“Tell me about Gabriella.”
“Who’s Gabriella again?”
“My wife!’
“I don't know anything about that.”
Angeli saw a man and a woman running down the stone steps and onto the embankment, pistols held two-handed in front of them. Professionals. Not his people, but not Reuben's either.
He smiled.
They kept her in a cell for three days. All she had to drink was a pail half full of water that Turturro had adulterated with his own urine and faeces. The last time Angeli saw her she was peeling layers of skin from her thighs, dead and blackened by repeated shocks from the picana.
***
“Police! Drop the gun and stand clear with your hands in the air!'
Reuben turned around. There was a man in a black zippered jacket and a woman in a dark overcoat. They fanned out either side of the pathway to open the field of fire.
“Drop the gun! This is your last warning!'
Reuben turned back to Angeli, who was grinning wolfishly. “You lose,” Angeli said.
Angeli's eyes were so cold and so blue, the only blue on that grey day, the only hint of sky.
“It was you.” He raised the pistol and held his finger on the trigger.
As he emptied the clip into Angeli's chest, the gunfire was answered immediately by the pistols of the two SID officers. It was over in seconds, leaving two bodies twitching in the mud, the priest and the devil, side by side, the blood pools spreading and mingling in the rain.
Chapter 107
THE ELEVATOR DOORS OPENED. At the end of the corridor was a small waiting room with vinyl chairs and a vase of faded flowers. She recognised the young waiter who had run from the bar to help them. He sat there running his fingers through his hair, whispering some private benediction over and over.
Outside the overcast was breaking up, a shaft of sunlight bouncing off the dome of San Pietro.
A nurse led her into the room. It was in semi darkness. The only sounds were the blip of the heart monitor and the rhythmic whoosh of the respirator. Coils of plastic tube snaked in and out of Simone's body, connecting her to the bags above the bed.
A piece of white tape holding a catheter in place on her forearm had come loose. Diana smoothed it down. The bullet had entered her sister’s chest just below her left breast. The doctors said it had punctured her lung and narrowly missed her spine as it exited her body. She had lost a lot of blood.
She wondered if there would ever be a time when life would be normal again, if she would find some way to understand what had happened to her in these last few weeks, to explain to herself and others what had taken place that morning in Trastevere and on the banks of the Tiber a mile or so away. At that moment the tunnel was long and dark and the glimmer of light a long way off.
Simone looked so frail. There were plum coloured bruises around her eyes. And yet, when she touched her, it did not feel as if she was touching a stranger.
She longed for the moment when she would open her eyes again. There was so much to be said.
So much death. And yet it began, as it ended, with life. Two lives.
She took off her shoes and lay down on the bed beside her sister. It was the most curious of sensations, as if she was lying down next to herself. She touched the hair, her skin; so familiar and so much like her own. Her arm draped across Simone’s shoulder. Almost at once she seemed to breathe a little easier. “Simone,” she whispered. “I'm back. We’re together again now and I'm never going to go away again.”
Epilogue
RAOUL TURTURRO KNEW he was dying. No one had come to refill the saline that snaked into his arm from a bag above the bed or empty the catheter that led fom his penis to a bottle on the floor. The bar on the electric heater had burned out and the room was frigid. He was freezing to death.
His muscles had long ago wasted away and apart from the involuntary shivering of his limbs and the irregular, fluttering breaths in his chest he had the look of a cadaver. The bedsores on his back and buttocks had festered and he could smell his own decay. The dressings on his left foot had rotted away.
He had been slipping in and out of consciousness for the last twenty four hours.
He was gagged and blindfolded so he could not see or cry out. The fragile line between life and death had become increasingly blurred. Sometimes his mind drifted free, back to Buenos Aires, his city of the colonels. He saw the Casa Rosada, pink in the late afternoon sun, and a handful of women, wearing white scarves, keeping their vigil around the obelisk in the Plaza de Mayo.
As night fell he cast one longing glance at the hastening of the black waters of the Rio de la Plata as it rushed to the sea. Then he looked up and for one moment he stared in bewilderment at the vast and unknowable cypher of the stars before he too was swallowed up by the vault of God and the silent indifference of heaven.
--- end ---
Latest Release by Colin Falconer
ROUGH JUSTICE
A Madeleine Fox Thriller, book one
“They’ve enforced the law. Now they want Justice.
Read a short excerpt below.
Chapter 1
Camden Town.
Early hours of the morning, late summer
The early nineties
The dead man had two small, ovate holes in the side of his polished brown head, and his pleated cotton drill trousers were around his knees. Frank Marenko squatted down beside the driver’s window to take a closer look. The tom was still sobbing in the panda car.
“A code 69,” Marenko said.
“What was that, sir?” The uniformed constable who had found him looked up. Barely old enough to shave, Fox thought. Cops get younger every year. She watched his expression change through surprise to bewilderment.
“Code 69,” Marenko repeated. “I’ve seen these before. She literally blew his brains out. Sucked so hard, his entire skull exploded outwards. Just shows. You’ve got to be careful. Have you ever gone with a prostitute, son?”
His jaw hung slack with confusion. Poor sod. “No, sir.”
Marenko patted him on his shoulder. “Good boy.”
For Christ’s sake, Madeleine Fox thought. Three in the morning, and I’m listening to stand-up comedy in a wet and badly-lit street in Camden Town. She felt a drop of rain find its way beneath the collar of her overcoat and trickle between her shoulder blades. She shivered. The tom started dry retching out of the panda car’s door.
I have to be crazy, Fox thought. My father was right. This is no way for a girl from a respectable family to make a living.
Marenko turned back to the young constable. “Have you talked to the tom?” When he didn’t answer, Marenko said patiently, “The prostitute. Have you talked to her?”
The constable shrugged. “She says she didn’t see anything, sir.”
“What?”
“She had her head down.”
Marenko studied the constable’s face. “Sure. But afterwards. She must have heard a bang or something. This guy ejaculated the contents of his head all over her. She must have looked up then.”
The constable shrugged again.
Marenko looked at Fox. “Do you believe this? She’s gobbling his Mars bar, he gets shot in the head, and she says she didn’t see anything. Christ.”
The Jamaican was slumped in the front seat of the Corvette, a flash American job with left-hand drive. Only it wasn’t as flash anymore, not with the contents of the deceased’s skull sprayed across the dashboard and the passenger side floor well.
Marenko shone the constable’s torch into the interior, caught the dull glint of the three heavy gold chains the dead man wore around his neck. “Got a bit of cargo on board,” Marenko said. “Enough here to clear Nigeria’s national debt.” There was a glassine packet of white powder on the console, anointed with a glob of congealing blood.
“A prescribed medication, no doubt,” Fox said, her hands deep in her pockets.
“What’s that he’s holding? Looks like a d
ead cat.” It was known as cadaveric spasm; the muscles of the hands had gone into instant rigor. Whatever he had been holding at the moment of death was still clutched in his fist.
“I think his date lost her wig,” Fox said.
Marenko gave a short, barking laugh. The beam of the torch remained on the dead man’s lap. “What’s that on his pork, for Christ’s sake?”
“A condom, I think,” the constable said.
Marenko laughed. “I know what it is, thanks, constable. I have seen one before. Hear that, Fox? Safe sex. He uses illegal substances and gets his head blown off in the front of his Yank tank, but he practices safe sex. His mum will be pleased.”
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“Spectacular historical fiction blazing with intrigue, romance and dramatic action” --Booklist
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“A page-turner . . . This peek behind the walls of the seraglio will seduce lovers of large-scale historical fiction.” - Booklist
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“... a rollicking historical tale of love and revenge rendered in rich detail by a master of the genre.” - Booklover
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Ebook Short Stories
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“It was the year I broke a bone in my leg, the year I got my first kiss and the year Jesus got himself shot.”
One dead Japanese pearl diver is starting to smell. A big, slow Filipino crewman is making trouble in Sheba Lane. And a beautiful girl called Amy O’Rourke has stirred his dreams.
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Santa Maria, the Solomon Islands, 1941.
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“Nick Davis first saw Daniela Simonici in the American Bar of the Athenee Palace Hotel in Bucharest in June of 1940. He couldn’t take his eyes off her. The city was full of beautiful women, penniless countesses and fox-furred demi-mondaines looking to be rescued, and until that moment he had spared them only an appreciative glance. But this woman was different . . .”
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“I just figured what with guns going off and things blowing up, there’d be plenty of deep truths and penetrating insights.” --P.J. O’Rourke, Holidays in Hell
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‘Falconer, whose books have been translated into 17 languages over the last 25 years, has spun together a fiction which will appeal to readers of all ages. With several twists to keep the reader engaged until the very last, Silk Road is sure to find its way onto the bookshelves of lovers of a thrilling tale.’ - Liverpool Daily Post
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“Colin Falconer is one of those historical fiction authors that takes a subject and not only researches it thoroughly but also has the talent to take you to the heart of the matter whilst making you feel that you’re seeing history being made at the time of the events. As with his other work the story has a cracking pace, the lead character Philip of Vercy believable and when blended with religious heresy alongside crusade, makes for an edge of your seat read. Add to this top notch prose a wonderfully almost cinematic feel to the story and of course a lead character that you can really get behind and all in it’s a wonderful read. Great stuff.” - Dros Delnoch, Falcatta Times
About the Author
Colin Falconer has published over 40 books in the last 26 years. HAREM was an enormous bestseller in Germany, selling over 200,000 copies.
AZTEC stayed on the bestseller lists in Mexico for four months.
He is a bestseller in Eastern Europe and his work has sold into translation in 23 countries.
He did not write for over five years but returned to publishing in 2010 with the release of SILK ROAD and STIGMATA the following year. ISABELLA was published in 2013. NAKED IN HAVANA and NAKED IN LA, the first two books in a trilogy set in the sixties, was published in November.
He likens his fiction most closely to Ken Follett - books with romance and high adventure, drawn from many periods of history.
His latest legacy novel is due for release by Atlantic London in January, 2014 and St Martins Press, in New York in August 2014.
“A page-turner . . . This peek behind the walls of the seraglio will seduce lovers of large-scale historical fiction.” - Booklist
“A wonderful story ... not just a rehash of history but rather a refreshing look at this clever and charismatic leader ... pulsating with the passion of a woman.”- Womens Weekly Book of the Month
“Makes dry history into a real rip-roaring read. In Falconer’s hands, Cleopatra is a smart, sexy and sassy heroine.” - Australian Womens Forum Book of the Month
‘Falconer’s Cleopatra is vulnerable, intelligent and liberated, defined by her wit as much as her beauty” - Publishers Weekly
“Falconer paints an enthralling fictional portrait of the one of the most powerful and beguiling women of all ages.” - Margaret Flanagan, American Library Association
“Falconer’s grasp of period and places is almost flawless ... He’s my kind of writer.” - Peter Corris, The Australian
“Falconer weaves a pacy story of obsession, love, greed and corruption ... Really well done.” - Sydney Morning Herald
“Murder, scandal and romance all play their part . . . plausible and engrossing.” - Woman’s Day
“If you haven’t read one of Colin Falconer’s novels, then I promise you are in for a real roller-coaster ride of never ending intrigue with both these novels.” - History and Women
Each chapter ends with a gripping cliff-hanger that makes the book irresistible and unputdownable.” - Mirella Patzer, Historical Novel Review
“A magisterial tale.” - UK Daily Mail
“Falconer, whose books have been translated into 17 languages over the last 25 years, has spun together a fiction which will appeal to readers of all ages. With several twists to keep the reader engaged until the very last, Silk Road is sure to find its way onto the bookshelves of lovers of a thrilling tale.” - Liverpool Daily Post
“It’s wonderfully written, the characters gripping and with an epic story to unfurl within, it’s one that keeps you going from the start to the end.” - Dros Delnoch, Falcatta Times.
“I enjoyed his storytelling voice so much that, had this book been say, set in modern times, the intriguing main characters would still have been abl
e to pull it off. Thoroughly recommended.’ - Bookbag
“... Silk Road then is a highly recommended read. Falconer demonstrates exceptional characterization ...’ Bookgeeks
“... an epic and eventful journey that spans a huge swathe of the middle and far east, and it is one that provides action, romance, and beautifully descriptive writing by the cartload.” - Des Greene, Novel Suggestions
“This epic adventure story is ... living history at its best, fictionalized yet immensely believable.” Alan Gold, Good Reading.
“Loved, loved, loved this novel. Riveting!” - Historical Novel Review
“Beautifully written in typical Falconer style with plenty of snap and sharpness, and wonderfully researched, I enjoyed every page of this book.” - Great Historicals
“Falconer’s descriptive narrative is exquisite at times. Each short chapter opens with a flowing brush of words that paint precisely, yet mellifluously, in a manner that is almost poetic.” - Historical Writers Association
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To find out more about Colin Falconer, please visit his website at: http://colinfalconer.org. You can also follow Colin on Twitter and Facebook as well as signing up on his Author Central Page on Amazon where you will be notified about his latest releases.
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