“No! Mrs Bellacci can shoot them down.”
“Drones operate by battery. There is no fuel tank to hit. The best she could hope for is to take out one or two of the passengers.”
He is already turning from me.
“You do not have imagination, Gabriel.” He turns to a dazed Coleman and holds out his hands. “I need your backpack.”
Coleman strips the bag from his shoulders without hesitation and hands it over. Lorenzo empties the contents, then runs over to the bodies of the two soldiers and scoops up the remaining launcher projectiles. Once the pack is in place, he grabs the portable rocket launcher and heads towards the tower.
When I turn to check on Coleman, he is mesmerised as Lorenzo scales the narrow ladder to the top of the water tower like a monkey being chased into a tree.
“What the fuck?” mutters Coleman. “Remind me that I don’t ever want to get on that young man’s wrong side.”
“You do not, Coleman. Believe me. You really do not.”
Mrs Bellacci’s head appears briefly when he reaches the top. As Lorenzo clambers over and disappears onto the roof, I grab Coleman’s arm and lead him away. I am not sure if it is the sense of danger, but my heart is racing.
“What’s the problem?”
“We need to move. M2 taught me to leave no evidence or traces of what happened once a job is done. And that usually entailed razing a building to the ground. He may well have planted explosives and planned to do the same here now that he’s out of harm’s way.”
We head to a raised spot across the grounds overlooking the landing pad where the drone took off. As I look to the top of the tower, my eyes blur, a moment of double vision. Confused, I rest a steadying hand on Coleman’s shoulder.
“Are you okay, Gabriel? You’ve turned ghostly white.”
Only then, as I watch the trail of a rocket sear the sky, do I realise the dreadful truth. Somewhere around me, I hear an explosion—perhaps the hut or maybe the drone—but my concentration is focused internally because I need to articulate something before it is too late.
“Coleman,” I say, grabbing at his sleeve. I feel a toxin working inside me. “I am losing consciousness. Something on the gloves?Will be traces on my wrist. Must tell Romano. He will know what…”
My consciousness folds, and I slip into darkness. Visions surface. Running barefoot up a snowy hill, my feet numb from the cold.Stay with me. Fighting to remain afloat amid blazing flotsam in the middle of a calm, cerulean sea.Gabriel.The sour smell of sweat from a morbidly obese man, his heavy arm slung around my shoulders.He’s coming. Screeching metal, broken glass, people and luggage tossed around like clothes in a washing machine as the train compartment tumbles down an embankment.My love.Skipping away from a black limousine to a waiting Jeep and not even flinching as, behind me, the luxury vehicle explodes in a ball of fire.
Lorenzo’s frightened eyes stare down at me. Or is this real? The noise inside this box where I’m lying is deafening. I can barely hear Lorenzo’s shouted words.
“Romano is here. Try to stay conscious, my love.”
He places a hand on my cheek. ‘My love.’The words are soothing and also bolstering. No matter how hard I try, though, I slide back into the dark. Albert is there this time. We are sitting next to each other, propped up against the headboard on his bed, the way we used to. He is typing on his phone while I am struggling through the Dickens compendium he gave me. With his usual fond smile, he shows me his screen. He has been using our code and tells me to spell out the letters. I tell him I don’t have the cypher to hand. He insists that I dig deep and try to remember. I study the characters and scour my memory.
?????????
FIGHT.
The second line is shorter and easier to decode.
????????
LIVE.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Reunion
When I surface into consciousness, night has fallen.
I need a few moments to align myself with my surroundings, to my bedroom in Eagle House, where the patio doors have been propped open. There must have been rain because the gentle fragrance of lemon and rosemary permeates the antiseptic odours surrounding me. The room is lit by a standing lamp in the corner and by the dimmed displays of medical devices beeping softly to my right.
But I am alive.
When I see Lorenzo asleep on a seat to my left, an overwhelming and utterly foreign emotion fills me. Part of me desires to pull him into my arms, while the other wants to observe, drink in his unique beauty and thank whoever can hear for keeping him safe. His upper body has slouched forward onto my mattress, his head next to my lap, his hand in mine.After a quick self-inspection—I am sure I’m still whole—I run my fingers through his hair. He mumbles something but does not wake. My right shoulder is now bandaged professionally and secured in a sling. Whatever medication they have me on has numbed any pain.