Namir replies, "Same for the Germans, and I suspect more than a routine problem with the taxi. The police found what is probably the driver in the back seat. His neck, snapped like a chicken."
Itzak orders, "We've got to get back inside and check the woman. The Italian has to be responsible for this. Everything. The fire, and all this."
Namir adds to this assessment. "He's got help. Possibly one, or more."
The two Israelis fight and claw their way through guests, the curious onlookers, the police and firemen into the lobby. Itzak says, "They're gone. Where are the damn Irishmen?"
"The hell with them. Where is that big fucking Italian? We better check on the lady. And watch our own ass." Namir tugs at Itzak's arm, "And where the hell is Marnee?"
He replies, "I would suspect outside. And on to the person responsible out there."
CHAPTER 25
"Use cover and concealment
as much as possible."
A gunfighter's rule
Rocco hears the room door open as he squats, waiting, in the room's clothes closet. He has his M951R Beretta with suppressor in hand, elbows resting on his knees, weapon pointing up and out. His head is slightly canted so his ear is nearer the closet door. He hears a man's voice say, "I better go in and just check around."
Then the reply from the lady. "Really? I like the sound of the first part but why the latter? We left with all the others and it was locked."
"Yeah, I know. But Mister MacBeer would kill me if I made a mistake and let something happen to you."
"Oh, that's warm and enticing. What can happen? Kerrigan has vanished. I don't know where he is and could care less at this stage. Besides your boss is a long way off."
The agent shakes his head side to side, eyebrows raised and mutters, "Right." Takes in a breath, drones, "Nonetheless, checking is in order. In here first."
A pause, the sound of a shower curtain rustling, then, "The bathroom is clear. Hey, stay away from the window."
Rocco feels the vibration of footsteps on the floor coming toward the closet. The man's voice, closer now, agitated and more pronounced, issues another warning. "GET AWAY FROM THE WINDOW. NOW. Please."
The agent grasps both knobs of the double-door closet and swings them open as if using a chest exercise cable. Rocco stands and fires. "Pfssst." The first round hits the agent in the chest as Rocco rises. Then with the pistol's suppressor one inch from the agent's forehead, "Pfsssst." The back of the man's head explodes spraying blood, brains and bone toward the inside of the room. Part of the spray splatters on Dee as she nears the foot of the bed from the window. The sagging agent is blown backward from the two 9mm hollow point rounds and drops like a felled buffalo. Rocco steps over the body quickly and fires a shot into Dee's chest. She staggers to the foot of the bed, falls backward on the bed. Her face is splattered on her right side with a portion of the agents head. Blood surges through the center of her sheer blouse. She tries to speak. Rocco quickly looks around to check the room door. It's closed, but not locked. Several quick steps there, snaps the lock and fastens the security chain, and back again at the foot of the bed. Dee lays, face up, gasping for air. The sound of the sucking chest wound is distinctive. She struggles to raise herself on her elbows. Mouth trying to form words. Eyes bulging with terror and senselessness.
Rocco leans over, inches from her nose and says, "Angelo was a good man. A good Italian man. Too fucking good for you, but orders were orders. Just business."
Dee's face exhibits shock and confusion. Her vocal gasps and the wound's sucking sounds are interwoven into the murkiness of death. She drops from her elbows to laying flat on her back, legs dangling over the end of the bed. Blood pulsing from her chest, running through the sheer white blouse, and seeping down her side to the plush decorative green and beige bedspread. More blood oozing underneath from the exit wound.
The huge Italian leans over even closer. Kisses her forehead. Hisses, "I wish I could make it hurt more but I don't have time. So, this is for Angelo. For loving and trusting a whore." Rocco lifts Dee's skirt, shoves the Beretta up between her legs and fires a round. Her body shudders, flopping up and down like a fish's final effort on the wooden planks of a dock. Rocco smiles, snarls, "And this is for mea and my bossa, and his amico in Washington." Another silenced pop. A single 9mm round between her eyes. Her body completely limp now, eyes cold and lifeless, staring at the ceiling, seeing nothing. The bed spread now a soaked and splattered coppery-smelling canvas of blood like a contemporary artist's rendering of death at sunset.
Rocco stands and scans the room. Moves to the closet, takes out his handkerchief and wipes the door knobs clean. That's all I've touched. Except the room door.
He quietly steps over the agent's body and moves to the room door and his exit. Got one more job to do tonight.
He is stopped by a tapping at the door, followed by a voice speaking Italian, "Ma'am, this is room service checking to ensure guests are safe and secure? Are satisfactory?"
Rocco stands motionless. The Italian is good, but not native. Shit.
The tap is repeated, but louder. The question is also repetitive and louder. However, there is another voice whispering, indistinguishably. Then the original voice again, "Ma'am," not in Italian, "we know you are in the room. Are you safe?"
The door handle rattles as it's tried from the outside. The other voice speaks, not in a whisper, but louder, in a grimly, hushed tone. "I know she's in there. This is her room. They came back up."
"Yes, but possibly to his room."
"He's not registered. He hasn't checked in. Perhaps this guy is Kerrigan?"
Itzak says, "We need to go in. Ready?"
Namir looks both ways, sees no one in the long hallway. Steps back and peers up the hall to the elevator. Whispers, "The elevator is still here on this floor. This isn't smart nor the ..."
His comment stopped by the sound of the door's chain being removed and the lock snapping open. Both Itzak and Namir have their weapons in hand, at arm's length and the side of their legs. The door swings inward as if sucked open by a tornado. Rocco fires four shots, two each before either can raise his weapon. One each to the heart, and one each to the face. Both lurch backward into the hallway wall which is splattered with blood and skull remnants. Itzak and Namir thump to the carpet smearing separate streaks of blood on the wall on the way down. Rocco fires another suppressed round into Namir. The slide of his Beretta locks to the rear. He changes his magazine with another ten round mag and fires a final shot into Itzak's face.
He wipes the door handle both inside and out and steps all the way out the door, walks hurriedly to the exit stairwell door being careful not to be heavy footed. He takes the steps two and three at a time until reaching the lobby floor. There are still excited guests milling about. People surging in and out. The police have not yet been able to get the full control needed. There is no aftershock calm, and although certainly to come, no lockdown yet.
Once outside, Rocco melts into the crowd and confusion, and drifts across the street and around the corner. As he walks in the shadows of the buildings intent on meeting Drago at their prearranged location near the park, he thinks of the Irishmen. They can be spared. They are no threat to me.
At the bar Danny and Sean continue to sit, sipping their third ale. Watching the crowd, taking in the din of the commotion inside and out. Danny, the elder brother leans over, chin not wholly resting on the younger's shoulder. "Laddie, I be thinking we need to leave this place. It's beginning to look like the riots of '69."
Sean turns toward Danny, "It tis. You're probably right, brother. Probably right. But, a good night's rest before we put a foot under us won't hurt. And give us time what we're goin' to tell Muldoon."
Danny takes a gulp and snorts, spraying some ale and bits of chewed peanuts. "Fuck Muldoon." Then he takes another, the last, and in a hushed, sing-song manner says, "Rather, brother dear, think of this. At some time real soon, real fucking soon, the police are going to lock this plac
e down and question every guest. Every person in here."
"So, we've done nothing wrong. The barkeep can attest to that."
"Yes, well, that is so, but I be thinking if I were the police, 'What are two young Irish lads from Londonderry doing here in Pisa with all this going on? Might be wise to run their names with the Brits.'" He pauses for another gulp. "I would. It's not as if we're a couple on vacation nor will the Brits say, 'Oh, it's just those delightful Shanahan lads.' What say ye, laddie?"
"Aaah, yes. Well now, the morn dawns and it's not a pretty one regardless what the Lord says about painting another. Let's finish and get a foot under ..."
Sean's words have trail to a whisper, then drag to a stop. Both brothers, startled, stare at the commotion happening at the front desk. The desk clerk is losing all composure, yelling for the Manager and the police. The rush away from the desk is frantic, exceeded only by the police and firemen's dash toward the clerk.
An elevator door hisses open, a woman bursts from within, screaming, "They're killing everyone. All of us are doing to die. My God, help us! Help us!"
More shrieking women and shouting men stream out of the fire exit stairwell, racing for the outside doors.
What was ebbing is now a tsunami again.
Chiarina pulls herself up the chrome ladder from the pool. Her naked body glistens from both the water's lights and the moon. She snatches the annoyingly ringing patio telephone from its cradle on a nearby table, snaps, "Russo residence. Now is notta a good time." She listens for a few moments then turns to Roberto Catalano who is now side stroking to the edge of the pool. "It's for you. Your man says it's important."
"I'll take it," and Pisces clambers out of the pool, also naked and not fully settled. Takes the phone from Chiarina and says into the instrument, "This better be damn important."
Rocco whispers, "It is. They are all gone except the two Irishmen who can be the blustering one's problem."
"Wait a second." Pisces muffles the phone against his thigh, looks to Chiarina and says, "I must take this. We can con ..."
"We will continue but inside. It will be warmer, but then perhaps not if you don't hurry." She turns but grins over her shoulder and snatches a towel from a chair back. "Don't be long." She strolls, hips swaying, towel dangling from her hand trailing along as she moves toward her room off the villa patio.
Pisces mutters, "Damn. She's going to kill me before I get her home." He puts the phone to his ear in time to hear Rocco say, "What was that. I didn't ..."
"Nothing. Not important. Now tell me quickly where we are on this final matter."
Rocco explains quickly about the Russians and Germans. Goes into detail about Dee and her traveling companion, and also the easier than expected collateral damage to the Israelis. Explains why not the two Irishmen when Pisces questions him. Then finally says, "It is time to come home. Yes?"
"Yes, and I will be there in two days with guests. By boat. You get there as soon as possible and ensure all is well. And Rocco, are you sure no one saw you?"
"No one that is alive."
"What about, Drago?"
"Well, of course, but he will not ..."
"Do not bring, Drago."
"But ..."
"You will only need Estella, and me of course, for friends. And Chiarina as my wife. Drago is a witness and is useless to us. He can only be a problem. Let him be known as the tormented one. The butcher of Pisa."
"Yes, that is better. It will be done. What about Muldoon?"
"He knows nothing of us. Besides, our American friend in Washington will take care of him and he will be pleased to do so, and know that I will leave him be to retire, albeit alone. It is over for us. No one knows our whereabouts except our friend and former partner, and he will never say a word nor go this route again." He pauses, then, "And oh yeah, Rocco, call our friend and make sure he understands what has happened and that it is over. Our relationship. Or the package will be mailed."
"Done. Okay. Okay. Now, Bossa, is this Estella ..."
"She is everything you can dream of and puts your Roma friend to shame. Trust me."
"Oh, I do. I do. On my way."
"Good." Click. As usual the conversation is over when Pisces says it's over. He walks into the villa, finds Chiarina sprawled on her bed. Nude. Dry. Refurbished. And ensuring she is moist.
"Roberto, come. Take me again."
Rocco hears the click, stares at the phone. Then steps from the booth and looks about. He walks the several yards where Drago has been standing in the shadows, watching for intruders, followers.
Rocco whispers, "Drago, my friend. It is done. We go home," and grasps the huge man, hugging him. Then removes his right arm while still clasping the man with his other and slapping him on the back in joyful pretense. Rocco quickly removes his Berretta from his coat pocket, shoves it under Drago's chin and fires, releasing his left hand at the same time. Drago sprawls backward into the building wall, the back of his head gone. Then slumps to the walkway, both legs resting on the cement, limp, toes pointing to the sides. Rocco wipes his weapon clean of prints and carefully places Drago's hand around the butt, finger on the trigger guard, then the trigger. Also a print next to the safety. Then allows it to drop alongside the man's hand. Rocco takes his extra magazines and places them in Drago's pockets. Ensures his friend still has his weapon, and steps back. Life is better for you now ole' friend. No more people pointing and laughing.
Rocco looks around, seeing no one, strolls up to the street's park, turns left and heads away on its dimly lit walkways.
My God, I should take that butcher now, but I need his boss. It's the mission, and getting more personal by the moment. Marnee slips along the wall, around the phone booth. Needlessly checks the body, and continues ahead following her prey. I'll call Itzak and Namir first chance I get.
Hunter watches the villa. He checks his watch. Three hours since lights out. Quiet night. Let's go inside. See what I can find and take a look at the killing zone.
CHAPTER 26
"Someday someone may kill you with your
own gun, but they should have to beat
you to death because it's empty."
A gunfighter's rule
After his late night reconnaissance of the Pisces villa, Hunter knows he will have to complete his mission only at night, and only inside. Otherwise there will be too much collateral damage. While inside Pisces' study he found the package. Photocopied its contents and replaced all as it was. To take it now would be an advertisement. When he completes his tasks he will recover the original. The security is lax. The old man or the young boy walks the inside perimeter once after dark, and there is no alarm system. Pisces' bedroom is obvious; and one of the guest bedrooms, also obvious, belongs to the bodyguard, his henchman, and they are a good distance apart. Out of wall thumping and screaming range. So, the villa will be the venue and silent and deadly the menu, and if time permits pain will be added to the entree. The problem will be if Pisces and Rocco bring guests who will be staying when they come home. If that is the case Hunter knows he will have but two choices. One, get them out of the villa somehow without raising any suspicions, or it will look like D-Day.
Now, safely back in his room he strips off his all-black garments, takes a shower, dons his skivvies and snaps on the television with the volume low for covering noise. He has calls to make. However, the picture captures his attention immediately. It is the Italian version of breaking news. The massacre in Pisa. He listens to the talking heads for several moments, then dials overseas and Zachary's number. It automatically transfers after four rings to where he is, or going. He's in the site room and answers on the first ring after the transfer.
"Joe. Hunter."
Without any acknowledgment, Zachary embarks on his discourse like a fusillade of 4.5 rockets from a multiple-launcher. "The shit has hit the fan, everywhere. It's all over the World and the US media is in a feeding frenzy. Here's what I know are facts from where I sit." Zachary races on at speed-readin
g rates telling him that Dee is dead along with a traveling companion and that the Italian press and authorities are still reporting her as Caterina Frati and the male gentleman unknown for sure although the hotel register shows a reservation for a Frati couple. "We know her companion is our boss's man. Once she's identified, some of our friends might think it's you. That might help us." Zachary continues, telling Hunter that the two Russians and two Germans have been murdered and that they were following him and Dee. "Obviously you lost them." Then he continues with reports that two Israelis were apparent victims outside of the Frati woman's room. Dee's room. These were not the London people. This is a team that lost a partner in Rappel earlier. Zachary gasps for air, says further, "I mean, Hunter. This is like a herd of Zebras were let loose in a lion's cage. And the guy that worked at the restaurant, our friend Antonio Rizzo, he's dead. Assassinated in bed along with his girl friend. And now ..."
"Joe, take it easy, man."
"Right. Right. As I was saying, and now, a deranged, handicapped man, assumed to be the killer of everybody, has been found in a nearby park, dead by a self-inflicted gunshot. Are you shitting me? Who are they kidding?" There is a pause before Joe adds, as a feint stab of humor, that Pisa is resembling the United Nations headquarters with the arrival of foreign government suits and a murder rate like Gotham City. Joe finishes with, "Contact Maria and let her know what happened and have her tell her family. Everything. I will get someone out there to stay on top of things and assist them. However we can. Mainly keeping people away for at least a few days."
Ded Reckoning Page 26