Fault Lines

by Thomas Locke

  Irma went on, “Your main job is to let us know the minute they start in. You got the number for Milo’s cutout in Rio?”

  “Right here.”

  “Call us on the hotel phone. Once you report in, hold back until you’re certain everybody is inside, then take up station by the gatehouse.” Irma slipped her backpack around front and unzipped the top. “And for your continued entertainment, we have this little darling. I assume you know how to fire a gun.”

  “Can’t do any worse than I did with the Taser.”

  “Hey, an arm like yours, you miss, just haul back and hammer the guy between the eyes. The gas canister goes in here. Flip this lever once, it’s primed. See the gauge here by the trigger? When it goes red, you change canisters—you’ve got another in the pack. Pistol holds five darts, you’ve got five more in the pack. They all contain Dor Jen’s version of a pharmaceutical nightmare, so be sure not to scratch yourself with one of the tips. Just flip the bolt here, slip in this clip, you’re locked and loaded. This baby doesn’t have a safety.” Irma’s smile held a foretaste of peril. “We couldn’t be certain all the canisters actually still hold charges. We fired two, though, and both were fine. I’d say you’re good to go. The nightscope off one of the rifles is in here, but I doubt you’ll need it. Charlie thinks they’ll be moving soon. You’re clear on your job, right?”

  Julio stared out the window to the empty entrance and the gatehouse. The sky was grey, the wind hard and blowing the damp air back to where he sat, hidden from view. “This waiting, man, I never knew a minute could last all day.”

  “You want to be a cop, first lesson you’ve got to learn is how to wait.”

  “Who said anything about me wanting to join the po-po?”

  “There are worse ways to spend thirty years.”

  “Yeah, like what?”

  “Say, hanging out at the local community center, sweeping floors, waiting for trouble to take you to lunch.”

  “That’s a low blow, dog.”

  Irma chuckled, her voice so easy she might have been sipping a latte in the community center. “Everybody’s idea of a good life is different. My first partner after I made detective used to say his idea of success was, at one hundred and eleven years of age, he gets shot by a jealous husband.”

  Julio did not nod so much as rock in his seat. “I used to think it’d be wiping out on the biggest wave ever surfed. A hundred cameras marking time.”

  He expected her to give the standard adult comeback. How it was such a waste. How he had to focus on the important things in life. Like a job and a salary and wearing a tie. Instead, Irma gave him a pair of breaths, then said, “And now?”

  “I don’t know.” He kept his voice steady by strength of will. “It feels like everything is shifting inside.”

  “Sorry you came?”

  “It’s not that.” His swallow was so tight he was certain she could hear it. He said what had come to him in the middle of the night. “I feel like I’ve been carrying this weight all my life. All this pain and anger. It never goes away.”

  Irma said softly, “Like it makes you who you are.”

  “Like it’s the only thing I can count on.”

  “I guess it’s time for a confession of my own. I’ve wanted to tell you this for years. That first day you walked into the center, I didn’t just happen to start chatting you up. I knew you already.”

  “Where from?”

  “I was there the day you were busted. I’d just made detective. They hadn’t placed me yet. I was assigned to grade some rookie cops up for their first review. They rolled on this disturbance call. And there you were.”

  “Oh, man. I never saw you.”

  “I hung back. But I stayed through the whole deal. Carting you downtown. Printing and photographing and charging, the works. How old were you, fourteen?”

  “Twelve.”

  “Big for your age. What were you doing over in Orlando, anyway?”

  “You know. Chilling with the homies. Looking for trouble.”

  “You sure found it. I’d never been at a bust before where I wasn’t totally involved in the action. Hanging back was weird. I couldn’t take my eyes off you. You were such a handsome kid. Strong. Great eyes, I remember that. And how sad you were.”

  He sat and stared out the empty window at the empty street. The sun had vanished quick as it had arrived. Julio felt the wind drag cold, wet rain across his face.

  Irma said, “You had a major impact on me. When my husband passed, I kept things together by going back to school. Got accredited as a CASA—court-appointed special advocate. Started working with other kids carrying their load of pain. Then I retired. And one day I was hanging around the center, and look who walks in. I mean to tell you, that gave me a serious case of the chills.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Didn’t want to bring up your bad old days. I mean, you were doing good. Staying clean. Working your way up in the surfing world. Hanging out at a safe place.”

  Julio leaned back in his chair. Ready now for a little confession of his own. “You know how it’s felt since I got over here? Like I’ve just managed to escape. Soon as I get back home, I’m one step from the next chase. I run and I run, and I can’t ever escape. All my life I’m just waiting for the time to crash and burn.”

  “That’s what your friends are for, ese. To make sure that doesn’t happen. You should give joining the police some thought.” Irma rose from her chair, gave him a one-armed hug. “I can’t think of anyone I’d like more to have officially watching my back.”

  Julio squinted out the window at the street and the gatehouse there in the distance. He clenched his jaw, clamping down on the sudden terror. When he was certain his voice wouldn’t break, he said, “Tell Charlie I won’t let you down.”

  Irma stopped in the process of opening the door. “Julio, that is the last thing any of us are worried about.”

  48

  The two carloads of Italian thugs left their positions outside the villa and met Reese’s team on the road to Brunate. They were parked in a turnout meant for tourists. Four of the brutes emerged from their cars when Reese’s van pulled in and stopped. Their appearance slowed traffic and dragged the tourists’ attention away from the billion-dollar view.

  Trace said, “What is Italian for low profile?”

  Reese said, “Radio your second team. Tell them to proceed to target.”

  Trace touched his earpiece and relayed the orders. A second van roared past and continued up the hill.

  The men who approached their van might have been dressed in suits. But as far as disguises went, their clothes were about as useful as shoving a bazooka in a shoulder holster. Two men took up station by Trace’s door. A third approached her window. He reeked of menace. He offered her a cell phone and said, “My capo wants a word.”

  She accepted the phone, but before she could speak, another man shoved his way forward. This one was slightly more polished, a typical security chief. But his attitude was just as bad. He snarled, “We go no matter what the Russky says.”

  Reese noted the anger between the two groups with some heat of her own. “You’re not together?”

  The security guy made as to spit at the ground by the other man’s feet. “They work for the Ukrainians, they’re good with the ladies. My capo is boss in Como, not this Russky Prince. You say go, signora, we go.”

  The first thug had a few choice things to say about that, none of which required translating.

  Trace said, “Do you believe this?”

  Reese lifted the phone and said, “Did you catch that little exchange?”

  The Prince sighed. “My sincere apologies. The man addressing you is cousin to the one who killed himself for disappointing me. There are issues. I will clear them up.”

  “When, next week?”

  “No, no, immediately. As soon as we finish, I will call the Como boss. He will speak with this gentleman. Now to the matter at hand. I understand you wish for
this attack to go ahead.”

  “That is correct.”

  “In broad daylight?”

  “If that’s what you call this.” A damp wind blew hard through the van. Overhead, the sky wore a uniform grey. “We have a very tight window of opportunity. The crew in Brunate is blind.”

  “I do not understand.”

  “We intercepted a cell phone conversation between one of the Italian students and his girlfriend. Their ability to view forward has been lost.”

  “You are certain this was not a ruse?”

  “It’s a risk. But a small one. The odds are in our favor.”

  The Prince hesitated, then said, “I will speak with the Como boss.”

  “You have five minutes,” Reese said, her gaze on the two men outside her window. She cut the connection, handed back the phone, and said, “Here’s how it’s going to play out. My group will attack in two teams. You are backup.”

  “Please, signora, I ask that you forget these Ukrainian scum and allow us to—”

  “Either you go with my plan or you get in your cars and drive away. I know my people. You, I don’t know. I need to be certain that we kill the guards and trap everybody else alive.”

  “We can do this, signora.”

  “So far, your record for following orders is not the best. We do it my way. You park where you can see the villa’s gates. Anybody who gets past us, you stop them. I need a phone number. You get my call, you come. Are you with me so far?”

  Neither of them liked it. But further protest was cut off by two cell phones ringing simultaneously. Both thugs stepped away from the car.

  Trace said, “I’m loving this place more by the minute. Great weather, lovely people—”

  “Stop it.”

  Both men put their phones away, glared at one another, then turned toward her. The Como man said, “We follow your orders, signora.”

  “Glad to hear it. When I phone, you move in fast. Anybody you find unconscious, you bundle into this van. When it’s full, use your trunks.”

  “And your other van?”

  “It’s already headed for the top of the ridge. My second team will rappel down and attack from the roof. Now listen carefully. If anybody comes at you, you shoot to wound, you got that? Shoot to wound, not kill. If it’s one of the guards, we’ll take care of him later.”

  “Sì, signora. We understand.”

  “Then get into position.”

  When the men moved back to their cars, Trace said, “Can we go now?”

  “Follow them through the village. I want to make sure they park in the right spot.”

  As Charlie and his team made their preparations, Gabriella could not take her eyes off him. Charlie had a rangy build, balanced stance, and certain rawboned handsomeness. His taut menace was mostly masked by his air of quiet reflection. His gaze was hard and focused and steady, no matter how slanted the world might become. He saw everything and was surprised by nothing.

  Beyond that was the man’s force. He held the latent power of a jaguar. Strong and supple and constantly ready to attack. The potential for violence was there beneath the surface. Not brooding or seething, however. This particular man had nothing to prove, not even to himself. He simply knew with an ancient’s wisdom that he was ready for whatever came.

  She had never seen Charlie in his element before. His core intensity burned so powerfully she thought she might well be scalded by a single touch to his skin. She imagined it was like this before a volcano erupted, the lava fuming far beneath the surface, the raw power ready to surge at any minute.

  They were gathered as Charlie had instructed, in the largest of the top-floor chambers. The techies’ equipment had all been pushed to one side. Pallets were laid out on the floor. A second set of pallets had been laid out in the room where Charlie had slept. Each was covered with a heating pad taken from the villa’s winter cabinet. A fierce wind blew through the open balcony doors. Even so, the room still smelled of camphor and overheated dust.

  Gabriella watched him run through the plan a final time. She realized that here was another reason why he could ascend and move with such ease. Charlie was never more focused than when facing danger. He moved forward when everyone else would think no further than which way to flee. Which was the case right now. The room held a palpable sense of terror that infected everyone but him.

  Charlie must have felt her eyes, for he approached her on cat’s paws. “Everything okay?”

  The urge was so strong, she had no choice but to give in. Gabriella gripped his face with hands one stage removed from claws. And kissed him. She kissed him so hard it bruised her lips. She intended to leave him so thoroughly kissed he would carry it forever, straight through the fire that awaited him.

  She heard a sigh from the team gathered by the balcony doors and knew it came from Brett. But the moment remained unbroken until the phone started ringing. Gabriella released him then, clinging to him with only her eyes as Irma walked to the phone hooked into the computer, pressed a button, and answered with, “Go.”

  Irma listened, then said, “Roger that. Good luck, bro.” She set down the phone. “Julio says the two cars are back, only now they’re with a van. He says a second van identical to the one parked outside our gates went racing by about three minutes ago.”

  Charlie kept his gaze steady on Gabriella as he said, “The Americans have split into two teams.”

  Behind them, Milo exclaimed, “Who is that?”

  Gabriella turned to find a man perched on the balcony railing.

  Charlie said, “His name is Benny Calfo. Benny, meet the team.”

  Eyes of cobalt ice flitted across the room. “Julio got it right. The Americans have a five-man team up top, they’re preparing to rappel down. Another five-man team in the second van. The locals are four and four. Looks like they’ve been ordered to hang back.”

  “Irma, give Julio a quick heads-up on the teams in reserve.”

  “Roger that.” She picked up the phone. “Milo, you want to come dial this thing for me?”

  Benny went on, “The woman you told me to look out for is with the team by the front gates.”

  “Okay. Help move this group into position. Then ready yourself.” Charlie turned to the scientists. “Do exactly what Benny says. This is not a drill. No hesitation. No heroics.”

  Gabriella said with the knowledge of true conviction, “You will keep us safe.”

  “No.” Charlie looked at her. But his focus was elsewhere. “I will end this.”

  49

  What are we waiting for?” Reese demanded.

  “Just hang tight,” Trace replied.

  She could have ordered him to supply a better answer. But she knew that was what he wanted her to do, so he could turn to the man behind the wheel and smirk. Telling his team she didn’t belong.

  Which, of course, was absolutely correct.

  They had expected her to direct ops from the van. But there was no way she was going to sit this one out.

  When she demanded to go in with them, Trace’s team didn’t like the idea. They did not say anything and they didn’t look her way. But she knew. They were a unit so tight she could feel the current surging below the surface. That was why she wanted in, so she could go play with the big dogs.

  The van was parked twenty meters down the hill from the gatehouse. Trace turned in his seat and said, “Go check out the grounds.”

  The man seated in the rear slipped from the van, loped up the street, and scaled the fifteen-foot wall like he was climbing stairs. Just put one foot above the next and disappeared.

  Trace must have heard something because he touched the button on his earpiece and said, “Go. Roger that. Start your scan.” He dropped his hand. “Team two is in place.”

  The scout loped through the villa’s open gates. He stopped by Trace’s window and reported, “Gatehouse is empty.”

  “Walking the perimeter?”

  “Can’t say for certain. Trees block a lot of the terrain. The
re’s a cup of coffee in there, and it’s cold.”

  Trace checked his watch. “Little late for lunch.”

  Reese realized he was waiting for her orders, but he would not turn and ask. Not in a million years. She said, “Let’s do what we came to do.”

  50

  Edoardo sat behind the wheel of an unmarked police car. “This car’s color was wretched before the paint dried.”

  The interior smelled of cigarette ashes, old coffee, stale sweat, and tension. Alessandro’s seat adjuster was broken. A hairline fracture ran down his side window. The car had done three hundred thousand kilometers. Alessandro had spent far too many hours in such cars. The smell alone took him straight back to Naples and the days when he went nowhere without his armed escort.

  Edoardo had the habit of becoming morose whenever he was breaking a major case. The more severe his expression, the closer he was to bagging his prey. Today he looked positively funereal. “Are you sure they’re coming?”

  “I dialed the police headquarters,” Alessandro replied patiently. “I spoke personally with the watch commandant. You should stay awake. You miss the most interesting events.”

  “They’re taking too long.”

  “It’s been twelve minutes. Not even you could cover the distance from Como to Brunate in that amount of time.”

  “You shouldn’t have told them no siren or lights.”

  “Today we are merely acting as backup. We have no evidence to tie the mob to the villa up ahead of us,” Alessandro replied.

  They had covered this same terrain several times already. The fact that he was right only added to Edoardo’s dour state. “We have the testimony of an American military officer and a retired detective.”

  “Please, Edoardo, we have discussed this to death. Charlie Hazard was most explicit. We must allow their teams to enter the villa. If we stop them, they will only return at another time. Our only hope is that Charlie is as good at his job as he appears.”

  “I did not claw my way up through the ranks to play backup.”