Storm Surge: A Fast Paced International Adventure Thriller (Storm Thriller Series Book 3)

by Steven Becker

  “You’ll do better by heading to the central station. The Colosseum is a massive logjam,” TJ said.

  Mako relayed TJ’s advice to John, who quickly switched directions. Once they were underway TJ’s logic became apparent. Like salmon fighting their way upstream, the two men moved against the flow of traffic toward the terminal. Fighting through the crowds moving toward the Colosseum and Forum hindered their ability to flee, but for now it provided them cover.

  Staying close to the storefronts in case they needed to duck into one for cover, Mako and John dodged café tables as they moved up the slight incline toward the station. With each block, the area became less touristy and quieter. There was still a steady stream of traffic heading toward the tourist attractions, but with no stores or cafes to stop it, it moved like a river, stopping only for red lights.

  The change was marginally reassuring for the Storms. The quieter streets would make it easier for them to be spotted, but at least they could maneuver.

  “Got them coming up the street. All three together,” TJ’s voice came over the phone, surprising them.

  Mako had put the phone on speaker and stuck it in his pocket. “Roger,” Mako responded. He could just make out the roar of the engines. It sounded like the bikes were only a few blocks away. “Make a run for it?”

  “Think you can keep up?”

  They took off toward a line of buses blocking the entrance to the terminal. Mako’s long legs made it easy work to keep up with his surprisingly fit father. He thought about challenging him, to see what the old man still had, but it was the bullets he needed to outrun, not dear old dad. One struck a streetlamp just beyond them. The two men didn’t need TJ, who was coaching them from Key Largo, to tell them to pick up the pace. They cut between two buses and found themselves staring at a line of cabs where the avenue dead ended.

  The bikes paused, then accelerated again. Chancing a look back, Mako saw them blast through a gap between the buses. They jumped the sidewalk, and skidded to a stop at the entrance to the station. Mako and John were barely through the doors before the engines died.

  “Escalator dead ahead. Take it up to the trains.”

  “We want the metro.” Mako pulled the phone from his pocket so TJ could hear over the noise of the crowded terminal.

  “You want out, so listen!” TJ said.

  There was no one better at this. A master gamer who, until Alicia had straightened him out, spent more time online than running his business. This was like a video game to him. And he rarely lost.

  “Okay,” Mako said, heading for the escalator.

  TJ was working at a disadvantage, looking at the scene through the two-dimensional cameras. Upon entering the station, the three gunmen had instinctively looked up. They’d removed their helmets and Mako confirmed it was two men and a woman. In some kind of twisted way, he was glad the woman had blond hair and didn’t have green eyes. The escalator was packed, but at two abreast it was easy to see who was on it.

  There was nowhere to go as they waited for the escalator to ascend. The gunmen were heading up now too, but it was only the woman and one of the men. “Is there another way up? They’ve split,” Mako spoke to TJ.

  Finally, the escalator dropped them at the second floor. A glance behind showed the woman pushing up the escalator in an attempt to reach them. John took the lead and headed toward the back of the station. With their pursuers still waiting to disembark, the gap opened. John steered Mako around a fat column, then through a large passageway with a string of shops.

  “Stairs are just past the stores,” TJ said.

  Near the last store stood the third man with his pistol held low, but clearly visible, in front of him. The Storms skidded to a stop, sensing the other two pursuers moving behind them.

  11

  The Colosseum, Rome

  “This was a bad idea,” Mako spoke into the speaker to let TJ and Alicia know they were in trouble, then put the phone back into his pocket.

  John turned to evaluate the threat from behind while Mako looked ahead for an escape. A busy coffee bar with a cluster of people gathered around the pickup area caught his attention. From his travels, Mako knew that individual countries had distinguishing traits. In Italy, orderly lines were nonexistent. Thinking he could take advantage of the confusion around the counter, he moved in that direction.

  “What the hell are you doing?” John asked.

  “Just watch.” The disorder around the counter allowed him to push straight into the mix. Obscured by the crowd, he turned to John. “They’re not terrorists. They won’t shoot with all these people here.” When the gunmen had removed their helmets, Mako had noticed they looked just like the locals.

  “You would hope not. What now?”

  It wasn’t only the presence of innocents that prevented the pursuers from shooting. There was a strong military presence throughout the public areas of Rome. Armed with submachine guns, they wouldn’t hesitate to shoot. That effectively neutralized both parties’ weapons.

  “The Carabinieri over there will give us our out. Keep an eye on our friends.”

  Mako slid sideways between several people. This was no Starbucks. There were no handwritten names on the cups set on the counter or numbered receipts for the customers to claim their coffee. It was a total free-for-all. When a barista approached with two cups, Mako shoved forward, moving an older couple to the side, and with his long arms reached over them to grab the cups. The man turned back to Mako with a disapproving look, but Mako countered with a shrug, hoping his apparent ineptitude for the local customs would get him a pass. He couldn’t afford for the man to make a scene.

  Cups in hand, Mako pushed his way out of the crowd and approached the soldiers. Clutching their coffees, the backpack slung over Mako’s shoulder, and John carrying the duffle bag, he hoped they looked like unassuming tourists.

  “English?” Mako asked. “We’re lost.”

  The soldiers smiled. “Where are you going?”

  “The metro to Vatican City?”

  One of the soldiers pointed back toward the escalator. “The bottom floor.” He said it with a smirk, probably wondering how anyone would lack the common sense to look for an underground train on the upper level of the station.

  “Thanks,” Mako said, and started walking away. Once out of earshot of the soldiers he turned to John. “We should be good until we’re out of sight.” He noticed the soldiers watching the wayward Americans. He also saw their pursuers follow, careful to keep enough distance to not appear threatening.

  “Well done. That bought us some time.”

  There was no time to revel in his father’s rare compliment. The escalator was nearing the ground floor. “We need to get out of here.”

  John looked at the herd moving out of the station and down the Via Corvo. “When in Rome … “

  With their pursuit so close, the tourists who had initially hindered them were now their best chance to evade their pursuers. Stepping off the escalator, Mako risked a glance back. All three were there, but about halfway down. “Let’s go.” He tossed his coffee cup in a nearby trash can and bolted through the exit doors.

  Deciding to avoid the Via Cavour, Mako and John headed into the backstreets of the Monti district and Esquiline Hill. Making their way through the neighborhood, the drop in background noise allowed Alicia’s voice to come through. Mako ignored it at first, but she was persistent. They were moving as fast as they felt they could without attracting attention. Settling into a lope, a half-run of sorts, Mako pulled the phone from his pocket.

  “We’re here,” he panted.

  “We see you. TJ’s plotting from the phone’s location.”

  “Any ideas?”

  “It’s up to you to lose them, but I wanted to let you know, I ran a facial recognition search from the surveillance cameras we tapped into in the train station and got a hit.”

  It wasn’t relevant to their current situation, but Mako knew he wasn’t going to stop her.

  �
�Carlota Burga.”

  The name meant nothing to Mako, but it did to John, who reached for the phone.

  “What the hell is she doing coming after us?”

  “I’m working on that. Check in once you get somewhere safe.” She disconnected.

  Mako looked at John.

  “She’s Mafia. Runs their art division.”

  Typical CIA, Mako thought. Thinking of the Mafia like a corporation.

  The conversation was muffled by the roar of a motorcycle. Turning back, Mako noticed the bike was yellow and had two riders. It blazed by without incident, but reminded them how easily they could be found. Just a block ahead a cast-iron gate stood open; beyond it was the entrance to what appeared to be a park. “We can cut through there.”

  “It’s as good an option as we’ve got,” John said.

  The steep incline slowed their pace, but they caught a break when a light turned red. Dancing through the oncoming traffic, Mako glanced behind them. It appeared they had temporarily lost their pursuers.

  “We can cross the hill and come out by the Domus Aurea. Across the street is the metro station.” John said, leading the way onto a grassy area. Though it was a green space, there were still roads running through the park. The hill was once the site of Nero’s palace, covered over long ago to erase his name from history. It was originally filled to create public baths, then when those decayed, was turned into the current hill to create the modern-day park. It was surprising to see how much of Rome’s history could be seen by cutting a cross-section through the terrain.

  They reached the top, allowing them a nice view of the surrounding area, but neither stopped to enjoy it, although they were able to orient themselves with the Colosseum and the metro station. Taking a path in the direction of the ancient stadium, itself built over the site of an ancient lake, they found a set of concrete stairs that took them past the entrance to the Domus Aurea, then down to street level. Once through another open gate, they were back in the press of tourists, buses, and hawkers.

  Late morning marked the start of prime tourist time and the streets reflected the influx of people. Gridlocked with both traffic and people making their way to the Colosseum, the Forum, and Palatine Hill, the Storms’ progress was stymied.

  They had just started to cross the street to enter the safety of the metro station when two motorcycles converged on them. One stopped directly in the entrance, effectively blocking their way. The driver wasn’t showing a weapon, but the threat was implied. The other bike appeared behind them, blocking their other avenue of escape. There was only one direction open to them and in this case safety was in numbers. Blending in with a tour group, they ran across the street to the Colosseum.

  Groups of tourists, all following their guides, who hoisted flags and other symbols for their followers to locate them, moved towards the entrances. John and Mako stayed with the group they had crossed the street with, picking up a few words of German along the way. Standing toward the center of the group, they waited while the guide passed out tickets. Someone toward the back would likely not get one, as the woman handed a pair to John and Mako.

  The group moved forward, slowing as the line passed through the recently installed metal detectors. Armed, neither Storm could afford the scrutiny of an alarm and the sure reaction of the military standing by. There was no choice but to ditch their weapons in a nearby trash can. Unfortunately, the next group they saw was Burga and the two men.

  “Shit,” John said.

  The odd number of their pursuers had allowed one man to remain behind by the gate. Burga and the other man followed the group inside. Mako and John both searched for a way out. They had stepped out of line, but a move to leave through the entrance would attract the attention of the waiting man. They were still upstream of the metal detectors when they saw a gate open and a small UTV carrying trash drove through, pulling onto the sidewalk. Sprinting across the walkway, they reached the gate, making it inside before it slammed shut and the electronic lock engaged.

  They were on the first level now, and despite the tension of the chase, neither man could take their eyes away from the venerable ruin. The sound of running feet on the old pavement pulled them back to the present and, looking toward the source, Mako saw they had been spotted.

  Pushing their way through tour groups, the Storms sought an exit. An alcove with a set of stairs appeared ahead. John tore down the curved corridor hoping the oval shape of the Colosseum would conceal them. With Mako on his heels, he yanked his son into the alcove and up several steps, only to find a set of steel bars blocking their path. It wasn’t a way out, but at least they weren’t visible. Making a move back to the main corridor would put them in plain view of their pursuers.

  “Against the wall.”

  With their bodies deep in the shadows, they waited, hoping Burga and the man would miss them. It worked, at least for a moment. John stepped out, seeing the backs of their pursuers moving away from him. But turning the other way to make an escape, he found himself staring down the barrel of a pistol.

  “Back in there,” the man said. He withdrew his cell phone to call his partners back.

  There was no time to question how the man had evaded the security protocols and entered the Colosseum. Mako knew they had to act now, while the odds were in their favor. If they waited until the assailants reversed course and reached them, the tables would flip.

  Straight across from the alcove was one of the regularly spaced openings to the arena floor. Between the half-dozen steps they had climbed, and Mako’s own height, he could see the labyrinth of cells and corridors that at one time had been hidden below the sand-covered wooden floor. If they could get there, they could probably escape, but the man with the gun stood in their way.

  Turning back, he caught a look from John. It wasn’t much, not even a wink, just the tick of his eye. If it wasn’t his father standing across from him, he would have missed it. The gunman’s attention was focused on the elder Storm, allowing Mako to respond. He knew what his father wanted, and strolled out into the corridor as if there were no threat at his back.

  Immediately, without evaluating her, he reached for the first woman he saw, hoping the gunman would resist the urge to injure a woman. Even if he chose to, there would be a split-second that he would think about it—that was all they needed. The man turned toward him, and before Mako knew what the outcome was going to be, he saw John wind up and slam his rigid hand into the man’s neck.

  Both men took off at a run without waiting for the man to crumple to the ground. Not knowing where Burga and her accomplice were, they took the next stairway down a level and entered the space Mako had seen from above. Two millenniums removed from its purpose, there was still a morbid feel to it. Thousands of men and beasts had been led down this corridor to one of only two possible outcomes: fame or death.

  Mako felt a tug on his arm and turned to John. To the side was a triangular-shaped opening at the base of a stone wall. A small stream of water ran across the bottom. It wasn’t going to be pretty, but they had found their way out. He followed John into what he guessed was the old sewer.

  The chamber was high enough they could walk if they stooped, though Mako, six inches taller, was more exaggerated than John’s. As they walked deeper into the tunnel, the air chilled. Despite the gloominess of their surroundings they felt safe. Their only problem now was finding the exit. One memory in particular stood out from last night—there had been a gate at the end of the tunnel. Mako realized they could very well be facing the same obstacle at the end of the drain.

  12

  Old Rome

  Once they were well into the passage, John stopped and turned back to Mako. “Call Alicia and see if she can get us out of here.”

  Mako glanced back into the dark passageway. Their footsteps echoing off the stone surfaces of the triangular space were the only sound they heard. That didn’t mean they were alone. The acoustics of the pipe would make it difficult to hear any pursuit. An intersection was
just ahead. Knowing they could easily get lost, they needed help.

  “Alicia?” Mako whispered.

  “Here, but where the hell are you guys?”

  “Can you get a sewer layout?”

  “It looks like you’re by the Arch of Constantine.”

  “You’d never know it from here. We’re actually in some ancient sewer system.” Thankfully it wasn’t active.

  “Hold on. I trust I’ll get the story once I get you out of there.”

  Mako tuned her out, and stuck his head into the tunnel running perpendicular to the one they were in. It all looked the same. They would need her help. The line was quiet for a few minutes.

  “Take a right there. It should bring you out in a park.”

  A hundred yards later they could see daylight and, after what he guessed was a quarter mile, a pinpoint of light appeared. As they approached they saw it was an old gate. The exit was indeed locked.

  John fished around in his pocket.

  Mako reached for his wallet and extracted a black card from which he removed several embossed lockpick tools. “I got this,” Mako said, pushing past John, he easily handled the old mechanism. They stepped out into a low pool of water.

  “Where are we?”

  “By the Circus Maximus. There’s a metro station there.”

  Mako could see the grassy outline of the old chariot track.

  Vatican City

  After traveling a half-dozen miles, Mako stepped off the metro, climbed the stairs and found himself in a neighborhood resembling the one where the safe house had been. The only indication of their location was the wall to his left delineating the border of Vatican City. John appeared behind him, and led the way to a small four-story walkup.

  Mako was surprised about the apparent lack of tradecraft his father displayed. It was almost as if he knew it was safe. Maybe it was age creeping up on the old man; it was hard to tell. He had seemed fine earlier. As he studied the street a security camera caught his eye and he wondered if John Storm had someone like Alicia watching over him—or maybe it was her.