by J C Ryan
Dylan drew a deep breath. This was going to take some persuasion. He opened his mouth to say they should all get on the plane and get out of there. It was that or take the assassin out so they could stay and complete their mission. He liked the Devereuxs’ odds better with the first idea.
Before he could get any of it said, Carter interrupted. “Don’t say it. I know what you’re going to suggest, Dylan, and I don’t want to hear it. We came here to do a job, and I need to finish it. I’m not running away. But I do want you to get Mackenzie out of here and to safety. Then get back here, and we’ll go after this killer.”
Dylan didn’t have a chance to respond to that, either, before Mackenzie unleashed her famous temper.
“Carter Devereux, don’t you dare try to send me away if you’re staying. I’m not a piece of luggage or furniture you can just shove out of your way. This is as much my fight as yours, and I’m not going anywhere.” She stood with her hands on her hips, her hair almost glowing with the heat of her argument, and a look on her face that would have felled an average man.
“Mackie, no. What about the kids? They need you,” Carter began.
The rest of the party looked on in awe as they saw for the first time ever just how forceful Mackenzie could be.
Piero was lost in admiration. What a magnificent woman!
“They are our children. They need you as well. This is not the first time I’ve told you we must stay and fight these monsters. We, not you. My vote is to stay here and finish our mission. We’ve been running from these people far too long. But if I must go, you’re going with me. Final answer.” Mackenzie visibly fought back the tears that sometimes came when she was overcome with anger.
Dylan hesitated to get in the middle of it. But his mission orders were to protect the Devereuxs and make sure they made it back to the US alive.
“Carter, Mackenzie, in this case, I think discretion is the better part of valor. It’s admirable that you want to deal with that killer and whoever sent him yourselves, but this isn’t the time or place for heroics. You’re needed elsewhere, and may I remind you, it isn’t just your kids who need you. Your country needs you, too.” He stopped abruptly when he saw both Devereuxs were glaring at him.
Piero tried to calm the storm. “I’m here to support whatever decision you make. But if I get the slightest opportunity to take the assassin out, that’s what I’m going to do. It isn’t just you I’m sworn to protect. This man is a menace. Europe and the world will be safer with him gone.”
The argument went on for a few minutes longer, but Dylan finally realized he was getting nowhere. Carter was adamant he’d stay and finish what he came to do. Mackenzie was immovable in her stance that if Carter stayed, she was staying too. And with Piero eager to take the rare chance to eliminate a prolific and notorious killer, Dylan was frankly outnumbered. Even his own men, according to his interpretation of their body language, were leaning toward helping Piero.
In the end, they agreed to make a stand. And they did have the advantage in having spotted the assassin. Therefore, their next task was to form a plan to deal with him so they could then get on with what they’d come to do.
He’d been following them most of the day, they assumed. Piero had seen him twice, and the second time the assassin had been staring directly at their group. Cocky bastard. He must think he’s invincible.
Dylan pointed out that Stossel would probably recognize any of them and even knew where they were staying.
Dylan hated the plan Carter put forward, although it made some sense. Carter and Mackenzie were the targets. Had to be. None of the rest of them were high-profile. Therefore, Carter suggested he be the bait. Mackenzie was having none of it and insisted she be with him. The two of them would lead the guy into a trap in a relatively secluded area, and the rest would summarily deal with him before he could harm them.
It was the last part that gave Dylan heartburn. It would require split-second timing. This kind of assignment usually relied on the killer making the kill quickly, almost always from a safe distance, and then getting away without being seen or caught.
The only advantage they had was the assumption that Stossel didn’t know they knew about him.
Chapter 64 - Excursion to San Pietro Caveoso
Piero knew the area well and suggested the church of San Pietro Caveoso, the only church in the Sassi district not carved into the rock. With the help of online maps and many photos, he showed them where he thought they could pull off a plan that wouldn't expose Carter and Mackenzie to unnecessary danger while luring Stossel into a trap.
Piero put his flamboyant personality on like a uniform, transforming before the eyes of the team into the man they’d thought he was when they first met him.
Dylan shook his head. The guy was a chameleon, and what a useful trick that would be! Piero winked at him on his way out the door.
At the concierge desk, Piero made quite a scene as he flirted with the woman behind the desk and booked tickets for his party to tour the church the next morning. By the time he was done, the young lady was flushed with embarrassment at the attention of everyone in the lobby. Not a soul within yards was unaware Piero would be taking his clients to the church the next day and at what time.
***
May 7
A few hours before the others left, Dylan and Conrad, his ex-Delta Force operative, went to the site and took up well-concealed positions. The rest of the Devereux party was due while it was still early, as they wanted a few other tourists around for better cover but didn’t want a big crowd in harm’s way.
A few hours later, the rest of the party arrived. Dylan observed with relief that Carter and Mackenzie were on alert. Their casual stances didn’t fool him. He knew what to look for because he’d overseen their training. They could take care of themselves, though they weren’t as highly trained as the rest of his crew. Nevertheless, he hoped it wouldn’t be necessary.
Piero and the other two operatives were also alert. Even the CIA pilot had been drawn into this operation, because the more watchful eyes, the better. They were all tense, but trained not to show it. Dylan felt it himself—that itching between the shoulder blades, the instinct that was the difference between a sniper’s bullet finding its mark and living to make it home.
Thus far, all of them had made it home, every time. And that was exactly how Dylan wanted to keep it.
The larger group had been in the church only a few minutes when Dylan signaled Conrad and cast his eyes in the direction of a new group that had just come in. Kurt Stossel was with them, hanging back a bit and drifting ever more slowly behind them, pretending to be engrossed in some feature on the walls.
When Stossel came to a door and started to push it open with a slight squeak, Dylan seized his chance to close the gap between them and shoved him all the way into the room.
He had his Glock G43 pushed hard into the back of the killer’s head. “Don’t move, asshole.”
“Wie bitte?”
Dylan recognized the German phrase, “What did you say?” but he wasn’t in a generous mood. The tension had left him with an excess of adrenaline.
“Listen, you son of a bitch. I know you speak English. One more German word and I pull the trigger. Hands on your head!”
Stossel remained silent, stood still, and slowly raised his hands to his head.
Conrad, providing cover for Dylan, had been following what was said on his earphones and entered the room just as the German placed his hands on his head. Dylan stood slightly to the side so that Conrad could zip-tie him – he kept the gun against the back of Stossel’s head.
When Conrad grabbed Stossel’s right hand to pull it down behind his back, the German moved and spun around, breaking Conrad’s grip. His left hand went for the inside pocket of his jacket but never reached it.
Dylan was ready for him, expecting anything, Stossel hadn’t gotten his reputation because he was a patsy. The butt of the Glock 43 in Dylan’s right hand hit him between the eyes. Hi
s eyes turned up, and he dropped to the floor like a bag of potatoes off the back of a truck.
Dylan and Conrad quickly zip-tied his hands and feet and relieved him of his weapons.
Holy cow! This guy came loaded – literally — ready to kill people, many of them. Under his right arm, in a holster, a Walther PPQ .22. The gun was small, made almost no noise compared to bigger caliber guns, but was lethal at short distances – the ideal assassin close-quarter killing weapon.
In the small of his back, they found a Bersa .380 CC, and in an ankle holster, he had a Gerber Ghoststrike Fixed Blade Knife, with a rubber handle for superior grip and black ceramic coating for minimal reflection.
“Shit! Don’t you think we should check to see if he perhaps has a few sticks of dynamite shoved up his ass as well?” Conrad quipped.
“Be my guest,” Dylan grinned.
They also checked him for mics and earphones to see if he was in communications with anyone. But no, it looked like he operated alone. He had a cell phone, which they took. They removed the battery so that no one could track its GPS signal. They would study the contents of the phone later.
They stuffed all Stossel’s belongings into the small backpack Dylan carried.
Dylan let the rest of the team know via his throat mic they’d neutralized Stossel.
Piero’s van was close by, and they wanted to get Stossel into it without anyone noticing or with as little fuss as possible and then out of town.
Piero would get a coded message through to Bill and ask him how he wanted to handle this little distraction. It would probably involve getting Stossel out of Italy and to an undisclosed place where the CIA could have a chat with him.
Everyone sighed in relief, but it was going to be short-lived.
***
Dylan and Conrad made sure Stossel was still unconscious before they cut the zip ties and propped him up between them. They left the church carrying him like they would a drunk, prepared to explain to anyone who might ask that their friend had fainted, fallen, and hit his head—thus explaining the swelling between his eyes where Dylan had cold-cocked him with his pistol—and they were taking him to a hospital.
However, as they stepped outside, Stossel exploded into action. He kicked Conrad with his right foot and then tried to headbutt Dylan, all the time attempting to wrestle himself out of their grip. He very nearly succeeded before he suddenly went limp again.
Dylan felt a spray of something wet and glanced sideways as he took the sudden dead weight again. In that split second, he saw a gaping hole in the side of Stossel’s head.
“Sniper! Take cover!”
He knew the bullet had been meant for either Conrad or himself and must have missed him by less than an inch. The only thing that had saved them was Stossel’s timely struggling. He let go of Stossel and hit the deck as Conrad did the same. They rolled in opposite directions, Dylan hearing the thumping sound of another bullet striking the sandstone wall behind them where they’d been standing milliseconds ago. He hadn’t heard the report of the gun, though.
“Bastard’s got a silencer!” he shouted.
Piero and the rest hadn’t reached the scene yet. They were about three yards away from the corner, which would have brought them into the sights of the sniper. He was leading the group when he heard Dylan’s shout, stopped, and repeated Dylan’s warning.
“Sniper! Take cover!”
He didn’t even look back at them. He knew the bodyguards would take care of their charges. He left them there and dashed over the open space to take cover among the few vehicles near the retaining wall. His eyes met with Dylan’s. The big man pointed to the rocky outcrop above them to their right, where he was sure the shots came from.
When the two former Secret Service agents heard the shouting, they unceremoniously threw Carter and Mackenzie to the ground and fell on top of them—protecting them with their bodies. But they were not near the danger.
It took the crowd of about fifty people a bit longer to realize what was happening. When they did, chaos erupted in many different languages – terroristi! (Italian) les terrorists! (French) terroristen! (German) terrorists! Everyone was screaming and shouting and running for cover.
This pandemonium gave the Secret Service agents the chance to get off Carter and Mackenzie and pull them to their feet and through a nearby door into the chapel.
Inside, they found a melee, as several panicked tourists had also taken refuge when the screaming and shouting began, and even more poured in from outside. By then, Carter and Mackenzie had their weapons drawn but kept concealed inside their jackets, looking around for more threats, while the former Secret Service agents and Kyle herded them together, backs to them and looking outward, ready to shoot anyone or anything that made a wrong move. Like Carter and Mackenzie, they had their weapons drawn from the shoulder holsters but kept them concealed inside their jackets. They didn’t want to scare the tourists by brandishing their guns.
Outside, Dylan, Conrad, and Piero had found better cover and were trying to ascertain the sniper’s location. Piero ventured a peek around the edge of his cover and felt a sting as a bullet grazed his right cheek.
Che cavolo! That was too close for comfort!
Dylan got the idea the sniper must have been getting nervous or was inexperienced. He’d taken that shot too soon. But Piero hadn’t given him much lead time, so maybe he was farther away? The angle for any shot from the top of the nearby crag above them was problematic, too. He and Conrad were about five paces apart from each other.
When the sniper fired again at Piero, they heard the soft whump of the silenced gun, and both turned their eyes and guns to the spot it came from. They’d never know who spotted him first in the tree above the wall, or if they even did spot him before they fired, instinctively, twice each.
The double-tap shots were so perfectly timed it sounded like only two shots, one-two, only a lot louder.
The sniper’s lifeless body, a bullet through the right eye and one through the heart, tumbled out of the tree, over the wall, and crashed onto the top of a car parked below.
Inside the church, the people who’d taken refuge heard the shots, the first that weren’t silenced, and screamed even louder. Some cowered behind pillars, and others crawled under the benches.
Only Dylan, Conrad, and Piero remained outside.
Carter and Mackenzie had allowed themselves to be herded by their bodyguards into the farthest corner from the door where they’d rushed in earlier. They stood with their backs to the wall, centered between the bodyguards as all faced outward in a semi-circle, ready to fire, desecration of a place of worship or not.
After a few moments, when no more shots were heard outside, people began making cell phone calls. Carter assumed the calls were going to the police or some emergency number like the 9-1-1 number at home.
He gave a brief thought to whether their guns would get them in trouble or not. He thought the gun laws in Italy were like those in the States, but having what were clearly concealed weapons and no license could prove a problem.
Chapter 65 - The cleanup
Outside, Dylan, Conrad, and Piero were scanning the surroundings, especially above them. Were there more snipers? Nobody wanted to find out by stepping out of cover. But they could hear police sirens in the distance, and they needed to clean up the problems at hand.
Piero hoped the sound of the police sirens would have chased off any other assassins. He shouted to Dylan to help him, and then took a chance and broke cover to run to the car where the dead sniper still decorated the roof. The two men muscled the body off the car.
A quick look showed them two bullet holes. “Well, either you each pumped one into him, or one of you missed twice,” he said with a grin.
Conrad had joined them. He and Dylan grinned back. Each knew at least one of his shots had hit the killer—no doubt about it. Either one could have shot the eye out of a rat at fifty paces on a full gallop. Then Conrad noticed the blood streaming down the right
side of Piero’s face from under the handkerchief Piero had pressed against it.
“Oh, man, you’re hit!” he exclaimed, causing Dylan to snap his head up for a look as well.
“Just a scratch,” Piero replied. “Look, we’ve got to move quickly. We’ve got to hide the weapons. Everyone’s. If the sbirri see you have them, there’ll be a lot of explaining to do. Italian prisons are the pits. You don’t want to spend any time there.”
“Conrad, you find Carter and Mackenzie and the rest, collect their weapons and your own in your backpack and bring them to the van.”
Conrad gave a thumbs-up and hurried away.
Piero turned to Dylan. “Give me your weapon and holster. Let’s go.” They hid the weapons and cell phone and Stossell's stuff inside a hidden panel of the van. A few moments later, everyone else turned up.
“Quick! Give me the weapons!” They could hear the sirens nearly upon them. Conrad swung the heavy backpack over, and it, too, went into the hidden panel, just before the polizia in the first car swerved around the corner.
Mackenzie, who'd spotted the blood-soaked handkerchief Piero held to his face, went into nurse mode, fussing over him and demanding Carter hand over his own handkerchief so she could tend to Piero’s wound.
As he handed it to her, Dylan muttered, “It’s not serious, but keep that up.” Mackenzie winked to show she understood.
A few other people had ventured out of the church by then, but everyone froze as three police cars came to a stop a few feet from the crowd with lights still flashing and a deafening wail from the sirens. Police officers poured out of the cars with weapons drawn, scanning the crowd. Many of the already-frightened tourists threw their hands in the air and kept them there.