Chapter Thirty
Thirty
De Rosa’s agreement to help had been in his own fashion. After Nikki and Federico answered his questions, he left them outside in the clinging rain. Two hours passed before he returned, clean, freshly shaved, hair combed. He wore leather gloves, a cashmere sweater, and a motorcycle jacket.
“Take me to wherever you think il Fantasma is,” he said. “I’ll confirm Lazarov is there.”
Federico shook his head. “You should bring all your men…an army. Luca has an army.”
“I’ll go alone,” De Rosa said firmly. “This isn’t a war. I merely want confirmation of what you say.”
“We can’t wait,” Nikki protested. She was frozen, wet, feet numb against the paving stones. “What if Valerio is hurt?”
De Rosa’s voice was ice.
“Permit me to be clear about my intentions. If Lazarov is there, as you believe, we will extract him. If you wish, you may also look for your friend—but I don’t take responsibility for you nor him. This is a coincidence, not a favor. You have not earned my favor.”
—
Nikki was shivering violently, teeth banging together as she returned to the locker room.
Retrieving her clothes, she carried them to one of the small dressing rooms. Within the limited privacy provided by a blue canvas curtain, she slammed her palm against the wall, and took big gulping breaths. Her heart was racing.
“Get control,” she told herself.
It wasn’t over yet. She couldn’t afford to fall apart now.
Her skin prickled with the cold, underpants and bra damp as she pulled her trousers and shirt and socks back on.
—
The gate guard handed her the phone on her way out. There were several text messages from Phoenix Seven—beginning with Where the fuck are you? and ending with I’m telling Angelo.
Angelo called after that—then four more times—voice messages informing her she was fired.
Nikki felt cold and detached. She didn’t return the call.
—
It was dark by the time Nikki climbed back on her Hornet, Federico hefting himself behind her. He hadn’t spoken since leaving De Rosa, and he remained silent as Nikki made adjustments and started the engine.
She saw the struggle in him—loyalty and fear for Valerio wrestling against his terror. He hadn’t wanted to speak with De Rosa. Nor did he want to follow where they were going next. Yet here he was.
Nikki felt his discomfort and resistance in the rigidness of his body as he sat upright behind her, tension turning his arms into blocks of wood.
“This is suicide,” he muttered, as Nikki navigated the Hornet onto the empty road, De Rosa following on his Ducati.
—
Federico directed Nikki towards the Tangenziale and they traveled north, turning off at Lago Patria and heading northeast through Aversa, towards the mountains of Caserta.
The world vanished around them, until reality existed only in the patches of yellow headlamps and the uneven smatters of distant houselights.
Federico led them onto increasingly rural roads, up into the mountainside.
—
Nikki felt sure they must be getting close when De Rosa flashed his lights and passed them. She fell in behind and followed him for another kilometer, when he exited onto a dirt road and into the shelter of thick trees. He switched off his bike, and removed his helmet.
Nikki followed suit.
“Who did you bring with you?” he demanded, striding towards her. His gun was out, pointed at the ground.
Nikki looked around.
Without the engine sounds, or the bright illumination of the headlamps, it was suddenly very dark. Quiet.
“Nobody,” she said. “What do you mean?”
“A grey ?koda has been following us since Arco Felice. He isn’t one of mine.”
Then they heard it: the rumble of an engine. Through the trees behind them came the jostling light of an approaching vehicle.
“If you have a weapon, prepare yourself,” said De Rosa.
But Nikki wasn’t armed.
She and Federico moved rapidly off the road, taking cover in the trees as the car came into view.
The night was torn wide by the double report of a weapon—the first shot disabling the tire, the second striking the windshield. The car swerved and braked, and began to reverse, but De Rosa was in the headlights, and took aim, firing a single shot.
The windshield shattered. The car slowly rolled backwards, stopping when it hit a tree.
De Rosa moved rapidly in, and opened the door, aiming his weapon at the driver.
“Don’t shoot!” a man said in English.
“Get out,” said De Rosa in Italian.
When the man didn’t answer or follow the instruction, Nikki edged closer, and repeated the command in English.
He was bleeding as he staggered out, left hand clutching his right elbow. Blood was coming through his shirt at the shoulder and down his arm.
“I’m shot,” he moaned.
“Mac!” exclaimed Nikki.
She hadn’t known what to expect, but certainly not the Dutch naval officer. He was out of uniform and wore a white cotton shirt, a cardigan draped around his neck. He sobbed and fell to his knees.
“Nina! Take me to a hospital. I need a hospital!”
“You know him?” De Rosa said with a suspicious glance.
“He’s my brother’s friend,” said Nikki. “He doesn’t speak Italian.”
“Translate for me,” De Rosa told her. Then, to Mac, “Why are you following us?”
Sweating heavily, Mac rubbed a palm shakily across his face, smearing blood. “We want to talk to Tito Calandra.”
“Who?” De Rosa demanded. “Who wants to talk to him?”
“I work for an elite Dutch intelligence organization—MIVD.”
De Rosa gave a humorless laugh. “How elite can it be if you’re one of them? Why do you want Calandra?”
“The assassination attempts,” Mac stammered. “We know Calandra’s been shot. We’d like to meet with him—make an arrangement.”
At his words, Nikki forgot to translate. She turned to De Rosa. “Has Tito been shot?”
She hadn’t considered—hadn’t let herself consider—that Tito could actually be injured or killed. The possibility was a meteor strike. She reeled from the impact.
De Rosa stared at her. “I won’t discuss this with you. You’ve already made your feelings clear. Tell me what he’s saying.”
“People know where I am. They’ll be looking for me,” said Mac, seeming to gather his courage. “Nina…Nina…you know me. I’m friends with Gianni. We’ve had dinner together.”
“Why would an intelligence officer be friends with my brother?” Nikki asked, realizing the answer as she spoke. “Because he’s connected to Tito!”
“Tell me what you’re saying.” De Rosa insisted. Nikki told him.
“Tito’s my nephew’s godfather,” she explained.
“Ask the Dutchman how he knew where to find us,” said De Rosa. “We can’t continue if they’re following.”
Nikki asked.
“Your bag,” Mac said. “I put a tracker in your bag…at your house.”
“Why?” Nikki demanded.
“We hoped you’d lead us to Calandra.”
Nikki told De Rosa.
“Get it,” he instructed.
Nikki retrieved her cross-body bag, rifling through the contents in the car headlamps. She couldn’t find anything.
“Show me,” she said, handing the bag to Mac. Hands quaking, fumbling, he worked a small piece of metal from the bag’s lining.
“Here…here…” he said, extending it up to Nikki. She passed it to De Rosa. He examined it, frowning.
“Tell him I won’t do it again,” said Mac between sobs. “I won’t tell anyone. I promise.”
Nikki translated this to De Rosa, who looked thoughtful.
Then his face seemed to lose all expression as he turned to Mac, who raised his hands in supplication.
De Rosa’s lips parted and Nikki prepared to translate whatever he would say next, but he lifted his Beretta and emptied two shots into Mac’s surprised face.
He tossed the tracker onto the lifeless body, turned, and strode away.
—
Nikki couldn’t move. She was suddenly heavy. Tired. A strange, overwhelming sense that she might fall asleep. Her eyes fixed on that pudgy pale face, red pockmarks on his forehead leaking blood.
Federico was at her side. He tugged her arm. “We need to leave.”
“He killed him,” Nikki said, stupid with the reality of it.
“I know.”
“I didn’t want this.”
He glanced over his shoulder. “This isn’t a game, bella. What did you think would happen if you went to this man?”
Nikki nodded and followed along automatically. De Rosa started his Ducati and waited for them.
She mounted her Hornet, then followed Federico’s directions as he led them back out onto the main road.
—
Her mind lurched as she followed Federico’s instructions, giving everything a strange stuttering quality: the growl of the engine beneath her, the inertia of the bike, and the cold air on her face.
She told herself not to think about what just happened, yet it repeated over and over in her mind.
Had she not realized the seriousness of De Rosa’s intent?
No, that had been obvious. He’d opened fire on the car expertly and decisively.
Why would he not do the same with the driver?
Perhaps she’d deluded herself into believing she would have more time—more influence—to stop him from killing Mac.
—
The night was still as Federico directed her into a wooded turnout.
“We go the rest of the way on foot,” he told them.
Federico took them off the road, and staggered up the mountain with unsteady strides.
In the darkness of thick trees, the only light from a half-moon, the ground was treacherous. Nikki stumbled twice. De Rosa turned on the light from his phone, and Federico hissed at him to switch it off.
—
After twenty minutes, Nikki wasn’t sure he actually knew where he was going. De Rosa clearly had his doubts as well.
“Where is it, old man?” he demanded.
“The entrance is watched. Guarded. We’re going around the back.”
After nearly a half hour of climbing, there was a loud clack.
Nikki hit the ground, De Rosa beside her as bright lights flooded the hillside in a weird fluorescent glow, revealing the grey outlines of a stainless steel security fence among the trees.
Only Federico remained standing, continuing his loping stride up the hill along the fence.
They rejoined him at a small gate, where he examined a keypad lock.
“They never replaced it,” he scoffed. “It’s faulty.”
Taking a long switchblade from his jacket pocket, Federico jimmied it into the locking mechanism. There was a click, and the gate swung to.
They passed inside, navigating the tangled undergrowth and trees until they arrived at an outcropping of rock above the compound, an unobstructed view of the buildings below.
—
The main house was an ornate stucco structure, with marble pillars and tile roof, manicured gardens, and a swimming pool. At the front of the house was a courtyard with a marble fountain, and two large buildings. Four vehicles were parked in the drive—a dark sedan and three black SUVs.
From her vantage, Nikki could see an armed security guard in the courtyard, and another two pacing around the buildings.
Nikki and Federico and De Rosa stayed for more than an hour in their uncomfortable perch, watching the guards conduct their patrols. Then De Rosa stepped away and Nikki heard the low murmur of his voice on the phone.
“Would they be holding Valerio in the house?” she asked Federico.
“Doubtful,” he said. “Luca doesn’t like messes.”
He was silent several minutes, then continued, this time in a low voice, glancing in the direction of De Rosa. “Take care of yourself, bella,” he said. “He’s lying to you. This isn’t only a reconnaissance mission.”
“He’s trying to find Lazarov,” Nikki said.
“Yes. And when he does, do you think he can afford to wait…to let him get away?”
“What can he do on his own?” she whispered. “If he was going to take Lazarov tonight, he would have more men with him.”
“Tito Calandra was shot,” Federico said. “That doesn’t happen…. Nobody gets that close unless someone betrayed Calandra. They have a traitor. De Rosa’s looking for Lazarov on his own because he doesn’t trust anyone else.”
“How can you be sure?”
“He’s on the warpath. He killed that Dutchman. That should tell you how important this is to him. Watch and see. He’s coordinating with Calandra now. Just make sure you’re far away when they pull the pin.”
—
De Rosa returned several minutes later.
“I count eleven men,” he said. “I don’t see Lazarov.”
“Patience,” Federico advised.
Nikki checked her watch. It was 01:22.
—
At 01:46, two men came from the main house, strode across the courtyard, towards the hillside and into the woods. They returned a few minutes later, dragging a figure between them. Nikki’s heart hammered and she strained to see.
He was dark with mud and blood, boots and clothes caked in it. It painted his face and hands, obscuring his features.
“Is it him?” she asked Federico. “Is it Valerio?”
She wanted to race down the hill and…then what?
She took out her phone and started filming.
The mud-stained man was clearly injured badly. When the guards dumped him on the ground, he lay motionless for a few beats before struggling to sit. There was something about the way he moved, the curve of his back, and the shape of his body…. Nikki grew more and more certain that she was right.
It was Valerio.