James Acton 03 - Broken Dove (18 page)

“Agreed. I think we should assume they are merely taking advantage of the situation, and did not kill the Father, or kidnap Chaney or the Pope.”

Laura cleared her throat. “You’re forgetting one thing.”

Both men turned to face her. “What’s that?” asked Reading.

“They knew the Pope had been kidnapped.”

Reading’s head snapped toward Giasson. “When—”

“We didn’t! There’s been no press release on this, but we were forced to call the police in. Hundreds of our own people know by now, but the police have been bringing their resources inside, then informing them what’s going on only when necessary, and not letting them leave. They’ve also been confiscating cellphones, so…” Giasson’s voice drifted as he lost himself in thought.

“If the police have been sequestering their resources inside the Vatican, then the leak may be within.”

Giasson looked at Reading. “Very few Roma resources are inside who have been informed. The K-9 units are searching, but they know not for whom, and most of the resources are outside, providing perimeter security. Crime scene investigators have been inside, gathering evidence. The first group processed the Father’s room, which was no secret. A second group processed Chaney’s room which hasn’t been made public, but they weren’t told of His Holiness’ disappearance. Only the third group of investigators who were allowed into His Holiness’ chambers know he is missing, and they are the only ones who’ve been allowed to leave besides the liaison officers we’ve been working with. I’ve been assured they are all very trustworthy.”

“All it takes is a slipped mention to a wife, mother, family member. This is news that is irresistible to share.”

Laura pulled out her phone and began typing on the touch screen, and seconds later held it up, showing a BBC news report. “Pope Kidnapped?”

“The story’s out.”

Giasson slammed his fist on the dash, cursing, then made the sign of the cross, eyes tossed upward in apology. “This is not good.” He turned to the driver. “Better take us through the back, we’ll never get through any of the main gates.”

The man nodded, glancing in his rearview mirror then changing lanes.

Reading turned to Laura, pointing to the satchel with his chin. “Is it wise to be carrying that around with you?”

Laura gripped it tighter. “Probably not, but this is a forbidden item, and we don’t know who we can trust. I couldn’t just leave it lying around.”

Reading glanced at Giasson. “And you let her leave with this?”

“She insisted, we were in a hurry, and if it’s a forbidden item, I don’t want to even touch it.” Giasson’s eyes flitted to the satchel then away. He made the sign of the cross.

Reading shook his head. “For a religious man, you’re awfully superstitious.”

Suddenly the car screeched to a halt, throwing all of its occupants forward. Reading looked to see what had happened, and saw a vehicle blocking the way. Four masked people climbed out, automatic weapons in hand. The driver slammed the car in reverse and floored it as they opened fire. Bullets ricocheted off the bullet resistant skin as Reading tossed his body over Laura.

A cacophony of screeching metal jarred them to a halt. Reading twisted around to see what they had hit, and found another large SUV blocking their escape to the rear. Four more figures, dressed head to toe in black, exited, opening fire, as a third vehicle pulled up on the driver’s side. Reading felt the rear end passenger side drop several inches as the run flat tire was chewed away by the hot lead belching from the fully automatic weapons fire. Each of the other three tires were destroyed, leaving them stranded, but still safe inside. Giasson was yelling into his phone, when the gunmen changed their focus to the driver and passenger side windows. As round after round pummeled the reinforced glass, it quickly became clear they would soon be through. These windows weren’t designed for sustained volleys of gunfire, they were meant to stop the lone bullet of an assassin or crazed gunman. Not an unrelenting assault.

“Get us out of here!” yelled Reading.

The driver put the car in gear and pressed the gas. The car lurched forward on misshapen tires, but at least it moved. They slowly gained speed as the driver pulled onto the sidewalk, the exposed rims screeching on the cobblestone, barely heard over the continuing gunfire. Reading pushed Laura down behind the seats so she’d be protected by the much thicker doors of the car, then lay himself down prone on the backseat, his weapon pointing at the passenger side window that appeared ready to give.

Giasson pressed the button, leaning his seat back so he too could shield himself with the doors, the driver doing the same, pulling himself up with the steering wheel so he could see through the pockmarked windshield. “Give me your weapon!” yelled Giasson.

“Left shoulder!” yelled the driver. Giasson reached over and pulled the weapon from its shoulder holster, then, with a gun in each hand, took up position, covering the front windows as best he could.

Reading looked down and saw Laura flipped over on her back, her head and back against the door opposite him, weapon drawn and aimed directly at the window above his head, a look of determination on her face, fear nowhere to be seen. His admiration for her grew even more as he realized how formidable she was in the face of danger. She may let her emotions out when the situation permitted, but when the shit hit the fan, she was all business. This was the woman he had met in London two years ago. And this was the woman he knew he could rely on to watch his back. He flashed her a smile, which she returned.

The window above his head exploded.

He heard yelling from outside and Laura’s eyes widen slightly, then two rounds roared from her weapon. There was a scream directly on the other side of the door, then two more shots from Laura’s weapon deafened them. The window above her head shattered, and Reading prepared himself. One of the attackers raced forward, gun in hand, flame belching from the muzzle as bullets rained over his head. He squeezed the trigger, placing a bullet in their forehead. They dropped.

Laura fired twice more, then the rear windshield exploded. Giasson rolled over in his seat, the weapon in his right hand jerked up several times as he fired, Reading now almost deaf. He saw a hand reach in the car, grasping for the door handle, and finding it, pull. Laura yelped as she fell backward. The car, still moving, albeit slowly, jumped up on the left hand curb, swinging the door open, leaving most of the upper half of Laura’s body hanging out of the car. Reading leapt forward and grabbed her by her belt as her arms swung over her head, clasping her gun in both hands. She fired two shots, and he saw a body collapse to the ground as the open door revealed what only she could see from her head being upside down and only inches from the pavement. He yanked with all his might, and dragged her body inside. The car bounced up another curb, and the door slammed shut.

The driver side window exploded and the driver cried out as he shook from multiple gunshots slamming into his chest. His foot pushed on the accelerator as the car careened out of control and into the side of a building. Giasson squeezed off covering fire as Reading reached forward and tried to put the car in reverse, the engine still revving.

Suddenly there was a loud bang, and smoke billowed from the engine compartment, briefly filling the entire area with smoke. Reading jumped across the back seat, poking his head through the shattered passenger side window, and could see no one. He opened the door, grabbed Laura, and pulled her along with him. He heard Giasson’s door open, and reached out for him. Together the three moved forward, and emerged from the smoke seconds later, much to the surprise of one of their attackers.

Reading put a bullet in their head, then pushed Laura forward. A line of parked cars along their side of the street provided them with some cover as Reading shoved Laura between two of them, he and Giasson taking up covering positions on either bumper. Gunfire erupted from their former position, concentrating on the car they were hiding behind, the windows exploding. Reading and Giasson squeezed off several rounds, quieting the enemy, but only for a few moments.

“Can you fit under this?” asked Reading, motioning to the car behind them. Laura looked and nodded. “Then go, as far as you can, as fast as you can.” She was about to open her mouth to refuse, he knew, but he shook his head. “Go. Now.” She nodded and slid on her belly, under the car. Giasson squeezed off another round.

“I’m getting low on ammo,” he said.

“Last mag for me,” replied Reading. “Make them count.” Heeding his own advice, he waited until he could see one of the black-clad attackers before shooting, dropping them in a heap, and sending the others ducking for cover. But each time, the attack resumed, and they kept getting closer. It was only a matter of moments before they would be out of ammo, and helpless. Giasson fired two more rounds, then ejected the empty mag.

“I’m out.”

Reading fired again, and ejected his mag too. Bullets continued to rain down on the car as the three remaining attackers sprayed the area with bullets, lack of ammo apparently not a problem. Suddenly, from the other side of the street three distinct shots rang out, and the three attackers dropped, bathing the area in silence. With his ears still ringing, Reading slowly raised his head, and through the smoke and haze, he saw Laura slowly rise from behind a car on the other side of the street.

“Are you two okay?”

“Yes!” yelled Reading. “Keep down, there may be more!”

Laura dropped back down, moving forward one more car, her weapon still pointed in the direction of their attackers. But their guns remained silent. Reading rolled out from behind the car and looked at the shredded mess that had been a Jaguar XK. The last few shards of the rear window collapsed inside, a piece of cardboard with writing and a phone number the only thing left.

Reading, at a crouch, ran forward and grabbed the weapon from the nearest dead attacker, and noticed Giasson do the same on the other side of the car. Together, with Laura on their flank, they advanced. After several bodies, Reading heard one moan. He rushed forward and kicked their weapon from their hand. “I’ve got a live one here!”

He grabbed a plastic tie from the utility belt he was still wearing and flipped them over, tying off their wrists and ankles.
He’s awfully light.
Reading flipped the man back over and tore off his mask. And gasped. The fiery eyes of a woman glared at him. She spit at him, then winced in pain, muttering curses in Italian. “Miss, don’t waste your breath on Italian curses. I don’t understand a word of it.” He stood up, taking note of his companions’ positions. “This one’s a woman!”

“So’s this one!” yelled Giasson, bending over another writhing form. Reading tossed him two ties and advanced. He reached their car, and gasped. It looked like it had been through heavy bombing, the outside riddled with hundreds of dents and gouges, most of the windows torn out. He saw Giasson check the driver, and shake his head at Reading, making the sign of the cross.

They continued forward, and then raced ahead as they heard the squeal of tires. The rear SUV that had blocked their escape pulled a 180 and tore away from the scene as the three of them emptied their weapons into the back of it. It careened around a corner and out of sight. Sirens wailed in the distance and suddenly the road filled with the flashing blue lights of the Polizia Municipale arriving just after they were needed.

All three of them raised their hands, Reading and Giasson holding their badges up as the police exited their vehicles, screaming orders as they took in the carnage before them. All three of them slowly lowered their weapons to the ground, then stood, waiting to be searched.

It didn’t take long for their identities to be sorted out, and as a gurney with one of the wounded women passed, a hand reached out for Laura.

“Do you have it?” she gasped.

Laura nodded.

“Please, let me see it.”

“You try to kill us, and you expect favors?”

“Please, I’m dying. It is everything I have lived for.”

Laura looked at Reading who shrugged his shoulders. She flipped the cover of the satchel open and Giasson spun on his heel, turning his back to her. She pulled the book out and held it so the young woman could see the cover.

Tears filled her eyes, then poured down her cheeks, her lips rapidly moving in silent prayer. The paramedics resumed their push to the ambulance. The woman forced her head up so she could see Laura. “You are a woman. Read it. You will understand why we did what we did.” Her head collapsed in exhaustion as the gurney came to a sudden stop, the paramedics yelling in Italian as one began to perform CPR. They all watched as one of their attackers became a little more human, and died.

Laura looked at the book still in her hand, then returned it to the satchel.

“I don’t know how I feel about that,” she said to no one in particular.

“Come, let’s rest,” said Reading, putting a hand on her shoulder and guiding her away from the scene. The three of them moved down the road then sat on the rear bumper of the car that had proven to be their last stand. Reading smacked the trunk. “I never thought I’d say anything positive about a Jaguar, but this lassie saved our lives.”

Giasson nodded. “She certainly took a beating, but”—he reached over and pulled the sign out of the back window—“I think you’d be alone in saying anything good about her.”

“Why, what does it say?”

“Well, roughly translated, it says, “For sale. As reliable as my ex-husband. I got this piece of shit in the divorce. I wanted the dog.”

They all burst out laughing, the tension of the past half hour slowly easing. A car with Vatican plates roared up beside them, a man bursting from the driver side causing everyone in the area to spin toward him, weapons drawn.

“Scusa! Scusa!” he yelled, realizing what he had just done.

Giasson waved off the locals and approached the man. “I’ll lecture you tomorrow. Today, just get us back home.”

The man nodded, jumping into the driver seat, waiting for his sore and tired passengers to moan and groan their way into their seats. Minutes later they pulled into the garage of a building situated a couple of hundred feet from the massive wall surrounding the Vatican. The door closed behind them. The driver reached up and pressed another button, revealing another garage door in front of them. It slowly rolled up and they pulled through. He pressed the button again, closing the second door, then a series of lights turned on, stretching ahead of them.