Omega Plague: Collapse

by P. R. Principe

  One of the five stepped forward. Bruno thought he had met him before, the bright-blue eyes standing out even in the shadows against the man’s tan skin, but it was difficult to tell with everyone masked.

  “Veri, good to see you again,” he said. He motioned toward a waiting blue van.

  “Lieutenant Colonel Costa.” Veri nodded in acknowledgment.

  The back doors of the van were open, and all eight of them entered, the last person shutting the door.

  Bruno now remembered Costa, the provincial commander in Naples. Bruno surmised that if lieutenant colonels were out doing real operations instead of signing reports and giving orders, law enforcement truly teetered on a razor’s edge. Costa’s head, shaved bare to the skin, glinted from the small light in the van’s ceiling. They sat on the bench that ran along the inside of the van, while Costa stood stooped in the middle, bracing himself on the walls with both hands. He knocked on the panel immediately behind the driver and the van’s engine turned over twice before coughing to life. Then the van moved slowly off the pier.

  “Thanks to our colleagues from Capri for coming,” Colonel Costa began, raising his voice to be heard over the engine. “I’m glad the island is calm enough for you to assist us.” His face grew grimmer. “I wish I could say the same for Naples. We’ve been stretched thin already—most of my officers are guarding critical infrastructure, not kicking in doors. The Camorra clans have been active, taking advantage of the fear of this outbreak, whatever it is.”

  Costa continued, briefing-style, all business.

  “So here’s the sitrep: Coordinated raids on organized crime cells are taking place all over the country tonight, on direct orders of the Commanding General himself.” Costa paused to let the import of his words sink in before continuing. “Every major city in the country has at least ten squads making arrests tonight. There are twelve other squads in Naples alone. In Rome and Milan, there are even more. Tomorrow morning, the PM is going to announce this initiative to enforce the weapons confiscation order and smash organized crime once and for all.” Veri exchanged a knowing glance with Bruno and Cristian.

  Costa’s voice grew severe. “But back to our business tonight. Our targets are these six individuals—two Bosnians, and four Camorristi—they’re holed up at this address.” Costa pulled out a flat screen pad from a deep pocket in his jacket and handed it to Veri. “Here are pictures of them and a schematic of the building and their flat.” Veri studied it, swiping through each photo, and passed the pad along.

  As they looked at the pictures, Bruno eyed his colleagues in the van, wondering when the last time was any of them had been on a raid. He recognized a couple of them, like Marco, who was supposed to have come to Capri but instead ended up stuck in Naples. Marco and a few others looked like they had just started to shave. The rest of them teetered on the edge of what should have been a lengthy, well-deserved retirement. Bruno hoped they hadn’t gone too soft from years of riding a desk. This whole damned operation struck Bruno as futile. Why go after a few thugs now? What good would it do, with some sort of unknown virus spreading?

  Costa continued to talk as each team member looked at the pad. “This bunch crawled out of some shithole more than a year ago, and their gang’s been terrorizing the Quartieri Spagnoli worse than any other Camorra clan.”

  Costa paused, giving time for each team member to study information on the pad. “Note that two of the Camorristi are brothers. They’re probably the most dangerous. These two and their crew have muscled the Russo clan out of their territory. And I don’t have to tell you what a bunch of savages that lot was. These brothers have both done time for assault with a deadly weapon and extortion, and are implicated in the killings of five rival clan bosses. God knows what else they’ve done that we don’t know about. So be careful.” By the time the last person handed the pad back to Costa, the van had come to a stop.

  Costa looked at the men arrayed around him. “No doubt some of you are wondering why we are bothering with this scum at a time like this. Keep in mind, this is a nationwide, coordinated effort. Like I said, there are twelve other squads in Naples taking part in raids tonight, not to mention in Milan, Palermo, Catania, Rome, Bari—I could go on.” His eyes now shone with emotion as he spoke. “If we can take down the leadership, in one blow, then we cripple organized crime nationally. And maybe keep Naples that much farther from falling into anarchy.”

  “Falling into anarchy?” said Cristian sotto voce to Bruno. “Naples is always in anarchy.” While Bruno considered whether Cristian was being serious or just trying to be an ass, Costa’s eyes narrowed and he looked straight at Cristian.

  “You! Di Cassio, isn’t it? Is there a problem?”

  “No, sir!” replied Cristian in his best military voice.

  “Good. Keep it that way.”

  Bruno felt Costa had answered his unspoken question about the reasons underlying these raids. But judging by how deep into the pool of manpower they dove to get enough people for the raids, they’d be lucky if none of them got hurt.

  The van came to a halt. Costa opened the doors and the squad tumbled out, two at a time.

  “We’ve parked two blocks away. We’re on foot the rest of the way, so with luck, we won’t be spotted.”

  As they assembled near the back of the van, the team began to check and double check their main weapons and sidearms.

  Veri leaned over to Cristian and swore under his breath. “Cap’e cazzo! Can you not control your mouth even for a second?” Cristian didn’t say anything, but from the look in his eyes, Bruno knew that under the mask, Cristian sported a shit-eating grin.

  Bruno looked around. The dingy apartment buildings and uneven cobblestone streets meant they were in the heart of the Quartieri. Bruno glanced at his watch. The luminous analog display showed 01:02, well past the newly-imposed nationwide curfew of 22:00 hours. Anyone out and about now risked arrest. Bruno looked up and drank in the night air. Silence blanketed the warren of narrow cobblestone streets. The only noise rippling in the night was the distant sound of what to Bruno sounded like gunshots. Things were indeed falling apart.

  After a final review of the schematics and discussion of tactics, the team began to quickstep as quietly as they could toward the entrance to the apartment building. The streetlights cast pools of light here and there, illuminating the mist in the chill night air.

  Bruno went over the plan again in his head as they approached the entrance. Third floor, Interno 3A, down the hall on the right. He could feel adrenaline surge as the group paused just before the entrance, in a line with backs against the wall of the low, stone building.

  Cristian and Veri were together, but Bruno’s assigned partner was a fresh Academy grad, a kid named Gianluca. Bruno glanced to his left to check on his partner. Gianluca’s hands trembled slightly as he checked his weapon one last time. Bruno reached over and touched him on the arm. “Hey,” whispered Bruno, “it’s all right. Stay right behind me and follow my lead.”

  Gianluca nodded. “Right. Don’t worry, chief. I’ve got your back.” Bruno imagined that under his mask, the kid smiled a pale half-smile.

  Bruno patted him on the shoulder. “I know you’ve got my back—just don’t shoot me in the back, okay?” Bruno joked. But the teasing and confident gesture belied Bruno’s true thoughts: Old men and boys. Already that’s all we’ve got left.

  Finally, each man gave the ready signal and they slipped into the building entrance; on cat feet they walked up the flights of stairs. The light in the stairwell flickered on and off, the old fluorescent lighting in desperate need of an upgrade. The two lead team members stopped as they arrived at the landing. The door to Interno 3A lay just to the right of the stairs. The two lead officers stopped, and they readied their battering ram. The team dotted the stairs, winding partly down almost to the floor below, as there was not enough room on the landing for them to fit single file. Bruno and Gianluca stood almost at the head of the pack. From where he stood, Bruno could hear men
shouting or arguing over the buzz of a television. They’re awake, he thought, and cursed to himself. On a silent count of three, the lead officers swung the ram, powering through the door with the sound of rending wood and metal.

  The team poured into the apartment one behind the other, shouting “Police! On the ground!” Bruno felt his partner’s hand on his shoulder as they stomped into the apartment. Scenes of upturned tables and men with hands in the air flashed into Bruno’s vision, but he focused on his own part of the mission, heading to the right, down a short hallway, and through an open door.

  “On the ground!” Bruno shouted as he saw the bald-headed man standing in the middle of the tiny bedroom. The man wore jeans, but no shirt. Bruno entered the room, focusing on the man, while his partner followed right behind him. “On the ground!” Bruno repeated. “Face down, hands behind your back!” The man dropped to one knee upon Bruno’s second command, but Bruno noticed the man’s head flick to the right. The dingy room had a cot, table, and lamp as furnishings, but nothing more. Bruno noticed the large tattoo on the back of the man’s head as he moved to cuff him. But as Gianluca called “Clear!” Bruno realized the room had not truly been cleared. He looked to the man’s right, realizing that what looked like a solid wall actually had a knob in the middle.

  “Cuff this one!” shouted Bruno. “We’re not clear!”

  Gianluca moved to the stocky bald man, snapping handcuffs on one wrist, while Bruno transitioned to his sidearm to gain more maneuverability. The closet was the folding-door kind, spanning almost the entire length of the right wall. Pistol in his right hand, Bruno yanked the knob and the door folded open like an accordion.

  Something in the closet rustled, Bruno saw movement, and the crack of a pistol—Bruno’s own pistol—rang out. A figure from the shadows fell forward through hanging clothes into the room, almost at Bruno’s feet, twitching as soon as it hit the floor. Bruno had shot the man in the head.

  Before Bruno could say anything, something bashed him into the wall. The impact knocked the breath out of his body. Stunned for a moment, Bruno watched while Gianluca wrestled the partially handcuffed man to the ground and Veri stormed into the room.

  “He came at me!” shouted Bruno. “I saw him!”

  The bald man, now beneath Gianluca, began to wail.

  “He—he came at me!” said Bruno. “Trying to grab my pistol!” Then he turned to Gianluca. “You saw, didn’t you?” Bruno heard a tremor of fear in his own voice, the sound of a schoolboy caught starting a fight.

  As more officers poured into the room Veri stared at Bruno, but said nothing.

  ***

  Bruno spent the rest of the night at the Naples Provincial Command Headquarters answering questions from the investigators and filling out forms. The questions were as predictable as the forms. When they finally let Bruno leave just before dawn, Bruno saw Veri on the steps outside of Headquarters, cigarette in hand. The streets were empty.

  “I fucked up, I . . .” said Bruno, his voice trailing.

  Veri gazed at Bruno, then took a long drag before responding. “That garbage made a grab for your weapon. I saw it.”

  “But Gianluca, he saw—”

  “Gianluca didn’t see anything. He was busy with the brother. I was first in the room. I told them what I saw. And that’s that.”

  Bruno didn’t know what to say.

  “That guy you shot—that guy deserved exactly what he got. Anyway, we found weapons hidden all over that place. Who knows if that piece of trash had one stashed near him.” Veri paused, dropped his cigarette, and snuffed it out. “Of course, under normal circumstances, you’d be suspended until the investigation is concluded. But things are already starting to get bollocksed up. They need every available officer right now. So, they’ve suspended the investigation, pending discovery of additional evidence, which I’m happy to say is bloody unlikely.”

  “Look, I don’t know if—”

  “That’s enough talk, Bruno.” Veri patted him on the shoulder. “You did fuck up. But you’re a good officer, Bruno. Now don’t ever bring this up again, understand?”

  Before Bruno could react, Veri walked off, leaving Bruno alone with his thoughts in the cool air.

  Bruno knew he should just leave, let it go; but something made him go back inside Headquarters. He had unfinished business. After calling in some favors and telling a few more lies, Bruno got permission to go down to the holding cell.

  Bruno found the bald man standing alone with his back to the cell doors. Bruno studied him through the bars. The dark tattoo looked almost three dimensional in the fluorescent light. Bruno donned his mask. Although Bruno could tell the bald man had heard him talk to the guard just outside the anteroom to the cell, the man continued to stare at the wall, not acknowledging anyone else. The four other men in the cell also ignored Bruno’s presence, remaining on the bench, talking in low whispers to one another.

  Bruno stared into the cell. Then he spoke. “I think I recognize your tattoo. It’s a double-headed eagle, no?”

  Without turning around the man replied, in perfect TV-announcer Italian, “Yes—from the Serbian flag.”

  Bruno nodded. “I’ve read your file. I have one question. Why? Why the Camorra? Why get involved with that lot?”

  The bald man laughed softly. Then he turned and strode up to the cell door and stared at Bruno across the bars, black eyes burning. “They’re my family,” the man stated. Bruno stood nearly eye-to-eye with him, but the bald man’s bulk made Bruno happy a cell door stood between them.

  Bruno’s words, though, betrayed no such fears. “Family?” said Bruno. “Your mother was from Naples, but your father was Serbian. You were born and raised here I know, but that wouldn’t matter to the Camorra, now would it? You must know that to them, in the end, you’ll always be Il Serbo. Isn’t that what they call you?” Bruno smirked. “Definitely limits chances for advancement, doesn’t it?”

  “Tell me something,” said Il Serbo, cocking his head to one side. “Did that other pig cop lie like you did about killing my brother? Did that other pig cop lie to save your ass?”

  Bruno paused before he spoke. He ignored Il Serbo’s question. “I also read your brother’s file. He spent time in jail for armed robbery and multiple assaults. He nearly got charged in the killing of a rival boss in another clan and the rape of the dead man’s wife.” Bruno shook his head. “But she was so scared to say what happened that he got away with it. So, you’ll forgive me if I don’t shed any tears that I had to shoot him during a raid. I can’t think of anyone who deserved it more.” Bruno smiled. “Except maybe you—but you must be the smart one, right? You didn’t try to grab anyone’s weapon . . . like your brother did.”

  Il Serbo took one step closer to the cell door. “You lying piece of filth!” Grasping the bars with both hands, he growled, “You think you know a lot about me, don’t you? Well, let me tell you something else—something that’s not written down.” He paused, then looked all around as he spoke. “All this—you see all this? This is coming to an end soon, very soon, and when it does, Signor Ricasso da Capri, I assure you I will come for you on your pretty little island, you murdering little shit-sack, and I’ll tear your liver out.”

  Even through the mask, Bruno felt as if the other man’s hot breath shrouded his face. Bruno shifted his weight back.

  Il Serbo laughed. “What’s the matter? Scared? Are you surprised I know your name?” His voice dropped again. “Yes, I know you’re on Capri—our clan has good ears.” He glanced around at his cellmates. “Oh yes, even in this shit-hole. But don’t worry, you’ve got time. I’m going to gut that old bastard that lied about what happened first. Then it will be your turn.”

  Bruno turned sharply and strode to the door leading to the antechamber.

  “Or maybe your sister’s turn,” said Il Serbo. “I’ve always had a thing for doctors, you know.”

  Bruno froze. But he did not turn around. He hit the intercom to summon the guard to let him out,
the laughter of Il Serbo filling his ears. After an age, the door buzzed open and he burst out.

  Il Serbo shouted after him, “We’re safer in here than you lot are out there! You’ll see!”

  The laughter still rang in Bruno’s mind long after he left the cell behind.

  Chapter 4

  October 12

  Bruno thought about the weather, hoping they wouldn’t get caught in the rain, and trying to fill his head with thoughts other than worry about his sister. He had ridden on his motorcycle with Cristian when their shift was over, after neither one could get Carla on the phone and the hospital had told both of them she wasn’t there.

  Cases of the disease were now being reported from Rome to Florence and Milan, and cities outside London and Paris as well. People who’d had no known contact with the doctors were falling ill. All Western European governments had declared states of emergency. That meant schools were shut and recommendations were to stay at home. It also meant military mobilization and troops with automatic weapons on the streets of every European capital. People hunkered down. Some older people who had got the disease had already died, and hospitals were being flooded with people who were sick or thought they were sick. The island, as yet, had avoided infection. Over the protests of businesses, Capri’s mayor and municipal council forbade the landing of any ferries carrying passengers to the island, in an attempt to prevent its spread. People could leave, but they couldn’t come back. But the island lay only a few kilometers from land. A small boat could almost certainly make landfall on the island undetected. Bruno believed their efforts to stop the disease’s spread to the island would fail.