“Go!” Vaughn whispered as a bullet popped open a bag near his shoulder. Meatpacking salt poured onto the floor at his feet, creating a pebbly mountain.
Marianna started to climb and made it to the fourth shelf. She looked down at him, then slipped onto the huge shelf, disappearing from sight.
Vaughn could hear the kidnappers getting closer. He climbed up after Marianna and found her cowering on the wide ledge. He slipped in after her, and they both kept down as flat as they could get. The two kidnappers were still in sight, one inching around the side of the shelves to the right, the other to the left.
“The second they’re out of view, I jump, then you,” Vaughn whispered to Marianna.
She nodded her understanding, the kidnappers disappeared from the corners of his vision, and Vaughn threw himself off the shelf. His feet hit hard, and Marianna jumped into his arms. His heart slamming into his rib cage, Vaughn grabbed her hand and took off for the vans, expecting every second to hear gunfire exploding behind him.
“Dove sono?” he heard one of the men ask.
“Get in!” Vaughn called, releasing Marianna’s hand. He jumped behind the wheel of the nearest van, and Marianna climbed in next to him. The second they were seated, the side mirror was taken off by a bullet. The shots came one right after the other, hitting the grill, the roof, the bumper. Bam! Bam! Bam!
Thank God for bad aim, Vaughn thought. He reached for the ignition and nearly shouted for joy when he felt a key ring in his grasp. As he started the car, shots pelted the windshield.
“Get down!” Vaughn shouted to Marianna.
Vaughn ducked down next to her, slammed the gearshift into reverse, and hit the gas. The van screeched backward and smashed through the wooden doors behind it, eliciting a scream from Marianna. Vaughn spun the wheel and looked up. The alley was barely visible through all the spiderweb cracks in the windshield. He ducked until he could see through a small corner at the bottom left of the glass, put the car in drive, and took off.
The van flew out onto the highway, cutting off three lanes of traffic and leaving a nasty accident in its wake. Vaughn wove his way in and out among moving cars for the second time that day. This time he was being pursued. The second van was on his tail. “Look around for a cell phone or a radio,” Vaughn told Marianna. “Anything.”
Marianna unlatched the glove compartment and it fell open, spilling documents, sunglasses, and a half-eaten bag of potato chips into her lap and onto the floor. Marianna sifted through it all and came up with an old, very large cell phone.
“There’s this,” she said, holding it up.
A bullet hit the back of the van, shattering one of the two windows, and Vaughn cursed under his breath. The light in front of him turned red and he gunned the engine, twisting the wheel to the right. Barely missing a head-on collision, Vaughn cut off a couple of cabs, got off the highway, and sped down Fourteenth Street.
“See if it works,” he told Marianna. He was sweating like a fiend but totally focused. For a moment he thought he had lost the second van, but then he saw it swing around the corner a couple of blocks back, still coming on fast.
“It does,” Marianna said, holding up the phone.
“Dial 310-555-7272 and tell Agent Murphy we’re being pursued eastbound on Fourteenth Street by an unmarked black van. Tell her ours is damaged, theirs isn’t. Got it?” He looked up and saw that traffic ahead was blocked. “Damn. I’m turning up Eighth.”
Marianna punched in the number and was blurting out the message when Chloe picked up. Vaughn cut the wheel left and started up Eighth Avenue, heading for midtown. The last thing he wanted was to hit tourist central with all its innocent people and pedestrian roadblocks, but he didn’t have much of a choice at this point.
He ran a couple of more lights and was clipped by a BMW traveling west. The van was thrown off course momentarily, but Vaughn spun the wheel and got the vehicle under control again. Luckily he seemed to be putting more distance between him and his pursuers.
Then it happened: midtown traffic. Everything was jammed, and Vaughn was forced to hit the brakes.
“What do we do?” Marianna asked desperately.
Vaughn stared in the rearview mirror. The other van was inching ever closer, stopping and starting as it lurched from lane to lane, trying to get to them. Any second Vaughn expected to see the kidnappers jump out of the van and come after them on foot. It would be a stupid move in such a packed neighborhood, but at this point he was thinking that La Rappresaglia’s bloodlust heavily outweighed their logic.
“They’re gaining on us!” Marianna said with a whimper. “Michael! We need to run!”
Vaughn was about to agree with her. There didn’t appear to be any other option. Maybe they could get lost in the never-ending crowds on Broadway.
“Okay,” he said. “On the count of three, get out and we’ll make a left. Got it?”
“I . . . I don’t know if I can—”
And then Vaughn heard the sweetest sound he’d ever heard. Sirens. He glanced in the mirror again and saw two patrol cars descend upon the other van. The cops jumped out and trained their weapons on the vehicle. Seconds later, two more cars hemmed Vaughn’s van in, their lights flashing.
Thank you, Chloe, Vaughn thought.
“Raise your hands!” he told Marianna as the officers pointed their guns at the van.
A tear rolled down Marianna’s cheek as she put her trembling hands in the air. Vaughn did the same and nodded his reassurance to her.
“Everything’s going to be fine now,” he said, watching in the mirror as the police officers flattened the kidnappers against the side of their van.
Soon the cops were pulling Vaughn and Marianna out of their vehicle. Chloe was there in seconds, and everything was explained. The moment the police officers stepped away from them, Marianna fell into Michael’s arms, sobbing against his chest.
Uncertain as to what the Farm would say was proper protocol, he put an arm around her as she cried.
“I thought I was going to die,” she said into his dirty, smelly shirt. “If you hadn’t been there . . .”
She looked up at him, her eyes wide and thankful, and suddenly, protocol was out the window. He felt like a hero. An honest, actual, modern-day hero. He reached up and wiped a tear from her cheek.
“You’re safe now,” he said, looking into her eyes, his heart pounding. “I’m not going to let anyone hurt you.”
9
VAUGHN STOOD IN HIS hotel bathroom, hands braced on either side of the marble sink as he leaned in toward the foggy mirror to check out his bruise. The kidnapper’s punch had left a lovely red welt along the side of his eye, but fortunately it didn’t look like it was going to darken to purple. If there was one thing Vaughn hated, it was showing up to work looking like he’d had his butt handed to him.
He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, straightening up. It felt good to be clean again, free of Barry’s smelly disguise. He slipped into a freshly pressed shirt, savoring the feel of the cool fabric against his skin.
I wonder how Marianna’s doing, Vaughn thought, guessing that she too had hit the shower the second she’d returned. Now she was sequestered in the presidential suite with her parents, deciding what to do next.
For his part, Vaughn was due upstairs at the temporary HQ to go over the new information with his CIA colleagues. A team had taken custody of the kidnappers. Chloe was prepping a report on their identities and their records while other agents interrogated them about La Rappresaglia’s plans. What Vaughn really wanted to know was whether Dominic had been apprehended.
There was a quick rap on his door, and as Vaughn stepped out of the bathroom, Chloe entered. She had her serious game face on—lips pursed, eyes steady.
“What’s up?” Vaughn asked, tucking in his shirt. He reached for the tie draped over a hook on the bathroom door.
“Three of the men they brought in are on the president’s payroll, and one is the brother of one of the suspects,”
Chloe said, tapping her fingers on the top of one of Vaughn’s bedside tables. “Toscana confirmed it himself.”
“I knew it,” Vaughn said, shaking his head. “Marianna and I were taken way too easily. Whoever did it had to have total access to her and her family.”
“Yep. And they’ve already copped to being members of La Rappresaglia.”
“That’s great,” Vaughn said, working on his tie.
“Except for the fact that they say the assassin is still at large and they’re refusing to give us any more information,” Chloe told him. She pressed her hand against her forehead and sighed. “The president and his family are freaking out. They can’t believe so many of the people they trusted are involved in this.”
“What about Dominic?” Vaughn asked, yanking on his suit jacket.
“They just brought him in,” Chloe said.
Vaughn’s heart thumped. Dominic was here? “Why didn’t you say so in the first place?” He headed for the door, already planning out his questions and demands. There was something about Dominic that made Vaughn salivate to knock him down a few pegs.
Chloe grabbed his arm, stopping him in his tracks. The strength of her grip momentarily surprised him. It was easy for Vaughn to forget that his fresh-faced colleague had gone through the same training he had—and that she’d excelled at some of the physical tasks it had taken Vaughn a touch longer to master. “Vaughn, are you sure you want to be the one to interrogate him?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?” Vaughn asked, his brow knitting.
“I don’t know. This just seems kind of . . . personal to you now,” she replied, clearly not liking the fact that she had to say it. “The way Marianna was clinging to you in the street earlier—”
“She was just scared,” Vaughn said, cutting her off. Much to his chagrin, he felt an embarrassed flush rising up his neck. “I’m not biased, Chloe. I just want to see what this guy has to say for himself.” It was a lie, but a tiny white one. Even if he was slightly anti-Dominic, that didn’t mean he couldn’t do his job.
“Okay,” Chloe said with a shrug. “But you should know that while the others have admitted guilt, Dominic’s denying any involvement with La Rappresaglia.”
“There’s a shocker,” Vaughn said.
Chloe scolded him for his sarcasm with one scathing look. “Let’s go.”
The guards outside the door to HQ scanned their IDs as always. Then Vaughn opened the door and let Chloe pass through. Together they approached the suite’s bedroom, which had been cleared of its bed and dresser and turned into an interrogation room.
“Agent Vaughn would like to speak to the suspect,” Chloe told the guard standing watch.
He nodded, pulled out a key that was attached to his belt by a thick wire, and unlocked the door. Vaughn looked into Chloe’s unsure eyes and smiled.
“I’ll be fine.”
“Take this,” Chloe said. She grabbed a file from next to her computer and handed it to him. “It has information on the other detainees. You might be able to use it.”
“Thanks.” Vaughn entered the room and found Dominic, wrists locked together and chained to his tethered ankles by thick links, sitting at a table in the center of the room. The moment he saw Vaughn, his face hardened and he turned away.
“So, they tell me that you’re saying you’re innocent,” Vaughn began, crossing the room. He tossed the file onto the table and stood across from Dominic, his arms folded over his chest.
“That is right,” Dominic said.
“Then what were you doing trying to buy weapons in Brooklyn this morning?”
“I am a security agent for the family of my president,” Dominic said. He clenched his hands together between his knees. “Part of my job is to buy weapons to better do my duty.”
Vaughn scoffed. “And as an agent of your government, you can’t get these weapons through proper channels?”
Dominic rolled his eyes up toward Vaughn. “I don’t deny it was not a smart move, but these men had items we cannot yet purchase in Italy. They were offering a good deal.”
“So you expect me to believe that you were trying to purchase those guns in order to protect the first family,” Vaughn said flatly.
“I don’t expect you to believe anything,” Dominic spat out. “I do not answer to you.”
The tension between the two men heightened, and Vaughn stared Dominic in the eye, refusing to be the first to look away. The longer they stayed like that, however, the sillier Vaughn felt—like he was having a schoolyard standoff.
“Who was the woman at the pizzeria?” he asked finally, still not breaking his gaze.
“I have no idea,” Dominic said, looking away again.
“She let you go?” Vaughn asked.
“Yes. When she chased you,” Dominic said. He smiled slyly. “Thank you for that.”
Vaughn pressed his lips together, then rested his knuckles on the table and leaned in to them. “You are aware that we have your partners in custody.”
Dominic looked at him then, the color leaving his face. Vaughn struggled to keep from smiling at this stunned reaction. “My partners?” Dominic asked.
Vaughn opened the file and removed the pictures that had been taken of the suspects when they were brought in. He tossed each one onto the table, facing Dominic, as he said their names.
“Carlo Prizzi . . . Tomas Viana . . . Gianni Rinascente . . .”
Dominic slowly faced the table, gazing down at the photographs of the sneering, defiant men. He reached up with both hands and wiped his mouth dry. His fingers, Vaughn noticed, were trembling.
“These men have already admitted their roles in La Rappresaglia,” Vaughn told him. “How long do you think it will be before they finger you?”
“Th-these men have . . . admitted . . . ?” Dominic stammered, his brow furrowing deeply. “These men?”
“They’re guilty,” Vaughn said, staring at Dominic. “And so are you.”
Dominic slapped his hands down on the first photo and pushed them all away from him. He glared up at Vaughn, his eyes suddenly moistening. “I have nothing more to say.”
“You’re going to be taken back to Italy,” Vaughn told him, gathering the pictures again. “They’ll deal with you on your own soil. Can you imagine the kind of welcome your people will give to a traitor like you?”
Dominic turned his back on Vaughn, this time for good. Vaughn glared at his hunched back, frustration mounting within him. This was not going well.
“If I were you, I’d think about talking,” Vaughn told him. “We can’t help you unless you cooperate.”
His comment was met with stony silence. Vaughn sighed, put the file back together, and exited the room, slamming the door closed behind him. So much for the satisfaction of seeing Dominic’s face fall when he realized the game was over. The guy wasn’t giving an inch.
“No luck, huh?” Chloe asked, standing up from her computer. Vaughn knew she had watched everything on her monitor thanks to cameras positioned in the corners of the interrogation room.
“He’s guilty,” Vaughn said, handing the file back to her. “Did you see his reaction when he saw the faces of the men we’d brought in?”
Chloe tilted her head and bit her lip, knocking the fold of the file against her palm. “I don’t know, Vaughn. We got IDs on those weapons dealers he was meeting with—the men anyway. They’re very small time. You’d think La Rappresaglia would have better contacts than them.”
“I think that makes total sense,” Vaughn countered. “Why would they want to draw attention to themselves while they were here by meeting with more well-known dealers? They probably wanted to keep it small.”
Chloe shrugged a shoulder and sat down again. Vaughn slumped into the chair across from hers. He rubbed his brow, thinking through the bizarre events of the day. There was something missing in all this. Some clue. Some key that was right in front of him. He could sense it.
“What about the woman at the pizzeria?” Vaughn asked, leaning
forward.
“She’s not one of ours. The camera never got a clear shot of her, but CIA maintains no other officers were on site. Our Italian counterparts confirmed that she doesn’t work for Italy, either.” Chloe glanced up from her computer screen long enough to shoot Vaughn a foreboding glance. “She must work for some foreign government or militia.”
Vaughn blinked, taking in this news. “That doesn’t make any sense. She seemed like she was sent there to stop Dominic—to stop La Rappresaglia. Who else would send her to do that?”
Before either of them could venture a guess, the door behind Vaughn opened and President Toscana entered the room, flanked by his bodyguards. Chloe and Vaughn both stood. The president’s face was a mask of anxiety as he crossed over to Vaughn. In all the newsreels and publicity stills Vaughn had seen of this man over the years, he’d never seen him appear quite so agitated.
“Agent Vaughn, I wanted to thank you personally for saving my daughter’s life,” Toscana said, extending his hand.
Overwhelmed, Vaughn reached out and clasped the president’s hand. His heart suddenly overflowed with pride. “Just doing my job, sir,” he said with a tight smile.
“I still cannot believe the extent of this conspiracy,” the president said, shaking his head. “So many of my trusted men . . . . We’re conducting interviews of the rest of our personnel, subjecting them to lie-detector tests. It is awful for them—for us—but what else can I do?”
“I’m sorry it had to happen this way, but at least we found out before they did any real harm,” Vaughn said.
“Yes, well, I understand they claim that the threat still exists,” the president said, his green eyes serious. “I hope that you will continue your post and keep watch over Marianna.”
“Of course I will,” Vaughn said, swallowing back even more pride. The president of Italy was asking him personally to take care of his only child. This didn’t happen every day.
“Well, I will let you get back to work,” Toscana said, nodding to Vaughn, then Chloe. “And thank you both again.”
Close Quarters Page 7