David Wolf 01 - Foreign Deceit Page 16

  Instinct told him he was already too late. He laid back and rolled just as loud reports from inside pealed open holes next to the door handle. Bullets smacked the asphalt next to him and whirred into the night.

  He got up and sprinted back the way he came in, more muffled gunshots ringing out behind him. Huffing loudly, he reached the fence and vaulted it in a single bound, barely touching his left hand to the top with the adrenaline coursing in his body.

  Wolf was suddenly flying ten feet over the scooter toward the rapidly approaching dirt road. Wind filled his ears as he fell motionless, and then he landed hard on his heels, instantly rolling and smashing his hipbone into the rough road. A split instant later his elbow connected hard with a teeth-clamping jolt. He gasped, stumbled to his feet, and gripped his elbow to contain the pain.

  He heard a diesel engine roar to life from within the property fence and he saw the swinging lights of the truck on the trees inside. There was a yell, then the deep gurgling engine accelerating hard.

  “Shit.” He rammed the scooter key into the ignition and sat on the seat, rolling the scooter off the kickstand. He started it and cranked the throttle, producing more an ear-splitting whine than any forward movement. He jumped off and pushed, sending a fresh jolt of pain into his hip.

  When he couldn’t run any faster, he jumped on, and acceleration gently took over as he propelled down to the main road. To the right was the direction of John’s apartment, but it was an uphill climb for a hundred yards or so past the front of the observatory property. The street slanted downhill to the left, which would give him more acceleration from the small engine.

  He went left, shooting out onto the black pavement in a deep lean, just keeping his balance as both the front and back wheels skidded sideways.

  The tiny vibrating handlebar mirrors showed the bright lights of the truck passing where his scooter had just been parked seconds before.

  Wolf looked back forward, barely in time to see a sharp turn to the right coming up fast. He hand-braked hard and leaned deep again. As he turned, the rear tire slid before grabbing purchase with a jolt, kicking the scooter hard right, leaning him into a sharp involuntary turn to the left. Like a rodeo cowboy, he kept his balance, but the move had caused him to lose all speed.

  A straightaway stretched for a hundred yards in front of him. Cornfields lined the right and left, and it ended in a dimly lit township, where there would be small alleys and tight spaces to lose his pursuers. He cranked the throttle wide open and leaned down, the scooter inching forward painfully slow. He checked the mirrors again. The hairpin turn was illuminated with bouncing light behind him.

  They would run him down on the straightaway. There was no doubt. A two-tire dirt road materialized on the right, and he jammed on the brakes and leaned, launching himself toward it. He bounced onto one of the tire troughs, then cranked the handlebars, crashing into the cornfield.

  Broad, cool leaves slapped and sliced his face as he rolled and bounced between thick stalks. He ended up lying in a row, staring up at the sky. He quickly crawled to the screaming scooter, which lay on its side still running with the powerful light pointing to the sky, and turned it off. Then he reached up, steadied two corn stalks, and waited.

  Wolf calmed his heaving breaths and listened carefully, hoping to God they hadn’t seen any part of his crash, or they weren’t looking at a telltale dust cloud on the side of the road in their headlights.

  Wolf relaxed a little as he realized they hadn’t yet completed the hairpin turn. He heard the diesel slow, and then he saw headlights through the corn as the truck swung out onto the straightaway. It coasted slowly and quietly at low RPM’s. Then it braked to a halt, pausing for a few seconds, then turned onto the narrow dirt road Wolf had just crashed into. Light swept across him through the stalks as it bumped onto the rough turnout with a slow crunch.

  Wolf’s heart thumped. Chances were good he could outrun Cezar. Cezar was a smoker, and he would be a hard target in the corn. Of course, Cezar would have quite a stride on him being so tall, and who knew what kind of shot he was.

  The truck came to a halt. It was no more than fifteen feet and five rows of corn from Wolf. From Wolf and his white scooter.

  Wolf could see inside the truck clearly. Cezar was in the driver’s seat, looking to his left out the glass, but more down the road than into the corn directly in front of him. Wolf stayed frozen, muscles tensed for action.

  Cezar lit a cigarette, momentarily lighting the interior of the cab, and rolled down the window.

  Wolf narrowed his eyes and kept an eye on the cab, for any sign of a pistol. Light blue writing on the outside of the white truck momentarily distracted him. It was the same light blue writing as on the wooden Albastru Pub sign. In fact, it said “Albastru” on the side. However, underneath it, it said “International Shipping Co.”

  Wolf darted his eyes back to the truck cab as the truck rocked slightly on its wheels. The rear lit up and a continuous beep filled the air. The truck slowly backed up, pulled onto the road, and went back the way it came.

  Chapter 31

  Drool ran up Wolf’s face as he watched Connell, laughing maniacally and sharpening a stick with a camping axe. Chop-chop-chop-chop. Wolf dangled by his ankles, which were tied together with a heavy boat rope that had been slung over a tall tree branch.

  He pleaded, but couldn’t produce any intelligible words. He tried to move, tried to reach his feet, but could only struggle against the pull of gravity, which was way too strong for his beaten body to handle. Chop-chop-chop-chop.

  Wolf woke with a start.

  Knock-knock-knock-knock.

  He looked at his watch, it was 8:15. When? P.M.? Had he slept through the whole day? He got out of bed, and stared at his watch again. He looked around the room. He knew where he was, he just couldn’t think of it.

  Knock-knock-knock-knock.

  He moved toward the sound of the knocking, wincing at the hot stabbing in his left hip as he walked through the hallway. He turned the knob and pulled. It was Lia, wide eyed on the other side of the door. Wolf came to the present moment in a sudden instant. He looked down at himself and straightened his twisted boxer shorts.

  “Oh shit.” Wolf looked again at his watch. “Sorry. I don’t know what happened. I forgot to set the alarm last night I guess. Come in.” Wolf stepped aside.

  Lia’s stiff expression melted to a slight smirk as she walked in.

  “They say it takes one day per one hour time difference to get over jet-lag,” she said from the hallway as he quickly put his clothes on.

  “Yeah, I’m definitely still feeling the effects.” Visions from the night before came to him like distant childhood memories.

  Lia looked at his bare torso, her eyes stopping for an instant at the long scar on the front of his shoulder. “They have all the paperwork done to release your brother’s remains from the morgue.”

  “Okay.” Wolf walked to the bedroom and put on some clothes.

  “Let’s go for coffee in the piazza before we leave,” she called.

  He felt as if he’d taken a handful of sleeping pills after just running a marathon. “Heck of an idea there.”

  Wolf freshened up as fast as he could and joined her in the main room.

  They went downstairs and outside.

  The piazza was warm and bright, bustling once again. Wolf decided John had been onto something coming over here for inspiration. Too many people for Wolf’s taste. But, had he been here for any other reason than he was, he could see himself enjoying the atmosphere. Throngs of people milled around, double the amount he’d seen before, and the space felt more festive than ever. There were large groups of old men arguing, young kids chatting and pushing each other playfully. It was Friday, Wolf realized. No matter where you went, people lived more on Fridays.

  They reached a bar and stepped inside, which was bustling no less than the piazza outside. People were lined up two-deep against the counter. Baristas yelled and paced behind the
bar – clacking, and smacking, and twisting, and frothing.

  “Two,” Wolf said holding up his fingers to Lia.

  “You want a double?”

  “Yes,” he said. “It was a difficult night.”

  Wolf looked in the mirror behind the shuffling baristas and saw Lia’s face turn red.

  They had a croissant, or a ‘brioche’ as the Italians call it, and slammed their coffee without eye contact or a word said.

  Walking out, Wolf said, “Look, about last night. I didn’t mean it was a difficult night because of you … or because of us.”

  “I’m sorry about that—”

  “No, I don’t care. I mean, don’t worry about it,” he shook his head. “Look, there’s more to last night. I went to the observatory, and I found out something big.”

  As they drove to the morgue, Wolf detailed the night before for Lia. He told her about the load of stolen computers and bags of white substance in the Albastru Shipping truck, how Cezar shot at him, and the ensuing chase. He left out the part where he sat motionless in the cornfield for an hour after Cezar left the scene, only to get hopelessly lost on the way back to his brother’s apartment, and finally shoving the keys to Cristina’s scooter under her door and climbing into bed at two-thirty.

  “Okay,” she said, “that connects the Romanian bar owner and Vlad to the cocaine. I’m not sure what that means. Was Matthew dealing the drugs for them? Why the baggies found at your brother’s and Matthew’s apartment?”

  “I don’t know. But Cezar was really roughing up Vlad last night. He was furious for something Vlad had done. I had a little time to think last night,” Wolf ran his hand over a scratch on his arm from the corn stalks, “I would bet money that if we found out where these two were from in Romania, the places would be one and the same.

  “What did Dr. Wembly at the observatory say about Vlad? He was kind of kissing his ass, like he was surprised Dr. Vlad chose to work there. He said something to the effect of, ‘He’s gracing us by working here.’ In all the places in Europe, he chooses that outdated observatory in northern Italy to set up shop? Why? I think it’s because he wanted to be close to Cezar. Or maybe he didn’t have a choice. Cezar might have something on him, forcing him to help out Cezar. From the little I saw last night, their relationship looked that way – a bully and the bullied.

  “Anyway, it’s obvious that Cezar is running some sort of electronics fencing and drug operation, and Vlad’s complete reign of a respectable, European agency’s shipping and logistics operation is a perfect means to transport the stuff wherever they want. The Albastru International Shipping Company and the European Astronomical Confederation. It’s a perfect marriage.”

  “So how does your brother fit in? And Matthew Rosenwald?”

  They saw something they shouldn’t have. Wolf stared at the passing cars parked inches from each other on the side of the road. “I think it might be best if I go about this alone from now on.”

  She laughed, and looked over at Wolf, then turned back to the road. “I will help you.”

  “I don’t want you getting in trouble, Lia. I plan on getting to the truth today. No matter what it takes. I don’t have any time left.”

  They drove in silence the rest of the way to the morgue.

  …

  John’s remains were packed in a heavy-duty plywood box with metal latches and handles. Large gray and black stenciling read “Handle With Extreme Care” diagonally on each side in English.

  An Air Tray. He’d seen plenty in the Army, all of which had stabbed his heart, but none like the sight of this one. He gave it quick shove with his palms to check the quality of construction, an unconscious maneuver that told him nothing.

  The agent pointed to where Wolf needed to sign, and he signed. He took his brother’s bag of belongings, and the agents wheeled the box to waiting truck. Wasting no time. That was good. John was on his way home. Wolf had accomplished half of what he had come to do.

  Wolf and Lia left the morgue and drove to the Caribinieri station. The underbelly ground floor was devoid of people, though the odor of sweat hung thick in the stagnant air. Apparently this floor was closed on Fridays.

  “What is this place anyway?”

  Lia looked over her shoulder as she climbed the stairs. “Immigration office.”

  Wolf nodded and followed her up.

  Lia turned the corner at the top of the stairs and almost slammed into an officer jogging out of Colonello Marino’s office. “Che cazzo!” she said, coming to a stop.

  The officer paused, then apologized and moved on.

  A silence had fallen over the room, and everyone was stealing glances at them.

  “What the hell’s happening?” Wolf asked.

  “I don’t know. Let’s go talk to Paulo.”

  They walked on and everyone resumed talking, looking toward Wolf and Lia. Lia led the way to the computer genius in the back room.

  “What the hell is happening, Paulo?” She demanded.

  “Oh, good morning.” He didn’t smile. “I couldn’t trace Dr. Rosenwald’s phone. I found that his latest credit card transactions were normal enough. Local groceries, and then a payment to The Albastru Pub on Friday night at 10:43 pm. His car is missing at his apartment building. We are looking for it.”

  Wolf and Lia looked at each other.

  Paulo shifted uncomfortably, now speaking at a million miles an hour. “His passport had no activity on it. Rosenwald doesn’t seem to spend much time online. Anyway, we don’t need to worry about it anymore.”

  Lia frowned. “And why is that?”

  “Because they just found him.”

  Wolf’s eyes widened. “Where?”

  “Near the lago by the Osservatorio di Merate. Lying in some weeds.”

  Chapter 32

  Lago Sartirana was a large lake in Wolf’s eyes, even though Lia described it as a retention pond. It was surrounded by dense vegetation and hills on the north side, where a bright yellow villa reflected the morning sun. A trail circumnavigated the oval lake, the main access point being at a straight outflow canal at one end.

  Wolf and Lia parked there and got out. To the left of the straight canal stood some locals—some curious onlookers, some un-curious fisherman throwing in their fishing lines. To the right, local Poliziotti stood smoking cigarettes in front of a couple portable barriers. Lia and Wolf walked by them without receiving a single glance.

  Wolf noted the strange non-interaction. “They didn’t say a thing to you.”

  “That was my ex-boyfriend from high school. He’s an asshole, and he knows it.”

  Wolf resisted a laugh and glanced over his shoulder at the officers, now staring them down as they walked along the lake. One of the officers looked to be sick to his stomach, or love sick, Wolf thought, as the others taunted him with slaps on the back.

  “Poor guy,” Wolf said. “He still loves you.”

  Lia scoffed and said nothing.

  The path was well worn. Fishermen’s trash was strewn about—hooks, weights, old brightly colored lures, brittle knotted line, and lots of cigarette butts.

  The lakeshore itself didn’t look much cleaner. Plastic and glass bottles bobbed above the water line. A thick film of algae had blown up against the rocks and mud, piling on itself in small folds of bright green. The smell was that of stagnant lake water with frequent whiffs of raw sewage. It wasn’t a lake for swimming.

  After a quarter mile they came around a bend, and the trail forked. The main trail went to the right, away from shoreline, and to the left was a narrow trail into wilder, dense marshland. There, the Caribinieri were milling about.

  Wolf followed Lia onto the thin path into the thick brush. They stepped on roots and rocks to keep out of the thick mud and puddles that had accumulated from the recent rain.

  Rossi came into view off the left, bent over a short distance away. He saw them and walked over.

  “Ciao.”

  “Ciao.”

  Wolf looked behi
nd Rossi, “Hi. What’s the situation?”

  “We have found our elusive Dr. Rosenwald. A few hours ago, an anonymous tip was called in.”

  A handful of Caribinieri officers stood about smoking cigarettes. Wolf and Lia stepped under the perimeter tape toward an officer in heavy-duty rubber overalls who was bent over taking pictures of something on the ground.

  The body was well hidden. Whoever found it couldn’t have been on the narrow trail into the marsh they’d just come in on. They had to have come all the way into the underbrush to see the body. Maybe chasing a dog. Or looking for a secluded spot to make out. Or maybe a million other reasons.

  The first piece of the body Wolf saw was a Converse Chuck Taylor poking out from the dense foliage. It was light gray with mud, the original dark blue hue of the shoe barely discernable underneath.

  Wolf let his eyes move upward from the shoe. Jeans, button up white shirt strewn with dried mud and blood. He looked back at the jeans. The knees. They were darker, similar to John’s circular mud patterns on his jeans Wolf had noticed, though much less pronounced.

  Wolf tracked his eyes all the way to the face. He knew he would remember this for the rest of his life, as each dead body he encountered was a new mind-branding image he could never un-see.

  The left side of Dr. Rosenwald’s head was caved in. It was a blow much at the same angle as his brother’s bruise, but delivered with lethal force. He figured Rosenwald had received at least two blows. He narrowed his eyes. Three or more blows were more likely. The first hit had probably opened a wound that gushed with blood. The second, third and other blows had occurred in the same spot, leaving some spattering on the clothing.

  The channel in the skull was deep. There was serious aggression behind the blows, pounding the same spot over and over again. Wolf could see gray folds of brain within the wound.

  Wolf checked the surrounding scene. “How many people have been walking in here?”