Fault Lines

by Thomas Locke

“How could I, when I only heard it for myself five minutes ago? First I called around to make sure it was real, this story. And even though I have now had it confirmed by two people I trust, I still don’t believe it.”

  It was not uncommon for Alessandro to receive phone calls upon leaving the church. This was, after all, Italy, where empty chatter was considered a vital weapon against the vacuum of silence. But to receive a phone call from Edoardo was a singular event.

  Edoardo was an ally from the bad old days. He had been the head of the anti-Mafia police in Catania. He was also that rarest of breeds, an honest policeman who had survived. He and Alessandro had become natural allies in that other great battle, the one against corrupt officials in Rome. Three months after Alessandro had arrived in Como, Edoardo had been reassigned to the Guardia di Finanza in Milan. They had not spoken in four months. Longer.

  “Alessandro, are you there?”

  He forced his lungs to take a breath. “What do you have to tell me that is so urgent?”

  As Alessandro absorbed Edoardo’s news, the American remained as still as the statues cresting the central fountain. An immovable force, one so potent the very air about him was compressed. He watched Alessandro with a predator’s patience as Edoardo regaled him with how a Mercedes S500 had been discovered that morning, parked in the front room of the Bar Azzurra. Inside were crammed nine men. Five of them were tied to the prostitution ring that dominated northern Italy. The other four were all members of an elite corporate security group based in Como. All but one had their palms glued together, and then the outside of their hands glued to the inside of their knees, forcing them to adopt a most uncomfortable position. Their pant legs had been sliced open at the thigh to make this possible. The ninth man had his hands glued to the steering wheel and his shoe glued to the pedal. The men were all moaning pitifully over being trapped like this, apparently for hours, crammed tightly inside the car.

  Edoardo howled with the simple pleasure of being the first to inform his friend of the event.

  Alessandro made noises he did not actually hear himself, then hung up. He asked the American, “This was your doing?”

  “Yes.”

  Alessandro studied the man a bit longer. “Do I have anything to fear from you?”

  “Not now, not ever.”

  “In that case, perhaps you should join me for breakfast.”

  They walked to the largest of the cafés fronting the square. The waiter saw Alessandro coming and lifted the “Reserved” sign off his customary table. It was a small favor, but one that meant a great deal, for his was one of the few outdoor tables set far enough beneath the awning that not even the strongest gusts could propel rain onto his morning paper.

  Alessandro gestured for the American to be seated. “What will you have?”

  “Whatever you take is fine by me.” When the waiter departed, the American continued, “I’m sorry about the bar’s entrance. We needed to make sure they were arrested.”

  Alessandro nodded as though that made perfect sense. “We.”

  “I serve as security agent for a group of scientists. They’ve taken over a villa in Brunate.”

  “You are a professional bodyguard.”

  “Currently, yes. Normally my work involves risk assessment and running security teams.”

  “So how many other security agents have you brought into my country?”

  “Not enough.” The man turned and signaled to a grim-faced woman seated at the table closest to the building. Alessandro was very good at noticing professionals, which this woman certainly was. Yet he had missed her. That only heightened his sense of being confounded by this man.

  The woman carried a battered canvas case as she walked over and seated herself. “No tails.”

  “My name is Charlie Hazard. This is Irma Steeg. Irma, show the man your badge.”

  Alessandro read it. “An Orlando policewoman. Here in Como.”

  “That is a gold shield,” the woman said. “Senior detective. Homicide. Retired.”

  Alessandro asked Charlie, “How did you know about the phone call I was about to receive?”

  He replied, “You have two sets of questions. One pertains to the incident last night. The other is about how we have come to contact you. I would advise you to keep them separate.”

  Alessandro paused while the waiter set down two breakfasts of brioche, spremuta, and cappuccino. It was the sort of advice he would have himself given to a new bailiff. “Signora, will you perhaps take breakfast?”

  “I’m good, thanks.”

  He nodded to the waiter, who departed. Alessandro asked once more, “How many are in your team?”

  “Irma, myself, and a kid.”

  Irma said, “Julio is no kid.”

  “He’s eighteen and untrained.”

  “Actually, he’s seventeen, and he did just fine last night.”

  Alessandro raised his hand. “I have difficulty believing that the three of you and a group of scientists took out nine armed assailants. If indeed you were attacked.”

  “The attack was real,” Charlie replied. “And the scientists didn’t help. They don’t even know about it yet.”

  Irma said, “I still feel like we should have gotten them together and told them.”

  “Not a chance. You want to wake up a bunch of civilians, tell them, ‘Last night we took out a professional hit team, you go ahead and have your cornflakes, we’re making a run into town’?”

  “They’re as safe as your shadow can make them.”

  Alessandro saw Charlie shoot Irma a warning glance, but all he said was, “That will do nothing to reassure the team. They need to hear about this from us.”

  Alessandro rattled his cup. “Wait, please, enough. Return to my question. You three have taken out nine assailants.”

  Irma said, “Charlie here is very good at what he does. He’s ex-Ranger. Do you know what that is, Ranger?”

  Charlie said, “We had the element of surprise on our side. We won’t next time.”

  Alessandro asked, “How can you be certain they will return?”

  “These guys won’t. But others will. And the next group will be a lot worse than these punks.”

  “Half the men you captured have a history of violence and prostitution. The others do corporate security.” Alessandro had to admit that made for some very intriguing questions. “Such attackers would carry a serious level of threat.”

  “They’re punks. The next attackers will be people like me.” Charlie reached for the detective’s battered case and slipped it over by Alessandro’s feet. “In there are nine silenced pistols, seven carbon knives, and four switchblades. We’re keeping the Tasers and the batons.”

  “Please, that last word, I don’t know it.”

  “Batons. Retractable hand-to-hand weapons.”

  Irma said, “Primo quality. Titanium with carbon grips.”

  Alessandro motioned to the waiter and waved his finger at their empty cups. “Italy’s crooks always get the best toys.”

  Charlie said, “The Tasers were all jacked up to illegal settings.”

  “They were after causing maximum pain and probably permanent damage,” Irma said. “These were not nice boys.”

  “So what do you want from me, absolution?” Alessandro pointed at the church across the square. “Please. Go. All are welcome.”

  The pair just sat and watched him. Waiting.

  Alessandro sighed. “All right. Now we shall move on to the second set of questions. Just exactly who is this group you are protecting, and why did these attackers have such a powerful interest in them? And how did you know to tell me to turn on my phone?”

  Charlie became even grimmer than before.

  Irma leaned back and cocked her arm over the empty seat next to hers. She revealed a very hard smile, that of a woman who had seen as much of the world as Alessandro. Perhaps.

  She said to Charlie, “Here we go, sport. You’re on.”

  34

  Charlie and Ir
ma took the funicular back from the lake. The cog train pulled its way up the steep-sided hill, drawing them into nothingness. Midway up the mountain, they entered clouds so tightly clamped to the forest and the rocks that nothing could enter. No light, no sound. The air grew damp and wintry cold. When they arrived in Brunate, they walked an empty street. Nothing moved. No cars, no people.

  Irma did not speak until the gatehouse appeared, when she called softly, “You there, sport?”

  Julio’s shape coalesced in the mist. “You want spooky, try standing here alone for three hours, wondering if they might’ve kept a couple of guys in reserve.”

  Irma asked, “Everything quiet at the house?”

  “Totally. I went in for breakfast, they were all just hanging out. They know something went down last night. Don’t ask me how. But they know.”

  Charlie said, “You were superb last night. There is nobody I would rather have watching my back.”

  Not even the day could dim Julio’s pleasure. “You want to tell me who that ghost was?”

  Irma said, “I already asked. The man ain’t talking.”

  “I just wanted to wait until Julio could hear. His name is Benny Calfo. He was my NCO in Iraq.”

  “He was a Ranger?”

  “The best.” Charlie described Hobo Harbor, which pretty much explained everything they needed to know about Benny. “You won’t be seeing much of the guy.”

  “He’s still here?”

  “Up in a cave above the roofline. Benny’s not one for people. Or enclosed places.”

  “How long is he staying?”

  “Long as we need his help, and not one second more.” He asked Irma, “Think you could go take Julio’s place? I need to address the troops and I’d like Julio to hear what I say.”

  “No problem. Though I doubt standing guard will do much good. I couldn’t find a bad guy in this fog unless he fell in my lap.”

  When they entered the house, Charlie found the team bunched around the kitchen table. It was a battered affair, centuries old and scarred by hard use and eons of arguments like the one they were waiting to start with him. Outside the huge window was nothing save a dim, grey void.

  Gabriella demanded, “Will you tell us what happened?”

  “We were attacked,” Charlie replied. “We took them out.”

  Brett said, “I, for one, am not satisfied with that answer.”

  Charlie took his time. Poured himself a cup of old coffee. Poured another for Julio. He leaned against the wall by the fireplace next to the kid. Then he gave it to them. Flat, hard, straight.

  Elizabeth said, “Is this what you normally do, scare your clients into submission?”

  “There is no normal. Every situation is unique. But the answer is no. Most of my clients couldn’t handle the truth.”

  The super-still Brazilian, Jorge, asked, “So that’s what you’re giving us, everything?”

  “You ask, I give.”

  Gabriella wore an old sweater the color of the stone walls and the day. “Where have you been?”

  “Last night Julio and I delivered the attackers to the police. This morning Irma and I went down to meet a possible ally.”

  Elizabeth asked, “Was that smart, drawing attention to ourselves?”

  “It all came out in my last ascent. The officer we spoke with is part of our future. Maybe.”

  “Who were the people that attacked us?”

  “No idea. Pros. At this point, that’s all we need to know.” Charlie sipped coffee he did not want. “We don’t think this was a hit. They didn’t come to take us out.”

  “I’m fairly certain I heard gunfire,” Elizabeth said.

  “You did. But only after they were attacked. Their weapons of choice were supercharged Tasers and batons.”

  Milo said, “Nine men shoot up our front yard in the middle of the night. What would you call it?”

  “They wanted you alive. Ransom, probably.”

  Milo’s eyes could not have been any bigger and remained inside his skull. “This is good news?”

  “It is what it is.”

  “So what now, we pack up and leave again?”

  Gabriella said, “Charlie’s last ascent did not suggest that.”

  Brett scowled. “Oh, so it’s Charlie’s ascent now.”

  This time Gabriella did not bend. “That’s right. Your life is in his hands. Deal with it.”

  Brett started to respond, then noticed that Elizabeth was grinning at him. “You find this humorous?”

  “I find it hilarious.” She asked Charlie, “So what now?”

  “Go back to work. Nothing’s changed. You stop, you let them win.”

  “Can we do that?” Milo asked. “I mean, are we really safe?”

  “This attack has been foiled. We are doing our best to establish a new ally with the local force. For the moment, that’s all I can say for certain. But that is not the only issue here.”

  “Is that so?” Brett snorted. “We were attacked last night, but our security is not the point?”

  “If anything should be clear from last night, it’s that I’m going to keep you safe. That is my job and I’m good at it. Your job is to get on with your work.”

  Gabriella cut off Brett’s response by announcing, “I must go to Milan.”

  Charlie knew she was waiting for an argument. Ready for it. But he didn’t say what he thought, which was, Extremely bad idea. “I suppose you’ve got a really good reason for taking that particular risk.”

  “Of course I have reasons. Do you suppose I’m going on a whim?”

  Charlie adopted his bland monotone, oil on troubled waters. “Just asking.”

  “I am going to work. That is what you told us to do, yes? Fine. I must meet my trial subjects. I have to do this in order to continue my research.”

  The Tibetan woman, Dor Jen, added softly, “It has been far too long since we last collated data. We need to formally track their progress.”

  “This is a vital step,” Elizabeth agreed. “If we want to offer anything to the global scientific community, we have to follow their rules. Danger or not.”

  Charlie studied the faces around the table. Not even their evident fear erased the sense of unified need. Even Brett was in agreement. All of them ready with more arguments.

  Charlie replied, “I’ve got an idea.”

  “Excellent.” Gabriella stood abruptly. “Charlie, I need to speak to you.”

  “Shouldn’t we finish up here first and decide—”

  “I want to speak to you now.”

  When he got out in the hallway, the argument he expected wasn’t there. Instead, Gabriella told him, “I can’t ascend.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Exactly what I said.” Gabriella’s features were stretched to the limit. Lips compressed, veins on her neck as visible as tattoos. “I’m trapped inside my own skin.”

  Charlie led her through the double doors and into a parlor filled with lumpy furniture and the smell of beeswax. “Give me that one more time.”

  Gabriella entwined her hands and wrenched her fingers so hard he heard the knuckles pop. “I thought we needed to know what was going to happen next. You were gone. I asked Brett to help me.”

  Charlie wanted to say, That’s your problem right there. But he didn’t.

  Even so, his face must have shown a trace of what he was thinking, for she said, “Brett was not the reason I couldn’t ascend.”

  “You don’t know that for certain.”

  “Oh really. You’re the expert now?” Her sweater was oversized and slipped down one shoulder, leaving her looking even more vulnerable. “I started to ascend. But there was a barrier. Like a shield that kept me in place.”

  “Has this ever happened before?”

  “Not to me.” Her expression defined desperate. “What if it’s permanent?”

  He gave her hands a solid grip. “Let’s go find out.”

  Gabriella did not want to try again, but Charlie insisted.r />
  Not that it did any good. Five minutes into the ascent—less—she was up and tossing the headphones aside. Charlie watched her make several circuits around the room. He searched for something to say, came up flat.

  When she was calmed down enough to operate, they switched places. The rushing wind filled his head. Charlie felt himself ease into the now-familiar calm. He heard Gabriella say, “I am beginning the count now.”

  Then it happened.

  He understood what she meant. The sensation was unmistakable. He rose up in time to her count. His senses elevated. Then there came the moment of separation, rising from the physical to the other.

  And he was stopped.

  The instant he started to ascend, he struck the barrier. It was like a vise compressed him back into his body. Or a fist.

  He opened his eyes. Took off the headphones. Sat up and swung his feet to the floor.

  Gabriella looked at him. “Not you too.”

  Charlie was filled with a sense of inconsolable loss. Four ascents and he had come to accept this simply as a state of being. A part of him and his life.

  He tried to rub the ache from his chest. Gabriella watched the movement of his hand and whispered, “What are we going to do?”

  Jorge and Milo, the two technicians, together occupied the largest of the top-floor bedrooms. Their office looked exactly as Charlie expected. Dump techies together and they’d cram the space full of wiring and flat-screens and electronic paraphernalia and a language only clan members could comprehend.

  Charlie said, “So you’re in communication with your previous test subjects?”

  Milo said, “We were until the problems started. Initially we had two more chat rooms available to everyone. We could slip in and monitor without them noticing us. Gabriella used the chat rooms to observe who was interested in what we were doing, or wanted to sign up or just talk about the process. But they’ve stayed sealed since we left Vero Beach.”

  Charlie’s inability to ascend had left him extremely disoriented. He was looking for mental handholds, searching for a way ahead. “What about your test subjects—they can still talk to each other?”

  The two techies nodded in tandem. Milo said, “Back when interest started growing, Gabriella had us set up a dedicated chat room that’s only available to those who managed to ascend.”