“I think I can take care of myself.” Her eyes never left his.
He handed her photos of Stanley that she pretended to examine.
“Well this individual hardly appears that lethal,” she said. “By the way, Bernard, Lopez never gave you one of those ‘magical’ medallions did he?”
“Oh, heavens no. He offered me one, but I never put much stock in the mystical side of things. Whatever ambushed us back in the day had a human element. I suspected all along that another sect within the CIA sabotaged us.”
She said nothing.
“Did he give one to you?” he asked.
She bristled in mock offense.
“Doctor Hyde,” she said shaking her head, “You, of all people should understand. I am a scientist.”
*****
Tabatha Wellington sat alone staring out her office window while considering her next move. This operation, her operation, would not deteriorate and fail the way past OIA and CIA programs had. She needed the medallions Stanley no doubt was transporting.
She went to the portrait of Cosimo Medici and removed it from the wall. Behind the painting was a safe installed by her brethren in the Sogno di Guerra. Every possible precaution had been taken to keep her other identity secret. Inside the safe were vital Sogno di Guerra documents, a tiny cell phone, and all identification of her as Dr. Lucia Ponterosso.
Stanley would be met at the airport by Sogno di Guerra members who would secure the medallions for her troops. Over the past several months, Stanley’s normally steady stream of shipments had dwindled to a trickle. Over the past six weeks, they had not received any medallions he had shipped. Their shortage in Rome had forced her to redeploy some of the medallions from the groups in Naples. Such scarcity made them vulnerable and, at this point, vulnerability was inexcusable.
Of course, before Stanley’s plane landed, Bernard Hyde would need to be eliminated. But first, a proactive approach to confound and paralyze the Italian authorities was necessary. Her studies on the regions of the brain had taught her plenty about the motivating forces of fear. Often the truth terrified people more than any fictional story could.
Outside, students enjoyed the unseasonably warm temperatures, unaware that the Sirocco winds would soon help bestow devastation upon Naples. One long-haired youth with an unshaven face showed off his athletic ability with a soccer ball while his girlfriend looked on. She seemed more interested in her cigarette than his antics.
Tabatha grabbed her tiny cell phone and dialed.
The voice on the other end of the line answered with excited greetings.
“Minister Pucci, this is Dr. Ponterosso with the Vesuvius Observatory.”
He responded with his typical condescending sexism. Nearly every man Ponterosso had met in Italy held illusions of getting her into bed. Before she’d killed him, even the damned priest had called her “beautiful”.
She ignored Pucci’s overtures, and wasted no time hammering home her point.
“Minister Pucci, we have evidence to indicate that Vesuvius may be on the brink of eruption.”
The silence on the other end of the phone indicated that thoughts of sleazy hotel encounters had disappeared. Did the imbeciles believe that the volcano, inactive for over sixty-five years, would never be a problem? Or had denial convinced them the catastrophe would occur on someone else’s watch?
“Minister, did you hear me?”
The stunned voice inquired as to how long they had. Hearing the humility and fear in his voice was, to Dr. Ponterosso, one of the things about her service to Luzveyn Dred she most enjoyed. Men viewed her as a sex object, not a teacher, scientist, or leader. Fortunately, in situations like this, they never considered that, when it suited her needs, she was also a liar. Her entire Ponterosso alias was nothing but a lie, a persona invented and put into position by the powers in the Sogno di Guerra. Tabatha Wellington was as much of a volcanologist as she was a nun.
“At this point we are uncertain,” she said. “We think we have about a week. Members of my team are conducting tests to better assess the danger.”
The bureaucrat suggested that at daybreak, in order to avoid a panic, they would quietly begin to transport the hundred and twenty thousand people living in the Red Zone, the immediate vicinity of Vesuvius, to safer areas. He indicated that he would wait to hear her findings before implementing a wider Naples evacuation.
“That is a wise decision, Mr. Pucci. I will contact you when I know more.”
The idiot transmitted mumbled tidings of luck.
“Crepi il lupo,” she replied.
She closed the phone and threw it into the garbage, chuckling at the irony. When wishing someone good luck, Italians said, ‘In bocca al lupo,’ which means ‘In the mouth of the wolf.’ The appropriate reply back was, ‘kill the wolf.’ The entire city of Naples lay helpless in the wolf’s mouth. However, this time, the beast was about to tear it to shreds.
Now, I have an old grudge to settle and a basilica to burn.
- Chapter Thirty Three—
The stewardess’s announcement began, “Signore e’ Signori—”
Stanley could not understand the message that followed, but based on the reaction of many passengers around him, it was not good news. Italians grumbled and spoke to each other, hands gesturing wildly. The man across the isle slammed his head backwards connecting with the seat’s pillowed surface.
“Maddona mia,” was all he said.
The female voice paused before switching to English. “Ladies and gentlemen, we are sorry to inform you that due to incidents beyond our control at Leonardo da Vinci Airport, this flight is being rerouted to Capodichino Airport in Naples. Transportation will be provided to shuttle you back to Rome from Naples. We regret any inconvenience this may have caused.”
Stanley clenched his teeth, closed his eyes, and let the rage stew inside. Beneath it, although he’d never admit it to anyone, he was scared shitless.
- Chapter Thirty Four-
“South of Rome is all I know,” a stewardess with a gravelly voice said to a fellow attendant in a loud whisper.
“How big was it?” a squeaky voice asked. Then, without waiting for an answer, “What was its magnitude?”
“I don’t know, but strong enough to—”
Lopez listened through the closed restroom door. He had defied the “fasten seatbelts” warning while neither of the stewardesses was paying attention, and the plane continued its second hour circling over Rome.
“Were any—” she paused, “killed? On the runway?”
The one with the gravelly voice didn’t answer right away. “I don’t know, but he said there was quite a fire—something the controller at da Vinci termed ‘a disaster.’”
There was a quiet gasp.
“Do you think we’ll get rerouted?”
“He said Air Traffic Control doesn’t want to. They’ve been doing that since—”
An abrupt halt to the conversation and a bustle of activity alerted Lopez to the arrival of a passenger. Even behind the folding plastic door, Lopez could envision the attendants’ disdainful looks.
“Sir, you know you’re not supposed to get up during—”
The passenger must have pointed at the sign indicating the occupied bathroom as evidence that an exception to the rule had already been made.
The flight attendant’s voice contained a hint more embarrassment than surprise. “Well, I suppose…still…”
Lopez opened the door and headed back to his seat as if he knew nothing.
*
*
*
Alfonso couldn’t believe his eyes. Padre Gennaro stood alone by the Trevi Fountain. The famous Roman landmark was an unusual site without the shoulder-to-shoulder tourists throwing coins in the water for good luck. The wind played with the black pant legs of his friend. His arms crossing his chest, he leaned back on the railing as though waiting for someone.
“My friend, it’s good to see you,” Alfonso said. “I thought you we
re dead!”
The priest smiled, tilted his head to the side, and winked. He had always done that rather than poke fun at someone who’d just said something stupid. It was his way of trying to include them on their own joke, despite their verbal blunder. Alfonso remembered Drew Faulkner, Alexis, and Lopez. He recalled speaking to Lopez on the airplane.
I’m dreaming!
Padre Gennaro nodded, but his smile was gone. He beckoned Alfonso to follow and began winding through the streets of Rome. Aware that this was a dream, a lucid dream, Alfonso was not surprised when the streets transformed into the passages of the Vomero, the hillside neighborhood of Naples that overlooked the rest of the city. From the Castel Sant’Elmo, a 14th Century fortress, Alfonso and Padre Gennaro floated down toward the lower area of Naples and hovered above the majestic dome of the Galleria Umberto.
Vesuvius roared. A plume of ash, rising a mile in the air, wafted toward them. The city was in chaos. Abandoned cars clogged roads in every direction. Vespas spurted in irregular bursts through people scurrying like maze-bound rodents. Some pedestrians carried armfuls of belongings; others shoved slow-moving people out of their way to make faster progress.
As the volcano continued to spew earth into the atmosphere, the sky slowly darkened eventually obscuring the sun entirely. Vesuvius’s rim eroded, opening wider as more and more debris was expelled from its core.
The mass of the plume began to outweigh the upward pressure from the volcano, and it began to collapse. A current of scalding gas mixed with molten earth swept from Vesuvius’s peak toward the coast, burying everything in its path. The pyroclastic flow collided with the Bay of Naples, producing a steaming explosion that extended the shoreline several thousand feet.
A deep rumble rippled the ground in an expanding ring through Naples. The earthquake opened jagged cracks in the earth, flipping cars on their sides. People fell into the cracks and were pinned beneath the cars. No one stopped to help anyone else.
Below, the Galleria Umberto’s gorgeous ceiling shattered, raining shreds of spiked glass onto the vacant, marble floor. One of the bronze angels, torn from its base, tipped at a crazy angle and then fell. It crashed headfirst onto the mosaic compass that adorned the center of the piazza, the statue destroying much of the tile. The impact knocked the angel’s head from its body. The remaining bronze figures above the piazza twisted and shook rhythmically on their pedestals, as if determined to hold on.
The quake had shaken free a chunk of earth atop Vesuvius’s northwestern rim. Lush, green trees were destroyed as the earth slid down the side of the erupting mountain. A floodgate of lava followed in methodically destructive, orange and burnt brown streams.
Then the upper third of the volcano exploded outward to the northwest. This flank collapse would be the end of everyone left in Naples. An avalanche of gas, rock, and flame swept over the fleeing masses.
The priest looked at Alfonso with intensity in his eyes. His black robes flowed in slow motion. “Alfonso,” he said.
“Yes, Padre?”
“Alfonso?” The dream of Padre Gennaro faded.
“Alfonso?”
“Alfonso, are you okay?” The voice was Lopez.
They were still on the aircraft bound for Rome. Alfonso rubbed his hands on his face.
“Sorry to wake you,” Lopez said, “but you were looking pretty—well, like you were in a crisis.”
“It’s all right. It seems that as we’ve gotten closer to Vesuvius, or nearer the time of Luzveyn Dred’s planned attack, there is a greater pull to him.”
“I feel it too,” Lopez said. “The flight attendants were just discussing an earthquake that apparently happened south of Rome.”
Alfonso made the sign of a cross. “I hope they get us on the ground before it’s too late.”
- Chapter Thirty Five—
Drew had just twice failed dream training tests.
“How am I supposed to concentrate, knowing the man that killed Nadia is coming?”
“First, Drew, he did not kill Nadia. Luzveyn Dred killed Nadia. Second, focusing during a time of stress is perfect training for dealing with the S.Q.” Kat slammed closed the cabinet containing the pre-link medication. Outside, the sun, while still a commanding presence in the sky, had begun its slow march to its appointment with the horizon.
“Why can’t we do a Keanu Reeves on them? You know, bring a boatload of machine guns in there and blast them to eternity?”
Kat sighed. “Drew, the S.Q. isn’t your dream and it isn’t my dream. It’s controlled by Luzveyn Dred. He makes the rules there. We bend them as much as we can, but guns, watches, night-vision goggles, electrical or mechanical equipment of any kind don’t work. Trust me, Drew. It’s hard enough to materialize metal weapons. That’s why we train. There are more advanced techniques but until you can master this stuff, we can’t even think about teaching you anything else.”
“All right,” he said looking at his watch, “give me one more shot.”
She leaned back against the countertop and crossed her arms across her chest.
“Drew, maybe we should put it aside for today. I could do some work with Alexis, again.”
“Again?”
Already she knew how to push his buttons.
“Yeah, I linked with her a bit this morning. I’m tellin’ ya, Drew, that little girl has skills.”
*****
Drew surveyed the darkened landscape created in Kat’s mind to resemble the Spatium Quartus. Squinting, he scanned for adversaries, centered his energy, and proceeded.
Calls for help drifted across the rocky terrain from beyond a distant ridge. He jogged toward the noise, keeping his guard up. As he had learned, attack in the Spatium Quartus was certain—the only unknown was when.
Figures emerged from the misty darkness. Kat held two huge beasts at bay with a metal rod. They clawed at her. The stench of their sweat polluted the air.
He centered his emotions. As instructed, he wish-requested a sword and one materialized in his hands. He engaged. The blade of his sword clanked off the wrist guard of the closest creature. He regained control of the trembling weapon and brandished it.
Kat grunted. Another foe had joined the fray. Drew retreated toward Kat and the pair took a back-to-back defensive position. Twice he swung to keep them away. He restrained his emotions and focused on his enemy’s body armor. He thought-whisked it away, imagined it disappearing. He lunged and thrust the tip of his sword into its chest. It unleashed an anguished howl and was gone.
Drew spun to help Kat. Two more beasts advanced on them.
Stay connected. Stay connected.
Kat’s instruction rang from the back of his head.
They moved in a clockwise motion. She impaled one with the sharp end of her rod. Before disappearing, one of its claws left a deep gash in her forearm. The battle continued at even numbers. From a distance, a small voice called to him. “Drew, he’s here.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a sad-eyed Alexis. A scar-faced assassin approached her from behind.
“Alexis!”
Concentration broken, Drew’s jugular was sliced with the blade of a sickle. Realizing he’d failed another training session, he wanted to run. He dreaded having to face Kat’s disappointment again.
Stay with it. Stay.
Energy drained as blood spurted from his neck. He continued defending himself as best he could, as his enemy thrust blow after blow. Monotonously warding off each strike, Drew felt a shift. Anger merged with grief, and strength swelled inside. Like a wayward vessel righting course after a storm, his intensifying focus sealed his wound. Inspiration took hold. His movements regained fluidity—every repel fortifying his confidence and resolve. Then, with a mighty heave, he lopped off the beast’s head. It vanished with a gnarled wail.
“Way to go!”
Kat’s cheer distracted him. He turned and smiled at her. His remaining attacker plunged a fist into Drew’s chest and ripped out his still-beating heart. Drew ga
sped. His attacker disappeared – along with his vital organ.
“Wait, Drew” Kat shouted. “Don’t go anywhere. Don’t wake up yet.”
She sent a beam of light into his chest. When he looked down, his wound was healed. He could feel his heart pounding beneath his sternum.
“How’d you do that?”
“This is my dream, Drew. I am the master of all the eye can see.”
As she spoke, the Spatium Quartus disappeared in favor of a miraculously perfect beach. Turquoise water lightly lapped upon a beach that looked like uncooked white rice.
“I’m sorry I fell apart back there,” Drew said.
“Dude, don’t sweat it. You’re making progress. But like in tennis, don’t ‘watch your shot.’ Take approval and success in stride, the same as setbacks.”
“Thanks, Gandhi,” he said.
Her bemused smile flashed only a second.
“Okay, that healing thing I did with the light is an energy manipulation. Crazy things happen in your own dreams all the time. This is different. To control another person’s mind demands the focus of your brain and will. To control elements in the SQ, requires complete focus of your mind, your body, your heart, and your soul.”
“What’s it used for?”
“Well,” Kat replied, as the beach scene morphed back into the unwelcome darkness of the Spatium Quartus, “it’s too difficult to accomplish in the midst of battle, but it can be used to keep a group of attackers at bay. Sometimes we use it to heal wounded torture victims.”
A gray creature appeared not far from them.
“I don’t expect you to create an energy shield,” Kat said. “Try and maintain mine.”
As the creature charged, a wave of light energy emitted toward the beast from Kat’s outstretched hand. It stopped on impact.
“Here, take this,” Kat said moving her arm parallel towards his.
At first, it felt like a warm, mild static shock. Then, as the beast struggled against the energy field, it felt as though an electric-chair execution was taking place on his palm.
Drew sat up on the reclining chair. He looked at an awakening Kat, whose extended chin bobbed in semi-approval.
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