Viper jk-2

by Michael Morley

  He ran in the centre, alongside Brown, the two other GIS men flanking them. Up ahead, in the green foggy mist, he saw something that made them all spontaneously slow to a halt.

  It was a large outbuilding of some sort. An ugly bunker of breeze-block concrete and corrugated iron, overgrown with ivy and lichen.

  Maybe a forestry workers' tool shed.

  Maybe a bolt-hole for a killer. Sal heard them long before he saw them. Heard the squish of their soldier boots as they squelched through spongy turf. Heard the crack of twigs and rub of rocks beneath their heels. Heard their hot breath snorting in the cold night air.

  It wasn't until they were up close, almost breath-on-his-face close, that he saw them.

  Full combat gear – one, two, three of them with rifles, a fourth with a pistol. They were GIS, he could tell, even in the thin moonlight. The rifles were MP5s. Serious fucking business. Twenty-five rounds in a blink of an eye. Not that he intended blinking.

  They buzzed round the forestry outhouse, shaking locks, sweeping their NVDs up and down, arcing their weapons left, right and centre. But for all their technology, they couldn't see him there – right there – right among them.

  Sal lay motionless, his breath so shallow it took him twenty seconds to exhale and another twenty to breathe in again. The Glocks felt warm in his hands. Their sturdy stocks nestled against his palms and itched for action. But he'd got his caution back. There'd be no hasty mistakes. Not with those MP5s around. One of the GIS men – a tall one to the far right – waved a hand. He curled his fingers and beckoned someone over. Sal watched as two men lined up behind each other and two spread wide. They were going to storm the building. The forestry building rudely erected right next to the grave of his first victim. Not Luigi Finelli. His mother. Strangled with a length of chain, long before he'd learned to shoot a gun. Her body dumped in the parkland grave and then burned to cinders. Burned for her sins.

  Sal sould have buried the others next to her, if he'd had the chance. Only they'd moved in with their shovels and their concrete and iron, and they'd built right alongside her. That's what had driven him further into the park. Still, tonight his mother would be getting company.

  Sal moved his index fingers inside the trigger guards. With one movement he could be in position to make two good head shots. But that wouldn't be enough. The sub-machine gun was still unaccounted for. And just one spray of that MP5 would cut him in half. He couldn't risk it. Not yet. Brown let off a burst of gunfire. The rough plank door splintered and its heavy steel padlock fell away. He and two GIS men were through the gap in a split second. Jack hung back. Adrenaline juiced him up and he swallowed hard. A helmet light burst on inside the hut. Even outside, the sudden intensity of white made him look away.

  'Clear!' shouted a voice. The light was snuffed and the men shuffled out.

  The four huddled close. 'Nothing,' said Brown, his voice muffled by the balaclava. 'We checked the floor for trapdoors, floor pits. It's clean.'

  'Then let's regroup and go on,' urged the tall one.

  They waited for Jack's okay. He wasn't sure. Giacomo plainly wasn't here. But given the closeness of the gunfire he couldn't be far away. The fog had lifted a little again and the moon partially reasserted itself. Jack wondered whether to spread the team further apart – maybe thirty metres between each man – and slow the pace to a walking stride.

  Brown took the initiative. 'Let's do the outside of this place once more. You stay centre and we'll make a slow sweep in three circles twenty metres apart. Then we'll move on. Right?'

  Jack nodded and they were on the move before he could reproach himself for not taking command. Sal heard them fan out. Saw the tall one take a starting position barely three metres in front of him and begin his lap. By the time he completed it they would be face to face.

  How long did he have? Twenty seconds? Maybe a minute? Certainly no more.

  He looked up. The fog was clearing. Soon he'd be exposed.

  When the moon hits your eye like a big pizza pie…

  Blam!

  The Glock in his right hand kicked. The GIS man dropped dead in his tracks.

  Sal rolled out of the overgrown stone well. Blam! Blam! He missed. Missed his second target. Fuck! He shifted behind the forestry building and sprinted east. If he was right then the other soldiers were still circling west. They'd have turned at the sound of gunfire, but he still had a head start.

  When the world seems to shine like…

  Jack whirled round. Saw the dark shape dashing into the mist. He levelled the Beretta and fired.

  Missed.

  He tried to sight again but even with the night-vision goggles he couldn't see clearly enough.

  He tore into a sprint and prayed he wouldn't turn an ankle. Behind him the other GIS men broke their pattern. One rushed to his fallen colleague. The other raced after Jack.

  A bullet sliced out of the darkness. A sharp pain erupted in Jack's kneecap. For a moment he thought he'd been hit. Then he realized the slug had hit volcanic rock directly in front of him and he'd been spiked by shards of stone.

  A burst of automatic gunfire erupted behind him. Jack hit the ground.

  Crossfire!

  Christ almighty, he was going to die in crossfire!

  More 9mm pistol fire came from in front of him. Jack rolled on his side. Pain stabbed through his left arm. Nerves twanged and sizzled – a painful reminder of his battle with the Black River Killer. He kept rolling. The pain kept coming, but he didn't stop until he was a good ten metres away.

  He scrambled to his knees, kept his head down and tried to get his bearings. The moon backlit Vesuvius in front of him. The rocky ground opened up for as far as he could see. There was a hint of a path to his left. Shadows changed shapes. On it – he was sure – was Salvatore Giacomo.

  Jack opened fire. Sal the Snake took the bullet in his left wrist. It destroyed the birthday watch that Finelli had given him, sent the Glock spinning out of his hand. He twisted round, fell to his knees, opened fire with his other Glock.

  Two shots missed Jack, by less than a metre.

  He seized the moment. Dashed closer to Sal. Fired off several rounds as he moved.

  Two missed.

  The third hit Sal's hipbone.

  The Camorrista crumpled and his weapon fell.

  'He's down! He's down!' shouted Jack. 'Don't shoot!'

  Giacomo was prostrate. Flat on his back. Staring at the stars.

  Jack could see both hands. Empty.

  The man's face was contorted. Jack levelled the pistol at his head. His eyes locked on the empty hands. He fought the urge to pull the trigger. Blow the murdering bastard's head off. Save the state a lot of time and money. Deal out the kind of justice the victims' families deserved.

  Brown was first on the scene. He flipped the body over and cuffed him.

  Sal felt the soldier's knee in the middle of his spine. Felt blood puddle around his chest and waist. Felt himself blacking out.

  It was a good feeling. A peaceful feeling -

  When you walk in a dream, but you know you're not dreaming, signore.

  108

  ROS Quartiere Generale (Anti-Camorra Unit), Napoli The fog lifted enough for Lorenzo to get the chopper in from San Sebastiano. The GIS man was dead. Giacomo's shot had hit him full in the back of the head.

  Jack had been luckier. He picked rock out of his knee and was pleased it wasn't any worse than if he'd come off his mountain bike on a Tuscan trail.

  They loaded their prisoner first. Then their dead colleague.

  Finally, they helped Jack into the helicopter. Sat him with his back against the wall. Sal was at his feet. Flat out. Alongside the man he'd killed.

  A GIS officer knelt and prepared to patch up Sal's wounds. Blue stuck his face in the middle of the action. 'You motherfucking cunt. I hope you bleed to death before we reach the hospital.' The Camorrista twisted a smile back at him.

  The soldier's hands ripped off his blood-drenched shirt and tro
users. Jabbed a hypo of morphine into the meat of his leg.

  The GIS medic looked over to Jack. 'Three body wounds. Nice shooting, soldier.' Jack looked down. Giacomo had been hit in the stomach as well as the wrist and hip. The gut wound was pumping blood. Too much blood for him to make it.

  He leaned over and took the dying man's head in his hand, turned it towards him. 'Why – why did you kill them all?'

  The Snake's memory disgorged itself. A thousand images flooded out. His childhood. His first fight. His first suit. His first victim.

  'Why?' pushed Jack.

  Sal was slipping away. He could hear the music – 'scusa me, but you see – he could see the men Fredo had asked him to kill – the women Gina had asked him to kill – he could see the fires he'd lit – when you dance down the street, with a cloud at your feet.

  'Perche?' Jack dragged him back. 'Why?'

  Giacomo's eyes rolled. Blood filled his throat. He coughed as he spoke. 'Affari e piacere. Business and pleasure.' That was the only explanation he gave.

  Jack felt Sal's head go heavy. Dead heavy. He was gone.

  He removed his hand and let the killer's skull thump to the metal floor of the helicopter.

  Epilogue

  December 23rd JFK airport, New York City The transatlantic flight ploughed through a field of cropped clouds and dipped in to land at JFK. The carabinieri had pulled strings and got Jack on the early bird from Capodichino. His knee had swollen up during the flight and would need a bag of ice and a truckload of Ibuprofen to bring it down again. But right now he wasn't feeling any pain. He was going home. Nothing else mattered.

  Sylvia and Lorenzo had wanted him to stay for a longer debrief, a press conference and even an end-of-case party. But none of those were quite his thing. Besides, he had more important business to attend to – last minute, very last minute, Christmas shopping.

  Rubber spun on the runway. A crowd at the back of the plane clapped as they touched down. Fresh snow was falling and Jack could all but feel the cool, crisp winter air of his hometown.

  He picked up his messages while he waited at baggage reclaim. A drunken Sylvia thanked him for the thousandth time. Pietro added his best wishes and confided that Pisano was fixing for him to be promoted and assigned full-time to the Anti-Camorra Unit. He'd hear from them both again. He was sure of it. They'd find more bodies, probably at least ten, probably from the period that Valsi was in jail. Sal would have carried on killing during that time, only without Gina's orders he'd have indulged himself differently, possibly even buried his victims elsewhere. Maybe even created another necropolis.

  Finally, there was a message from Howie. He and Annie planned to swing by tomorrow afternoon with a present for Zack. Who the hell was Annie? Then Jack remembered. It was the woman his buddy had saved from muggers in an alleyway – and been stabbed in the ass for his troubles. He was glad to see the big guy's heroics were being repaid in TLC.

  Jack stopped at a sports shop on one of the main shopping drags through the terminal and found the very specific present he wanted for Zack. He picked up perfume for Nancy – Dior's Forever And Ever – followed by a magnum of champagne and a heavy slab of Belgian chocolate for her mother and father. Thank God for airport shopping.

  As he filed through Customs he remembered that this was the airport he'd so famously collapsed in, burned out from overwork and the stress of hunting the Black River Killer. That was all a thing of the past now. Another lifetime ago. He'd bounced back and built a new career for himself. Had a wonderful new home in a new country. And to top it all, it was Christmas.

  Zack flew at him as he came through the doors into Arrivals. 'Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!'

  Within a second he was holding his son. Kissing the soft sweet skin of his face. 'How you doing, buddy? I swear you've grown up even more while I've been away.'

  Zack clung to his neck, arms wrapped around his father like he was never going to let go.

  'Man, you're getting heavy.'

  And then – there was Nancy.

  Even more beautiful than he'd remembered.

  'Hello, sweetheart. Boy, have I missed you.'

  'Me too, honey.' She squeezed herself into the family embrace – what Zack called 'a three hug'.

  She smelled amazing. Fresh. Special. Exciting. Smelled like the love of his life.

  For a minute they just stood there and held each other. A homecoming scene being repeated all around them. Finally they broke for air, laughed and walked to the car.

  'It's nearly Christmas, Daddy. Santa's on his way, Gramps said so. Do you think he'll remember my glove and bat, Daddy? Do you?'

  Jack covertly passed the plastic sports bag to Nancy and lifted his son on to his shoulders. 'Have you been good? If you've been good, then I think it's a dead cert that he'll have remembered.'

  Zack kissed the top of his father's head and sat up tall on his shoulders.

  Innocent days.

  Precious days.

  Jack was determined to make the most of them.

  FB2 document info

  Document ID: fbd-e6d7d2-e49b-3241-cf9a-bad7-b472-96b23f

  Document version: 1

  Document creation date: 03.01.2011

  Created using: Fiction Book Designer software

  Document authors :

  Source URLs :

  About

  This file was generated by Lord KiRon's FB2EPUB converter version 1.1.5.0.

  (This book might contain copyrighted material, author of the converter bears no responsibility for it's usage)

  Этот файл создан при помощи конвертера FB2EPUB версии 1.1.5.0 написанного Lord KiRon.

  (Эта книга может содержать материал который защищен авторским правом, автор конвертера не несет ответственности за его использование)

  http://www.fb2epub.net

  https://code.google.com/p/fb2epub/