by K. J. Howe
Numb inside, Thea strained to see if Johann was moving after the fall. Too many people were in her way.
She sensed movement on the stairs below her. Brown and Johansson had arrived to lend a hand. Ocean was awake but subdued, clearly in pain from the blow to her windpipe. Thea handed the canister to Brown. “Let’s get this cleaned up.”
Sprinting down the steps with rubbery legs, she pushed through the crowd, heading to the area where Johann and Leopold had landed. Hope warred with the facts: the drop had to be almost two hundred feet, and the hard floor beneath her boots was unforgiving. She threaded past one group rushing out, then another, trying to reach Johann.
She found Leopold first. The Freedom Guardian lay facedown, his head twisted at a horrific angle, face smashed beyond recognition. She didn’t have to turn him over to know he was gone.
A few feet away was the teenager’s body.
At first glance, Johann almost looked unharmed, as if he were napping on the floor. But blood leaked from his ears, pooling on the marble, and one arm was bent under his body at an unnatural angle.
She leaned close, hoping she might feel a breath. Not a whisper. She wanted to shake him, wake him up, but nothing and no one ever would. Johann had been so brave, defying his own father and finally sacrificing his life to save others.
Why didn’t he stay at the hotel?
But she understood. He’d felt responsible for losing the canisters. But it hadn’t been his fault. It had been his father’s. Rage filled her. All the planning, all the hatred, and now the leader of the Freedom Guardians had failed, in the process losing his son, the last of his family. What a fool.
A voice sounded in her earpiece. “Johann, talk to me. Are you okay?” Soft, feminine, concerned. Fatima. “I’m coming there now.”
Neil appeared beside Thea, his face mirroring her horror. “Go,” he said.
Her body drained of all energy, she nonetheless staggered to her feet. The masses swelled toward the door, some having witnessed the horror of the fall, others realizing something was amiss, but the bulk of the crowd simply following the imam’s suggestion.
“Fatima, where are you?”
Thea stayed close to the wall and hurried toward the exit. She had to intercept the teenager. There were some things young people should not see. Johann had witnessed too much and been haunted by images of the terrorist’s horrific death.
“Almost at the Hagia Sophia. What happened—did they release the plague?” Fatima’s voice sounded small and afraid.
Thea hurried forward. “No, the team secured the canisters.” The words coming out of her mouth were heavy, thick. “Meet you at the entrance.”
“Thank goodness. I’m here now. Where’s Johann?”
Thea stepped into the sunlight, the brilliant rays a stark contrast to the sadness inside her. Shielding her eyes from the glare with one hand, she found Fatima standing to the left of the entrance, her hands clasped together near her heart.
Fatima’s face lit up for a moment when she first saw Thea, but then dread clouded her face at the sight of the blood on Thea’s clothes, her expression.
“No . . .” Fatima said.
“He was a hero.” The words barely made it out of her mouth. Her arms circled around the shaking girl.
“No, no, no.” Fatima pounded her fists against Thea’s chest, tears running down her face. The boy she loved was gone.
Thea held Fatima while she sobbed. Johann had died for the sins of his father, in a pattern that was all too familiar to Thea. She thought of Nikos and Christos, of families forged in love that still self-destructed, destroyed by forces that, after millennia of existence, humans just couldn’t defeat.
Now another man had died too young.
She closed her eyes and held Fatima tight.
Chapter 102
The call from Prospero setting up the exchange came in immediately after the events at the Hagia Sophia. Thea thought the timing was nothing short of uncanny.
The Quantum team flew to Italy to scout the location before dawn. Prospero had chosen the thirteenth-century Scaliger Castle at Lake Garda for the hostage exchange, a medieval stronghold strategically positioned at the tip of a long, skinny peninsula jutting north into the waters of the lake.
The castle was a stunning example of medieval fortification, with thrusting crenelated towers jutting out above the water and a high wall around the connected port to dissuade water-borne attackers. Scanning the grounds through binoculars, Jean-Luc said the structure looked like a predatory stone frog squatting on the spit of land. It did look forbidding: strategically positioned at the tip of the peninsula, the castle was surrounded by a moat, accessible only via two drawbridges. Today it housed a small museum showcasing the history of the region and was surrounded by brightly painted buildings. Prospero clearly wanted to be on his home turf so he could have the upper hand, though Thea was surprised he hadn’t chosen a location in the south, closer to his home base.
Still reeling from the nightmare in Istanbul, Thea struggled with the pivot to Italy, which wasn’t like her at all. But Johann Dietrich’s death had affected her personally, in ways she hadn’t expected. The irony of hearing from Prospero before she heard from Christos was not lost on her, and she said as much to Rif during the trip from Istanbul.
Rif’s voice in her earpiece jolted Thea back to the present. “Two boats approaching from one o’clock.”
She lifted her binoculars and focused the lenses northward, the rising sun lighting the waters with an orange hue. Sure enough, two vessels came into view—a racing sloop with a deep hull and a medium-sized ferry.
Thea had called Gabrielle while en route to Lake Garda. The Hostage Recovery Fusion Cell agent had discovered that the nuclear cores were earmarked for the CIA in a backdoor deal Prospero had negotiated, so she’d given Thea the green light to hand over the capsules. It didn’t feel right to hand nukes to a mobster, but the choice wasn’t hers. Prospero Salvatore’s machinations never ceased to amaze her. He had his fingers in many pies and always seemed to profit without incurring so much as a parking ticket.
That said, Prospero had proven himself a formidable enemy, both in the past and recently. It would be unwise to underestimate him, even though this exchange seemed cut-and-dried. She studied the incoming vessels through her binoculars. Arriving by water gave Prospero the opportunity to abort if the situation became compromised.
She squinted, trying to spot the boys on the deck of the ferry, but the boats were still too far away to discern any details. Neil and Stewart were in a Nor-Tech racer moored up the shore of Lake Garda, where they would remain unless it became necessary to give chase. No point unsettling Prospero when they were so close to securing the hostages.
Thea stood at the northern end of the castle’s battlements. Rif was on the southern wall, staring through his binoculars at the shimmering waters, the Grand Hotel Terme perched directly behind him.
“A mile out.” Rif’s deep voice on the comms was a comfort to her, especially given all the turmoil of the past few days.
Nine hostages, including Ayan and Jabari, should be on board, given that Ocean now sat in a Turkish jail and Mike Dillman was dead. The woman hadn’t been willing, or able, to reveal much about the Freedom Guardians. She had been so consumed with notions of revenge for the loss of her family’s honor that she had jumped at the chance to be a part of the genocide, myopic in her fury instead of pursuing her flourishing career in science.
Thea’s shoulders tensed as she waited for a view of Ayan and Jabari. She felt bad about Dillman—according to Ocean, he had taken good care of the boys, as promised.
Her phone buzzed. Prospero.
“Ready, bella donna?” he asked.
“The passengers are to be freed first.” Worth a try.
Prospero laughed. “Should I just turn the boats around now?”
“I want everyone on deck where I can see them. Nonnegotiable.”
Silence.
She waited.
“You can see the boys.”
“All the hostages.”
“I’ll call you back.”
Rif’s voice buzzed in her earpiece again. “Half a mile out.”
She stared through the binoculars. The two boats knifed through the water toward the castle, the smaller, faster one manned by a driver and lone passenger, both armed. The larger vessel had an upper deck, but from what she could tell, only one figure was visible up top—Prospero’s man, carrying a rifle.
In preparation for the exchange, the Quantum team had discussed every potential scenario. They’d considered having divers positioned in the water, but the logistics were challenging on such short notice, and they didn’t want to spook Prospero by rising out of Lake Garda like aquatic avengers. In negotiations, response consultants had to live by their word, be straightforward and honest; any hint of betrayal or tricks and the hostages could suffer—or die.
The racing boat slowed, lagging behind the ferry. Jean-Luc joined her on the parapet, passenger manifest and pen in hand, his M5 in a shoulder harness. Thea’s phone vibrated.
Prospero now stood on the ferry’s deck, in the shadows of the overhanging roof. “I’ll show you the hostages; then my men pick up the nuclear material. After the racing boat leaves, we’ll unload the passengers.”
The muscles in her neck tightened. The situation was far from ideal, but she had to trust he’d abide by his word. With Ocean gone, he had no real investment in the other passengers.
The ferry slowed to an idle less than a hundred yards away, Luciano shepherding the passengers onto the deck. She pressed the mute button on her phone, raised the binoculars, and worked from left to right. “Laverdeen, Rivers, Matthias . . .” she called out to Jean-Luc, as he ticked each one off the list. She had seen the boys right away—they had climbed onto a deck chair and were waving their arms like lunatics. She waved back.
She finished calling out the names of the visible passengers. From her count, it had been only eight. “Jean-Luc?”
“Karlsson is missing.”
She pressed the mute button again so she could speak to Prospero.
“I need to see Karlsson.”
“Not possible.”
“What do you mean?”
“We had a couple of unavoidable incidents. One proved fatal for Karlsson.”
That made it two hostages killed: Karlsson, the mentally fragile former MI6 agent, and Dillman. The Texan had been one of the good guys, a real loss. She forced herself to stay calm. The team’s responsibility now was to make sure the eight remaining hostages made it back safely.
But she wanted Prospero to pay.
“You there?” His voice cut through her thoughts.
“Bring the racing boat to the southern pier. My teammates will give the cores to your men while we unload the ferry passengers.”
“That’s not what I agreed to.”
“You’re two hostages short—Ocean told me what happened to Dillman. I’m fresh out of goodwill.” Her voice was polite but firm. Speaking softly often had more impact than yelling.
No answer. Seconds ticked by.
“The boys are the last to leave, after my men confirm the cargo is loaded.”
She set her phone to mute. “Rif?”
“I’ll make it work.”
She pressed the button to reconnect with Prospero. “Agreed. Pull both boats up now.”
The ferry lurched forward, turning slightly so the port side faced the castle wall. Prospero was on deck, the guard standing beside him, AK-47 in hand. As the ferry closed the distance, she could see how determined he was, how he wanted this exchange to work as much as she did.
But something isn’t right.
She scanned the clear waters of Lake Garda. A high-pitched sound in the distance suggested more boats approaching. Who would be out this early besides more of Prospero’s men?
She spoke to her team over the radio. “Incoming?”
Neil and Stewart chimed in from their location up the shore. “Checking it out now.” Before the exchange, the Quantum team had combed the coast looking for anything unusual, but there were a million places to hide a boat along the lake’s shoreline.
Movement in the water near the outer wall of the port drew her attention. Bubbles. What the heck? A dark form in scuba gear broke the surface.
“Diver at three o’clock.” She grabbed her M4 and headed for the dock with Jean-Luc behind her.
The ferry was only a few meters away from the castle walls when the scuba diver tossed a small object in their direction. It landed on a rocky outcrop near her position. She immediately identified the small metal object.
“Grenade!” She ran toward the metal sphere and kicked it with her boot back toward the lake.
The grenade spiraled off the rocks back into the water near the diver. Seconds passed. An underwater explosion shuddered beneath the surface, then rippled through the lake and burst into the air. Seconds later, the diver’s limp body surfaced.
Thea sprinted down the dock to where the ferry floated, within arm’s reach now. By the look on his face, Prospero was every bit as surprised by the attack as she was.
The throaty sound of high-powered boat engines became louder.
“Three incoming units, armed,” Neil’s voice warned in her earpiece.
She turned and called out to Jean-Luc. “With me—on board.”
With a running start, she lunged onto the ferry, Jean-Luc right behind her. Their priority was protecting the hostages.
“Were you expecting company?” she asked Prospero.
“Absolutely not.”
“Everyone back inside.” Thea marshaled the passengers into the enclosed cabin while Jean-Luc headed for the upper deck.
“I knew you’d come for us.” Jabari smiled.
“You bet, buddy. But we’re not home free yet. Take Ayan inside and hide under the bulkhead.”
“We can help fight,” Ayan said.
“Not this time. Go on.”
The boys hurried through the doors to join the other hostages.
She leaned close to Prospero. “Keep them safe. I’ll be on the upper deck.”
Prospero directed his man to follow Thea’s orders, then headed inside, pausing before ducking in behind the passengers to look back at her. “Buona fortuna, Liberata.”
“Grazie mille, Prospero. Now get inside.”
Chapter 103
Gunfire erupted as two of the incoming Glasstreams headed for Rif’s position on the southern parapet. The angler’s platform on the bow of a vessel traditionally used as a fishing boat made an ideal shooting stand. And the boats had serious firepower, each sporting a .50 cal machine gun. Prospero’s men aboard the racing boat hurried to secure the two nuclear cores to the rear bench seat while chaos exploded around them.
“Take cover,” Rif told Johansson and Brown, who stood next to him. “The nuclear material is our priority.”
The two men ducked behind the ramparts, waiting for the opportunity to fire on the attackers.
Prospero’s two men were below them so they could load the cores; with their boat moored to the dock, they were sitting ducks. The passenger tossed off the line, and the driver scrambled to fire up the engines, but the Glasstreams cut off the angle of escape. Dozens of the antiaircraft rounds ripped into the Italians and their fiberglass-hulled boat, shredding both with deadly efficiency.
Rif peered out from behind the slits in the merlons along the wall. The boats were within range now. “Let ’em rip!”
The Quantum team opened fire on the Glasstreams with their machine pistols. The 9mm slugs sprayed the two boats, tearing up the hulls and shattering the windshields. A few rounds went wide and sprayed into the water, but at least one hit the machine gunner on the first vessel. He collapsed, and another crew member hurried to take his place.
Rif, Johansson, and Brown ducked low behind the ramparts again, shielding themselves from the incoming fire smashing into the ancient stonework around them
. The men on the vessels blasted away, not caring about damage to the castle. The Glasstreams cruised past the shoreline and then turned back out into the lake, giving the three Quantum members a brief reprieve.
Rif shoved a new magazine into his M4, Brown and Johansson following suit. He glanced down at the racing boat still moored to the dock below. Blood pooled inside, both bodies riddled with bullets. The nuclear cores sat intact on the rear bench, untouched by the gunfire.
“Ready for round two?” Rif inhaled a deep breath.
The Glasstreams turned in a tight arc, throwing up a wall of water, then powered straight back toward them.
Chapter 104
Thea scrambled up the metal stairs of the ferry. The wind was gusting, brisk. She crawled along the upper deck to join Jean-Luc and Prospero’s guard at the aft edge, the vantage point offering them an unobstructed view of the Glasstream on their trail.
The ferry driver thrust the throttle to full, but the vessel was not built for speed; behind them the attackers were closing fast. Prospero’s man fired a few premature rounds into the water, misjudging the range.
“Two boats are targeting the nukes.” Jean-Luc lay flat on the deck beside her.
“Rif and team will handle that end.” Thea scrambled next to Jean-Luc, her M4 at the ready.
They waited patiently for the vessel to come closer. Timing was critical. Even though the ferry was a sitting duck, the larger boat provided more protection and a stable platform for a firefight. That said, the slight chop on the lake didn’t deter the Glasstream. The deep-V hull sliced through the water, the .50 cal machine gun on the bow a genuine concern.
Bullets ripped into the ferry, punching holes in the steel and shattering windows on the main deck. Screams filtered through the din of the firefight.
“I’ll take the pilot, you two take the gunner.” Thea said. “Now!”