry out to my truck, where in the glove compartment I change out the magazine, exchanging the normal rounds for a clip of alternating armor piercing rounds and hollow point magnum rounds. It's a super-hot load, more than I should carry in this pistol, but as I slip it into my holster, I know that I'm going to need it and a lot of luck.
The drive to Termini Iverese seems surreal, and I know what's happening, I'm in panic mode. We went through this at Quantico, how to keep calm when you're in a stressful situation. Of course, Quantico never prepared me for keeping calm when the woman that... the woman that's the most important person in the world to me is being held hostage by an evil man with no morals. I can't even call The Sultan crazy, at least at crazy he could be dismissed. No... The Sultan's as sane as anyone else on the planet. The problem with him is, he's just evil. The church can talk about original sin, about choice, about whatever... I just say Omar Al Gazi's an evil motherfucker.
The docks for Termini Imerese are in two sections. The larger section is near the actual port itself, and is used by most of the larger ships such as the cruise ships that dock here. It's not as popular a tourist dock as Palermo, but some of the smaller ferries and local cruises use Termini's location to bring people to Caccamo and away from the more crowded cities.
The second portion, what I want, is another third of a mile along Viale Targa Florio, the seaside road. I see them up ahead, the series of small artificial bays that were built when the port was put in, and the local fishermen and pleasure craft owners were pushed out. It's at one of these, almost all the way at the end of Targa Florio that I see the lone light that is the running lights on the Ali Baba. It's perfect for Omar Al Gazi, as he can run it with a small crew and dock nearly anywhere.
There's nobody on the deck when I pull up, but I didn't expect there to be, Al Gazi's never been the type to do things in public. The gangplank takes me to the main deck, where I see the crates on the cargo deck, strapped and covered, ready to go.
Above me on one of the crew decks there's movement, and I level my pistol, aiming carefully. The crewman is surprised when he goes to head down the walkway, but recognizes me quickly. “The Sultan is waiting for you.”
“Take me to him,” I order roughly, pulling back the hammer on my pistol. “And pray none of your buddies decide to do something stupid.”
He nods, his hands up as I climb the steps, keeping my pistol on the sailor. When I get up, I gesture with my pistol. “Okay, move it.”
We make our way into what had been one of the passenger decks of the ship, redone into Al Gazi's personal quarters, extravagant with Turkish rugs, hardwood paneling on the walls, and other such luxuries that you'd expect on a billionaire's yacht and not the headquarters of a smuggler king. The sailor points, and I nod, grabbing him by the throat and squeezing. His larnyx crushes easily before I pistol whip him, knocking him out to choke on his own blood. I don't need to have anyone possibly coming up behind me.
I open the door to The Sultan's stateroom to find him and two of his thugs waiting for me. Also, to my joy, is a very alive and very pissed off Jessica, her mouth gagged but her eyes widening when she sees me. “Al Gazi!”
“Come in, Rodrigo,” The Sultan says, ignoring my pistol. “And shut the door behind you.”
“Let her go, Al Gazi,” I demand, raising my pistol, but two of The Sultan's thugs raise their own guns, pointing them not at me but at Jessica. I immediately lower my gun and holster it, knowing that I'm not fast enough to put them both down before they shoot Jessica. “Let her go, and we walk away. I go to America, you stay here, and we don't fuck with each other's territory.”
The Sultan laughs like I just told a good joke. “Go to America? Oh, the irony of that, wouldn't you agree... Special Agent Campo?”
Al Gazi hits a button on his desk, and the large flat panel display on the side wall lights up. The picture's familiar, I remember the day it was taken. The hair color's a little different, I was into highlighting my hair back then, it was the height of the metrosexual craze. Still, I remember that face, back when I was innocent.
“Roderick Corleone Campo, second in his class at the FBI Academy in Quantico, Virgina,” Al Gazi says, his voice rising slightly but still he sounds so under control it's creepy. “Born in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, graduated from The United States Merchant Marine Academy before entering the FBI.”
“I never did like that portrait, the goddamn look on my face is so stupid,” I admit, Al Gazi tapping the button on his desk again and the slide changing to my grad photo from King's Point. “Bad haircut, but much better. You can see why I did the highlighting though, you ever try living at a service academy?”
“Enough with the jokes,” Al Gazi says, switching off the slides. “You're very good Campo, but not perfect. And while I would normally let Scoglitti take care of this, the fact is you've been threatening me directly for far too long.”
“A job is a job, Al Gazi,” I reply, keeping my cool and closing the door to his stateroom before crossing the room and standing in front of his desk. It gets me closer, which is what I need. “You've been pissing off the US Government more than the rest of The Network.”
“I see. I assume this was about the sales to the 'freedom fighters' in the Mideast? It doesn't matter,” he says. “You could have gotten away with it too, but you made a mistake. This woman. You bought her, gained my personal attention. Before that, I thought you were just an ambitious pup trying to kiss Scoglitti's ass.”
“She's no mistake. She's a better person than any of your men. Better than you, better than me,” I reply, looking over at Jessica. “She's one of a kind.”
“Then she can watch you die first,” Al Gazi says. “Put your pistol on my desk.”
I reach for my pistol, one of the thugs taking his gun off of Jessica to point it at me, and I know that now's the time. I draw, depending on the skills that I've ingrained in myself over the years, the quiet hours in the hills that were as much a part of my training as the running, the lifting, everything else. I disregard the gun that's pointed at me and fire at the thug who's still covering Jessica, my first round taking him in the gun shoulder, making him pull his pistol up even as he fires. The round misses Jessica and hits Al Gazi's desk, and before he can do anything I fire again, this time taking him high, just above his upper lip, the bullet smashing through his teeth before blowing his brains out.
A feeling like a sledgehammer hits me in the chest at the same time I hear a roar, and I roll back, dropping at the same time I go to aim at the other thug. He's got a hell of a piece, a ten millimeter most likely, but my Kevlar stopped most of the bullet's energy and more importantly the slug itself. I come up in a kneeling position and fire, hitting him in the throat and dropping him as his spinal column is torn out by the hollowpoint round. My ears are ringing, but I can see through the pain, and I level my gun at The Sultan, who's stunned by the turn of events.
“Campo... Rodrigo, we can-” Al Gazi says, but I don't let him finish, firing four times into his chest, killing him. Three dead in less than ten seconds, hopefully all of them burning in hell.
My ears start to come back to normal and I hear Jessica screaming behind her gag and I go over, kneeling in front of her and stroking her face. “Shhhh... Jessica, I'm here. I'm going to get you out of here.”
Jessica's eyes g
o wide and she tries to say something through her gag as I hear the hatch behind me start to open. I spin, firing as I do to catch the two men trying to come through before they can even get the hatch fully open. I empty my clip and drop it, doing a combat reload, just in case. The ship is silent though, and I turn my attention back to Jessica, loosening the cloth around her mouth. “Rodrigo, what is....”
Her words are cut off as I kiss her, a knot that's been forming in my chest dissolving with every second we're pressed together. I finally pull back when we have to breathe, going around behind her. “I know you've got a ton of questions, Jessica. And I promise, I will answer them. But first, we've got some things to do.”
“What?” she asks, and it hurts a little that she didn't use the term Master. But I guess after learning I'm not who I've told her for months I am, I deserve it.
“First, we have to get you untied. Then, we need to make sure the batteries are good in one of the crates so that we can do something else.”
“What's that?” Jessica asks. I go behind her and find the knots that they used to tie her. Part of me has to note... they were a bunch of amateurs, I'm much better at tying up Jessica than these idiots. I have to chuckle, then slip the knot free. “What?”
“Sorry, just a thought,” I explain. “As for what... I need your help blowing this fucking boat up.”
Jessica
“Oh... that's all you need help with,” I sarcastically reply when Rodrigo (wait, is he Rodrigo?) finishes untying me. “Well, I'm sure I can handle that easily.”
Rodrigo comes around and helps me to my feet, a smile on his face. “You don't know how much I missed that sauciness. I've spent the past two hours wondering if I'd ever hear it again. Just a minute.”
He grabs one of the pistols that is on one of the bodies and checks it quickly before handing me his pistol. “Here. Just in case.”
Thankfully, the boat's deserted, and we get to the cargo area without anyone stopping us. I help get the heavy tarp off the wooden crates on the deck before Rodrigo opens one of them and digs around a little before pulling out some sort of electronic device and grunts. “Fucking battery still works. First time for everything.”
“Rodrigo, what's going on?” I ask, and Rodrigo turns, grinning. “What?”
“In the truck, I promise. Then we'll go home and I can tell you everything,” he says, giving my hand a squeeze. “No secrets. Wait in the truck, this next part is going to be a little loud.”
I nod uncertainly, getting off the boat and getting in the passenger seat. I watch Rodrigo scurry around on the deck for a little while, then suddenly the engine on the boat starts up and it pulls away, heading towards the open water beyond the artificial harbor. I get out, but there's nothing and I wait nervously for whatever Rodrigo promised me. It's a full moon tonight and I watch the boat slip beyond the harbor breakwater, going about a hundred yards into the open water before suddenly an explosion rips through the back of the boat before more explosions follow, and the boat starts to sink quickly below the waves.
“Master!” I cry out, but then there's a knock on my window and I scream again in surprise, but it's Rodrigo, dripping wet and grinning. I get out, hugging him, and he hugs me back.
“Let's go home,” he whispers even as he soaks my shirt. “It's not over, but we can go home.”
We're silent until we're about halfway back to Caccamo, when the questions start pouring out of me. “So what the man said....”
“It's true,” Rodrigo replies. “My real name is Roderick Corleone Campo. I'm a Special Agent of the FBI, and for three years I've been Deep Cover in The Network.”
“So all of what you told me, your childhood, all of it... it's a lie?” I ask, for some reason more hurt than I should be. “Are you even Spanish and Italian?”
Rodrigo looks over, his amused smirk that I've come to look forward to back on his face. “Very little of what I told you was a lie, except for the big elephant in the room. My mother is the Italian one though, my father Spanish. I was born in Philly, grew up in Camden, just like I said.”
“And your bullshit about going into the family business? About having a degree from the streets?”
Rodrigo laughs. “I did go into the family business. My father's a cop, he works at the CSX Rail Yard across the river, and mom's a meter maid of all things. As for the degree from the streets... well, rail cops don't make a great salary, and yeah, I had a few bad years before I went to King's Point.”
We get back to the villa, where we go inside, and Rodrigo reaches for me, but I pull back. “Rodrigo, you... I just saw you shoot five people. I learned that that man that I thought I've known for months now, who I trusted with not just my body but my soul and even my heart isn't who I thought he was. Excuse me if I'm having trust issues right now.”
Rodrigo's face falls, but he nods in acceptance. “I understand. But Jessica, I had to lie about my job. Fuck, I'm Deep Cover FBI! I'm not even supposed to be operating outside the United States by the rule book!”
“And you bought me. Isn't that somewhere in the FBI rulebook under 'shit you're not supposed to do?' It's a pretty big breaking of the rules, you know,” I reply, getting angry. “How can I trust you?!”
“Because I'm not my fucking job!” Rodrigo yells, his eyes hurt. “Jessica, the only place, the only person I've been even mostly honest with the past three years has been you! In this villa, in the training room, in this house... you want to know me? You held me! You woke up in my arms, you felt me! The man you call Master... that's me! The me that nobody, nobody in this fucking world can fully understand except you! You're the only person I've let see the real me, the outer shell be fucked!”
“So what now?” I yell back, shaken by his words. “We just go back to what we were, Master and slave, you somehow covering this up or something?”
Rodrigo shakes his head, sighing. “We know that won't be possible. You know, part of me wanted you to run that day you chose to stay? I knew that if you stayed that it would be more dangerous, that I couldn't keep everything a secret from you forever. I thought it was all going to fall apart the day that my FBI contact messaged me and my FBI phone rang. But you... you accepted it all then. I know you aren't stupid, you're too special to have not thought something was up. But instead of prying... you trusted me. Huh.”
“What huh?” I ask, and Rodrigo looks up.
“This morning, I had a meeting with Scoglitti and Rachmaninoff, two of the other capo. They said that they were going to offer me the position of North American capo regardless of what happened with The Sultan. I'd sent a message to my FBI contact after I got a little more information on the shipment, then came home because I wanted to ask you something. I was going to give you a choice, I guess the same choice you have now. I was going to offer you your freedom, total and complete. A fake ID if you wanted it, half a million euro to get you set up wherever you wanted. Or... or you could come with me to America.”
“Which do you want?” I ask, and Rodrigo looks up, for the first time we've known each other nervous.
“Jessica... I want you to come to the United States with me. I need you in my life. I...”
Before he can finish there's a crash, the big window in the living room area crashing in and Rodrigo whirls, his gun out again. We both freeze though when we see Larissa, dressed in all black with some sort of oddly shaped rifle in her hands.
“FN 2000 versus Beretta Px4. I'd say the advantage is mine,” Larissa says, but her voice sounds different than before. Rodrigo's eyes tighten, but before anything can happen, I put my hand on top of his gun.
“Wait,” I say softly, and Rodrigo tenses. “Please... Master. Wait.”
“I'd listen to her, mate. I like you both, but I'm not going to take a bunch of rounds in the head and chest to prove it,” Larissa says, her violet eyes totally serious. “We put them down together, agreed?”
“Agreed,” Rodrigo says, lowering his gun slowly as Larissa lowers hers as well. When both guns are at leas
t pointed at the floor, I feel like I can breathe again. “What are you doing here, Larissa?”
“And what's with the accent?” I ask, making Larissa smirk.
“I came to see if you two had gotten out safely. Sorry about the window, but I figured you wouldn't be keen on unexpected visitors, especially ones from The Network. Then I just had to be in here to listen to the rest of what you were saying. By the way, you yell quite loudly. Both of you,” she says, casually going over to the couch and sitting down, keeping her gun with her. “Did you get that going to gridiron games?”
“You... you've got a British accent,” I finally say, putting it together. “I had a classmate from London, he called it gridiron too. That and padball, and...”
“And handegg,” Larissa completes for me. “We do love making fun of what you call football. Very astute, Jessica. It feels good to be able to speak proper English instead of the abomination that I'm forced to use most of the time.”
“You're Deep Cover too,” Rodrigo says wonderingly, and Larissa nods. “Scotland Yard?”