Zahra reopened her eyes, turned to Sam. The votive candles danced in her watery pupils. ‘No one knew anything.’
Sam was about to say something. Attempt some words of comfort. But he was interrupted.
There was a sound of creaking hinges. Followed by someone running.
Chapter 38
Rome
Sam froze in his seat as the figure rushed towards them but then, as her features became visible, his shoulders dropped. By the look of her face, lit up now by the candles, she was from East Africa, like Zahra. An immigrant. She wore a red patterned scarf over her hair, an overcoat drawn tightly across her body.
The woman looked at Zahra’s tear-filled eyes with concern, but clearly whatever was on her mind trounced everything. Her voice was breathless as she spoke rapidly in a language Sam couldn’t understand.
The woman’s words brought Zahra abruptly back into the moment.
‘She’s just come from the camp. She says it’s on fire.’
They stepped from the church into the street, the woman leading them round the corner and back on to the road that led to the camp. Sam heard sirens. He looked up the street. The evening gloom pulsed with blue lights, while umbrella pine trees stood silhouetted against the glow of flames.
Zahra looked stunned. The safe haven she’d hoped to return to was now destroyed.
The woman was muttering something. And trying to pull Zahra by the arm. Clearly she thought Zahra was safer with her own, rather than the strange white man.
Zahra screamed. A noise that rose above the din of traffic and sirens. She held an arm up, pointing ahead of them.
It took Sam a moment as his eyes adjusted to the dark foreground. But the heavy-set figure closing on them – perhaps no further than twenty metres away – was unmistakeable. Not least when a car passed and headlights lit up his hooded face.
Sam’s reaction came from the gut. He grabbed Zahra’s arm and yanked her in the opposite direction. Enough adrenaline was coursing through her system to override the shock. She was off like a gunshot, pulling free of his guiding hand. She cut right at the church and then began across a road without pausing as she weaved through cars driving in both directions, their speed mercifully slowed by the street’s cobbled surface. Sam was right on her tail, pausing for one brief moment to avoid a small van that was about to cross his path.
Zahra was already on the opposite side. There was a small area of trees and then a busier road that ran along the raised banks of the Tiber. By the time Sam reached the trees, Zahra was running in a northerly direction along the road. Sam looked back and saw the heavy-set man crossing the road in front of the church, a mobile phone clamped to his ear. Were there others in the city? The taste of bile rose in Sam’s mouth. If there were more men as determined as the one on their tail, then what hope did they have?
As Sam pursued Zahra, the traffic to his left slowed for a red light and he watched her dart across the road towards the river. He snatched at his chance and ran between cars slowing for the lights to the pavement opposite. To his left in the gathering gloom, he could see the dark waters of the Tiber below.
Zahra turned left, crossing a bridge. Sam glanced back and now saw two people on his tail. Just behind the big man was another figure. There was no time to think.
He reached the bridge and cut left after Zahra, his heart pounding in his chest. She was now about half-way across and he thought, for one sickening moment, that she would stop and fling herself into the river below. God knows, she had little enough to live for. But to his relief, she continued on.
A glance behind confirmed that the men were not gaining on him. They were still about thirty metres away, though the other man – a leaner figure – had now caught up with his bulky partner.
Headlights illuminated Zahra ahead as cars moved past them, people leaving work to return to homes and families while they ran for their lives from a pair of assassins.
Suddenly Zahra disappeared. Sam had looked away for a moment and when he glanced ahead again, she was no longer there. She couldn’t have gone far, but the fact that he might have lost her made his body, hot from exertion, chill in an instant.
As he reached the end of the bridge, he realised where she’d gone. To his left was a barely lit stone staircase that led down to the embankment. In the darkness below him, he could hear someone descending the steps. It had to be her. He began down the stairs.
In his haste, he nearly slipped, steadying himself with a hand on the wall to his right. The steps were greasy, ancient stone worn smooth by centuries of footfall, made worse by clusters of wet leaves.
He heard a cry from below. It was Zahra, without doubt. And the sound she’d made spoke of fear and frustration in equal measure.
A moment later, as he reached her at the bottom of the stairs, he knew why. A gate, taller than both of them and topped with razor wire, was closed shut and padlocked. There was no way to get to the embankment.
As Zahra pulled frantically at the gate and let out another anguished cry, Sam looked over the wall to his left and felt a fresh wave of fear course through him. The black Tiber lay below, how far the drop or how deep the water, it was impossible to gauge. But Sam was aware of an audible roar, as well as the agitated reflection of street lights from the road above. The river was moving fast, its surface chewed up by currents.
He heard voices from above.
‘They’re there!’
Sam looked up and saw two dark forms at the top of the stairs. He was sure the voice he’d heard belonged to their pursuer from Amsterdam. The men had slowed and were now descending the stairs at leisure, the larger one in front. They’d heard the sound of Zahra pulling at the gates, her cries. They knew that the two of them were trapped.
Zahra turned. On seeing the two men slowly descending towards them, her reaction was animal-like. She spun round and began pulling at the gates with even greater frustration, screaming out repeatedly. ‘Come on! Come on!’
Sam heard the other man speak out: ‘Be careful, Pat.’ This hint of concern – of humanity – did nothing to calm Sam. The man to the rear might have been protective towards the larger figure, but they were still in grave danger.
As the men continued to descend, Sam realised there was only one option if they were to avoid a violent death at the foot of a dark stairwell. He grabbed Zahra by the shoulders, pulled her round to face him.
‘We have to jump,’ he said quietly, convinced that if the men overheard, they’d speed up.
Zahra shook her head in the darkness.
‘We’ve got no choice,’ he whispered. ‘They’ll be here in seconds.’
He unclasped Zahra and glanced upwards. The bigger man was over halfway down the stairs. What chance did they have against him, let alone the pair of them? He railed against his choices – stand and defend Zahra or take the equally suicidal route and jump into the Tiber.
Zahra’s hand gripped his arm. She was staring at the water, as if assessing her jump. Then she spoke, uttering a word Sam did not understand.
‘Potzarni,’ she said. ‘Potzarni.’
With one swift movement, Zahra placed both hands on the wall to their side and swung herself up on to its lip. She lifted herself to a standing position, paused for a second, and jumped. There was a splash below, and she was gone.
The men reacted instantly, their cruel, leisurely descent transformed into rapid movement as they dropped, two steps at a time, towards Sam.
There was not a moment to lose. Placing his hands on the wall like Zahra had, he used his upper body strength to pull his knees up on to the lip. The bigger man was inches from him as Sam, with no time to stand or consider his leap, launched himself forward into the darkness.
Chapter 39
Rome
Sam hit the river head first. The shock of the icy water shot through him like an electric current as he surfaced for the first time, drawing in great hungry gasps of oxygen. Then another sensation hit him, of velocity. The river was carrying hi
m downstream with speed. His ears were filled with the sound of water raging angrily, as if it were telling him, in no uncertain terms, that he was somewhere he did not belong.
Seconds later he felt as if great hands had grabbed his legs and yanked him under. It was inky black all around him, but quieter, the violent noises of the surface muffled. It was a terrifying vision of nothingness, a glimpse of his death. His lungs began to scream for oxygen, his arms flailed.
Then he was spat to the surface. He saw, for a brief moment, the streetlights that ran along the road above the Tiber. Would this be his last sight of life? He braced himself for another spell underwater, for the moment when he wouldn’t re-surface. His clothes had become sodden and heavy, but at the same time, he was acutely aware of feeling light, like a feather being flung around by strong winds. He sucked in another breath, convinced it would be his last.
And that was when he hit something. A hard, long object that slammed into his side. Almost instantly, the river began to drag him away again. He tried to claw at the object with hands weighed down by water-logged sleeves, grasping but finding only more water. But as he felt himself pulled back into the currents, he also experienced a drag in the opposite direction. Some part of his clothing had caught on something. However flimsy, it was stopping him, perhaps even saving his life.
He was facing upstream, the water like a typhoon around him, itching to spin him round and fling him downstream. He could feel a hard point pushing into his right side above the waist. He let his hand drop to that place and discovered a slim, smooth object stuck in his coat pocket. He reached back and his hand met a larger body of material. It was wood. A branch that had fallen into the river. It was now all that stood between him and a watery grave.
If he could just turn himself around, he’d be able to grab the branch with both hands, cling on to it like a life raft. But he knew that would mean unhitching himself from the piece that had snagged in his pocket and that, surely, was all that stopped him from continuing his one-way journey. He took a deep breath. Waves were slamming into his face, forcing water into his nostrils, flooding his nose, making him choke and cough. It was as if everything were dulling, his sense of touch, the warmth of his body. The lights were slowly dimming. It was now or never.
His right hand began to pull at the pocket to release his coat.
It took seconds, much quicker than he’d expected. And then his body was ejected from the wood and spun violently round. And that was when he reached out with both hands and grabbed at the tree limb. They slipped at first, the wood smooth and glasslike in the icy water, but then he grasped one, then two, truncated branches.
He was now facing downstream, his body pressed against the gnarly timber, points of wood pushing into his chest and stomach. He knew now that another herculean task lay ahead. To find a way from the wood to dry land. He looked to the left. The embankment pathway was about seven feet away. It was like a cruel glimpse of freedom for a prisoner looking out from the barred window of his cell. Tantalisingly close, but Sam then noticed, with a sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach, that the branch, which jutted out at right angles from the bank, didn’t quite reach it. So even if Sam could have negotiated its length, it wouldn’t be far enough.
But then another thought formed in his brain, the idea coagulating with glacial sluggishness as the cold slowed even his ability to think. Something else was keeping the branch in place. He looked upwards. The branch was resting against a concrete pontoon that sat in the river. Above it was a timber construction, a riverside restaurant perhaps, or boat house. Sam craned his neck further up, and that was when he saw a light in a narrow window.
Summoning every last drop of strength in his body, he reached up with his right hand and hit the bottom of the building. His first attempt was feeble, a light rap. He knew he’d have to try harder – and repeatedly – if anyone inside was going to hear. But he also knew he was on borrowed time, the strength dying in his body with every moment he spent in the water.
He reached up again and hit the timber. Again. And again. And then he felt the cold blackness rise up from his toes, and the lights slowly went out.
Chapter 40
Rome
‘What the fuck were you doing in the water, man?’
Sam looked up sluggishly, focusing on the giant above him, a man with cropped blond hair, wearing ripped jeans and an old grey sweat shirt with paint stains and the Harvard University logo on its front.
He was sitting in a chair close to an electric heater, warmth slowly bringing life back to his body while his brain remained numbed. The walls around the cabin were stacked with rowing boats and oars. One boat lay upside-down on a long table in the middle of the room, a paint brush and can of varnish by it. The air was thick with the changing room smell of male sweat, as well as a heady whiff of lacquer.
‘You’re seriously lucky Enzo was here. I always thought the cox was a waste of space but I have to admit he’s just saved your life.’
‘Vaffanculo, Kyle.’
Sam turned slowly to the other man in the cabin. Enzo was a shorter, leaner figure, with a quiff of dark hair. Italian, unlike his American friend.
‘Enzo heard the knocking,’ said Kyle. ‘So we came out. You looked as if you were just about to slip under. This hero,’ he said, pointing to Enzo, ‘inched along the edge of the pontoon and grabbed your collar.’
Enzo dismissed the description of his heroism with a flick of his hand. ‘It was a team effort. I couldn’t lift you out of the water, so I dragged you along the branch till you were nearer the embankment and then we both pulled you from the river and on to the cabin’s deck.’
Sam had barely been conscious at that stage and had a hazy memory of being helped into the cabin. How they’d peeled off his coat, shirt and trousers, dried him and given him a t-shirt, jeans and sweater.
His brain began to thaw. He remembered, with a sensation like a stab wound to his belly, Zahra leaping into the Tiber. ‘Did you see anyone else in the river?’ he asked, panic flooding his system so fast he thought he might be sick. ‘A woman.’
‘You’re saying someone else was in the river?’ asked Kyle. He shot Enzo a look. ‘Call the police, man.’
Enzo reached for a mobile that sat on a shelf nearby and punched in three numbers.
‘Polizia, per favore.’ There was a pause. ‘Una donna e caduta nel fiume, in vicino del Ponte Palatino.’
Enzo placed his hand over the receiver and said: ‘Can you give me a description of the woman?’
Sam described Zahra and the clothes she was wearing. Enzo passed the information on.
‘They’re on the way. They’re gonna want to talk to you too.’
Sam knew he couldn’t hang around to talk to the police.
‘Gotta ask,’ said Kyle. ‘Were you trying to kill yourself?’
‘Madonna, Kyle,’ said Enzo, ‘and you’re majoring in medicine. Unbelievable.’
‘It’s fine,’ said Sam. He was now itching to get out of the cabin. He had to look for Zahra. And then he thought of the two who’d been chasing them. He was certain that they’d still be looking for them. Surely the cabin, with its lights on, was an obvious place to start.
Sam attempted to stand, but felt his knees give way and collapsed back in the seat, frustration coursing through him.
The two men were watching him closely. Sam realised he had to throw them something. ‘Seeing as you saved me, you’ve got a right to ask. The answer’s no. I wasn’t trying to kill myself. It’s complicated.’ Sam was too tired to lie. ‘There were two men chasing me and the woman. People who mean to harm us.’
Kyle screwed up his face in disbelief. ‘You sure about that, man?’ he said. ‘I mean, this is Rome, not Detroit.’
‘I’m sure.’
Out of the corner of his eye, Sam saw Enzo’s eyebrows rise.
Sam’s wet clothes were in a pile at his feet and he began rooting through the pockets of his jacket for his wallet and passport. He found his ph
one first. Its surface was wet, the screen clouded with condensation. He was wary of using the mobile anyway, so it was no great loss.
Looking up from his searching, Sam said: ‘I should get going. I’ve taken up enough of your time. I’ll return the clothes.’
‘You really are crazy, aren’t you?’ said Kyle. ‘You gotta sit tight.’
Just then there was a loud rap on the door. Sam tensed in his seat.
‘Who the fuck is that?’ said Kyle, moving towards the door. ‘You don’t see a soul all winter and now suddenly the Tiber Rowing Club’s like the Trevi fucking Fountain.’
‘Wait,’ said Sam. The fear in his voice halted Kyle in his tracks. ‘If it’s the people who are after me, you cannot tell them I’m here.’
Kyle stared Sam hard in the face, studying him.
‘Sure, man. Whatever.’
Sam was sitting close to a wall that was partially hidden by a row of lockers. But he wasn’t taking any chances. As Kyle moved to the door, Sam pulled himself up with difficulty and pressed back against the wall, as close to the lockers as possible.
The knocking came again. ‘Chill out, man!’ shouted Kyle. He then opened the door.
When Sam heard the voice, his blood chilled all over again.
‘We’re looking for a friend,’ the man at the door said.
It wasn’t the voice of the larger man, but Sam was certain it was his companion – the figure who’d spoken on the steps.
‘He’s had an accident and fallen in the river. We’re very worried about him.’
‘I’m real sorry, man,’ said Kyle. ‘Haven’t seen or heard a thing. Me and Enzo have been inside all evening. We should come out and give you a hand. We got torches.’
Denial (Sam Keddie Thriller Book 2) Page 14