Day of Confession - Allan Folsom [193]
He could hear emergency sirens far to his left. Above, and also to the left, was the heavy thud of rotors from what he assumed was the Italian Army jet helicopter circling to land on the roof of the papal palace. Pulling up his radio, he spoke into it in Italian.
“This is S. Copy.”
Silence.
“This is S,” he said again. “Copy.”
HERCULES SWUNG ALONGSIDE Harry and Marsciano as they made their way quickly along the narrow road toward Vatican Radio. The two-way radio in Hercules’ belt spat with Thomas Kind’s voice.
“Who is that?” Marsciano asked.
“I think someone we want nothing in the world to do with,” Harry said, knowing, without knowing, that it was Thomas Kind. Harry coughed, looking at his watch.
10:53 A.M.
“Eminence,” he said suddenly. “We have five minutes to get past the Ethiopian College to the tracks and into the railroa—“
“Mr. Harry!” Hercules suddenly cried out.
Harry looked up. A black suit stood directly in front of them, less than five feet away in the smoke. He had a huge pistol in either hand—revolvers. He stepped forward. He was tall and youthful and had wavy hair. He looked for all the world like a young Dirty Harry.
“Put your gun on the ground,” he said to Harry in English with a thick French accent. “The waist pack, too.”
Slowly Harry eased the Calico out and set it on the ground, then unclasped the waist pack and let that fall, too.
“Harry—” Danny’s voice jumped out from the cell phone in his belt.
“Harry!”
At that moment something happened that startled them all. A light breeze wafted across, lifting the smoke ever so slightly. At the same time came the distant sound of the work engine’s whistle as it passed through the gates. The black suit suddenly smiled. The train was coming, the trio in front of him would never make it.
It wasn’t much, just a tiny moment, and what Hercules had been looking for. In a single motion he shifted his weight to his left crutch and flung the right.
The black suit cried out in surprise as the crutch struck his right hand sending one gun flying off. Recovering, he swung the other gun toward Harry, his finger closing on the trigger. At the same instant Hercules threw himself forward. Harry saw the gun buck in the black suit’s hand, heard its heavy report just as Hercules crashed into him, knocking them both to the ground.
Harry’s fingers found the Calico. What happened next was in flashes. Split seconds. Pieces. Bits. Passion. Fury. Harry was across the ground and on the black suit. Arm around his neck. Tearing him off Hercules. Then suddenly the black suit wrenched free.
In an instant he had Harry by the hair with both hands and was jerking him forward, slamming his forehead hard into Harry’s with a vicious head butt. Harry saw a stabbing bolt of light and then blackness. A split second later, his vision returned to see the Calico in the black suit’s hand inches from his face.
“Fuck you!” the black suit screamed, his finger squeezing the trigger.
Immediately there was a thundering gunshot. Followed in lightning succession by three more horrendous blasts. Harry saw the black suit’s entire head explode in what seemed like slow motion. Then his body arched and he fell back, the Calico dropping to the grass beside him.
Harry whirled, looking up.
Roscani was coming down the hill toward them, his Beretta pointed directly at the dead black suit, as if there were some chance the man might actually get up again.
“Harry, the engine!” Danny’s voice came out of a fog from the cell phone at Harry’s waist.
Harry got to his feet, picking up the Calico as Roscani came nearer. He started to say something, then froze, staring up the hill behind him.
“Look out!” Harry yelled.
Roscani spun. The two black suits Hercules had sent running toward the helicopter pad were rushing toward them. They were thirty yards away, coming through the smoke.
Roscani glanced at Hercules. His face was ashen, his hand over his stomach, a circle