Exit Wounds (28 page)

Tony slowly began to pick himself off the ground. He moved his left hand, painfully to where he thought the shot had gone through. His fingers came back bloody.

The following events seemed to happen in slow motion for Tony. He was suddenly aware of someone moving in his peripheral vision. He turned as fast as he could, but the man had already reached the missile launcher. Tony screamed at him to stop as the man reached out. A round shot out of Tony’s gun and passed through the man’s right cheek and back out the other side of his head. His body quickly jerked backward and collapsed on top of the first body.

Time returned back to its correct speed and Tony actually thought he had stopped the man in time. Then the missile launcher let out a low whine and a burst of pressurised smoke blew out of the bottom of the missile before it flew off into the air.

Stadium House, Park Street

Richard and Paul burst out onto the roof of the other building, weapons drawn.

Richard spun round twice on the spot, before flapping his arms against his side, “There’s nobody here!”

Suddenly there was a loud noise like a clap of thunder and the Russell brothers looked up to see a long streak of orange flame cut through the black clouded sky into the distance.

10.31 (Local Time)

Thirty Seven Years Ago

Florence. Tuscany. Italy.

Romano House, De Luca

Fedele Romano watched his son, Cristoforo from a distance. The young boy sat on the wall outside their house watching a group of other children around his age playing in the square. In the past, young Cris would have been out there with them, playing in the sun. But over the course of the last year he had grown increasingly distant. Not just with the kids in the area but to his family as well. He never talked to them now like he used to and his father couldn’t remember the last time he heard his son laugh or even saw him smile.

Sat on the stone wall under the dark shade of a tree, his legs dangled over the edge, too short to touch the ground. It seemed to his father that Cris was paying particular attention to the girls in the group.

So that’s what it is?
Fedele realised, with a sigh. Lombardi, two doors down had told him a few months ago that he had ‘the talk’ with his son. Fedele had been putting it off. He didn’t know why. It was something that he knew he would have to do.
No time like the present.

Crisoforo seemed to shuffle away a bit when his father joined him on the stone wall. Fedele pretended not to notice and smiled. “What you up to, son?”

“Playing,” the young boy answered as if on auto-pilot.

Fedele nodded and looked up at the other children as they ran round in circles playing kiss-chase. “Why aren’t you playing with them?”

Cris didn’t answer.

He’s not going to make this easy for me is he
, Fedele moaned inside his head. He pushed himself off the wall and nodded his head to one side. “Come on, let’s go for a walk.”

Their stroll took them out into the fields behind the houses and along the stone track that twisted through the long grass. For the most they walked in silence. Now and again Fedele would make some silly joke and his son would nod politely but never laugh. Eventually the father forced himself to just get on with it and asked his son how he felt about girls.

The boy just shrugged.

“What’s that mean?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, do you like them? Do you hate them? What?”

Cris shrugged again, “Depends on the girl I guess.”

“Do you ever feel like you want to... do stuff with them?”

The young boy frowned, not understanding, “Stuff?”

Fedele nodded quickly, struggling. “Yeah. Like kiss them... and stuff?”

“Stuff?” Cris repeated.

“You know, when a mummy and daddy love each other very much they show their love to each other by kissing and...” Fedele was really struggling to find the right words.

“Buy each other stuff?” Cris suggested.

“Yes,” Fedele nodded slowly. “Yes, sometimes they buy each other presents but sometimes they do other stuff.”

“Stuff,” Cris nodded, still not understanding.

Fedele stopped and breathed out heavily, deciding to try another approach. “Where do you think babies come from, Cris?”

“From mom’s belly.”

“But how do they get there?”

Cris considered this for a moment and then shook his head.

Fedele took his time in explaining what happens when two people fall in love and decide to make a baby. It was hard to find the right words and even harder to fight his own embarrassment and awkwardness with the topic, but he was grateful that his son remained silent throughout and just listened rather than interrupting with any difficult questions.

Finally, when he had finished his little speech, Fedele noticed that his son had turned a little pale. He had expected him to go red with embarrassment, like he had, but instead he had gone the total opposite.

“Are you ok
ay
?” Fedele asked.

Cris nodded, his eyes down as he pawed his owns shirt. “So mummys and daddys do this when they love each other?”

“Yes, and when they decide they want to make a family the mummy will become pregnant and they’ll have a baby.”

Cris shifted his weight from either foot and looked up at his dad and then quickly back at the floor. “Can I get pregnant?”

Fedele laughed suddenly. He shook his head and smiled, “No, of course not, son. You’re a boy.”

Cris tugged down at his shirt, as if itchy. “Then... then why does Father Boccanegra do to me... what you do to mom?”

296

15.24 BST (British Summer Time)

Present Day

Cardiff. Wales. Great Britain.

M.I.T. (Murder Investigation Taskforce), Cardiff Branch

Unconfirmed stories of the Pope’s death were already being broadcast when Richard, Craig and Paul arrived back at M.I.T.. The entire city had seen the golden blaze streak across the dark sky. The news reports claimed the plane had hit down somewhere near Barry. The pilot had no doubt tried to emergency land at Cardiff International
Airport
but just couldn’t control the spiralling dive.

Within seconds of laying foot inside the building security officers had intercepted the three of them and demanded that Richard and Paul followed them to the holding cells. Richard protested and one of the officers assured him it was just to debrief them as soon as possible but Paul knew by the look in his brother’s eye that this wasn’t going to end well for them.

The Security officer informed Craig that Zeddemore requested he return to his workstation to be debriefed later and to not contact Tony, who had been taken to hospital, until after their individual statements had been taken.

Richard had been waiting for almost an hour alone in his holding cell before an officer arrived to debrief him. Richard didn’t recognise her and she had a visitors’ clearance card hanging round his neck. When asked, she flashed his identification so quickly that all Richard could catch was that her last name was Unsworth and that she was attached to the J.I.C..

One of Zeddemore’s suits.

Unsworth smoothly slid her briefcase onto the table between them and began setting up her equipment. She was perhaps a few years older than Richard, with thin, gaunt features and her hair was dull blonde tied up in a French plat. From the way she peered over the top of her briefcase at him with her small brown eyes, Richard immediately knew she wasn’t going to be his new best friend.

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Paul’s debriefing officer was a man. He was built like a brick shit-house and wore a suit at least two sizes too small for him. He moved round the room with the grace of a one-legged kangaroo and struggled to find what leads went where with his equipment. When he had finished, he looked up and smiled unkindly at Paul.

Paul smiled back, “How you doing?”

“Very well, thank you,” the Brick Shit-house said, speaking for the first time since he entered the room. “How are you today?”

Paul took a moment to let the question sink in, before he looked down at himself. He was still wearing the security uniform he had used to break into H.M. Cardiff. Only now one of the sleeves was torn off from when he had used it as a bandage on Gary, and it carried the stench of blood, sweat rain and all the delights of almost drowning in the river Taff.

Paul pushed his hands out across the table and leant forward until he pivoted on his elbows. “Well in truth, mate, I kinda feel like a dog’s chew toy.”

Brick Shit-house seemed taken aback by Paul’s answer, he fiddled with his biro as he spoke, “If you like I could have someone see if they could fetch you a fresh set of clothes to change into?”

“That’d be nice.”

The Brick Shit-house pushed himself away from the table and went to the door. He whispered in the ear of the guard stationed outside.

“Oh and a double scotch wouldn’t go amiss either,” Paul added. The Brick Shit-house opened his mouth to make some excuse but Paul interrupted quickly. “Yeah, I didn’t think so.”

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Unsworth had positioned a video camera on a short tripod directly in front of Richard’s face and had a cable running from it into one of two laptops on the table. The one attached to the cable was facing her and Richard could only guess what else was on the screen besides the live feed from the camera. The second was facing Richard and Unsworth cycled through a series of photographs for him to identify. It was only as they went through them one by one that the extent of the day’s body count began to dawn on Richard.

Richard shook his head once they had gone through the shots of the bodies from the fire fight on the roof. “No, none of those men are Dean Reynolds. Which one was the man who fired the missile?”

Unsworth paused before cycling back three images. “This is the body that was found nearest to the control pad. I’d have to await confirmation from Anthony Horton’s statement but we believe it was this man.”

“Yeah, like I said, that’s Thomas. I didn’t get a second name. But he was affiliated with Stuart Campbell. That’s how we set up the meet with Giacometti.”

Unsworth toyed with the tip of her pen, “Tell me again, why is it that you recruited your brother into this operation?”

Paul did his best to muffle his sigh. “As I said before, Thomas had contacted Campbell with a request to find a high level computer hacker. When we apprehended Campbell, he had already set up the meeting and told Thomas the men he would be sending were identical twins.”

“The Gillespie brothers?”

Richard nodded, “Correct.”

“Only you couldn’t send them to the meet, wired, as per normal procedure because you had already killed one of them.” Unsworth examined Richard over the top of her glasses. She raised an eyebrow when Richard didn’t answer.

“I’m sorry, was that a question?” he asked.

“Well, do you agree that is an accurate account of the events?”

“One of the brothers was shot in a fire fight that broke out when they attacked us. There are no identical twins in the department. The only option was to recruit my brother and pose as the Gillespie brothers ourselves.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Even though, your entire operation was now wandering into S.O.C.A. territory and your brother, Paul, had only recently been discharged from the armed forces for reasons relating to post-traumatic stress disorder?”

Richard didn’t have an answer.

Unsworth uncrossed her legs and leant closer against the table. “Be honest, Richard. You recruited your brother through the backdoor and kept the entire operation as far off the books as you could manage. You knew what you were doing was wrong.”

Richard shook his head, “Not at all. There was a serial killer at large. I was trying to save lives.”

Unsworth straightened up. “Save lives? Is that what your intentions were when you wrote the root kit that allowed Giacometti access to the Pope’s flight plan?”

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Paul had been given a pair of black jogging trousers and a grey hoody with the M.I.T. emblem on the back. Brick Shit-house had waited outside whilst he changed but Paul had checked the camera and laptop as well anyway. He sat for a few moments in silence, running things over in his head, before finally knocking on the inside of the door to tell them he was dressed. He was now being shown the same series of photographs as Richard.

Paul pointed to one of the bodies recovered from the river. “Yeah, that’s the guy Gary and his men broke out of prison. I think he had some sort of bad history with Giacometti.”

Brick Shit-house frowned, “Why do you say that? Surely they must have been on good terms if he went to all the effort to break him out?”

“Yeah well, he overheard Gary saying something on the phone and he flipped out. He was the one who caused the car crash. Grabbed the wheel and plunged us down.” Paul rolled his tongue around his mouth and shrugged, “Gary said something about Giacometti wanting to kill the guy himself.”

“Was this before or after you pulled him from the sinking car?”

“After. He tried going back to get him. I had to restrain him to stop him drowning himself.”

Brick Shit-house stroked his chin. “So, just to clarify, before the crash you were sat in the back, behind the driver. Correct?”

“Yeah.”

“And Gary was sat in the front passenger seat?”

Paul nodded, “That’s right.”

“So would I be correct in saying that he was the person furthest away from you in the car?”

Paul frowned, “What’s your point?”

“I’m just trying to understand why you choose to save Gary Ashcroft and not the others. Presumably you determined that their lives were not as important as his for some reason.”

Paul shook his head and laughed, derisively, “You’re barking up the wrong tree, mate.”

“Am I?”

“Yeah! It had nothing to do with me picking, or choosing whose lives were more important. Cowan was the one I knew-”

“Cowan? Who’s Cowan?” the Brick Shit-house asked, genuinely puzzled.

Paul stopped in his tracks. Had he really said Cowan? Why would he even say that. Paul tried to regain his composure. “I mean Gary.”

The Brick Shit-house’s eyes narrowed, “Continue.”

“Gary was the only one in the group I had any kind of connection with. Mullet Man, or whatever is name was, wanted to blow my brains out as soon as look at me, and the other guy was like his best friend forever or some shit. I knew I could get through to Gary.”

“And how did you know that?”

“Because I saw the doubt in his eyes. He didn’t like what he was doing. He didn’t like what he had become, but no matter where he looked he couldn’t see a way out. I had to show him one.”

“And that’s why you let him go instead of bringing him into custody, even though it was clearly breaking the law?”

Paul laughed again, “Come on, mate. Grow up! I let a low-level thug walk to save the life of my brother.”

“Low-level thug?”

“Yeah. He was just hired muscle. Giacometti probably liked the idea of having someone with armed forces training around.”

Brick Shit-house leaned forward and folded his arms, “Paul, how do you think Giacometti got his hands on all the young girls he raped and murdered?”

Paul shifted in his seat, but forced himself to meet the Brick Shit-house’s scrutinising gaze. “Well I doubt he bought them online.”

“You think this is funny?”

“Not at all. I’m just waiting for you to make your point.”

“We have evidence that proves that Gary Ashcroft was the one who abducted the twenty young girls that Giacometti has killed in this country.”

The bottom of Paul’s stomach seemed to drop, leaving a terrible, hollow feeling inside his torso. He involuntarily swallowed back before speaking. “What?”

“Gary Ashcroft. The ‘low-level thug’ you released, carefully handpicked and delivered twenty young, innocent girls into the clutches of Giacometti. Then they were raped, murdered and mutilated in the most horrific ways imaginable.” The Brick Shit-house conferred with a sheet of paper on his lap before looking up again. “Twenty young girls, including the daughter of your brother’s superior, Andrew Colgan.”

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“Becky’s dead?” Richard eyes darted around the room, a million thoughts running through his head.

How? How did Giacometti get to her? Did he know she was Colgan’s daughter? When did he kill her? Was she in the same warehouse all that time? Did I leave her behind not even knowing? Could I have saved her?

Unsworth nodded slowly, “The A.T.S.T. discovered her body when they made their sweep of the location you gave us.”

Richard dropped his head into his hands and ran his fingers through his hair. “I can’t believe it.”

Unsworth tapped the biro lightly against the desk as she waited for Richard to come to terms with what she had just told him.

Finally, he looked back up, tears swelling. “Where’s Andrew now?”

“He’s been relieved of command. Zeddemore has sent him home to be with his wife.”

Richard nodded slowly, rubbing his hands over his face.

“Can we continue?” Unsworth asked.

“Yeah, yeah, just give me a minute.”

“Richard, this debrief is very important-”

“I said give me a minute!” Richard snapped.

Unsworth fixed Richard with a stare. “Russell, I don’t think you realise how serious a situation you’re in. You have recruited a civilian for combat situations who has a history of post-traumatic stress disorder. You have released without charge a man who was directly involved in the rape and murder of at least twenty innocent girls. And as if that wasn’t enough, you wrote a program that allowed terrorists access to the Joint intelligence Committee server, directly resulting in the death of the head of the Catholic Church on British soil.”