Chapter 4
Retrieving my clutch from the balcony railing, I removed a memory stick and a pair of latex gloves and hurried over to the desk. I snapped the gloves on and then jabbed my finger at the space bar on the laptop, prompting the dark screen to glow bright and the laptop’s innards to churn to life. I stuck the stick into the USB port and proceeded to download the contents of the hard drive. My employer, the CIA, had informed me prior to the start of my mission that the laptop was kept in a secured office—one that only Matteo had the code to enter. I had no idea what the CIA wanted with the information on Matteo’s laptop, but it must have been important enough for them to use me to get it.
While waiting, my curiosity grew and I poked around on the computer’s desktop. I didn’t see anything incriminating. I opened a few folders and saw the usual documents one would expect to find on a businessman’s laptop: invoices, spreadsheets, sales reports, and contracts. I clicked on Matteo’s inbox and skimmed his emails. Most had to do with the business of his company. There were a few personal emails from women, girlfriends, I suspected. Maybe what the CIA wanted had been buried deep in a systems folder. Whatever they were looking for, it wasn’t obvious.
It was unusual for the CIA to use me for something like this. The job wasn’t high risk, and I highly doubted that if something were to go wrong, it could be traced back to them. Political fallout wasn’t a worry. A scandal perhaps, but that was about it.
The CIA could have easily inserted their own female agent with the skills necessary to seduce Matteo. The security around the villa, while noticeable, was nothing more than a generic security firm hired specifically for the party. Men were stationed mostly around the perimeter, primarily to keep uninvited guests from entering, not to keep out someone like me. They were armed, but it was not as if they were protecting dignitaries. I noticed no video surveillance during the tour and aside from his office, Matteo never turned on or off an alarm or unlocked a room. Any decent thief could have gained entrance to the villa and probably figured out a way into his office.
The other odd thing about the assignment were the two directives given me: “No one dies,” and “Make it look like a theft from a competitor of Abbandonato Italian Marble.” A sexy siren was sent to seduce the CEO and steal company secrets. Seemed completely believable.
I glanced at Matteo; he was still unconscious. I had less than a minute left on the file transfer and hoped he wouldn’t recover before then. I’d had the element of surprise on my side, which had made it very easy to put him down. With his MMA training, it would have been a different fight had he known I was a threat.
I walked over to where his jacket had fallen off of me and slipped a business card into the pocket. The CIA had gone through great lengths to create a believable background, starting with my alias, Valerie De Snajier. Sei the assassin wasn’t apropos. The title on the card stated that I was a consultant for Agro Industries, a consulting firm for the mining industry in Luxembourg. There was a phone number and a web address that led to a dummy website the CIA had built, which touted the firm’s expertise in semi-precious and precious stones as well as marble. The CIA wanted to ensure that this came across as nothing more than one company stealing secrets from another. Emails were answered; even phone calls reached a live person.
The laptop dinged, and I retrieved the memory stick, tucking it safely into my clutch before wiping my prints off of my champagne flute. I had done everything the CIA instructed me to do. The only thing left to do was to leave.
But that would have been too perfect, now wouldn’t it?
Chapter 5
As I headed toward the door, a hand gripped my ankle and yanked my leg back. Matteo had caught me off guard and caused me to almost fall forward onto the floor. Damn heels. I used both arms to steady myself, but I still fell to one knee. I quickly shook my leg free, got back to my feet, and kicked off my heels. Matteo had already risen by then—all six feet one inch of him.
“I should have known,” he snarled.
He stood slightly hunched with his arms dangling in front of him. Swelling had formed near the insides of his eyes, and his labored breathing was noticeable. It was possible that I had fractured his nose, though I hadn’t heard a crunch when I struck him, and I saw no blood.
No sooner had he spoken than he charged with balled fists. I backed up while using my arms and head movements to avoid the blows, allowing only one lucky swing to graze the side of my head. My forearms took the brunt of the beating. Matteo had incredible strength, and a direct hit would be punishing. To keep the distance, I used a series of straight kicks to his midsection, alternating with kicks to his outer thigh. His legs were meaty and toned, but still, a person could only take so many hits before his leg buckled from the bruising pain. I backed around the leather sofa.
“You can’t escape. There are guards all over this place. One phone call and they’ll lock down the property.”
“But you won’t do that. It would be a declaration of defeat. The great Matteo Abbandonato was unable to defend himself against a woman half his size. You’ll be the laughingstock, and people will question the good of all that training in the gym.”
Matteo dove over the sofa toward me. I shifted my body to the side just in time to miss a tackle. He hit the floor and tumbled backward then up to his feet. With his back still toward me, I delivered two leg kicks to his right hamstring. His right leg buckled and sent him down to one knee.
I moved in with a flying knee to the side of his head, snapping it to the side. He dropped to all fours and tried to shake off the effects of the blow. I took advantage of the moment and jumped onto his back, attempting the same chokehold that had rendered him unconscious earlier, but Matteo defended against it by tucking in his chin. I couldn’t quite get my forearm hooked under it to restrict the blood flow. I kept trying, and that was my mistake.
He stood up with me still clinging to his back, with my legs wrapped around his waist, as I fought to apply the chokehold. I cursed the order that no one should die. It would have been so much easier, and this mess would have been avoided. The longer the fight continued, the greater the chance I could lose or someone would eventually hear the noise.
A drawn-out fistfight wasn’t ideal. He was stronger, outweighed me, and had enough training to be a formidable opponent. While confident with my own abilities, I wasn’t one to take a chance. In my profession, staying alive was guided by two principles: make it deadly and do it quickly.
I kicked my right heel back into Matteo’s gut, hoping to connect with his groin, but my leg wasn’t long enough. I repeated the foot blows to wear him down. He swung from side to side, hoping to buck me off, but I clung like a stubborn barnacle. He backed up quickly, slamming me into the wall, forcing my breath from me and sending a sharp pain down my spine.
Matteo threw his head back repeatedly, but I had my cheek pressed tightly against his, moving in sync to avoid his attempt at a head butt. The fight dragged on, increasing the odds of alerting his security. If that were to happen, my no-kill directive would certainly fall to the side. I bit down on his earlobe, hoping to end our stalemate.
“You bitch!”
I spit a chunk of flesh from my mouth.
In a desperate attempt to shake me off, Matteo twisted with a jerk. Surely he would think to fall back and use me as cushioning. I released my arms from his neck and slammed my fists into his ears again, stunning him briefly. I jumped off his back and swung my right leg around, kicking his legs out from under him. He fell onto his side but rolled over and up onto all fours. As he began to stand, I punted my foot into his ribcage and he folded.
I grabbed a handful of hair, steadied his head, and delivered a series of knee strikes to his face, but Matteo was still able to wrap his arms around my thighs and drive me back onto the floor. He was seconds away from mounting me and pinning my arms with his knees, leaving my face unguarded. I couldn’t allow that to happen.
I reached down to my right thigh for one of t
he small knives but all I felt was the sheath. Matteo had his right leg along my left side and scooted up. My guard was no match for him. I continued to search for the familiar handle, the one that felt like home in the palm of my hand, but still I couldn’t seem to locate it. The knives couldn’t have fallen out. I checked the buckles. I tugged on them. Everything was secure. Yet, I couldn’t locate one.
Matteo slipped his left leg up along my right side. He sat high on my chest. The pressure from his weight made it increasingly hard to breath. With my left hand pinned against the floor, he reached for the other. His hand latched onto my right wrist, but I shook it free. He grasped again and again and until finally locking onto it. I struggled to prevent him from bringing my arm back around my head, but his strength was too much. And just as he started to pull my hand away from my thigh, my fingers rested on the familiar cold titanium.
Feeling my hands around the handle of the knife gave me a surge of energy and strength. I ripped the knife out, broke free of Matteo’s grip, and delivered repeated blows to the side of his torso. His ribcage deflected the first two strikes, but the others found his fleshy abdomen.
The penetration wasn’t deep, but his face winced in pain with each stab. Even so, Matteo showed resilience and latched onto my hand. The combination of his full weight on me and the amount of exertion I had already expended had taken its toll. I felt my grip on the knife weaken. No! Hang on.
A second later, the knife was in Matteo’s hand.
He raised his arm above his head, the knife firmly in his grip with its pointed tip aimed directly at my face. His eyes were dark and penetrating. His brow furrowed with rage. He had every intention to kill me.
Instinctively I jammed a finger into one of the wounds in his side, hooked it, and forced it in and out. Matteo let out a cry and threw his head back in agony. He dropped his arm and collapsed a bit, babying his side. I reached for the other knife instantly and then drove it upward into his neck.
Chapter 6
The following morning, the Le Frecce high-speed train zipped me from Milan to Rome in two and a half hours, putting me at the Roma Termini train station at seven p.m. I would have taken an earlier train, but the tickets for the high-speed train had sold out and only the slower regional train, which took ten hours, was available. Either way, I wouldn’t arrive at my destination until early evening, but sitting cooped up on a train for that long wasn’t inviting.
After dispatching Matteo, I stuffed his body under a table in the corner of the office. It would be found, but not without effort. There was blood on a small area rug, which I simply flipped over. The stains weren’t as visible on the reverse side. His office had a small bathroom attached, and I was able to quickly clean up. Thankfully my dress wasn’t too soiled—nothing warm water and a little soap couldn’t take care of.
I was able to slip back downstairs and into the party undetected. It probably had to do with the fact that I wasn’t anyone of significant importance and therefore not worthy of an extensive chat, or even a smile and a glance, for that matter. Being a nobody had its advantages that night.
After exiting the train station, I walked over to a bank of taxis waiting for fares. I traveled light, just a small knapsack that fit close to my back. Inside I had a change of clothes, a few personal amenities, a titanium fixed-blade knife, a garrote wire, a Sig Sauer P320 with sound suppression, two extra magazines, and a couple of throwing knives.
My destination was the Borgo Pio neighborhood, an area located just north of Castel Sant’Angelo, the Castle of the Holy Angel. Compared to other parts of Rome, Borgo wasn’t a heavily touristic area—mostly apartments of working-class Romans. I had been instructed to meet my CIA contact at a small Italian restaurant.
Wanting to continue on by foot to survey the surrounding area—habit—I had the taxi stop a few blocks away from the location. I had spoken to Kostas Demos, my handler with the CIA, shortly after I left the Abbandonato residence the night before. I kept the conversation brief and informed him that I had the information and would see him the following day. I didn’t bother to elaborate beyond that. I wasn’t much of a phone person.
I first met Kostas a year ago in Turkey. A job had gone wrong and I’d needed to get out of the country quickly while staying under the radar. My employer had hired Kostas as a driver. At the time, I’d had no idea he was a CIA operative, and neither did my employer. I spent almost a week with a man I found irritating and charming all at once. When the jig was up on his identity, we came to an exclusive agreement that mutually benefitted us both.
Il Quartiere, The Neighborhood, was the name of the restaurant Kostas chose for our meeting place. It was hidden fifty yards back on a quiet street just off of Viale Giulio Cesare Boulevard. By the time I arrived, it was seven thirty p.m.
The restaurant was quaint, only seven tables, and most likely frequented by only the surrounding residents. The décor inside was charming and played up the neighborhood theme. Strung across the ceiling were clotheslines with laundry drying. The lines were attached to murals on the wall depicting the outside of a residential building: windows up high with doorsteps, mailboxes, and flowerbeds below.
Kostas had chosen a table off to the side near the rear of the restaurant. He was dressed casually, a white button-down tucked into faded blue jeans. The waviness in his brown hair had been trimmed a bit, but it still retained its thickness. As I approached, he stood and reached his hand across the table for two. “You killed him.”
“Should you be speaking so openly?” I shook his hand and then removed my knapsack and leather jacket.
“We own this restaurant,” he said as he sat. He then poured San Pellegrino into my glass.
I looked around at the empty tables. “Explains the crowd tonight.” I removed the memory stick from my knapsack and handed it to him. “It’s all there, the entire content of his laptop.”
He took it from me and dropped it into the front pocket of his shirt. “Are you going to explain to me why you ignored my directive?”
“I didn’t ignore it, but you know this business we’re in. Things can go wrong fast.”
Kostas shifted in his seat and shook his head. “Sei, you could have given me a heads-up when we spoke last night. I was blindsided by my superiors this morning with the news.”
“I did my best to get in and get out. You should know that deadly force was a last resort. It could have been me lying dead on that floor. Did that thought cross your mind?”
Kostas sat there befuddled as he managed a response. “I didn’t mean it that way.”
“You’re a bit cold. What happened to the playful puppy dog who drove me across Turkey?”
“Puppy dog? I would say the attraction was mutual.”
“Attraction?” I let out a burst of laughter. “Me avoiding eye contact and ignoring your questions is what you view as signs of attraction?” When we first met, I wasn’t as friendly as I could have been but I never was with most people. “With this candle-lit dinner, I suspect you’ll want to marry me straight away.”
“Be careful what you wish for.”
“Back to the topic at hand. Isn’t this wrinkle the reason you utilize someone like me, so that if something does go wrong, it won’t come back to your agency?”
I watched him swish his lips swish from side to side. His olive complexion was still smooth. His appearance still youthful.
“Look,” he said, “I’m glad you got out safely. I would have felt bad if you got hurt or—”
“I did get hurt.” I pushed back the sleeve of my thin black sweater, revealing the bruising along my forearm.
He must have warmed up because he kissed two fingers and placed them gently against my arm. “Does that help?” Just then, a server appeared carrying two plates of food.
“I hope you don’t mind, I ordered for us. Truffle gnocchi. It’s excellent.” He flashed a smile that showed off his dimples.
While we ate, I relayed the events of the night to Kostas and why Matteo Abban
donato ended up dead. When I finished, he agreed that I really had done my best to stick to the plan.
“I forgot to ask about your daughter the last time we spoke,” he said.
“Yes, you were all business.”
Almost a year had passed since I discovered my daughter was alive. Two years before, I was led to believe she had died during childbirth. I even buried a body. Turned out she was kidnapped from the clinic shortly after I gave birth.
“Last I knew you were chasing down a lead by an ex-employer.”
“That turned out to be a monumental waste of my time. Three months to be exact.”
“Ouch. That’s not good.” He forked a gnocchi into his mouth. “And other than that?” he asked in between chews.
“Nothing. But to be honest, when I vacated my safe house in Belgium, I left behind a large stockpile of cash and expensive weaponry. I’ve been working to replenish that inventory. That requires accepting jobs—lots of time and energy. A necessary evil.”
“You have a new safe house?”
“I do, and I’m not telling where.” I used my fork to cut a gnocchi in half.
“Have you thought of what you will do when you find your daughter?”
“The plan remains as it always has. I’ll do my best to give her a normal life, one far from this. It’s always what I had intended.”
“Is that why you went into your self-imposed exile?”
“Exile? I believe it’s referred to as retirement.” When I discovered I was pregnant, I cut ties with the father, a fling really, stopped working and bought a nice little cottage in Belgium. Even after giving birth, I remained off the grid, still unsure of what to do with my life. Resuming my work as an assassin was never a consideration until I received news that my daughter was alive.
Contract: Sicko (Sei Assassin Thriller Book 2) Page 2