“Roger, Anaconda. Over.”
“Command, this is Bravo Three. We need immediate air evacuation. Bravo One shot and down. Over.”
“Roger, Bravo Three. What is the extent of the injury? Any other injuries?”
“Stomach wound, left side. Bullet passed through and came out the back. Extensive blood loss. No other injuries. Alive and conscious. Stable but requires urgent medical attention.”
All SAS operatives had broad emergency medical training and were adept at keeping their fellow injured troopers alive in the field until they made it to ED for proper treatment, so Bravo One was in well-trained hands. And as Bravo Three was O’Donnell’s partner and buddy, he redoubled his efforts, since he was aware that his best mate was starting to fade.
“Hang in there, Ice. I won’t let that bitch’s bullet take you out,” muttered Bravo Three to his partner as he was applying the final field dressing over the constantly oozing wound. He had to somehow stem the blood flow, otherwise Ice wouldn’t make it, especially if there was internal bleeding as he suspected. Pulling out his ten-milligram emergency morphine stab, Bravo Three twisted off the top and jabbed the exposed needle into Ice’s right arm, then pinned the spent tube to Ice’s collar so ED would know what analgesia he had already been given.
“That’ll send you off to la-la land, mate. Enjoy the ride,” he said.
“Just a flesh wound,” grimaced O’Donnell in an attempt at humor, putting on a brave face through the pain. The unfortunate reality of the situation was that he knew any gut wound was serious, and potentially fatal if there was severe blood loss.
Not a good sign.
And then the morphine hit. The pain moved into the background as Ice felt himself drifting off, floating into semiconsciousness as the narcotics fogged his mind and dulled his senses.
“Bravo Three, have you secured the area? Is there any hostile activity?”
“Area secure. Mission accomplished. Targets eliminated.”
“Roger, Bravo Three. Send coordinates. Will have a medevac pickup to you inside forty minutes.”
“Don’t delay. Ice is fading. Bravo Three out.”
“Hi there. My name’s Tony O’Donnell. I think you’re Australian, aren’t you?” said Mr. Happy Snap. He’d walked across the piazza over to Cait’s table.
Cait immediately recognized the familiar Australian twang as being that of a fellow countryman. She relaxed slightly, replying, “Yep, how can I help you?” Cait presumed he was just another tourist wanting directions, or similar.
“I work for the Australian government, and the man you were just talking to is a person of interest to us. Mind if I ask you a few quick questions about him?”
Cait was streetwise enough to know that even if this guy was an Australian, you could never be too careful. This could be a setup, or maybe a con.
“Ah, you got any ID?”
“Yeah, yeah, sure. Sorry.” Tony placed his camera down on the table and undid the buttons on the side pocket of his cargo shorts, pulling out a black wallet. In one fluid movement, he flipped the wallet open with a snap as he withdrew it from his pocket, revealing a silver and blue badge with a pointed silver star in the center and flashed it at Cait.
Mr. Happy Snap was looking mildly pleased with himself. It was obviously a party trick he liked performing.
Cait thought to herself, You’ve done this many times, haven’t you? before having a closer look at the credentials. With a sleight of hand, she made a point of brushing against his outstretched fingers as she drew the badge closer to herself.
An all too familiar tingle ran through her body as she read his aura: strong and determined, principled, someone who has witnessed the wrong side of life, repressed emotions, a hidden insecurity that is covered up by a rough façade, regret at something you’ve done in the past . . .
She instantly liked him and knew immediately that he was trustworthy. Well, certainly enough to invite him to sit down at the table with her.
“So, ah . . . Sergeant Tony O’Donnell, it appears you’re a member of the Australian Federal Police. That’s a long way from home. I didn’t think you had jurisdiction here in Italy.”
She’s got balls for a woman, I’ll give her that, thought O’Donnell. Straight to the point. He liked that in a person. It showed a strength of character.
“I’m actually a field agent. And yes, I have the permission of the Italian authorities to carry out investigations here.”
Cait’s psychic antennae started picking up positive vibes.
This guy’s the real deal, she idly thought. I wonder if he’s like Jack Reacher, not really expecting, but secretly hoping, that he was some kind of secret agent.
I mean, they must actually exist in real life, so why not here?
“What part of Australia are you from?” asked Cait, interested in a bit of background information and final confirmation that this guy was who he said he was.
“Born and brought up in Sydney, spent some time in Perth, work in Canberra, live in Melbourne.”
“You’re kidding. I’m from Melbourne. What part?” asked Cait.
“When I’m home, in the city. I’ve got an apartment in Southbank. But I travel a lot, so it’s locked up most of the time.”
“That’s cool. I live in Elwood,” said Cait. “So what do you want to know?”
The enticing smell of freshly ground coffee hung in the air and wafted their way in waves, cutting through their conversation like a hot knife through butter.
“So can we start with your name maybe?” said O’Donnell with a lighthearted inflection to his voice. “It’s easier than calling you witness X.”
Cait chuckled and gave a cheeky smile, the first grin that had graced her face since the explosion yesterday. Thoughts of Dec were still ever present, but she had a sneaking suspicion that this Sergeant O’Donnell guy may be able to shed some light on the car bombing, so she let the conversation flow.
“Cait. Cait Lennox.”
“Well, Cait Lennox, can I buy you a coffee and a cannoli to help lubricate the conversation?”
Cait was about to reply no out of instinct, but then she thought, what the heck?
“That’d be nice. But I’ve only got about twenty minutes or so. My brother was badly injured in that explosion yesterday and we’re all going to the hospital. Unfortunately, he’s in the ICU.”
O’Donnell held up his hand to catch the waiter’s attention.
At the mention of Dec, memories of the blast returned in spades for Cait, causing a lonely tear to run down her cheek.
“And he’s on the critical list,” she added, her eyes flooding with a waterfall of tears about to happen.
“Yes, I saw you there, Cait. You probably saved your brother’s life, you realize. That was smart thinking to address his shrapnel wound so quickly.”
Cait looked over at him through a veil of tears and thought, You’ve seen it before, haven’t you? There’s more to you than meets the eye.
“We can talk later if you’d prefer. This must be terribly upsetting,” said O’Donnell compassionately.
“No, it’s okay. I think we can help each other out on this.”
O’Donnell wasn’t privy to Cait’s insights so the mention of the plural “we” slipped past him. He just assumed that she needed to off-load.
“So can you tell me anything about that kid you were just talking to? He’s a person of interest to us. And so is his older brother. You met the brother yesterday when you stopped for a cool drink at that café opposite Castello Ursino.”
Cait was taken aback. “What, how’d you know that? Have you been following me?”
“No Cait, not you, the two brothers. You just happened to interact with them. I’ve got pictures,” replied O’Donnell slightly defensively, not wanting to alienate Cait before they even started to talk.
“Ah, now I remember. You were on the other side of the road, playing tourist, taking pictures of the buildings . . . and obviously Dec and me as well. When
the older brother saw you, he suddenly turned around to face me, keeping his back to you. I thought that a bit weird.”
“Sorry, weird?” said O’Donnell in a questioning tone.
“Yeah, weird that Tariq turned around,” replied Cait. “I didn’t like him. He was one scary dude.”
“Are you telling me that Mohammed is actually called Tariq?” asked O’Donnell, confirming what he had just heard.
“Well, I haven’t a clue who Mohammed is, but Tariq’s what Aziz—his younger brother—called him. The name Mohammed was never mentioned.”
O’Donnell opened his notebook and scribbled down the revelation. This was vitally important information and might explain why the AFP or ASIO had never been able to get a heads-up on Mohammed’s background. They’d obviously been putting the wrong name in the database.
“If it’s okay with you, can you tell me what you all talked about yesterday?” O’Donnell sensed that Cait might be able to feed him some valuable information about the two brothers, vital information that could potentially blow this case wide open.
With that, Cait proceed to tell O’Donnell about her interaction with Aziz and his brother.
“Cait, you just mentioned that when you spoke to Aziz yesterday, he seemed unsettled. And today you said he appeared nervous and twitchy. Can you expand on that?”
O’Donnell was trying to keep things relaxed. He was totally aware of the pressure that Cait was under with her brother being seriously injured and in the ICU, but at the same time he knew he had to push on and find out as much information as he could.
Picking up his coffee, O’Donnell drained the cup, then captured the remaining crumbs from his cannoli by running his index finger around the empty plate.
“That really was delicious,” said O’Donnell.
“Now, back to the younger brother, Aziz. What else were you going to tell me?”
Aziz was the only link he had to Mohammed—Tariq—and this terrorist had to be tracked down and taken into custody before he continued to ply his trade elsewhere, causing more death and destruction.
“Well, I got the distinct impression today that Aziz was trying to tell me something,” said Cait. “Whatever he wanted to say, it certainly wasn’t resting well with him. Then for no reason he just up and left, as if he’d changed his mind.”
O’Donnell sat bolt upright in his chair. Leaning forward with a look of intense concentration on his face, brow furrowed, he asked, “Cait, if I can establish Aziz’s whereabouts, would you be prepared to meet with him again?”
“Well, I . . . ah.” Cait was stumped for words. She’d been taken totally by surprise.
“Just think about it, Cait. I realize you’ve got a lot on your mind at present, but it could really make a huge difference. We need to locate this terrorist Mohammed—ah, sorry, Tariq—before he kills anyone else, and it looks like you’re the only one who can help us here.”
O’Donnell leaned back in his chair to let what he had just suggested sink in. He was in uncharted waters, but this might have been just the breakthrough that he needed. However, in his quest to recruit Cait, he suddenly realized he had also been totally insensitive.
“Ah, sorry Cait. I didn’t mean it to sound like that. Of course your brother’s still alive.”
“It’s okay, no offense taken.”
“Cait, all I’m asking is that you think about it. But please, I’d prefer it if you kept this to yourself for the moment. I realize that you have to go now, but could we possibly meet here maybe tomorrow morning, same time? We could talk about it a bit more then.”
O’Donnell picked up his camera and sunglasses off the table in preparation to leave.
“Just before you go, Cait, a parting question. If you were in Palermo with your parents, how did you end up in Piazza del Duomo?”
“Paul drove us. He had some business in Cara di Mineo. We tagged along for the ride.”
“Paul?” queried O’Donnell.
“Paul Jones. He’s a family friend,” said Cait matter-of-factly.
“That name rings a bell. He doesn’t have anything to do with the refugees, does he?” O’Donnell was fishing. If Paul is who I think he is, this sheds some light on the bombing yesterday.
“I suppose so. Paul’s CEO of Care the World. He went to Cara di Mineo to see where the aid money for the refugees is disappearing to. Apparently they’re millions of euros unaccounted for, so he drove out to the camp to check it out for himself. He left us in Catania to have a look around while he was out there.”
Jackpot!
Now it’s all falling into place, O’Donnell realized, as if hit by a bolt of lightning from the heavens. He’d been looking for a link to tie it all together, and Cait had just laid one out for him on a silver platter.
O’Donnell pushed back in his chair and allowed himself the luxury of a grin. As his gaze traveled around the sun-filled piazza, the steady influx of locals and tourists alike caught his attention. He checked his watch—ten o’clock, coffee and pastry hour. It was like clockwork, the bars and restaurants rapidly filling up at the same time every day—the local men standing outside, talking with their hands, drinking their espressos and eating their sweet pastries, the tourists paying a premium by sitting at the tables, drinking the same coffee and eating the same pastries but paying almost double the price for the privilege.
Doesn’t anybody ever work here? O’Donnell thought to himself.
And he knew of Paul Jones. Not personally, as they’d never come face to face, but Paul was listed in the ASIO database. He had been recruited as an informer about six months ago by another ASIO field agent, and he was regarded as a safe person to use when an observer in a foreign land was required.
Paul was a person who had a valid reason to be in the world’s hot spots, so he was never likely to raise suspicion. And because of his dealings with the dispossessed, he was likely to be in the vicinity of terrorists and other subversives. He had the perfect cover. These lowlifes often moved around the world under the guise of escaping from a ruthless regime or a murderous sect when in fact they were really part of the brutality, and Paul was front and center, so he made a perfect frontline observer.
But not as a field agent. Paul was never expected to be an operative. The dirty work of being on the ground was left to the grunts like O’Donnell, other ex-SAS operatives, soldiers, and cops who wanted a job that was more than simply pounding the pavement or chasing the bad guys around the urban jungle.
“Okay Cait, it must be time for you to go. Look, if you feel so disposed it’d be really helpful to catch up again tomorrow morning.” O’Donnell knew he was repeating himself, but he really wanted to meet with Cait.
“It mightn’t seem like it to you, but you’ve really helped me.”
“Sure, I’ll see how it goes. It all depends on Dec’s recovery.”
“Understood. Hopefully he’ll be on the mend.”
Cait felt the foreboding power creep up and envelop her but she was powerless to react.
Paralyzed.
Like a black hole sucking in antimatter, it was forcefully dragging her toward a dark, damp, arctic-cold space that had no beginning, no end, a tortured place that was the antithesis of the world she lived in, a hole in the fourth dimension that was the embodiment of pure evil. She was alive but dead; moving but transfixed. The power drawing her in was like quicksand, surrounding her, sucking her into its inky blackness, deeper and deeper until she was lost in the abyss.
Distant voices screamed, pleading from the void, imperceptible at first but then rising in urgency and volume until the cacophony was deafening and became a power in itself. Waves of moaning and sorrow passed through Cait from all directions, burning her insides with their sheer presence as millions of tortured souls invaded her body.
And then there was the shimmering light; a brightness that cast no shadow, one that was so intense it blinded her, even through closed eyes.
“You’re invading my space. My world. I want him back. He�
�s not yours,” said an overbearing, malevolent voice, bruising her mind, taunting her, forcing itself on her consciousness . . .
Cait woke bathed in sweat, senses heightened, on guard. She sat bolt upright, every muscle in her body tensed as if she was about to do battle. Opening her eyes, she scoured her hotel bedroom for danger, the fight-or-flight response kicking in big-time.
And there were those coal black eyes again, glaring at her from every corner of the room.
“Go away,” Cait demanded as she pushed her outstretched palms in front of her. While she rotated them in a circle around her body, she concentrated her energy into a protective force field, but the burning glare continued to threateningly bore into her before finally fading.
Cait sniffed the air.
A putrid stench of damp evil dominated the space, reminding Cait of rot and decay and decomposing flesh. Then the realization occurred that this was all the legacy of her vision. Instead she was back in the mortal world, sitting on her bed.
Except the overbearing, ominous presence of dark evil lingered in the ether long after the vision faded. It remained on the distant periphery of her consciousness, threatening her, out of reach, out of sight, but still there, stalking her from another dimension.
“Cait,” warned James, appearing in her head like a hazy apparition of an old friend. “It’s Soran. He wants you. You’re in danger.”
James’s portentous omen echoed inside Cait’s mind as she replayed her vision. The crippling effects of the Gatekeeper sucking her back in to his dark domain was terrifying, as she had been powerless to respond or fight back. And those menacing coal black eyes glaring at her toward the end of her vision.
Tariq’s eyes!
He was also threatening her, but this time it was more immediate. Tariq was close by, hiding. Glimpses of him with other men, powerful men, together, squeezed tightly into an area that was bounded by four walls flashed in front of Cait’s eyes.
“It was you, wasn’t it!” Cait hissed bitterly, the realization slow in coming.
“Your bomb almost killed my brother, you bastard.”
The Cait Lennox Box Set Page 61