The Italian Mission

by Alan Champorcher

  He shrugged off the Lama and rolled over. It seemed that the bullets were coming from both directions — a gunfight was raging over his head. Had Eyepatch come to their rescue? Whoever was up on the road had some serious hardware. As he watched, the attackers below retreated back down into the brush at the bottom of the ravine. A whooshing sound cut through the air above him as a projectile shot forward out of a small cloud of smoke. Memories of Afghanistan flooded his brain and the corners of his lips twitched upward. Before the smile could form, a grenade ploughed into the trees where the Torrentinos had hidden and exploded, throwing up dirt, leaves, and pieces of clothing.

  As he struggled to process this, Jill came sliding down the hill on her backside. “Are you alive? Are you two O.K.?”

  “Yes to the first question. As to the second, not particularly. Someone has been holding my face against a power sander.”

  “God! What a mess” She reached into her pocket, pulled out a packet of Kleenex and began dabbing at the blood beading up through his scraped face.”

  “You, on the other hand, look great. Never saw a more welcome sight.”

  “Flatterer.” She pried her eyes from his face and looked over at the Panchen Lama, lying curled up beside them. “How’s he doing?”

  “Groggy. Still concussed from the crash. He’s slowly coming around, I think. We need to get him to a doctor.”

  “There’ll be one at our office in Palermo. Should be there in about an hour.” She yelled up the hill. “Lad! Let’s get these guys into the car.”

  The CIA agent scrambled down the hill, picked up the Panchen Lama with one arm, and took two long steps up to the road.

  “Jesus!” Conti watched, eyes wide. “When did we start hiring weightlifters?”

  “Not a weightlifter, a linebacker.” Jill helped Conti to his feet, and together they made their way up to the road, where Lad was stowing the Panchen Lama in the back seat of the car. Random shots came from the direction of the roadblock.

  “Who’s still shooting?” Jill asked.

  “Long story,” Conti answered. “The Fortunato and the Torrentino crime families have been feuding for a hundred years. Our presence provided them an opportunity to have a go at each other again. Remind me to send a few cases of Proseco to the Fortunatos.”

  Pio, who was sitting the driver’s seat listening to their conversation, offered, “They’d rather have Nero d’Avola. Good strong Sicilian wine, not that sissy bubbly stuff.”

  Conti nodded. “Whatever they want. Let’s get the hell out of here.”

  They all piled into the car with exception of Lad, who rummaged in the trunk, putting weapons and ammo into a backpack. He slammed the lid down and said, “O.K., got what I need. You guys take off.”

  “What?” Jill asked. “I’m not leaving you here. Too dangerous. Those hoods are still firing at each other.”

  Lad grinned. “Yeah! That’s why I’m staying. I never get any action. I’ll cover your rear in case the bad guys get through the … well, the other bad guys. Sounds like they’ve got enough ordnance to blow us all sky high.”

  “He’s right,” Pio said. “If someone is paying the local mafia to get you, popping a couple of their soldiers won’t stop them. Failure is bad for their reputation.”

  Jill thought for a moment, then looked at Conti, who nodded. “O.K., she said. “But be careful. Don’t get involved unless you absolutely have to.”

  “Aye, aye, sir!” Lad saluted, smirking. “No involvement unless absolutely necessary.”

  “Christ! Like talking to a brick wall. Alright, let’s go.”

  Pio hit the gas and the Alfa fishtailed down the gravel road away from the roadblock, circling back toward Palermo.

  Jill let the acceleration push her back in the seat and blew out a slow stream of air between pursed lips. She glanced at Conti, who had leaned against the headrest and closed his eyes. Before she had a chance to inhale, the mobile in her pocket vibrated. She dug it out and answered. Not bothering to identify himself, Mobley spoke. “You got him? Them?”

  “Yeah. How’d you know?”

  “Call it intuition. And good satellite imagery.”

  “On our way to Palermo. Should be there within the hour.” The car hit a pothole and she almost bounced out of the seat and onto the floor. “At this speed, make it forty-five minutes.”

  “Good. I’ve alerted the Italian police. And a platoon of Navy Seals is on the way to help you. No one will mess with them. I’ve talked with the Chinese Ambassador again, and they’re on board. They’ve promised to take good care of the Lama if we hand him over. He’ll be free to go back to Tibet as long as he makes a public statement calling for an end to the violence. You can tell him that.”

  “Great. I’ll tell them both.” Jill nodded at Conti, sitting in front of her, who was listening to the conversation.

  “Take good care of that young man,” Mobley went on. “He’s going to get me my Coca-Cola plant in Beijing and get that bastard Senator from Georgia off my back. Look, I’ve got to go into a Joint Intel Committee meeting right now. Work with the Chinese, got it?”

  “Yes, I’ve got it. Anything else?” Jill listened for ten seconds before realizing that Mobley had rung off. She pocketed the phone.

  “Not the politest guy,” she said to Conti. “But I don’t suppose he has time for it.”

  “What was that about a Coke plant?” he asked.

  “A joke … mostly. He’s been trying to persuade the Chinese to let Coca-Cola build a bottling plant there for years. Something he promised at his confirmation hearing.

  “And?”

  “And he told me once he was going it make part of this deal — in return for giving this one back,” she pointed her thumb at the dozing Panchen Lama.

  “I hope it’s a joke,” Conti replied, turning away from Jill to hide the grimace that had spread across his swollen face.

  “Fuck! Not again!” Pio cried as the car barreled around a sharp curve and went into a four-wheel slide just in time to avoid crashing into a panel truck parked sideways across the middle of the road.

  44.

  Before the car had come fully to rest, Pio threw the transmission into reverse. Spinning the wheels, he backed up fifty yards around the curve before stopping.

  “Is that the Seals?” Conti asked.

  “Doesn’t look like it,” Pio responded. “No markings.”

  “I’d better go see who it is,” Jill said, opening the door. “We can’t go back the other way.”

  Conti put his hand on her shoulder. “Let Pio go first. He sounds like a local.”

  “I am a local.” Pio reached under the seat and pulled out a sawed off shotgun. “Now I look like one too. Wish me luck.”

  They watched him affect a nonchalant stroll toward the parked truck. “Damn!” Jill fiddled with the buttons on her shirt. Just when I thought we were home free. Who do you think they are?”

  “I didn’t get a good look, but if we rule out the South African mercenaries, or anyone they hired in Sicily — like the Torrentinos back there — that pretty much leaves the Chinese, doesn’t it?”

  “Well, if it is the Chinese, we’re supposed to be working together now. Hopefully, someone’s told them.”

  After a couple of minutes, Pio came striding back to the car. He leaned in the open window. “Chinese. They acted friendly — except, of course, for the fact that they’re blocking the road. A woman in civilian clothes named Cho Lin seems to be in charge. With three, stone-faced military guys carrying bullpup automatics. They want to talk to whoever is in charge. What’ll I tell them?”

  Jill opened her door, but stayed seated and took a deep breath. “Cho Lin. The Chinese agent we met in Florence. I’ll go talk to her.” She swung her legs out of the back seat.

  “Not without me,” Conti said. “Got any other weapons, Pio?”

  “This,” he held up the shotgun, “and the grenade launcher.”

  “That might seem a wee bit aggressive,” Conti frown
ed. “Nothing smaller?”

  Pio reached down, pulled up his right pant leg, and produced a .45 caliber Glock. “You can take this, but it won’t be much good against assault rifles.”

  Conti took the pistol, examined it briefly and stuck it in his belt. “That’ll be fine. It’s more for effect, anyway.” He got out of the car and came around the other side to join Jill. “Let’s go. Pio can stay here and keep an eye on the Lama.”

  Together they walked toward the truck and came face to face with the Chinese. Cho Lin, who looked to be in her forties, wore a sweatshirt bearing the legend ‘Stanford ‘92’. Small in stature, she had an air of authority. She offered her hand to Jill. “Good to see you again. I’m afraid I didn’t have the chance to introduce myself formally back in Florence. Agent Cho Lin, Intelligence Directorate, Ministry of State Security. Forgive my outfit, but I was on vacation in Italy when I got the call.”

  Jill introduced herself and Conti. “We would appreciate it if you would move your vehicle out of the roadway. As you know, we have an important passenger that we must get to Palermo. You are welcome to follow us there -- where we will hand over the young man.”

  “Thank you for your consideration,” Cho Lin responded. “But we have an alternative proposal that we hope you will be able to accommodate.”

  “Yes?” Jill asked.

  “We have an aircraft waiting at a nearby private field. Given the increasing urgency of the situation in Tibet, it is imperative that the Lama be returned to China immediately. We also have a doctor there who can administer medical treatment. So, if you will give him to us now, I will take full responsibility for his further transport.”

  Jill glanced at Conti who shook his head back and forth almost imperceptibly. “As I said, my orders are to hand the Lama over to you at our offices in Palermo. I understood from my superiors that your people had agreed on that course of action.”

  Cho Lin tried to smile again, but the result was a failure. “Yes, that was the former plan, but things are deteriorating quickly in Tibet. Perhaps you haven’t heard, but the rebels blew up a military barracks in southern China a few hours ago, causing many casualties. Our troops are entering Lhasa in force as we speak — confronted by thousands of Tibetans in the streets. If something isn’t done very quickly, many will die. The Tibetans cannot hope to survive a battle with the People’s Liberation Army.”

  Jill was silent for a few moments. “I’ll have to speak with my superiors and confer with my colleague. Would you give me a moment?” Without waiting for an answer she turned and walked back ten yards, took out her mobile, and dialed Mobley’s number. No answer. “Damn,” she said to Conti, who had joined her. “I forgot. He’s in a Congressional Committee meeting. Those things last hours, and he can’t be disturbed.”

  “Anyone else you can ask?” Conti said.

  “Not really. Mobley was playing this very close to the vest. I think I’m the only one he’s taken completely into his confidence.”

  “I guess it’s up to you to make a decision then.”

  “Right. What would you do?”

  “I would insist on following the plan as agreed,” Conti responded. “I don’t trust them.”

  Jill’s phone vibrated. “Message from my office: ‘widespread gunfire in the streets of Lhasa. Civilian casualties reported. Unrest increasing.’ I think Cho’s right. There will be a bloodbath if we don’t do something. I’m going to hand him over. Mobley told me there was a deal in place to protect him. He also told me to cooperate with the Chinese. You agree?”

  “No. But it’s your decision.”

  “Thanks for your support.”

  Conti shrugged.

  “O.K.,” Jill said. “Go back and get the Lama. I’ll tell Cho they can have him.”

  Conti turned and walked back around the curve toward the car. As he approached, he was surprised to find Pio standing guard over a Chinese soldier. He held a rifle in one hand and his sawed off shotgun in the other.

  “What’s going on?” Conti asked.

  This cazzo was hiding in the bushes with this. He held up a sophisticated sniper rifle, equipped with a suppressor. Must have circled around through the woods. Luckily, our boy was lying down in the back seat so he couldn’t get a clear shot. He was crawling up behind the car when I found him.”

  “Really?” Conti asked. “Then there’s more going on than Agent Cho let on.”

  “What should we do with him?” Pio asked.

  “Keep an eye on him. I’ll go back and talk with Jill. Gimme the car keys.”

  Pio retrieved the keys and tossed them to Conti, who got in the car, started the motor and drove around the turn toward the roadblock. As the car approached Jill and Cho, he slowed down momentarily, then goosed the throttle, heading straight for the rear of the truck. The Alfa’s wide tires smoked as they dug into the gravel, finally finding enough traction to pick up speed. The right front fender rammed into the truck wheel, exploding the tire and pushing the back of the truck far enough around to allow the Alfa to squeeze through. Minus a quarter panel, Conti sped down the road as automatic weapons fire faded into the background.

  45.

  As he sped away, Conti placed the mobile Jill had given him on the dash and waited for her call. It didn’t take long. The phone jumped around as it vibrated. He picked it up with his right hand as he negotiated a tight turn with his left, almost skidding into a ditch. Dropping the phone, he righted the car with both hands, then reached down to pick it up again, all the while flogging the Alfa along at far too high a speed. “Who is it?”

  “Who the hell do you think it is?” Jill answered. “The woman you almost ran over when you left her stranded with three angry, heavily armed Chinese.”

  “I didn’t almost run you over. There was plenty of room. And don’t worry about the Chinese. They need you more than you need them.” Conti put the phone on speaker, downshifted and threw the car into a four-wheel drift around a downhill bend, before shouting above the whine of the hard-pressed engine.

  “Well, what the hell do you think you’re doing?” Jill shouted.

  “When I got back to the car, Pio had nabbed one of the Chinese soldiers — found him hiding in the bushes with a sniper’s rifle. I think he was planning to nail the Lama.”

  “You don’t know that for sure.”

  “No, but it certainly looked that way. You said yourself the military are gunning down demonstrators in Lhasa. Whoever ordered that isn’t interested in compromise with the Tibetans. The hard-liners have wanted to eliminate the independence movement for years. Getting rid of the Panchen Lama is part of it. No indigenous leaders left standing once the Dalai Lama dies.”

  “What about what Mobley said? That he had a deal.”

  “They’d lie to Mobley in a heartbeat.”

  “John, you can’t ignore the CIA Director, not to mention me.” Her tone altered from hurt to harsh and commanding. “Turn that car around and come back here now! Hang on, Cho Lin is coming over to tell me something.”

  The car swerved and Conti had to slow down. The steering must have been damaged when he hit the Chinese truck. He’d glanced over his shoulder. The Panchen Lama still seemed to be in a semi-conscious state, moaning softly as he slumped in the back seat.

  Jill came back on.

  “O.K., she says she has orders to take the Lama by force if necessary. They’ve got the wheel changed and they’re coming after you unless you bring him back.”

  “Sorry, can’t do that.” Conti hit the “end” button with more force than necessary.

  “What can’t you do?” A weak voice from the back seat.

  “You’re awake? Good. I can’t give you to the Chinese just now.”

  “Where are we?”

  Conti started to answer but a loud thump came from the right front wheel well and something began scraping on the road surface. “Shit!” He slowed the car to a crawl.

  “What do you remember of the last few hours?” Conti asked.

  “No
t much. Guns and explosions going off. What happened?”

  “Remember a plane crash?”

  “I remember getting in a plane. I don’t remember a crash. Where is Li Huang?”

  Conti chewed on his lower lip for a moment. “There was a bad crash. Not everyone survived.” He glanced back at the Lama. He’d gone white and he was panting heavily.

  “Li Huang?”

  “I’m sorry.”

  The Lama sobbed quietly, holding his head in his hands. “She was all I cared about in the world.”

  Conti said nothing, letting this sink in. It was the Lama who first spoke again. “Where are we going now?”

  “Not sure. We need to get off this road. The Chinese are chasing us — and maybe the Italian thugs too. A lot of people would like to see you dead.”

  The Lama took this calmly. “I don’t care. It would be better.”

  “No it wouldn’t.” Conti pounded his fist on the dash. “Your people, the Tibetans, are demanding freedom in the streets of Lhasa right now. Chinese soldiers are shooting at them. They hope you’ll come back and lead them. Don’t give up. Li Huang was a friend of Tibet, wasn’t she?”

  “Yes.”

  “Would she want you to disappear when your people need you most? Look, this isn’t just about you. People — fathers, mothers, sons, daughters — are fighting for independence. You owe it to them to stay alive.”

  The Alfa wouldn’t go any farther. Steam belched from the radiator and the right front tire was flat. Conti drove as far off the road as he could and parked behind a line of cypress trees.

  “We’re going to have to walk. Can’t stay here. The Chinese will be coming along soon.” Conti got out of the car, opened the back door, and gave the Lama a hand getting out. He leaned the young man, still unsteady on his feet, against the side of the car while he walked back and opened the trunk.