Havoc (4 page)

CHAPTER 10

The next evening, their third in Rome, Alton and Mallory arrived at Naumachia just as the sun began to kiss the horizon. A swath of indigo blue painted the evening sky, and a harmony of brilliant sunset colors lit the upper tiers of the Colosseum.

The couple sat and ordered their meal. As the sun’s rays continued to fade, floodlights stationed at each level of the Colosseum switched on, bathing the ancient structure in a soft, radiant glow. The Colosseum’s walls towered over their table, which lay only a few dozen yards from the foot of the famous structure.

The restaurant’s wine steward approached their table. “Good evening,
signore
…
signora
. Have you placed your dinner order?”

“Yes,” replied Alton. “Pappardelle.”

“Ah, a traditional Tuscan meal—excellent choice,” said the sommelier. “And would you like a nice wine with your dinner?”

“Sure,” replied Alton. “What do you recommend?”

“I think…a two-thousand-six Fontanafredda Briccotondo Barbera will be good.”

Alton nodded. “Two glasses, please.”

The sommelier scurried away just as their pasta arrived. He returned within five minutes, uncorking the bottle and filling the bottom third of two large wineglasses. He waved the aroma from one towards his face and inhaled deeply. “There’s something magical about a good wine, don’t you think? It speaks to you of the places the grapes have been.”

“Yes,” said Alton. “I suppose the same could be said of people—good and bad. The past leaves its imprint on the present.”

“So true,” replied the steward. “
Signore
,
signora
, I wish you a memorable meal.
Grazie
!”

The sommelier departed, and the lovers were left to enjoy their repast in the fading twilight. A candle in the middle of their circular table cast a flickering glow of tranquility.

“What do you think of this place?” asked Alton, sweeping his arm in an arc across the open-air restaurant. “Even better than Mario’s back home, huh?”

“I’ll say,” replied Mallory. “Mario’s certainly can’t compete with this view.” She took a bite of pasta and continued. “I noticed you’re still favoring your leg more than usual. How’s it doing?”

“Still pretty sore, to be honest.”

“Do you think more ‘physical therapy’ would help?” asked Mallory with a knowing smile. “You know, to strengthen it up.”

“As much as I’d like that, I should probably rest it a few more days. We have a lot of walking tours planned, and I don’t want to ruin our vacation by humping myself into complete incapacity.”

Mallory laughed with a snort. “I’m sorry. It’s not funny, but it is.”

Alton lowered his head and chuckled as well.

“I do understand what you’re saying,” said Mallory. “And, of course, I don’t want you to be in pain. You just tell me when you’re ready, Sweetie. But in the meantime, even though we’re giving it a rest, don’t plan on having the bed all to yourself anymore.”

“Don’t worry. Your bed has now been officially relegated to suitcase rack.”

The waiter returned to their table holding a wicker basket. “Would you like some bread? We have a lovely assortment—”

The chatter of gunfire interrupted the rest of the sentence. As the waiter hit the deck, Alton and Mallory instinctively rose to their feet.

“That’s a Glock,” exclaimed Mallory, recognizing the sound of the firearm she carried as an FBI Agent.

“The shots came from inside the Colosseum,” said Alton. “Come on!”

“Alton, wait,” said Mallory. “Should we really go in there? We’re not armed.”

“I don’t see any policeman around here, do you?” asked Alton. “At least we’re combat trained. Someone might be getting robbed or need medical attention, for all we know.”

Mallory nodded in assent. They made their way into the looming structure as quickly as Alton’s disability would allow. Although the Colosseum’s exterior walls remained brightly lit, dark shadows shrouded the interior with an oppressive gloom.

After moving a dozen yards in an arc around a perimeter hallway, the couple rounded a corner and entered a passage leading directly to the Colosseum floor. As they traversed the passage, the moonlight revealed a large man in a black leather jacket holding a pistol in one hand and rifling through the pockets of a prone figure with the other.

The thief apparently heard the scrape of their footsteps and looked up. He hesitated for only a moment before disappearing into the labyrinth of hallways created by a network of stone pillars and walls in the Colosseum pit.

Alton and Mallory headed for the wounded man. As they moved forward and crossed a perpendicular hallway, they heard footsteps receding down its left side.

“There’s another!” shouted Mallory, pointing as a thin man in a business suit sprinted across a narrow shaft of artificial light illuminating a small section of the passage floor.

“Let’s keep heading towards the guy on the ground,” gasped Alton, whose leg protested the exertion by sending lances of pain up his thigh. “We don’t know how injured he is.”

As he hobbled along, Alton switched on his smartphone’s flashlight app and used it to cast a modicum of light into the midst of the gloom.

After advancing twenty paces past the crossing hallway, the couple swiveled their heads at a new noise. They witnessed a third figure darting across the perpendicular passage in the same direction as the suited man.

“There’s people all over the place in here!” exclaimed Mallory.

“Let’s see to the injured man first,” said Alton. Seconds later, they reached the victim’s still form. Alton crouched over him to check for a pulse but couldn’t find one. As he pulled back the man’s jacket, he encountered a sticky pool of blood. The gunshots had apparently found their mark.

“I’m gonna start CPR,” said Alton. Laying his flashlight-enabled cellphone aside, he turned to the still form before him and began chest compressions.

“What about the assailants?”

“We can’t go after them—we’re outgunned,” said Alton.

“Let me see if the local police are already here. They might be able to track down the perps.”

“Okay. Be careful.”

Mallory began to retrace her steps. Scarcely two minutes later, she returned with a pair of local constables.

“We ran into each other—literally,” she explained to Alton. She turned to face the policemen. “When we came in here, we saw three men running away. They may still be in here. One of them, a man in a dark leather jacket, shot this man—at least he was standing over him holding a handgun.”

“Where did you see them go to?” asked a slightly chubby officer who puffed with the exertion of his recent effort.

“The first one, the one we saw over this victim, ran into that passage,” replied Mallory, gesturing to a hallway leading directly away from the restaurant. The chubby officer flipped on a heavy flashlight and crept into the gloom, sweeping the flashlight’s beam across the walls and floor.

Mallory turned to the second policeman. “We saw two other guys running down that perimeter hallway over there, the one we passed on our way in.”

“Show me, Miss,” he replied.

Mallory and the policeman jogged to the passage and rounded its corner. The sound of their footsteps died away within moments. Alton continued to administer CPR in a dwindling hope of bringing the man back from the precipice of death. As he continued the chest compressions, a collage of unpleasant memories swept through his mind, memories of mortally-wounded Army comrades in the desert of Gazib who had met a similar fate.

None of Alton’s ministrations seemed to help. He couldn’t treat the man’s gunshot wounds without discontinuing the CPR. Like the gladiators of old, the dying man’s lifeblood seeped out onto the floor of the Colosseum. Fearing the man to be either dying or dead, Alton prayed emergency workers would arrive soon.

After a seeming eternity, Alton heard a cacophony of shouts. A crowd of policemen and medics streamed into the hallway and encircled him within moments. Exhausted, Alton moved aside so they could continue the patient’s treatment.

While one of the medics picked up the CPR, another attached monitors to the injured man’s chest. The medic flipped on a switch to activate the equipment, which produced an even tone. He shouted something in Italian to his companion and filled a long, hypodermic needle. After jabbing the syringe into the patient’s heart and emptying its contents, he stared at the heart monitor, scarcely breathing himself.

The ominous, even tone of the heart monitor never changed. Despite the administration of two more injections, the victim’s heart never regained a single beat.

The medics eventually discontinued their efforts and slumped to the ground. One of them checked his watch, mentioned “
momemto della morte
” to his comrade, and typed a note into a handheld electronic device.

Alton thought to examine the victim in a little more detail. As he picked his phone off the ground and swept a beam of light onto the victim’s face, he gave a start of surprise. Duncan Wells, Alton’s taxi-ride companion, lay dead at his feet.

CHAPTER 11

Zane Crowe dashed through random corridors on the Colosseum floor until he emerged from the structure on the opposite side of Naumachia. Despite his muscular build and a height just over six feet, he moved along the paver stones with a lithe, flowing motion.

“Bloody hell!” he murmured to himself. “Half of the bloody
Polizia di Stato
showed up tonight. Plus a couple o’ bleedin’ hearts.”

Upon exiting the Colosseum and scaling its protective fence, he deposited his leather jacket into the nearest trashcan, then set the container alight. Now that he had been spotted in the jacket, he couldn’t continue to wear it. But neither could he leave a prime piece of evidence behind for the police to examine. Burning it was the only answer. By the time the police noticed the fire, he’d be long gone, and the jacket would be destroyed.

He untucked his shirt to conceal the Glock still tucked into a mini-holster inside the rear waistband of his pants.
God bless Italian laws. These jobs are so much easier when you know you’re the only one packing heat.

The appearance of the party-crashers at the end had rendered the job less effective than Crowe had hoped. But on the positive side, at least he had witnessed the sale firsthand, and Duncan Wells—the seller—wouldn’t be alive to finger him. He wished he had been afforded the opportunity to pursue the buyer tonight, but no matter. When Wells had turned on his phone to verify receipt of the payment, Crowe had used the device’s feeble illumination to snap several photos of the buyer. The photos were blurry, but he felt confident he’d be able to track down the man. After all, tracking people was one of the activities his clients paid him to perform.

His client for
this
job had never mentioned how valuable the technology was—only that a clandestine sale would occur. During the transaction, Crowe had heard the seller discuss a payment of twenty-five million dollars. Had he heard that right? If so, the fee he would receive for tonight’s job would be dwarfed by the money he could make if he acquired the smart phone he had seen change hands minutes earlier. His client would have no way of knowing what had happened to the phone. Crowe could sell it to the highest bidder.

The Englishman rubbed his hands together. He would never have to worry about money again…never have to take on any more jobs like this. Not that he really minded, but why go to the trouble if you didn’t have to? He could buy his own little slice of South-American paradise, a
casita
with sunshine, lounge chairs, single-malt Scotch, and friendly señoritas.

For a moment, Crowe thought of the wounded Duncan Wells lying on the Colosseum’s stone floor. It was too bad for him, but a man had to make a living somehow. Sometimes, one man’s living meant another man’s dying. Like unwelcome spirits, memories of Crowe’s poverty-stricken childhood in London, “the City,” passed through his mind. If he had anything to do with it, he’d never live like that again.

CHAPTER 12

Mallory returned with the policeman. She met Alton’s gaze and shook her head. “It’s so dark, you could hide a whole legion in there.” Sensing a troubled look in Alton’s eye, she asked, “What is it?”

Alton shone his light on the victim’s face.

“Duncan! What?” said Mallory, stunned. “Where’s Anna?”

“Good question,” replied Alton. “This must be the night they were going to Naumachia, too, don’t you think?”

Mallory nodded.

“I didn’t notice them there,” continued Alton, “but the al fresco area is pretty big. She’s probably sitting at the restaurant now. She may not even know what’s happened.”

“We have to get her,” said Mallory. She turned to a policeman who had just arrived. “Officer?”

“Inspector Rossi, Miss.”

“My boyfriend and I met the victim a few days ago in a taxi coming from the airport. He and his wife recommended Naumachia, the restaurant just outside.”

“Yes, I know this place Naumachia.”

“We think Anna, his wife, may still be there. She may not even know what’s happened in here. Or if she
was
in here with her husband, she may be in trouble herself. Either way, I think I ought to go to the restaurant and see if Anna is there.”

The inspector eyed her. “So you meet in the taxi, and now you just happen to come here on the same night?”

“I know,” said Alton, turning to the policeman. “It strikes me as weird, too, but that’s how it happened. We didn’t know Duncan—and presumably Anna—were here tonight until we found him here on the floor.”

“Come on,” replied the inspector. “Both of you.” He motioned to a couple of uniformed officers to follow them. Leading the group, he set off for the restaurant at a brisk pace, one Alton had a difficult time matching. Rossi turned around and noticed Alton’s limp. “You get hurt back there?”

“No,” replied Alton, “I was a US Army officer. It’s a combat injury from a few years ago.”

“You sure?” replied Rossi. “You not part of what happened tonight?”

“I’m sure. I’ll show you my scars later, if you like.”

Rossi nodded, seemingly satisfied with the response, at least for now.

As the party arrived at Naumachia, Alton and Mallory scanned the tables.

“Look, over there,” said Alton, pointing. “It’s Anna.”

They approached Anna’s table, and she glanced up in surprise. “Well, hey, you two! I didn’t expect to see you…” She trailed off as she noticed the uniformed officers accompanying them. “Are you all in some kind of trouble?”

“Anna,” said Mallory, lowering herself into a seat next to her. “There’s been an incident. We need you to come with us.”

“What about Duncan? He won’t know where I’ve gone off to.”

“This is concerning Duncan,” replied Mallory.

Anna rose as a look of concern darkened her face. “Where do we need to go?”

“Anna, this is Inspector Rossi,” said Mallory. “He’s going to lead us.”

“Thank you, Miss,” said Rossi with a sarcastic bow to Mallory. Turning to Anna, he asked, “Can you come with me,
Signora
…?”

“Wells. Anna Wells.”

They made quick time back into the Colosseum. By now, the artificial glow of police floodlights bathed the crime scene.

Rossi led Anna to the body, which now lay covered with a sheet. “Mrs. Wells,” said Rossi in a low voice, “can you identify this person?”

Anna’s features seemed frozen as the inspector reached for the shroud. As he peeled back the sheet to reveal Duncan’s face, Anna broke down in hysterics, holding shaking hands over her mouth. “Duncan! Oh, my God! What happened?”

The others watched her in somber silence. What answers could any of them provide? The entire series of events seemed utterly random.

Feeling a little uncomfortable witnessing Anna’s distress, Alton cast his gaze to the floor. As he did so, he thought he saw a feeble glow from a nearby cigarette butt. The glow was so faint, he wasn’t sure if the sight was real or a product of his overworked imagination. He walked three paces and held his hand an inch or so over the object. It still radiated heat.

He walked back over to Rossi. “Inspector,” he said. “I think you need to see this.”

Rossi and Mallory followed him back to the cigarette butt. “See,” said Alton. “It’s still glowing—just barely. It must have been left here within the last few minutes.”

“Surely one of your men wouldn’t have contaminated a crime scene with something like this,” added Mallory. “Perhaps it’s from one of the men we saw running around here tonight.”

“I don’t
think
my men would leave this,” said Rossi, “but some of them…well, they not so careful, if you know what I mean.”

“Do you have an evidence kit?” asked Alton. “Let’s see what we can learn.”

Rossi’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “You know a lot about this kind of thing, huh?”

“I’m an FBI Agent,” interjected Mallory, “Alton and I have worked on several cases together.”

“You FBI Agent, too?” asked Rossi, turning to Alton.

“No. I work for a tech company, but as Mallory mentioned, we’ve worked together a few times. Now, about that cigarette?”

Rossi donned latex gloves. Using a set of tweezers, he lifted the cigarette from the ground. He held it in the light to reveal a symbol printed on the filter
:红
塔
山
.

“Does that mean anything to you?” asked Alton.

“No. I don’t know this brand,” said Rossi. “But we sell a lot of brands for all the tourists. So maybe is one I don’t know.” He turned to Anna. “Mrs. Wells, can you come with me back to my office? I will need to get some information from you.”

Anna nodded wordlessly. She appeared to be in shock.

“Do you need any more information from us?” asked Alton.

“Oh, you are both coming with me, too,” said Rossi. “I insist.”

Within minutes, they assembled inside a conference room down the hall from Rossi’s desk in the municipal police building.

“Mrs. Wells,” said Rossi, “Can you tell me about today? What did you and your husband do?”

Anna struggled to speak. Finally, she whispered, “We walked around all day, sightseeing. We went to the Forum, Trevi Fountain, the Colosseum. After that, we returned to the hotel to shower, then we went back to…that restaurant…I don’t remember the name.”

“Did you notice anyone following you? Maybe someone you saw more than once?”

“No, not at all,” replied Anna.

“Not these two?” asked Rossi, motioning to Alton and Mallory.

“No. I met them the day we arrived. We shared a taxi at the airport. But I haven’t seen them again until tonight.”

“Tonight,” repeated Rossi. “Can you tell me what happened at the restaurant? Did Duncan seem different than usual?”

“No, not really. He did seem a little wound up, but he’s been that way for months. That’s the whole reason I wanted us to take this vacation. His job has been burning him out.”

Rossi nodded. “And when was the last time you saw your husband?”

“We were sitting in the outside area of the restaurant. Duncan said he needed to go to the bathroom. While he was gone, I heard some noise and saw people running, but I couldn’t really tell what was going on. I figured a car had backfired or something. I wondered why he was taking so long, but I really didn’t think anything was wrong until I saw you all…” She laid her head in her hands and wept again. The sparkling, vivacious tourist embarking on her second honeymoon had disappeared. In her place sat a grief-stricken, stunned widow experiencing the first stages of shock.

Alton and Mallory exchanged helpless glances, wishing there were some way to soften the blow of the night’s catastrophe.

Anna looked up with a bewildered expression. “What do I do now? Should I go home? Or will you need me to help with your investigation?”

“Mrs. Wells,” said Rossi, “I would like for you to stay at least a few more days in case I have more questions for you. Can you do that?”

Anna nodded.

“I don’t think these bad men who hurt your husband will come after you, but to be safe, I will put an officer outside your door until we learn a little more about what happened tonight.”

“Thank you. I’d feel a lot safer knowing there’s a policeman nearby.”

“Do you have someone you can call?” asked Rossi. “Someone you can talk to if you need help or feel sad?”

“Yes, my parents are back in the States,” replied Anna, “but no one here, of course.” She looked up at Alton and Mallory. “I know this is awkward, but could I get your number? Somehow, I think it might help me to talk with someone here in Rome who met Duncan when he was alive.”

“Sure,” said Mallory, reaching into her purse for one of her FBI business cards. “My cellphone number is on this.”

“Thanks,” said Anna. Her gaze seemed to fix on some distant point far beyond the confines of the room. “I suppose I’ll need to call Vidulum, too, and let them know what’s happened.”

“Vidulum?” asked Rossi.

“Yes,” replied Anna. “That’s the company Duncan worked for.”