by Alex Lukeman
"Coming down the steps," Korov said in a low voice.
A single guard started down the long flight of stairs from the villa to the pier. Ronnie had his MP-5 up against his cheek, tracking the unsuspecting man through the night scope. The gun was suppressed, but a silenced weapon wasn't all that silent. If he fired, the noise could be enough to alert others. Better if they didn't have to shoot. Lamont applied just enough power to keep headway and guided the boat toward the landing.
Nick watched the guard. Once we reach the end we'll be hidden. Unless he comes to the edge and looks down.
Lamont killed the engines. The boat glided silently into the dark channel of water leading to the closed boathouse gates. Momentum carried them forward. Lamont cut the helm over. They turned sideways and bumped up against the gates with a soft, scraping sound. Korov reached for the steel bars and held the boat steady. They waited.
The guard's footsteps sounded on the landing above and stopped. A sudden stream of liquid splashed down into the water, ten yards from where they waited. They heard the man sigh, the sound of a zipper. The footsteps started again and receded.
Nick felt a headache beginning. He unclenched tight fingers from his MP-5.
The gates were made of stainless steel and opened in the middle. They didn't move when Nick pushed against them. They weren't chained or locked. There had to be a controlling mechanism somewhere inside. Like a garage door, operated by a remote when coming in from the river.
Lamont stripped down to his shorts, rinsed out a pair of goggles and put them on. He lowered himself over the side, took a deep breath, another, then submerged into the black-green water.
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
Lamont kicked downward until he found the bottom of the gate. He swam under it and came up on the other side.
"You look like a drowned rat," Nick said.
"Called camouflage."
Nick handed him a flashlight through the bars.
"Find that control."
"Aye, aye, Cap'n."
The boathouse was long and high, a cavern of moldering brick and moss-covered stone. A wide stone landing ran along one side. White boat fenders hung down at regular intervals. Steps cut into the landing led down to the water and disappeared below the surface. A cabin cruiser was docked at the far end. Polished brass gleamed in the light from the flash.
Lamont swam to the steps and climbed up on the platform. A switch box was mounted on the wall. Next to the box, a narrow flight of steps led to the villa above. His feet left wet prints on the rough stone as he walked to the box. It contained two switches labeled in Italian, one marked LAMPADAS, the other PORTA. Lights and gate.
Lamont flicked the PORTA switch down and the two sides of the gate swung inward. He went along the platform to the open gates, caught a rope from Nick and pulled the boat stern first into the cavern and up against the bumpers. The others scrambled onto the platform. Lamont dressed and picked up his MP-5. They pulled black balaclavas over their heads.
Nick said, "Korov, you stick close to me."
"What if Foxworth is not here?"
"He's here. I can feel it."
Nick's ear tingled, his sixth sense, the one that had failed him back in Mexico. Back when Selena was shot. He shook off the thought.
They went up the stairs single file. The steps ended at a closed wooden door.
"This feels too easy," Ronnie said.
"Uh huh," Lamont said. "That's what I was thinking."
"There could be alarms," Korov said.
Nick shone his light around the closed door, looking for anything to show the door was wired.
"I don't see anything. But something doesn't feel right."
"I had a place like this, I'd have an alarm on the gate." Lamont spoke softly.
"And someone on the other side of that door," Korov said.
Nick flicked the selector on his MP-5 to three round bursts. He thought about Selena, paralyzed in a hospital bed because of the man somewhere in this house. As far as he was concerned, everyone here had forfeited the right to presumed innocence. This early in the morning they weren't going to run into the cleaning lady.
Nick put his hand on the latch and felt the adrenaline begin. He mouthed the count.
One. Two. Three.
He opened the door. Nothing happened.
They stepped into a hallway lit by a single bulb. To the right, the passage ended in a brick wall. To the left, there was a window at the far end and another set of steps.
The soft rubber soles of their shoes made no noise. The hall floor was paved with large marble tiles in black and white. They moved down the hall, past a side passage to another set of stairs. Looking up, Nick saw a high, plaster ceiling, dimly lit. He climbed, quiet and careful. The others came behind.
The stairs led to a room big enough for an embassy reception. A second story balcony lined with a railing ran along three sides. More stairs led up to the balcony at each end.
Brocaded sofas and chairs and antique end tables were scattered about in ordered groupings. Four elaborate crystal chandeliers hung from a ceiling forty feet overhead. The floor was tiled with white marble. Museum lights illuminated oil paintings in gilded frames on the walls, pastoral country scenes and portraits of medieval nobles with malevolent eyes and sharp noses and floppy hats. There were no religious paintings.
A large white marble fireplace dominated one end of the room. Over the mantle, a single light shone on a larger than life-sized portrait of a hard faced man in a blue pinstripe suit and lavender tie. The man sat in a carved wooden chair that could have been a throne. The artist had caught a gleam of light on the arm of the chair where the man rested his hand. It looked as though he held a butcher knife.
Foxworth.
Nick pointed at Ronnie and Lamont, signaled for them to clear the rooms on the left. He pointed at himself and Korov, indicated the right. The first room Nick entered was a dimly lit conservatory with high ceilings and tall French windows, filled with plants of every description. He stepped back out. Across the way Ronnie and Lamont emerged from a doorway and shook their heads.
They came together at the last room. It was a study and library, rich with leather and wood and soft rugs underfoot. The windows faced out toward the river below. The room was on the far side of the house, away from the boat.
Nick went to the desk. It was a modern piece, out of place in the library's atmosphere of classic European elegance. He started opening drawers.
Papers. A bound stack of purple Euro notes. A Walther pistol. Two British passports. Nick glanced at them. One for Foxworth. One for someone named Mandy Atherton. The bottom drawer was locked. Nick used his knife to pry it open. Inside was a brown, tissue-thin envelope with blue writing on it. Nick took it out and opened it. It was a list of names. One of the names was Ogorov's. He showed the paper to Korov.
"Take a look." His voice was quiet.
The Russian read the list. "Ogorov. So, he is involved. A traitor." His expression was grim. "This one, Maupassant. That's the name of the French Finance Minister."
"Yeah. I think we've got what we need."
Nick heard the scrape of a boot somewhere outside the library. His ear began to throb. He tucked the envelope inside his shirt and signaled. The four men moved silently to the door.
From where he stood, Nick couldn't see anyone in the main room or on the balcony to the sides. There could be someone on the balcony above the library. He spoke in a whisper.
"Someone's out there."
"Guards?" Ronnie said.
"Maybe. Time to leave."
"What about Foxworth?"
Nick patted the paper under his shirt. "We've got proof he's mixed up with Ogorov. Forget Foxworth. We have to get back to the boat."
"It's a long way across that room." Ronnie pointed with his MP-5 at the ceiling. "If someone's on that balcony, we're sitting ducks."
"Ducks?" Korov said.
Nick shook his head. "I'll explain later."
"T
here is another set of steps down," Korov said. "To the right as we go out. Not far, maybe five or six meters."
"I saw that. They have to lead back to the lower level. I don't want to cross that room again." He looked at the others. "All right. We go for those stairs."
They stepped out of the library. The chandeliers erupted in a blaze of light. The adrenaline hit him, the aliveness, the fear. The rush.
"Drop your weapons!"
The voice came from above.
"Go!" Nick yelled. They ran for the stairwell opening. Nick lifted his MP-5 and fired blindly up at the balcony as he ran. The room filled with the sound of guns. Bullets ricocheted and whined away off the stone floor, leaving puffs of white dust where they hit.
One of the men on the balcony fell over the railing and plunged to the floor below. It sounded like someone had dropped a large watermelon onto the marble. Korov went down. He cursed in Russian. Ronnie and Nick kept up heavy covering fire and Lamont helped him to his feet. They reached the steps and started down.
The steps ended in a short hall. They ran to the end and found themselves in the long passage leading to the boathouse. Lamont fired a burst at someone who'd made it down the stairs. They reached the boathouse door, slammed it shut behind them and ran down the steps and out onto the platform. The boat was still there. The engines fired with the touch of a button. Ahead, the gates began to close. Someone had triggered them from inside the house.
Lamont grabbed the throttles and the boat leapt forward. The gates scraped along the fiberglass hull as they cleared the boathouse. An Uzi sounded nearby and the back row of seats shredded in bits of foam and leather. Nick lifted his gun and shot a man firing from the steps. He tumbled down the stairs onto the landing and lay motionless in a crumpled heap.
They cleared the end of the landing. Lamont put the helm over and opened the throttles. The cigarette lifted up and shot down the river toward the sea. The villa disappeared behind them.
They were moving too fast. Lamont throttled back.
"How's the boat?" Nick asked.
"I think we're cool. He blew the hell out of the seats but missed the engines. I don't think we're taking water. Lucky."
"Foxworth will have everyone after us. Head south down the coast. I'll get hold of Harker and call for extraction."
They reached the open water. Lamont increased power and turned south. The cigarette was a black arrow skimming over the waves. A wide, foaming wake trailed behind, phosphorescent in the Tuscan night.
Nick turned to Korov. "You were hit?"
"Yes. But your vests are good. I have soreness, no more."
Nick nodded. Korov was right, they were good, the latest model. 30 layers of Kevlar, the best gear America made. It would stop a .308. Heavy, but effective. The thought reminded Nick of Selena.
What if she can't ever walk again? It was your fault. Your fault. How could you forget?
There had been plenty of missions in the old days without vests or with vests that were a joke, that would barely stop a .22. But the new ones would have stopped the round that hit her. The ones he'd forgotten to pack.
He knew he'd never forgive himself if she was paralyzed.
I fucked up. His mood turned dark.
"Nick." Ronnie's voice brought him back. "Hadn't you better call Harker?"
"Yeah." Nick took out the satellite phone, punched in the code. Two rings.
"Yes, Nick."
"We have a problem." He briefed her.
"All right. I've got you on screen."
In Virginia, Elizabeth watched the marker from Nick's GPS moving south along the coast.
"You're passing Livorno," she said. "You should see it on your left."
"I see it."
The lights of Livorno were already falling behind as they sped over the water.
"The next town along the coast is called Rosignano. It's about 20 kilometers from where you are. There's a big castle there, built on a hill overlooking the coast. You'll see it coming. Get ashore there and I'll have someone meet you. Stay out of sight until I can set up extraction."
"Roger that." He paused. "How's Selena?"
"She's out of danger. Call me when you make shore." Elizabeth broke the connection. She wasn't about to tell Nick it looked like Selena might be paralyzed for the rest of her life.
Nick put the phone away. He told them what Harker had said.
"Be light soon," Ronnie said.
"We'll be ashore by then."
Nick settled back in one of the comfortable seats. The adrenaline rush was gone. His back was on fire and clamping up. He felt every old wound, every one of his years. Not for the first time, he thought about quitting. But what would he do if he quit? Like every other time he'd thought about it, he had no answer.
He gave in to the tiredness and was dozing when the big Mercury engines burst into full throated roar and the craft leapt forward. They began smacking the low wave tops in a constant up and down motion that turned his stomach over.
Lamont said, "We've got company." He handed Nick the night vision binoculars and pointed out to sea. An Italian patrol boat was headed toward them. Water curled high around the bow. They were coming at flank speed.
"Can't you go any faster? Nick asked.
Lamont answered in an indignant Scottish accent. "I'm givin' her all she's got, Captain. Any more, and she'll blow."
Nick smiled in spite of himself. The boat flew across the surface. He lifted his binoculars. The smile disappeared. He handed the lenses to Korov.
"They are still far away," Korov said. He gave the binoculars back.
Nick trained the lenses on the boat. "It looks like a Dicotti class," he said. "It'll have a 76mm gun, remote controlled. They've got us on their radar, for sure. They get a little closer, they can hit us."
"They'll want to talk before they start shooting," Lamont said. "Board us."
Nick scanned the shore. The shadowy bulk of the castle marking the medieval town of Rosignano loomed on a high hill ahead. A distant boom came from the darkness out at sea. A white fountain of water erupted several hundred yards away from them.
"Guess they don't want to talk," Lamont said.
"They're still out of range, but not for long. Head for shore. Look for somewhere we can ditch this."
"It's all beach. We can run right up to it." He turned the boat toward shore.
The beach was visible in the predawn, a smooth white band against the dark of the mainland. Another muffled boom sounded from the Italian patrol boat. This time the shell landed 200 yards behind them.
"Take us close. Ditch the weapons and the rest of the gear except the pistols." They threw everything over the side. Nick kept his GPS. They were still a hundred yards off shore.
"They can't make us out in this light," Nick said, "but they've got us on their radar." There was another report from the cannon. The shell landed twenty yards away. Water sprayed over the boat.
"We're out of time. Lamont, turn parallel to the shore. We'll go over the side and swim in. Set the throttle and get your ass in after us."
"Roger that."
Lamont slowed a little, put the helm over and tied off the wheel. The others went over the side. Lamont balanced himself on the edge of the cockpit and pulled the throttles wide open and dove off. The big Mercury engines and 2700 horses kicked in. The needle bow lifted high in the air. The empty boat screamed away.
The sound of the cannon echoed in the distance. They heard the shell whistle through the air. The boat vanished in a blossom of orange flame. Debris and water cascaded down on them. They swam hard for shore. They reached the beach and ran across the pristine sands and into a forest of pines.
Nick felt cold water draining down into his pants. He pulled out the envelope he'd taken from the villa. The paper inside was a soggy mass, useless, the blue writing nothing more than a blur. He wadded it up and threw it down in disgust on the sand, then took out his phone and called Harker.
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
; The morning after the raid, Foxworth summoned Mandy, Morel and Healy to the library. Morel had never seen Foxworth in a rage like this. He paced back and forth across the room, shouting. Spittle flew from his mouth. They stood shocked and silent, unmoving while he ranted.
It's a tumor, I know it is, Morel thought. It's getting worse. He's losing control.
The security chief was stone-faced. In the SAS he'd seen enraged officers dress down subordinates. He'd seen men go berserk in the stress of battle. He thought he'd seen it all. But he'd never seen anything like this.
He's gone bonkers. Stark, raving looney. The room was suddenly quiet. Foxworth walked over and stood in front of Healy. His eyes narrowed. His face was chalk white.
"You screwed up again." After the shouting, his voice was hoarse, quiet. The calmness was strange after the rage. "Do you have anything to say?"
"Sir, we kept them away from you. It's what you hired me for."
"No, Healy, it isn't."
Foxworth's eyes glittered. The pupils were huge.
Those drugs Morel gives you, Healy thought. They're not working, mate.
Foxworth said, "I hired you to make sure no one even got close to me. I hired you to take care of things. You haven't been doing that very well, have you? I think you should resign."
Healy was done. He'd had enough, working for this arrogant asshole.
"Sir, you have my resignation."
"Good. I'm glad you agree."
Foxworth took out a Walther PPK and shot Healy in the face. The body flew backwards and fell to the floor. Blood sprayed over Mandy's elegant silk dress. Foxworth stepped forward and fired three more rounds into Healy's twitching body. He put the gun back under his jacket and straightened his tie. He turned to Mandy. Her mouth was half open, her face drained of color. Morel didn't dare move.
"Mandy, my dear. I am so sorry about your dress. Tomorrow we'll go to Florence and shop for a new one. Why don't you change and we'll breakfast on the terrace."