Viper - Michael Morley [159]
When the world seems to shine like …
Jack whirled round. Saw the dark shape dashing into the mist. He levelled the Beretta and fired.
Missed.
He tried to sight again but even with the night-vision goggles he couldn’t see clearly enough.
He tore into a sprint and prayed he wouldn’t turn an ankle. Behind him the other GIS men broke their pattern. One rushed to his fallen colleague. The other raced after Jack.
A bullet sliced out of the darkness. A sharp pain erupted in Jack’s kneecap. For a moment he thought he’d been hit. Then he realized the slug had hit volcanic rock directly in front of him and he’d been spiked by shards of stone.
A burst of automatic gunfire erupted behind him. Jack hit the ground.
Crossfire!
Christ almighty, he was going to die in crossfire!
More 9mm pistol fire came from in front of him. Jack rolled on his side. Pain stabbed through his left arm. Nerves twanged and sizzled – a painful reminder of his battle with the Black River Killer. He kept rolling. The pain kept coming, but he didn’t stop until he was a good ten metres away.
He scrambled to his knees, kept his head down and tried to get his bearings. The moon backlit Vesuvius in front of him. The rocky ground opened up for as far as he could see. There was a hint of a path to his left. Shadows changed shapes. On it – he was sure – was Salvatore Giacomo.
Jack opened fire.
Sal the Snake took the bullet in his left wrist. It destroyed the birthday watch that Finelli had given him, sent the Glock spinning out of his hand. He twisted round, fell to his knees, opened fire with his other Glock.
Two shots missed Jack, by less than a metre.
He seized the moment. Dashed closer to Sal. Fired off several rounds as he moved.
Two missed.
The third hit Sal’s hipbone.
The Camorrista crumpled and his weapon fell.
‘He’s down! He’s down!’ shouted Jack. ‘Don’t shoot!’
Giacomo was prostrate. Flat on his back. Staring at the stars.
Jack could see both hands. Empty.
The man’s face was contorted. Jack levelled the pistol at his head. His eyes locked on the empty hands. He fought the urge to pull the trigger. Blow the murdering bastard’s head off. Save the state a lot of time and money. Deal out the kind of justice the victims’ families deserved.
Brown was first on the scene. He flipped the body over and cuffed him.
Sal felt the soldier’s knee in the middle of his spine. Felt blood puddle around his chest and waist. Felt himself blacking out.
It was a good feeling. A peaceful feeling –
When you walk in a dream, but you know you’re not dreaming, signore.
108
ROS Quartiere Generale
(Anti-Camorra Unit), Napoli
The fog lifted enough for Lorenzo to get the chopper in from San Sebastiano. The GIS man was dead. Giacomo’s shot had hit him full in the back of the head.
Jack had been luckier. He picked rock out of his knee and was pleased it wasn’t any worse than if he’d come off his mountain bike on a Tuscan trail.
They loaded their prisoner first. Then their dead colleague.
Finally, they helped Jack into the helicopter. Sat him with his back against the wall. Sal was at his feet. Flat out. Alongside the man he’d killed.
A GIS officer knelt and prepared to patch up Sal’s wounds. Blue stuck his face in the middle of the action. ‘You motherfucking cunt. I hope you bleed to death before we reach the hospital.’ The Camorrista twisted a smile back at him.
The soldier’s hands ripped off his blood-drenched shirt and trousers. Jabbed a hypo of morphine into the meat of his leg.
The GIS medic looked over to Jack. ‘Three body wounds. Nice shooting, soldier.’ Jack looked down. Giacomo had been hit in the stomach as well as the wrist and hip. The gut wound was pumping blood. Too much blood for him to make it.
He leaned over and took the dying man’s head in his hand, turned it towards him. ‘Why – why did you kill them all?’
The Snake’s memory