Jack kissed his wife again. "We have each other. That's enough. We'll make it."
"I pray so." Michelle squeezed his hand tightly and glanced at her watch. "The hands on the clock are flying, Jack.
"Time to go."
Across the street, Klaus Burchel rolled over on the roof and quickly wound up the wire on his microphone listening device. The open bedroom window had provided perfect contact. His surveillance device had picked up every word, and Stein would be ecstatic with this information.
It was time to move quickly, and he needed to change clothes. Stein would need to be positioned properly when the Townsends emerged from the subway train at the Piazza de San Giovanni. Both he and Stein now knew what this Guido character looked like, and contact should come easy. The Townsends would be easy to recognize with the information he had just picked up.
Tonight would be the night! Old Stein should be able to cash in his chips and take home the jackpot. Before this evening was over, Klaus could fulfill his own agenda. He would turn Jack Townsend into a corpse, just as his grandfather had done with so many in Auschwitz.
48
Jack Townsend closed the rear apartment door behind Michelle and started down the old, steep staircase creaking with each step. With the lights off, the darkness made it difficult to descend the rickety stairs without slipping.
"There's got to be an easier way to take a stroll than walking down a shaft under the Addams family's house," Michelle said.
"Don't worry," Jack said. "I'm in front of you."
"Yes, and who's in front of you? Get my point? You're the guy who had the broken arm. Another fall wouldn't help you any."
"Listen, I'm totally recovered," Jack said. "Well, nearly."
"Just pay attention to the steps," Michelle said.
"I am. I am."
At the bottom, Jack crouched near the door and peered through the glass pane. "I don't see anybody out there. You ready?"
"This shoulder holster isn't comfortable," Michelle said. "I hate wearing a pistol under my arm. The Walther pistol is small, but it still bothers me."
"Me too," Jack said. "But we've been through so much that we can't take anymore chances."
"Guess so," Michelle said.
Jack turned back to the window. "I can't see anyone out there."
"I guess that's both good and bad. If we can't see them, they can't see us."
Jack cracked the door. "Once we're outside, we'll walk along the wall as far as we can. It'll be black enough to cover us." He turned around and looked into her eyes. "We've got to outfox them at every point. Don't be talking."
"You're the one doing all the jabbering," Michelle said. "I'm just listening."
"Get real, dear. We're about to step into a snake pit."
"Hey, I'm ready to roll. Got my Kid Rock hat on, an overcoat, black pants, and my six-shooter. You'd think I was The Shadow. O-o-o," she cooed.
Jack glared at her. "This is no time for jokes."
"Don't be so hyper. The worst that can happen is that a cop picks up us and writes a ticket for window peeking and carrying concealed weapons."
Jack didn't say anything, but turned back to the door. "Stay close and don't talk. I mean it."
"I won't," Michelle whispered and giggled nervously.
Michelle always gets giddy when she's afraid, Jack thought. She'll pass for a guy walking next to me, but it isn't going to be easy to get out of here and avoid the cops.
Opening the door slowly, Jack slipped around the corner and pulled Michelle after him. The edge of the brick building had been littered with broken bottles and trash. Every few feet trash cans sat against the wall in between old cars parked close to the apartments. By crouching low, they could walk the first twenty feet without anyone seeing them. At the end of the stretch, another building jagged out and forced Jack to walk in the alley.
"Pick up the pace," he whispered. "We need to get out of here."
Michelle nodded.
Jack stepped out, but stayed close to the building, walking with his head bent down. Michelle hustled along at his side.
"Hey!" a man called out behind him. "Just a minute."
Jack froze and looked over his shoulder. Some guy had come out of the shadows behind one of the cars and must have been watching them go by.
"Don't mean no harm," the man called out in Italian. "I noticed you came out of that building that the Townsends live in. Want to get your picture in the paper?"
"Keep walking," Jack whispered to Michelle.
"I'm a reporter and only need a little information," the man insisted. "Could I talk to you for a moment."
Jack shook his head.
"Won't take but a second." The man trotted up behind him.
Jack knew it was a moment of decision he couldn't avoid. The guy might be nothing more than a tabloid jerk, but he was persistent. If the man got in their face, the charade was over. He had to make a decision. All his weight lifting hadn't been only to lift his self-esteem. This was one of those occasions where self-protection was the essence of the situation.
"I just want to ask you some questions about the Townsends. "The reporter hurried around Jack and stopped directly in front of them.
Jack knew if the man identified Michelle, they would be in danger and there was no time left to warn her. He couldn't allow such a slipup.
Leaning into his face, the reporter jabbered. "Just got a few personal questions." The man turned to Michelle. "Wait a minute! You're a woman!"
"I'd suggest you get out of our way," Jack's voice took on a menacing tone.
"My gosh, you're the Townsends!" the reporter blurted out. "This really is a story!"
Jack turned sideways before swinging his fist into the man's stomach with all his might. His hat went flying backward.
"A-a-ah!" the reporter gasped and doubled over.
"Run!" Jack told Michelle. "Get out of here, and I'll meet you at our rendezvous point."
With a swift thrust of his knee, Jack caught him square in the forehead, sending the guy sprawling backward against the brick building.
"Jack, I can't leave you here!"
Swinging another hard right, Jack hit the reporter in the center of the chest. The man groaned, but lunged forward bouncing Jack backward.
"Run!" Jack repeated. "Get out of here."
Michelle turned and started running for the metro.
The reporter grabbed Jack by the lapels on his black overcoat and hurled him into the side of the brick building. He felt the strength go out of the arm that had been broken and knew he was spent. The impact knocked the air out of him and for a moment he crumpled. The journalist jumped on top of him, forcing him to the pavement. Pounding on Jack's back, he pummeled him fiercely while Jack tried to cover his head.
For a second, Jack thought the man would knock him unconscious. Only then did he remember the pistol in his shoulder holster. Reaching across his chest, he pulled out the gun and slammed it into the man's head.
The reporter froze with his fist still in the air before silently slumping to the pavement. For a moment, Jack sat prostrate trying to catch his breath. He didn't hear the sound of anyone coming, which meant their scuffle hadn't alerted the police. Possibly, the cop had taken a break. Who knows? They might be down the street drinking coffee. He pushed himself up and leaned against the building. His adversary hadn't been a pushover. That was certain. Without a little encouragement from the butt of his gun, he might be on the alley unconscious.
Jack picked up his hat and peered around the corner. He couldn't hear anyone running. Michelle must have gotten to the metro station by now and probably was on the train. Pulling the overcoat closer up around his neck, he put the hat back on and started walking toward the same station, trying to look as casual as possible.
49
Night had fallen sufficiently to cast dark shadows over Michelle as she ran to the corner. The first block had allowed her to stay close to the side of the building but she had to wait for the cars to
pass. A glance over her shoulder told her nothing. Jack must still be struggling in the alley with the reporter because he wasn't in sight. She wanted to go back, but Jack had told her to run. He must have known he could endure the struggle. Michelle knew how strong Jack was and felt certain that he could hang on. Worst-case scenario would be that the newsman had a wild story to print about chasing the Townsends.
Once across and on the other side of the street, she settled to a slower pace to avoid calling attention to herself. A crowd of people was leaving the metro, and she blended into them. Just ahead was the ticket window. She stepped up.
"Going to Piazza de San Giovanni," Michelle said.
The man looked at her a moment too long and stared at her hat. Then, he pushed a ticket under the window but said nothing.
"Got to get rid of the hat," she mumbled to herself and snatched it from her head. "The thing must look weird."
For several moments, she observed the crowd to see if anyone was watching her. Kids on the streets of Rome dressed in weird outfits, and people might have assumed she was only one of the pack, though she was a bit old for that scene. Stepping toward a large bench, she dropped the hat on the seat and walked away. Hurrying down the stairs to the tracks, she realized again how stale the overcoat smelled. No longer was it necessary to keep up appearances, but the overcoat provided a cover for the night air so she left it on. Once she reached the bottom of the stairs, Michelle watched people lining up to catch the next train that would be coming in shortly.
The metro station always seemed to be filled with people. Rome's subway station had forever been a major part of how commuters traveled through the city. While buses and cars plowed through traffic in the street above, the A and B metro service provided a cross-city service that was fast and effective. With standing room only in the coaches, in the summertime the subway could become terribly hot, but this was a November night and on the chilly side.
Standing nearer the edge of the platform, Michelle noticed a man at the other end watching her. Wearing a stylish brown wool suit with a dark purple shirt and a striped bluish tie, he clearly was dressed better than most of the passengers milling around the tracks in faded blue jeans and sweatshirts. His extremely short haircut reflected he had fairly recently shaved his head and was letting the hair grow from a bald look. A scar ran down his cheek. Michelle turned away and pulled up the collar on her overcoat. For a few moments, she turned away, but glanced out of the corner of her eye. The man in the brown suit kept watching her.
She'd seen that same outfit somewhere before, but where? For a moment the memory blurred and then she remembered the man taking her picture across the street from Santa Maria Church. Jack and Dov had pooh-poohed the idea, but it had concerned her. This was the man! No coincidences there.
Walking cautiously to the front end where the train would stop, Michelle could hear the coach arriving. A strong gust of wind whistled down the tunnel, and the cars careened into the station, shrieking to a quick halt. She jumped into the first coach and turned to watch the man. Hustling along the side of the cars, he stepped into the coach directly behind her and worked his way toward the adjoining door where he could continue to watch her through the coach windows.
Whoever this jerk was, the man was definitely on her tail. She had to play it cool lest she precipitate a response she didn't want. The subway roared down the tracks into the black tunnel and came out at the next stop where she should depart. Michelle watched him in the back car, standing motionless. Clearly, she would have to make the first move, but if she got off now, it could provide a trail to Guido. She couldn't let that happen. Once again the car pulled away from the station and raced down the tracks. Pushing her arm against the shoulder holster, she made sure the gun was in place.
Having missed her stop, Michelle knew every other station would only take her farther from the Piazza de San Giovanni. She needed to act, but what could she do? Whoever this monkey was, he'd be off as quickly as she departed. He could be part of The Scorpion terrorist ring, or he might be one of Albert Stein's men. Of course, the tail could just be one of those crazy spooks that roamed Rome's back alleys and side streets. Nothing added up right. In any case, she had to shake him and staying on the train wouldn't do it.
The car slowed and the recorded voice on the overhead speakers announced the passengers should be cautious in getting off the train. Michelle scanned the crowd waiting to board. She could wait until most of them entered and then dart out. With people stepping in, the creep might miss an abrupt departure. Even if he saw her leave, she could get a significant head start. The train slowed.
The purple shirt and blue tie weren't moving. The first passengers stepped off the subway and people began boarding. The warning light flashed that the doors were about to shut. Bolting between two men, Michelle leaped to the station platform and ran for the exit without looking back. When she rounded the corner, Michelle saw a restroom sign straight ahead. The ladies room was an option that hadn't occurred to her. Darting through the open door, she walked into the crowd of women. Without hesitating, she marched toward the stall and locked herself in.
Could the brown suit be waiting outside the bathroom door? It was more than possible. On the other hand, he might have missed her coming in and gone on down the hall. If so, by now he had to conclude he'd lost her. If he really was after her, he wouldn't disappear quickly, and she might run into him again. Michelle had no alternative but to wait.
Rumblings started in her stomach, and Michelle instantly knew what was coming. She grabbed the side of the wall to steady herself. An attack had not hit for some time, but she knew she couldn't stop the invasion. The stress of being followed had set it off. Taking a deep breath, Michelle tried to relax, but her hands and arms started to shake. She tightened her eyes to block out the sights, but the vision rolled up anyway.
A huge trailer pulling a gasoline tank came straight at her, hurling down the highway at breakneck speed. Like watching a slow motion rerun of an old movie that she'd seen a hundred times, Michelle saw the truck driver's face grimace in horror as he violently tried to pull his eighteen-wheeler back onto his side of the road. The cab jerked to the left, but the trailer swung wildly toward their car. Her mother screamed just as the rear of the trailer smacked the front end of their vehicle. The sound of the front being torn away rang through the automobile with a shriek of metal ripping apart. Their car started spinning wildly.
"Michelle grabbed the door handle that her father always kept locked, but the car started tipping to the side. She heard glass breaking and saw the windshield shatter into a million pieces. The car went sideways and her grip on the handle broke. Pain erupted when she crashed into the top of the car. For a second, it felt like they were going to spin and then the car bounced sideways and started to roll. Her body began bouncing up and down on the top of the car that was crumpling upward into the auto. A massive rock smashed into the side of the rolled vehicle and everything stopped except pain and glass that kept flying like tiny missiles. Pieces of the broken windows hurled past her neck and arms. A trickle of blood started running down the side of her face.
Michelle lay on the top of the car with the bent roof gouging her. Shock had already partially anesthetized her, but the agony kept pumping and she knew she was hurt worse than she ever had been in her life. Outside a voice kept shrieking.
Her father started crawling through where the windshield had once been. Michelle could smell gasoline, and the scent was growing. His strong arms started easing her into the front seat.
"Padre!" she cried. "Padre!"
"I've got you, dear," her father said. "Don't worry. I'll get you out."
"My leg!" Michelle screamed. "The throbbing hurts so bad."
"Don't cry," her father said. "You'll be out of here in a second."
Michelle looked down and realized her left leg had turned at a strange angle. Legs weren't suppose to do that. She looked into her father's face and saw blood flowing out of his hairline and
running down his nose. Without stopping, he pulled her through the windshield and onto the pavement.
"Don't move," her father said. "Lie very still."
Ahead of their car she could see her mother trying to crawl. Her blouse was torn and blood ran down her arm. The smell of gasoline had become so strong that it hung in the air like a pall.
Suddenly an explosion shook the ground. Her father fell backward onto the pavement, and an orange ball of fire rolled up into the sky followed by clouds of black smoke. All sound stopped and only silence prevailed. There were only movements without resonance. Then Michelle saw her mother.
The explosion had slung her against a slab of rock rising from the side of the road. Her neck hung at an obscene angle as if her head had been internally disconnected. She didn't move, but stared straight away with empty eyes.
For the first time, Michelle remembered exactly what had happened, and the horror froze every fiber of her being. She had never spoken of her mother's death nor discussed it with Jack. The matter was closed, sealed, finished, but now it was clear that conclusion had never happened in her mind. Michelle could no longer escape the dead eyes of her mother staring back at her on the side of that road.
She rubbed her clammy hands against the walls of the bathroom stall as she slid to the floor with knees wobbling like putty. Sinking to the floor, she began crying bitterly. She could not avoid the most intimidating fact of her life. The wreck had killed her mother.
Tears rolled down Michelle's face as the penetrating edges of her memory slowly faded. Sounds returned, and she could hear women walking just outside the stall, but she couldn't move. Her weeping continued unabated.
"Hey, lady!" a woman called out. "You OK in there?"
Michelle couldn't answer.
"Do you need a doctor?"
"No," Michelle finally mumbled. "I'm OK." She could hear the footsteps of other women gathering around the door.
"An ambulance?" Another woman shouted.
Shrouded In Silence Page 23