Chris Kuzneski - Sign of the Cross

A blinding beam of light appeared in the sky and unlike before, it wasn’t a flicker. This time it was the chopper’s spotlight, and it gave Payne a view of the upcoming terrain. A boulder to the left, a crevice to the right, Jones directly in front. For an instant he feared that they were going to track them with the light like urban cops in L.A., but they ignored them, using the beam to get around the surrounding peaks and to slip through the storm unharmed.

As the roar faded, Payne heard footsteps behind him. And shouts. Lots of shouts. Men seemed to be appearing out of nowhere; their camouflage outfits kept them hidden until they were on top of Payne. He dodged one and then another, knocking down a third with a vicious forearm to the face. He was expecting to get shot at any moment, waiting to feel the sudden burn of a bullet tearing through his flesh, but the darkness saved him. No way they could risk shooting a target that they couldn’t see, not with this many soldiers running around.

‘This way,’ yelled Jones from ten feet ahead. Then like magic he disappeared. First his legs, then his chest, and finally his head. One second they were there, the next they were gone, hidden by the edge of the plateau as he hit the ramp running.

Payne wanted to follow his lead but was cut off by a guard with a rifle. He pointed it at Payne and shouted something in a foreign language that Payne couldn’t understand. That left Payne with two choices: he could stop for a quick explanation, or he could lower his shoulder and run over him. Option two seemed wiser, so he planted his head in the guard’s chest and knocked him off the hill. Somehow the guy wrapped his arms around Payne and held on as they hit the ramp hard.

A crack of lightning allowed Payne to stare into his face while he surfed down the hill on the guy’s back. The guard was young and scared — Payne could tell that from one look — but it didn’t bother him. He was the enemy, and Payne needed to get rid of him as soon as possible.

He got his chance as they approached the first turn in the ramp, a turn the guard couldn’t see. Payne knew it was coming well in advance and launched himself backward just before they hit the stone wall. With a sickening crack, the guard smashed into it headfirst, cushioning Payne’s blow like a shock absorber. Five seconds later Payne had his helmet and rifle and was sliding down the next slope, trying to catch up to Jones before anyone caught him from behind.

The scenery whizzed by at a dizzying pace. Payne’s eyes had adjusted to the lack of light, but the rain and wind and splashing mud left him flying blind. He quickly adjusted to the length of the ramps and before long he was anticipating the turns so well that he was practically running across them parallel to the ground. He felt like a swimmer in a dark pool who performed flip turns at the perfect moment even though he couldn’t see the walls. This continued the whole way to the bottom, where he found Jones waiting for him in the Mercedes, the engine running.

‘Need a lift?’ he asked as he pushed the passenger door open. ‘Please keep your feet on the mats. I don’t want to get the interior dirty.’

Payne climbed in, oozing mud and blood yet feeling remarkably refreshed. Escaping death will do that to you. ‘Where to now?’

‘Italy,’ Jones said, tramping on the gas. ‘We’ve got a chopper to catch.’

70

Saturday, July 15

Leonardo da Vinci Airport

(nineteen miles southwest of Rome, Italy)

Nick Dial was greeted by the head of airport security, who walked him through customs and gave him a ride in an oversized golf cart. They screeched to a halt in front of the security office, where Dial was given a quick tour. The first room was equipped with dozens of screens, all of them showing different views of the airport, everything from baggage claim to the parking lots.

Marco Rambaldi, the security chief, placed his ID in front of an electronic eye and waited for the next door to unlock. He was a handsome man with jet-black hair that didn’t quite match his gray eyebrows. Dial guessed him to be in his mid-fifties, probably a former cop with a background in terrorism. Someone brought in to prevent a 9/11 from happening in Italy.

‘We don’t talk about this room much,’ Rambaldi said as the door buzzed open. ‘The less criminals who know about it, the better.’

Dial walked in and saw a computer network that was very similar to security systems he had seen in Las Vegas — a combination of live video feeds, data uplinks, and the latest in ID technology. The instant someone walked into the airport, their picture was taken, broken down into digital data, then compared to terrorist databases from around the world. If they got a hit, the suspect was tracked until the proper authorities were notified.

Rambaldi took a seat at one of the computers. ‘We can focus our attention on departures, arrivals, or anywhere you’d like. Your associate, Agent Chang, told my people that the cross murderers will be arriving in Rome today. Is this so?’

‘We’re under that assumption.’

‘Yet you’re unaware of their names, what they look like, or when they’ll be visiting?’

Dial grimaced. He knew his case sounded flimsy in those terms. ‘You’re going to have to trust me on this one. I’m not the type of cop who overreacts to — ’

Rambaldi signaled him to stop. ‘Who am I to argue with your methods? You’re a division leader at Interpol. You must be doing something right… Tell me, what do you need me to do?’

Dial squeezed his shoulder, appreciative of the respect he’d given him. ‘We’re looking for mercenaries, soldiers for hire. Anyone with a high-end military background.’

‘Why?’ Rambaldi asked as he changed some configurations. Instead of focusing on terrorists, one system was now going to search for mercs. ‘What’s the connection?’

‘The murders were done with precision in foreign locales. We suspect killers with military expertise, people who know their way across borders, people with local connections.’ Dial waited until Rambaldi stopped typing. ‘And since all the victims were young and strong, I’d bet we’re looking for men, probably between the ages of twenty-five and forty.’

‘Great. That helps a lot. The more specific you can be, the easier it is to search. If you think of anything else, just let me know. We can update the search at any time.’

Dial nodded. ‘Tell me, do they have a similar system across town?’ Roma Ciampino was a major airport on the other side of Rome.

‘Yes, very similar. We can send them these search parameters if you’d like.’

‘Sounds good. I’ll let my agents at Ciampino know.’

‘And what about smaller airfields? We have several scattered across the region.’

‘We’re sending men to as many locations as possible, but my guess is these guys will show at a major airport. With all these planes and people, it’ll be easier for them to blend in.’

Payne and Jones had no choice. They had to fly to Italy. That was the only way they could catch up to Boyd and Maria. They calculated how long it would take to get to Rome and figured they could beat them there — since jets fly much faster than helicopters — if they found a direct flight that was leaving immediately. But that was just one of their problems. They were covered in mud, driving a stolen car, unwilling to use a credit card, and had no idea where they were going.

Other than that, things would be a snap.

Anyway, Jones knew they needed some assistance, so he called Randy Raskin to see what he could do for them. If anything.

‘D.J.,’ Raskin said, ‘what a pleasant surprise!’ Jones could detect his sarcasm from halfway around the world. ‘You realize I’m at work, don’t you? And that I don’t work for you?’