policemen banged on the window and
yelled something. Immediately, Corelli hauled the vehicle over to
the side of the road and stopped. The policemen opened the back
door and gestured for everyone to exit.
“This is place,” Leo said. “I remember
farmhouse near here.”
Gazing around, Harry took in the simplicity
of the countryside. Tall stalks of wheat waved in the warm evening
breeze, and the air smelled clean... for the most part. At the same
time, though, a faint whiff of blood came through to his
nostrils... fresh blood. He unslung the computer and quickly sent a
message to Jason. We’re in the countryside, about an hour away
from Rome. Are you following us?
A reply came back from Jason within thirty
seconds. We’ve got you. Stay safe, okay?
Will do.
Harry logged off and turned to Leo. “Lead the
way.”
The area was silent, but something in the air
besides the scent of blood caused every hair on the nape of Harry’s
neck to stand up. Anastasia remained by his side, sniffing the air
as they went along, and Leo meekly followed behind, muttering
something in nervous, rapid-fire Italian. Corelli and his men took
point, weapons at the ready.
Abruptly, Leo scampered in front of everyone
and pointed at a farmhouse. “There, it is there.”
He said something to Corelli, and in turn,
the lieutenant ordered his men to move ahead with caution. As they
approached the structure, nothing impeded their way, but Leo
dropped to the ground and started sniffing around. “They were
here,” he said.
“Who was?” That came from Anastasia. “Are you
talking about people like us?”
“No, they are other ones.”
Harry immediately got a bad feeling. Death
squads... he’d read about them, and now it seemed as though the old
pulp fiction ideas were true. A click off to his right startled
him. It was the bolt of a weapon being thrown. “Get down!”
Grabbing Anastasia around the waist, he
pulled her down with him and covered her with his body. In turn,
she grabbed Leo and the three of them hugged each other along with
the earth. A second later, machine gun fire erupted out of the
darkness.
Corelli and his men weren’t so lucky. They
had been mowed down like wheat before a scythe, and fell without
being able to get off one shot. Overton pulled his pistol out and
returned fire, but a second later a loud crack sounded. The agent
spun around and fell to the ground clutching his left shoulder.
“Damn it,” he cried, “they were waiting for us!”
Gee, you think so? Harry fought down
the impulse to toss off a snotty reply, but now wasn’t the time or
place. “Are you badly hurt?”
“They winged my shoulder. I’ll make it.”
“Do we have any options?”
“You surrender,” a voice called out from the
darkness.
Six figures emerged from the night carrying
machine guns and holding flashlights. The yellow beams cast an
eerie glow upon the ground and illuminated the dead bodies. The
smell of blood in the air didn’t help matters either, and Harry
wondered if these men were open to discussion. “I don’t suppose you
could speak to them,” he whispered to his wife. “You speak Italian,
don’t you?”
“I just know some greetings.”
Greetings wouldn’t help in this situation,
and neither would the excuse of having lost their way.
Judging from the way they’d acted, these
visitors weren’t into friendliness. Dressed in simple clothes, they
were young, lean, and nasty looking. “You are Americans, yes?”
Looking around, Harry got no answers, so he
took the lead. “We’re American.”
“From your accent, I think so,” one man said
and spat on the ground. Clad in a ragged shirt and torn pants, he
had a number of tattoos, all of them skulls, on his fingers as well
as on the surface of his hands. A large and livid scar stood out in
the beams the flashlights cast. It ran from the right side of his
hairline down to the center of his jaw, as if he’d lost a knife
fight of the worst kind.
“Oh, you see
yelled something. Immediately, Corelli hauled the vehicle over to
the side of the road and stopped. The policemen opened the back
door and gestured for everyone to exit.
“This is place,” Leo said. “I remember
farmhouse near here.”
Gazing around, Harry took in the simplicity
of the countryside. Tall stalks of wheat waved in the warm evening
breeze, and the air smelled clean... for the most part. At the same
time, though, a faint whiff of blood came through to his
nostrils... fresh blood. He unslung the computer and quickly sent a
message to Jason. We’re in the countryside, about an hour away
from Rome. Are you following us?
A reply came back from Jason within thirty
seconds. We’ve got you. Stay safe, okay?
Will do.
Harry logged off and turned to Leo. “Lead the
way.”
The area was silent, but something in the air
besides the scent of blood caused every hair on the nape of Harry’s
neck to stand up. Anastasia remained by his side, sniffing the air
as they went along, and Leo meekly followed behind, muttering
something in nervous, rapid-fire Italian. Corelli and his men took
point, weapons at the ready.
Abruptly, Leo scampered in front of everyone
and pointed at a farmhouse. “There, it is there.”
He said something to Corelli, and in turn,
the lieutenant ordered his men to move ahead with caution. As they
approached the structure, nothing impeded their way, but Leo
dropped to the ground and started sniffing around. “They were
here,” he said.
“Who was?” That came from Anastasia. “Are you
talking about people like us?”
“No, they are other ones.”
Harry immediately got a bad feeling. Death
squads... he’d read about them, and now it seemed as though the old
pulp fiction ideas were true. A click off to his right startled
him. It was the bolt of a weapon being thrown. “Get down!”
Grabbing Anastasia around the waist, he
pulled her down with him and covered her with his body. In turn,
she grabbed Leo and the three of them hugged each other along with
the earth. A second later, machine gun fire erupted out of the
darkness.
Corelli and his men weren’t so lucky. They
had been mowed down like wheat before a scythe, and fell without
being able to get off one shot. Overton pulled his pistol out and
returned fire, but a second later a loud crack sounded. The agent
spun around and fell to the ground clutching his left shoulder.
“Damn it,” he cried, “they were waiting for us!”
Gee, you think so? Harry fought down
the impulse to toss off a snotty reply, but now wasn’t the time or
place. “Are you badly hurt?”
“They winged my shoulder. I’ll make it.”
“Do we have any options?”
“You surrender,” a voice called out from the
darkness.
Six figures emerged from the night carrying
machine guns and holding flashlights. The yellow beams cast an
eerie glow upon the ground and illuminated the dead bodies. The
smell of blood in the air didn’t help matters either, and Harry
wondered if these men were open to discussion. “I don’t suppose you
could speak to them,” he whispered to his wife. “You speak Italian,
don’t you?”
“I just know some greetings.”
Greetings wouldn’t help in this situation,
and neither would the excuse of having lost their way.
Judging from the way they’d acted, these
visitors weren’t into friendliness. Dressed in simple clothes, they
were young, lean, and nasty looking. “You are Americans, yes?”
Looking around, Harry got no answers, so he
took the lead. “We’re American.”
“From your accent, I think so,” one man said
and spat on the ground. Clad in a ragged shirt and torn pants, he
had a number of tattoos, all of them skulls, on his fingers as well
as on the surface of his hands. A large and livid scar stood out in
the beams the flashlights cast. It ran from the right side of his
hairline down to the center of his jaw, as if he’d lost a knife
fight of the worst kind.
“Oh, you see
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