Michael Morley - Spider

O'Brien pulls Howie to one side as his colleagues arrive and slip the backboard into place and start manoeuvring Jack on to it. 'He needs some shots. Tetanus, the full works,' he says to the lifting team. 'Keep an eye on the bleed, I've only tacked the deeper cuts across the fingers, they'll be able to open them up in the hospital and do a proper clean.'

The lifters nod, heave Jack up to waist height on the creaking backboard and head for the door. Lu Zagalsky's now up top, covered by blankets and an ESU coat, being rushed to a waiting helicopter on the nearby golf course. Paramedics have managed to get an intravenous hydration drip into a vein and the word among the crew is that she's got a good chance of making it, though it's likely to be another twenty-four hours before medics know whether she'll be left with any permanent disabilities such as renal failure.

Jack's fully conscious by the time they get him outside. He squints at the sunlight and slowly sucks in the fresh air. He sees Howie emerging from the blackness and waves a hand again for him to come closer. 'Nancy, Zack, are they…' His voice chokes on him.

Howie finishes the sentence. 'They're okay, they're both absolutely fine.'

Jack swallows and feels the leaden fear sink to the pit of his stomach. 'And BRK?'

'Dead as the dodo. I don't know all the details, but some saintly soul shot him into oblivion.'

'A pity,' says Jack.

'Pity?' queries Howie, frowning.

'Yeah, a big pity. I wanted the pleasure of seeing him rot on Death Row for half a decade. Then I wanted front-row seats and a popcorn combo while I watched the fucker fry.' Orsetta can barely stand unaided, but still manages to kick Spider's bullet-riddled corpse before paramedics shuttle her, Nancy and Zack into a helicopter waiting to airlift them to a hospital in Siena.

Once they're in the air, the medics clamp off Orsetta's shoulder bleed and give Nancy pure oxygen to help her get over the effects of the Lidocaine. Within a few minutes she's clear-headed enough to understand that Jack is alive. The Tuscan countryside rolls surreally beneath the low-flying copter and she spends the whole journey holding Zack tight to her, neither of them speaking. Her brain is still struggling to make sense of everything that has happened, but one thing she is certain of is that the biggest challenge ahead is going to be helping her son to put today's trauma behind him. The copter banks and she feels queasy as they come into land. She is desperate to hear her husband's voice and learn exactly what state he is in. And when she's sure he is okay, absolutely okay, then she's also desperate to remind him that today is Sunday the eighth of July. Their wedding anniversary.

But she knows all the teasing will have to wait. For now, she doesn't even have a phone. It still lies in the blood-soaked darkness of the catacombs next to the dead body of America's most feared serial killer.

Three months later What does not destroy me, makes me stronger. Friedrich Nietzsche San Quirico D'Orcia, Tuscany For the first time in the three and a half years that they've been here, La Casa Strada is free of tourists and strangers. That's not to say that all its rooms aren't fully occupied.

The celebration party was Nancy's idea. And everyone is agreed that it is a very fine one.

It is still warm enough to take drinks on the terrace overlooking the historic, undulating beauty of the Val D'Orcia, and several guests stand together finding peace and beauty in the views they're blessed with. Massimo, Orsetta, Benito and Roberto have travelled up from Rome, and they stand huddled in a group, babbling Italian at machine-gun speed as waitresses serve them the finest wines that Tuscany can offer. Terry McLeod has been invited back, and this time he hasn't needed to cheat or lie his way into the action.

Nancy glances at the one area that still gives her discomfort. As soon as the forensic teams had gone from her garden, she'd brought in Mr Capello, his team of landscapers and their equipment. She had the entrance to the catacombs sealed up with enough ready-mixed concrete to cover Manhattan, but the blocked-up catacombs still give her the shivers. Her eyes fall on her son Zack, riding his trike across the terrace, making sure he never leaves her sight. Since the incident he's been quieter than his parents had ever known and he still insists on sleeping in their bed every night. But he's on the mend and in bright sunshine, playing noisily, a smile returns to his face.

Her home is a crime scene no more. And she never wants to be reminded that it once was.

Nancy leaves Jack's arm for a moment to check in the kitchen on how long dinner is going to be. Paolo is preparing a special six-course feast, ending with Jack's favourite Zabaoine. The aroma of roasting pork drifts in the early autumnal air, sharpening the appetites of the waiting guests.

Howie has repeatedly declined the local wines, and instead has drunk everyone's quota of Bud. He's come alone, but lives in hope that he and Carrie might get back together in time for Christmas.

FBI Field Office Director Joe Marsh cleared his diary and crossed the Atlantic to be here. Jack awkwardly holds out his left hand as they greet each other in a corner on the sunlit terrace. His right hand is still heavily strapped and is going to need physiotherapy to repair the nerve damage caused by the knife wound.

'Still hurting?' asks Marsh as they get chatting.

'Some,' says Jack, slowly wriggling the end of his fingers. 'But not as much as my pride.'

Marsh looks at him quizzically. 'Meaning?' 'Well, to tell the truth, I'm still blaming myself for not reading BRK's strategy. If I had done, then I would have saved us all a lot of grief.' He looks up to make sure Nancy isn't nearby; he's been given strict instructions not to talk about the case. 'BRK staged the Kearney incident because he hadn't killed for a while and he feared that we had forgotten him. By picking the twentieth anniversary of when Sarah's body was found, he was fairly certain we'd put it down to him, but just to make sure, he wrote my name on the package containing her skull.' Jack pauses while Marsh takes a drink from a tray offered by a passing waitress. 'BRK gambled that the incident would reactivate the FBI investigation and put him back centre stage. Just as he gambled that if he killed in Livorno, it would be close enough for the Italians to come and try to persuade me to stop sitting around playing at hotels and get involved in the police case.' Jack nods towards the group of Italian detectives. 'Orsetta was right, I was the elephant in the room, I just couldn't see it.'

Marsh frowns. 'You were an elephant?' Jack smiles. 'Yeah, I was the link between the US, Italy, Sarah Kearney, BRK and the Barbuggiani girl, only I couldn't see it. For years people had been telling me to stop taking the BRK case personally, so I guess I had.'

Marsh agrees and takes a sip of his white wine. 'Whereas, in hindsight, we know that this last affair was personal. BRK was intent on getting you back to New York, to kill you in his father's old house, and at the same time to attack your unprotected family.'

'Yeah, that's about it. He had us all chasing around in America, while the big show was about to go down in Italy.' Jack grimaces as he thinks how close the serial killer had come to adding to his death toll. 'And let's not forget that this sick fuck would have enjoyed planning all that. He would have fantasized for years about carrying out these killings, and I guess Sarah's anniversary gave him the nudge to try to push fantasy into reality.'

'Almost ready,' shouts Nancy, her eyes fixed disapprovingly on Jack and Marsh.

Carlo quietly makes his way over to his boss and whispers discreetly in her ear, in the way that only the best of matred's can manage. She nods and instructs her waitresses to top up everyone's glasses.