Fault Lines

by Thomas Locke

  Charlie moved in at a slight crouch, his body angled as though he were headed in parallel to the path. Charlie’s first instructor had called it a hyena’s walk, how the animal never attacked straight on but rather loped in at an angle. The beast could change direction more swiftly and also masked precisely where the attack would happen. Ahead of him the trio clustered close enough to whisper.

  Better and better.

  One of the men finally spotted Charlie’s shadow. Charlie knew because he hissed and turned and raised his pistol, all in one professional motion.

  But by then it was too late.

  Charlie flicked the baton out like a metal whip and lashed at the pistol hand, then backhanded the second man’s eyes. He then stabbed the baton into the shooter’s face, breaking the man’s nose. He swung the baton up high enough for it to lift over the second man’s face and attacked the third thug’s eyes. But this man was fast enough to block the baton with his arm. He grunted with pain as it struck his wrist. The baton made a whirring sound through the air and smacked flesh and bone with sounds so swift, it was impossible to associate them with the damage Charlie knew he was inflicting.

  All three men were shouting now, and two of them were trying to draw weapons clear of each other.

  Charlie fell to the ground, covering the second man’s dropped pistol with his body. He went to work on their legs. There were two things most baton wielders did not realize. Cops were the worst—they often took a baseball-style windup like they were going to hit the bad guys out of the park. Which was fine, as long as there was just one assailant who was going to go down and stay down. In a situation like this, the important thing to realize was how the baton, even with the slightest twitch, delivered pain. The person being struck often had no idea how hard he had been struck and whether he had received serious damage.

  The other thing most people did not realize was, once the baton was locked into full extension, it made an excellent stabbing weapon.

  Charlie whacked an ankle and thought he heard a bone break, but he couldn’t be certain, what with the three men screaming and cursing overhead. He caught a glimpse of metal in the light and flicked the weapon upward, snapping the assailant on the chin and causing him to drop his pistol into the mud. Charlie rolled away.

  The entire attack took less than five seconds.

  He kept rolling until he was off the gravel and in the trees. Behind him the howls were more pain than rage, which was very good. The night became filled with the explosive coughs of silenced weapons and tight bursts of flame. The shots were all wide, since Charlie was nowhere near where he had rolled into the shadows. As he raced through the trees he saw that two of the shooters were down on their knees. He scouted the rain-swept shadows but could not find the third man.

  Charlie kept to a crouch as he filtered back through the trees paralleling the path, keeping clear of the direction of shots, searching with each flame burst for the missing assailant.

  He sensed the attack before it came.

  He dropped and rolled just as the night erupted.

  A silenced weapon was not silent, particularly in the dead of a rainy night. The gun whuffed and the flash illuminated a bullish man with both hands holding the weapon in a professional grip. As Charlie scrambled for the shelter of the closest tree, the attacker crouched and took aim.

  Which was when Charlie slipped in the mud.

  Charlie kept scrambling, but the rain-wet earth gave him no purchase. The trees might as well have been on the other side of the moon.

  It had to come sometime. The final opponent. The fraction of breath he would not live long enough to draw.

  Then Charlie heard a meaty thud. The shooter cried in agony. A shot drilled the wet earth over to his right. Then another thud, and this time the man only grunted.

  Charlie turned and watched Irma chop the man a final time with her crowbar. The thug fell hard. She stood over him, the rain plastering her hair to her skull. “I guess this one didn’t get the memo about no guns.”

  Benny Calfo emerged from the trees. He surveyed the man at Irma’s feet and said, “You got three guys in some serious hurt down the path. There are nine attackers, right?”

  “Roger that. Nine.”

  Irma said, “And you are precisely who?”

  “Hazard knows. Don’t you, Eltee.” To Charlie he went on, “We’re missing two attackers.”

  Charlie said, “Julio is isolated.”

  “I’m on it.” He vanished.

  Irma’s crowbar clanked on the gravel. “Am I seeing things?”

  “You heard him, there are two assailants still unaccounted for. Go guard the front door.” Charlie bent over the inert form. “I’ll get these guys strapped before they come around.”

  32

  Nothing like a little gunfire to wake a guy up.

  Julio used a carbon blade he’d taken off one of the dudes and sliced their trousers from ankle to crotch. He slathered the back of the clamped palms with more Super Glue, ditto to the inside of their knees. It took some serious grunting to scrunch the inert body into a crouch, but once the glue hit the glue, the dude was set. Knee to back of hand, palms together, then to the other knee.

  He was admiring his handiwork when he heard the crunch of gravel.

  One thing Julio knew instantly, the phantom hadn’t made that noise. That dude made no sound. Julio couldn’t tell for certain, not with the rain crashing down, but he thought maybe it was more than one guy.

  Julio was dressed in his warmest sweats, which were black and baggy. The only thing his clothes had in common with the fancy suits on the floor was, they were dark. The gatehouse lighting was very dim, a single bulb suspended from the high ceiling. Julio reached for two of the Tasers he had taken off the guys and dropped onto the stone floor. He cradled his hands between his knees so that his shape conformed to the glued-up attackers. He was last in line and half hidden in the shadows at the back of the gatehouse. He figured he had about thirty seconds before the guys realized he didn’t belong.

  He watched through slitted eyes as two guys craned into the doorway. One was a heavy brute maxed on pasta, the other was a young snake. Hooded eyes and calm and deadly. The snake hissed a question Julio didn’t need to understand.

  Then the snake saw him. And raised the silenced pistol in his hand.

  Which was when the phantom struck.

  Both of the thugs stiffened and gasped. Julio assumed the phantom had slammed them with a one-two to the kidneys. Not enough to put down a pair of pros. But it opened their eyes up to saucer size and sent the snake’s shot winging through the gatehouse window.

  The thugs responded as a team. The heavyset man turned and hefted his own silenced pistol. The snake fell to the stone floor, rolling to bring his firing arm around.

  Julio used the inert body between him and the action to steady his aim. He fired the Taser.

  And missed the snake by about six miles.

  He had never fired a Taser before. Even at ten or eleven feet, the aim was lousy. The trigger popped and the darts flew, the slender wires spinning and shimmering in the dim glow. The darts missed the snake’s gun shoulder by about a foot.

  And sank into the other thug’s right leg.

  The Taser crackled with the release of energy. The thug gave a strangled cry. And toppled straight onto the snake’s firing arm.

  Julio took aim with the second Taser and fired.

  Before the darts zinged across the room, he was already thinking, Way, way wrong. There was no way he could hit the snake. Not with the other dude covering him like an electrified rug.

  This time the darts hit the heavy thug in the chest. He gave a little cough and went completely still.

  The snake was one strong dude. He tossed the thug at the phantom like he was heaving a basketball. The phantom dodged the body, then saw the gun coming up and slipped back into the night.

  Before the first shot was fired, Julio was already up and moving. The snake’s gun coughed three times,
firing at shadows and rain, before Julio hammered him just above his right ear. He didn’t realize he still held the Taser until the snake’s skull was covered with plastic shards.

  Julio gripped the snake’s neck and gun hand. He heard another couple of pops and felt ceiling plaster rattle down on his head. He felt his grip slipping off the rain-slick wrist. The snake’s breath smelled of mint and death. Then the phantom reappeared and chopped the snake where the pulse throbbed in his neck artery. Again. The strikes were as fast as Julio’s panting terror. The snake’s eyes lost focus. The phantom took hold of the snake’s hair and hammered the man’s skull on stone. The snake went slack.

  The two of them stayed exactly as they were for a second. Julio could hear himself grunting with the effort it took to breathe.

  The phantom went over and checked on the other thug. “Man, this is one well-fried turkey.”

  Julio rolled over. Stared at the ceiling. Fought for breath. And saw only the snake’s raging eyes.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Julio.”

  “I’m Benny Calfo. Where’d Eltee find you?”

  “Who?”

  “Eltee. Hazard. Where’d he pick you up?”

  Julio pushed himself up to where he could get a grip on the windowsill and pull himself to his feet. “Satellite Beach community center.”

  “That a fact.” Overbright teeth shone from the blackened face. “Well, you did good back there. I owe you.”

  “Are there more?”

  “Eltee and some lady took care of the rest.”

  “Her name is Irma.”

  “The way she swings that crowbar, she’s got the makings of a pro.” Benny kicked the pistols away from the bodies, gripped the inert thug by the collar, and dragged him farther inside. “Why don’t you stitch these boys up, I’ll go bring you the rest.”

  “What are we supposed to do with them?”

  But the phantom was already gone.

  Dawn was less than an hour away. Julio figured they had this particular corner of the rain-swept world to themselves. The only sound he heard was rain hammering the car roof. “You want to run this one by me again?”

  “Follow me into town.” If Charlie minded repeating his instructions, he gave no sign. “When we get to where we’re going, we’re going to cram both teams into this Mercedes here. Then I’m going to ram it into the front of a bar.”

  Julio looked at Irma. “This make sense to you?”

  Irma must have stopped questioning Charlie entirely. “Did this come in one of those little extraterrestrial jaunts of yours?”

  “I told you. They’re called ascents.”

  “Whatever. Did it?”

  “Right down to how it’s just me and Julio making this trip.”

  “What am I supposed to do while this goes down? Take a bubble bath? Fix my nails?”

  “Go and rest.”

  “I’ve never run out on a bust in my entire life.”

  “You’re not running out on anybody.”

  “And just where exactly has that shadow of yours gotten to?”

  “Benny will be on watch the rest of the night. And the rest of your questions about him will need to wait.” When she looked ready to give him more lip, he said, “Irma, you and I have a major day coming up. Go get some sleep.”

  “This is more from the same ascent?”

  “Yes.”

  “What about you?”

  “I’ve never needed much sleep. If I get a couple of hours I’ll be fine.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “No. This discussion can wait too.” He turned to Julio. “Ready?”

  Julio’s ride was sweet, an Alfa Romeo sedan with a beast of an engine. The descent, even in the rain, left Julio certain that given half a chance, this car would purely bolt.

  They entered a completely empty Como. Charlie drove with the confidence of a man on rails. They wound their way into the old city, ignoring a bunch of signs that Julio was pretty certain warned all cars to turn around and make tracks in the opposite direction. Charlie stopped at one end of an empty cobblestone plaza. Julio reversed his car and backed it to where the two trunks almost touched.

  Charlie walked back and said, “Pop the trunk.”

  The work had them both puffing hard, extricating four human pretzels from the Alfa and cramming them into the other car. The last guy they shifted was the snake. As they were stuffing him into the driver’s seat, he huffed a breath and opened his eyes. Charlie gave the guy the same bird-wing attack as the phantom had used. His hand just seemed to float down and back. A swift little hummingbird wing of motion. The snake went still.

  “Dude, you have got to show me that move.”

  “Sure thing.”

  “For real?”

  “You’re one of the team, Julio. Whatever you want to learn, I’ll teach. As much as you can handle.”

  Julio stood in the rain and watched as Charlie used the last of the Super Glue to plaster the snake’s right shoe to the accelerator and his hands to the wheel. It gave Julio another chance to inspect the snake. He was younger than the other men, and perhaps a trace more refined in appearance. Very slender. Reptilian cold even when unconscious. Julio shivered and forced his eyes away.

  Charlie tested the snake’s foot and hands, then shook the rain from his eyes and said, “Go get ready to scoot.”

  “No problem, ese.” Julio fired up the Alfa, then rose from the car and watched as Charlie used the crowbar he had taken from Irma to anchor down the Merc’s accelerator. The engine gave a discreet howl. Charlie lifted his head into the rain, sighted down the hood, made a slight adjustment to the wheel, then reached in and slapped the car into drive.

  The cobblestones were too wet for the Mercedes to actually burn rubber. But the car managed to build up a pretty solid head of steam as it careened down the narrow lane.

  The car hit the glass front of someplace called the Bar Azzurra head-on. There was the rending screech of metal being torn from its stanchions. Glass exploded like a car-sized bomb had just gone off.

  Charlie walked back with ease, as if bestowing chaos and mayhem on an ancient Italian city was something he did at least once a week. “Let’s go get warm and dry.”

  They left the city and started up the steep road to Brunate. Julio opened his window and thought maybe he heard a distant siren, but he was enjoying the climb and Charlie was clearly not the least bit worried about the cops. Julio left the window open a notch and pushed the engine as hard as the rain and the night and the hairpin curves allowed.

  They pulled through the villa’s rusted gates and followed the gravel drive around to the stables built in solid to the cliff face. Charlie opened a set of double doors and waited while Julio drove the car in and turned off the engine. He shut the stable doors, and together they walked through a grey dawn and let themselves into the house.

  In the downstairs hallway, Charlie stopped. Julio stood with his back to his bedroom door and listened to water drip off his clothes.

  Charlie said, “Irma and I need to leave in a couple of hours. We’ll be gone for a while.”

  Julio stifled a yawn. “You want me to stand watch?”

  “No. Get some rest. If anybody on the team asks what happened, it’d probably be best if you wait until we’re back so they hear the whole deal at once.”

  “I got no problem with that.”

  “You were totally stand-up back there.”

  “Just did my job, bro.”

  “Benny says you saved his life.”

  “Yeah, well, only because he kept me breathing through the first round.”

  Charlie offered his hand. “Anywhere, anytime. You hear what I’m saying?”

  As Julio showered and slipped into sleep, he was still grinning like a fool.

  33

  Alessandro Gavi slipped into his customary pew on the left side of the church. Many considered him handsome in a spare and meticulous fashion. He dressed well, he had his hair cut every ten d
ays, he was seldom seen without a tie. He exercised regularly, ate sparingly, and remained within two kilos of his teenage weight, even in his late fifties. Alessandro knew many considered his daily attendance of morning mass simply another precise habit. Certainly he gave no indication of extreme devotion. The reason he attended daily mass was quite simple. He had a long and intimate knowledge of evil. As far as he was concerned, such experiences required an act of balancing. Of consciously making room for the good and the just and the divine. Otherwise, he risked drowning in the sea of shadows and ghosts.

  When he emerged from the church, Alessandro was pleased to discover that the constant rain had paused, at least momentarily. But the sky smoldered beneath the same heavy grey blanket that had dominated northern Italy for the wettest spring in three hundred years.

  He spotted the watcher as he crossed the church’s forecourt and entered the main piazza. Alessandro’s first impression was that the man who observed him was an assassin. But an assassin would not stand in plain view, his hands open and at his sides. As one professional might greet another, signaling there was no danger.

  The closer Alessandro came, the more certain he grew of the man’s occupation. He was handsome enough to draw stares from passersby. This individual scanned his surroundings constantly. He was taller than Alessandro, and the body beneath his knit shirt and slacks was warrior hard. His features were severe. Hints of old scars peeped from the shirt’s collar and his left sleeve.

  Alessandro stopped in front of the man and waited.

  The man spoke to him in American-accented English. “Turn on your phone.”

  “Pardon me?”

  “You have a call coming in. It’s important. Switch on your phone.”

  Alessandro drew out his phone, hit the switch. The instant he had a signal, it rang. He lifted the phone to his ear. “Hello?”

  “Alessandro? Tell me you haven’t already heard the news from someone else.”

  “Edoardo?”

  “Who else? Tell me I’m the first.”

  “Have you been trying to contact me?”