I head around to the back and meet up with Rayne as he steps out of one of the rooms.
“Anything?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “Nothing. This place is empty. Looks like it’s been abandoned for a long time.”
“I agree. Which begs the question… where the fuck is everybody? Their vehicle’s still outside. Why drive here in the middle of the night, only to leave again within a couple of hours but not take your car?”
Rayne shrugs but says nothing.
“Where did you drop into?” I ask.
“Back here,” he replies.
He walks away. I follow him into one of the rooms, nestled into the back-right corner of the building. It’s the same as the others. There’s glass scattered across the floor—a result of Rayne’s entrance. The only thing that’s different in this room is the fireplace resting against the outside wall. It’s cast-iron, with a grill plate built into a small door. It looks weathered and well-used but not as decrepit as the rest of the building.
“That’s odd,” I say absently.
Rayne looks up at me. “Hmm?”
“That fireplace. Bit out of place in this shithole, wouldn’t you say?”
He shrugs. “I dunno. Never been big on interior design.”
I crouch in front of it. The floor has visible scuff marks on it. Fresh lines in old dust, as if something’s been moved recently.
“Wait a second…”
I stand and tuck the gun behind me, then grab one end of the fireplace and pull. It moves easily away from the wall, following the path of the lines on the floor. Rayne turns to look.
“Sonofabitch,” he mutters.
Revealed behind it is a large hole in the wall. It’s small enough to be completely covered by it but large enough for a grown man to crawl through.
I sigh. “I think we know how Falikov and his men left without being seen.”
Rayne shakes his head. “Goddammit. There were some old wooden pallets stacked against the back wall out there. Didn’t think anything of them. They must’ve been put there to cover that.”
“Why have an escape route from a place like this? Why come here and—”
The words catch in my throat as my brain puts pieces of the puzzle together for me.
I stare at Rayne, who looks confused by my blank look of confusion and dread. My vision glazes over as I concentrate.
There’s only one thing that makes sense here. One reason for everything we’ve seen inside this building.
What if Holt anticipated us having some kind of intel saying where he is? He knows he’s safe with his drone, so it wouldn’t be a smart move for us to attack him there head-on.
That’s why we didn’t.
We saw Falikov and a team of Tristar operatives leaving there to come here. The obvious move would be to go after Falikov separately and use him to gain access to Holt.
That’s exactly what we did.
We did the only thing that made sense with the information we had. If Holt bet on us doing that, then he could’ve easily…
I refocus to see Rayne studying my face. His eyes dart back and forth, as if watching his own cogs turning. I see him arrive at the same conclusion I have.
“This is a set-up, isn’t it?” he says.
I nod. “I reckon so. Question is: for what? Why would Falikov lure us here specifically?”
Rayne begins looking around, seeing the building through eyes fresh with a new perspective.
He leaves the room. I remain staring at the fireplace, desperately trying to fill in the last couple of blanks.
If Falikov were going to hit us, he would’ve done it already. As soon as we breached the building, he would’ve followed us inside and popped us both in the back of the head while our hearing was still impaired by the blast. So, no, this wasn’t done so that Falikov could take us out.
So, why?
Why would Holt want us—
My eyes pop wide as the realization hits me.
I sprint out of the room, past Rayne, and head outside. He quickly follows.
“What is it?” he asks.
I turn in a circle, searching the early morning skies, hoping I’m wrong. The buildings around us aren’t more than three or four stories high, but they’re close together, restricting my view.
I run to the end of the alley and step out into the middle of the road, looking up again with a clearer view.
Please be wrong. Please be wrong. Please be wrong…
I stop turning. My gaze locks onto an ominous shape silhouetted against the pink and orange slivers of dawn.
Shit.
I run back toward the car. Rayne is standing outside the building. I wave him toward the car.
“We need to go!” I shout. “Now!”
He shakes his head as I approach him at pace. “I don’t understand. What’s wrong?”
I slide to a stop in front of our vehicle and look back as the demonic shape of Holt’s drone turns into view, beginning its descent. It looks like an arrowhead. It’s too high and too far away to make out any significant detail, but the frightening plethora of weaponry stuck to it is clearly visible, even from this distance.
What’s also clear is the fact that it’s aiming straight for us.
I point to it. “That’s what’s wrong.”
He lowers his weapon and begins to backpedal toward me.
“Yeah, okay. We should probably go.”
I climb in behind the wheel and start the engine. A moment later, he dives in next to me. Tires screech as I accelerate away before he’s had the chance to close his door. I turn left and thread between the lines of parked cars.
Rayne shifts in his seat and looks back out the window. “That’s the drone.”
“It is,” I reply, checking my rearview to see exactly where it is. “We need to get away from anywhere residential in case whoever’s flying that thing decides to start shooting at us.”
Rayne looks at me. “Can we even outrun it long enough to draw it away?”
I grip the wheel tightly, draining the color from my knuckles. My eyes are fixed on the road. My jaw is set.
I glance in the rearview again. “Let’s find out.”
26
06:04 CEST
I’m doing sixty along a road barely wide enough for the Range Rover to fit down. Rayne’s leaning out of his window, looking back at the sky, trying to keep a visual on the drone.
I take a sharp left, then an immediate right, putting us on Via Casilina. Porta Maggiore is up ahead, a few hundred meters away. The lanes are getting wider, which makes them easier to navigate. But traffic is getting busier as people start their journeys to work, which brings with it a new set of problems.
I check the mirror and see nothing.
“Adam, talk to me,” I say. “Where is it?”
He ducks back inside and looks at me. “It’s almost directly above us. No way we’re outrunning that thing.”
He might be right about that. But maybe we can outmaneuver it.
I see the arches of Porta Maggiore in front of us, on the right, where the intersection forks. I have almost no idea where we are and no time to consult a GPS.
“Which way?” I ask Rayne.
He looks ahead and shrugs. “Don’t you always say, when in doubt, go left?”
“I do.”
I accelerate and thread through a gap in the oncoming traffic beside us, moving into the other lane to miss the changing lights in front of us. I move back across and follow the dogleg to the left, putting the arches behind us.
Via Labicana.
“Adam, I need you find us a route out of the city.” I quickly point to the center console of the Range Rover, which has a built-in touchscreen. “See if you can get that to work.”
Without a word, Rayne leans forward and begins pressing the screen. Within seconds, a map of Rome flashes up; a blue dot displays our location.
“Let me see here…” he mutters.
“If it helps, we’re heading t
oward the Colosseum.”
“I thought you didn’t know where we were going?”
I tap his shoulder, so he looks up at me, then point out through the windshield. He sits up and looks, quickly seeing the mammoth structure of the famous Roman arena looming over the road ahead.
“Oh.” He shrugs. “That helps. Thanks.”
I weave around some slow-moving traffic in front of us, accelerating as I cross into the opposite lane to get around them. Horns blare as I cut back across, narrowly avoiding an oncoming car.
I check the rearview. The drone just dipped back into my eyeline. It’s a lot closer now. It must be capable of incredible speeds, which means it’s likely hanging back for a reason. It rocks and sways in the air, seemingly fighting to stay level in the turbulence it’s generating.
I look ahead. The sidewalks are almost deserted. Too early for people still. The roads aren’t getting any easier, though. Another minute, and we’ll be alongside the Colosseum.
This isn’t good.
“Adam, you gotta work faster,” I say urgently. “This road’s too straight, but every turn we pass looks like it leads to a more built-up area. We’re sitting ducks here.”
I’m met with silence.
“Adam, what are you—”
“Take a right!”
“What?”
We shoot past the last right turn before drawing level with the Colosseum.
He sits up and quickly looks outside.
“Okay. Never mind,” he says, then lowers himself back to the console.
I roll my eyes. “Yeah, maybe a little more notice next time.”
Whoosh!
…
…
…
Oh, no!
I yank the wheel left, almost rolling the Range Rover as I swerve to avoid the explosion three feet to our right.
Rayne is jerked upright. He places a hand on the dash and another flat against the roof, bracing himself.
“What the fuck was that?” he yells.
My teeth are gritted tightly together. My jaw aches as I try to wrestle us out of this fishtail without getting hit.
“I think… that was a missile from the drone. Get us out of here already, will you?”
Whoosh!
…
…
…
Oh, come on!
A thick cloud of dust and rubble erupts in the middle of the road directly in front of us.
“Shit!”
I swerve again, mounting the curb on the right. I drive over the wide sidewalk and plow through a stack of guardrails, presumably used to organize the lines of visitors during the day. They clatter and bang as they’re strewn in all directions.
Screw this. We’re going to get slaughtered if we stay here.
I slam the brakes on and watch as the drone goes flying past us overhead. I take the next left I see, which leads us along Corso Vittorio Emanuele II. The street is momentarily cobbled, which tests the suspension of an already battle-worn vehicle.
“Can you see it?” I ask.
Rayne looks out, checking the skies.
“Nothing,” he says after a moment. “Lot of tall buildings here, though, all bunched together. Makes our visibility limited, but that works both ways, right?”
Ahead, the road meets another running across us. Beyond it is a single, low building that stretches the full width of our scope of view. I vaguely recognize it, but I’m not sure where from.
I slow, preparing to turn left, which I think will lead us—
“Fuck! Get down!”
The drone flies in from the left and hovers over the building in front of us. It has a multi-barreled machine gun mounted on its nose and one more under each wing.
I’m momentarily blinded by the unfathomable muzzle flash. I instinctively turn right and stamp down on the gas.
The noise from all three guns is a near constant whine. The rate of fire is so high that the stuttering is audibly blurred. The road is torn up by a stream of laser-like bullets behind us.
“Where the hell did that come from?” shouts Rayne.
“I guess we know its stealth capabilities work pretty goddamn well. Oh, shit!” I slam the brakes on and turn sharply, mounting the curb and driving along the sidewalk to avoid an oncoming car.
Rayne looks at me. “Wrong way?”
“Wrong way.” My gaze is so narrowed and focused that I’m giving myself a headache. “Ah, shit. Move! Fuck.”
I bounce us back onto the road and slide left, almost losing control of the back end and spinning out. I speed away, using the acceleration to pull us straight.
“Where are we?” I call out.
Rayne turns his attention to the screen again.
“Coming up on the Pantheon,” he says. “Take this left!”
I do, bouncing over the corner of the curb at high speed. Sparks fly up off the fender.
The cobbled street bridges over a river and drops back down into a large courtyard. There’s a water fountain in the center, with buildings surrounding it on all sides. On the right, the Pantheon yawns into view.
“Which way? Which way!”
He points to his two o’clock. “Straight over and right.”
I brake and turn, sliding the rear out clockwise, lining us up with the road that will hopefully lead us out of here.
To our right, one of the pillars that makes up the lavish, ancient entrance to the Pantheon explodes.
“Shit! It’s found us,” shouts Rayne.
I grunt as bricks fly into the side of the Range Rover. “You think!”
I steer to correct the impact and accelerate away, down the side and out onto a main street. Traffic is heavy and slow, likely distracted by the flying war machine plaguing the skies.
The Tiber River’s on our right. A few people are strolling along the bridges that stretch over it.
“Adam, talk to me…”
“I’m looking. I’m looking.” He leans out of the window. “I can’t see it.”
There’s a large intersection coming up. The lights are red. Lines of traffic are at a standstill. I know I’m going to have to go around them and run the light. Vehicles are coming from the left, but I should be able to avoid them and make it across if I—
I slam the brakes on, screeching to a stop.
Rayne lurches forward. His ribs collide with the dash.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, wincing.
I nod to the road ahead. “I found the drone.”
He follows my gaze to the intersection. The drone is hovering over it, silent and ominous. This is the first time I’ve had a proper chance to look at it.
It’s impressive. It’s fucking big. It has missiles lined up beneath the wings and spaces where the three it’s fired at us used to be. I have to admit, seeing an aircraft that’s trying to kill us up close is intimidating. Puts things into perspective a little.
I suddenly feel really small.
“Adam?”
He glances at me, seemingly not wanting to take his eyes off the drone.
“Hmm?”
“Grab the bags.”
“Yeah.”
“Like… now.”
We both reach behind, scoop up a bag each, and throw ourselves out of the Range Rover. Rayne hurries around the trunk to join me just as—
Whoosh!
We set off running for the nearest side street. Three quick steps later, a wave of hot air knocks us from our feet as the Range Rover goes up in a fireball.
We both use the momentum of the blast to roll away and back to our feet.
“Run!” I yell.
We sprint along the narrow street. I have no idea where we are, yet this, too, looks oddly familiar.
Side by side, we run as fast as our bodies will allow. We turn in any direction that keeps the buildings high around us, reducing the chance of the drone being able to follow.
All around us, people are screaming. Tires screech, horns blare… chaos reigns in the immediate aftermath
of the drone attack.
“This way,” says Rayne, panting from the exertion.
I follow him to the right, along an alleyway between two narrow buildings. He’s maybe a second ahead of me.
I jump over a pile of trash bags and stumble out into the street. Rayne is standing motionless, staring up. We watch the drone fly away, disappearing behind the trees that line the street opposite.
I look around. The road is littered with abandoned vehicles, standing with open doors. The intersection in front of us, where the drone was hovering a few minutes ago, is the same.
Where did it go?
I walk slowly to the end of the street. Rayne appears next to me.
“Is it coming around for a second pass?” he asks.
I hear him, but I don’t answer. My mind has locked me out. My brain is no longer functioning. I turn a slow circle on the wide street corner, taking in my surroundings. The Tiber is in front of me. Beyond that is the Piazza dei Tribunali.
It can’t be…
I look to my right. To the building next to me. To the café not yet open for business.
I stare at the ground beneath my feet, focusing on the grit until my vision blurs. Without looking, I know the Castel Sant’Angelo is behind me, over my left shoulder. I know that because I’ve been here before. That’s why certain places have looked familiar to me. It makes sense now.
I’ve been here before. On this street corner. Outside this café. Almost three years ago.
The world fades away, taking all noise with it. I have no sense of time. I’m surrounded by a true absence of… anything.
I feel the bag fall from my grip.
I lower myself to one knee, place my hand flat on the ground, and close my eyes.
I feel the blood running over my fingers as if it were yesterday. The echo of a distant gunshot fills my head. A single tear escapes down my cheek.
This is exactly where I was standing when Josh died.
27
The Devil You Know Page 20