Ded Reckoning (35 page)

"He's not registered.  He hasn't checked in. Perhaps this guy is Kerrigan?"

Itzak says, "We need to go in.  Ready?"

Namir looks both ways, sees no one in the long hallway.  Steps back and peers up the hall to the elevator.  Whispers, "The elevator is still here on this floor.  This isn't smart nor the ..."

His comment stopped by the sound of the door's chain being removed and the lock snapping open.  Both Itzak and Namir have their weapons in hand, at arm's length and the side of their legs.  The door swings inward as if sucked open by a tornado. Rocco fires four shots, two each before either can raise his weapon.  One each to the heart, and one each to the face.  Both lurch backward into the hallway wall which is splattered with blood and skull remnants.  Itzak and Namir thump to the carpet smearing separate streaks of blood on the wall on the way down.  Rocco fires another suppressed round into Namir.  The slide of his Beretta locks to the rear.  He changes his magazine with another ten round mag and fires a final shot into Itzak's face.

He wipes the door handle both inside and out and steps all the way out the door, walks hurriedly to the exit stairwell door being careful not to be heavy footed.  He takes the steps two and three at a time until reaching the lobby floor.  There are still excited guests milling about.  People surging in and out.  The police have not yet been able to get the full control needed.  There is no aftershock calm, and although certainly to come, no lockdown yet.

Once outside, Rocco melts into the crowd and confusion, and drifts across the street and around the corner.  As he walks in the shadows of the buildings intent on meeting Drago at their prearranged location near the park, he thinks of the Irishmen.  
They can be spared.  They are no threat to me.
 

 

 

At the bar Danny and Sean continue to sit, sipping their third ale.  Watching the crowd, taking in the din of the commotion inside and out.  Danny, the elder brother leans over, chin not wholly resting on the younger's shoulder.  "Laddie, I be thinking we need to leave this place.  It's beginning to look like the riots of '69."

Sean turns toward Danny, "It tis.  You're probably right, brother.  Probably right.  But, a good night's rest before we put a foot under us won't hurt.  And give us time what we're goin' to tell Muldoon."

Danny takes a gulp and snorts, spraying some ale and bits of chewed peanuts.  "Fuck Muldoon."  Then he takes another, the last, and in a hushed, sing-song manner says, "Rather, brother dear, think of this.  At some time real soon, real fucking soon, the police are going to lock this place down and question every guest.  Every person in here."

"So, we've done nothing wrong.  The barkeep can attest to that."

"Yes, well, that is so, but I be thinking if I were the police, 'What are two young Irish lads from Londonderry doing here in Pisa with all this going on?  Might be wise to run their names with the Brits.'"  He pauses for another gulp.  "I would.  It's not as if we're a couple on vacation nor will the Brits say, 'Oh, it's just those delightful Shanahan lads.'  What say ye, laddie?"

"Aaah, yes. Well now, the morn dawns and it's not a pretty one regardless what the Lord says about painting another.  Let's finish and get a foot under ..."

Sean's words have trail to a whisper, then drag to a stop. Both brothers, startled, stare at the commotion happening at the front desk.  The desk clerk is losing all composure, yelling for the Manager and the police.  The rush away from the desk is frantic, exceeded only by the police and firemen's dash toward the clerk.

An elevator door hisses open, a woman bursts from within, screaming, "They're killing everyone.  All of us are doing to die.  My God, help us!  Help us!"

More shrieking women and shouting men stream out of the fire exit stairwell, racing for the outside doors.

What was ebbing is now a tsunami again.

 

 

Chiarina pulls herself up the chrome ladder from the pool.  Her naked body glistens from both the water's lights and the moon.  She snatches the annoyingly ringing patio telephone from its cradle on a nearby table, snaps, "Russo residence.  Now is notta a good time."  She listens for a few moments then turns to Roberto Catalano who is now side stroking to the edge of the pool.  "It's for you.  Your man says it's important."

"I'll take it," and Pisces clambers out of the pool, also naked and not fully settled.  Takes the phone from Chiarina and says into the instrument, "This better be damn important."

Rocco whispers, "It is.  They are all gone except the two Irishmen who can be the blustering one's problem."

"Wait a second."  Pisces muffles the phone against his thigh, looks to Chiarina and says, "I must take this.  We can con ..."

"We will continue but inside.  It will be warmer, but then perhaps not if you don't hurry."  She turns but grins over her shoulder and snatches a towel from a chair back.  "Don't be long."  She strolls, hips swaying, towel dangling from her hand trailing along as she moves toward her room off the villa patio.

Pisces mutters, "Damn.  She's going to kill me before I get her home."  He puts the phone to his ear in time to hear Rocco say, "What was that.  I didn't ..."

"Nothing.  Not important.  Now tell me quickly where we are on this final matter."

Rocco explains quickly about the Russians and Germans.  Goes into detail about Dee and her traveling companion, and also the easier than expected collateral damage to the Israelis.  Explains why not the two Irishmen when Pisces questions him.  Then finally says, "It is time to come home.  Yes?"

"Yes, and I will be there in two days with guests.  By boat.  You get there as soon as possible and ensure all is well.  And Rocco, are you sure no one saw you?"

"No one that is alive."

"What about, Drago?"

"Well, of course, but he will not ..."

"Do not bring, Drago."

"But ..."

"You will only need Estella, and me of course, for friends.  And Chiarina as my wife.  Drago is a witness and is useless to us.  He can only be a problem.  Let him be known as the tormented one.  The butcher of Pisa."

"Yes, that is better.  It will be done.  What about Muldoon?"

"He knows nothing of us.  Besides, our American friend in Washington will take care of him and he will be pleased to do so, and know that I will leave him be to retire, albeit alone.  It is over for us.  No one knows our whereabouts except our friend and former partner, and he will never say a word nor go this route again."  He pauses, then, "And oh yeah, Rocco, call our friend and make sure he understands what has happened and that it is over.  Our relationship.  Or the package will be mailed."

"Done.  Okay.  Okay.  Now, Bossa, is this Estella ..."

"She is everything you can dream of and puts your Roma friend to shame.  Trust me."

"Oh, I do.  I do.  On my way."

"Good."  Click.  As usual the conversation is over when Pisces says it's over.  He walks into the villa, finds Chiarina sprawled on her bed.  Nude.  Dry.  Refurbished.  And ensuring she is moist.

"Roberto, come.  Take me again."

 

 

Rocco hears the click, stares at the phone. Then steps from the booth and looks about.  He walks the several yards where Drago has been standing in the shadows, watching for intruders, followers.  

Rocco whispers, "Drago, my friend.  It is done.  We go home," and grasps the huge man, hugging him.  Then removes his right arm while still clasping the man with his other and slapping him on the back in joyful pretense.  Rocco quickly removes his Berretta from his coat pocket, shoves it under Drago's chin and fires, releasing his left hand at the same time.  Drago sprawls backward into the building wall, the back of his head gone.  Then slumps to the walkway, both legs resting on the cement, limp, toes pointing to the sides.  Rocco wipes his weapon clean of prints and carefully places Drago's hand around the butt, finger on the trigger guard, then the trigger.  Also a print next to the safety.  Then allows it to drop alongside the man's hand.  Rocco takes his extra magazines and places them in Drago's pockets.  Ensures his friend still has his weapon, and steps back.   
Life is better for you now ole' friend.  No more people pointing and laughing.

Rocco looks around, seeing no one, strolls up to the street's park, turns left and heads away on its dimly lit walkways.

 

 

My God, I should take that butcher now, but I need his boss.  It's the mission, and getting more personal by the moment.  
Marnee slips along the wall, around the phone booth.  Needlessly checks the body, and continues ahead following her prey.  
I'll call Itzak and Namir first chance I get.
 

 

Hunter watches the villa.  He checks his watch.  
Three hours since lights out.  Quiet night.  Let's go inside.  See what I can find and take a look at the killing zone.
 

 

CHAPTER 26

 

"Someday someone may kill you with your

own gun, but they should have to beat

you to death because it's empty."

A gunfighter's rule

 

 

After his late night reconnaissance of the Pisces villa, Hunter knows he will have to complete his mission only at night, and only inside.  Otherwise there will be too much collateral damage.  While inside Pisces' study he found the package.   Photocopied its contents and replaced all as it was.  To take it now would be an advertisement.   When he completes his tasks he will recover the original.  The security is lax.  The old man or the young boy walks the inside perimeter once after dark, and there is no alarm system.  Pisces' bedroom is obvious; and one of the guest bedrooms, also obvious, belongs to the bodyguard, his henchman, and they are a good distance apart.  Out of wall thumping and screaming range.  So, the villa will be the venue and silent and deadly the menu, and if time permits pain will be added to the entree.  The problem will be if Pisces and Rocco bring guests who will be staying when they come home.  If that is the case Hunter knows he will have but two choices.  One, get them out of the villa somehow without raising any suspicions, or it will look like D-Day.

Now, safely back in his room he strips off his all-black garments, takes a shower, dons his skivvies and snaps on the television with the volume low for covering noise.  He has calls to make.  However, the picture captures his attention immediately.  It is the Italian version of breaking news.   The massacre in Pisa. He listens to the talking heads for several moments, then dials overseas and Zachary's number.  It automatically transfers after four rings to where he is, or going.  He's in the site room and answers on the first ring after the transfer.

"Joe.  Hunter."

Without any acknowledgment, Zachary embarks on his discourse like a fusillade of 4.5 rockets from a multiple-launcher. "The shit has hit the fan, everywhere.  It's all over the World and the US media is in a feeding frenzy.  Here's what I know are facts from where I sit."  Zachary races on at speed-reading rates telling him that Dee is dead along with a traveling companion and that the Italian press and authorities are still reporting her as Caterina Frati and the male gentleman unknown for sure although the hotel register shows a reservation for a Frati couple. "We know her companion is our boss's man.  Once she's identified, some of our friends might think it's you.  That might help us." Zachary continues, telling Hunter that the two Russians and two Germans have been murdered and that they were following him and Dee.  "Obviously you lost them."  Then he continues with reports that two Israelis were apparent victims outside of the Frati woman's room.  Dee's room.  These were not the London people.  This is a team that lost a partner in Rappel earlier.  Zachary gasps for air, says further, "I mean, Hunter.  This is like a herd of Zebras were let loose in a lion's cage.  And the guy that worked at the restaurant, our friend Antonio Rizzo, he's dead.  Assassinated in bed along with his girl friend.  And now ..."

"Joe, take it easy, man."

"Right.  Right. As I was saying, and now, a deranged, handicapped man, assumed to be the killer of everybody, has been found in a nearby park, dead by a self-inflicted gunshot.  Are you shitting me?  Who are they kidding?"  There is a pause before Joe adds, as a feint stab of humor, that Pisa is resembling the United Nations headquarters with the arrival of foreign government suits and a murder rate like Gotham City.  Joe finishes with, "Contact Maria and let her know what happened and have her tell her family.  Everything.   I will get someone out there to stay on top of things and assist them. However we can.  Mainly keeping people away for at least a few days."

"Joe, we need to get them out of there.  A safe house, or better, bring them to Maria.  To Capri.  And I'll get Bradovich to do all this."

"Who?"

"Eugene Bradovich.  My buddy in San Diego.  I can ... we can trust him.  For sure."

"I'd sooner use an agency asset."

"That could be a MacBeer asset."

"Yeah, that's possible.  Well, okay.  Bradovich it is.  You set it up.  Just move some of your money to him and tell him to use cash only.

"Done.  It'll keep the DeLucas away from people, the media, and especially our friends.  Also, we can close ranks and they'll be close to Dee.  Well, I mean her remains. You have the embassy collect and hold the remains until we, I, get it untangled and into some form of calmness."  Hunter pauses, half chuckles and adds, "Actually I'll be diverting their attention adding Taormina to Pisa's woes."

"Okay, sounds good.  You get in touch with Maria and get the ball rolling.  ASAP."

"Roger, and I'll confirm."

"And listen, Kemo Sabe, the shit is hitting the fan so fast here that the city will be completely fertilized before the morning papers are out.  Get your job done, and bring back the package."

"Joe, I already have a photocopy of the package."