Chapter 164
164
Ifollowed the plan to a ‘T p>
The next morning at 10 AM, I parked at the southernmost section of the ten-foot wall surrounding the property. I accessed it via a dirt road running through a bunch of vineyards.
Once I picked my spot, I turned the car around so it faced the right direction for a quick escape.
Before I got out, I texted my client one last time: Last chance to call it off.
We’d discussed this in the planning stage. There was no way I was going to risk infiltrating the property and then suddenly have my phone start buzzing with a text to abort the mission.
I sent the text and waited.
Ten seconds, later I got a one-word reply:
Proceed.
After that, I texted Sean: Going dark.
He immediately texted back, Good luck.
I put my phone into airplane mode and stowed it inside my vest.
Once I got out of the car, I threw the rope ladder up onto the stone wall several times until the sharp grappling hooks snagged hold. Then I climbed up, my sniper rifle strapped to my back.
I hoped that Rosolini hadn’t placed surveillance cameras nearby, or it was going to be a very short mission.
I took the grappling hook ladder with me as I jumped to the ground on the other side, rolling to absorb the shock of my fall.
Then I waited.
If a camera had seen me, someone would show up fairly soon.
No one did.
After 30 minutes, I started to move… very carefully.
I was looking for cameras.
I spotted two. I avoided the areas they covered and waited again.
No one showed up.
I started to move again.
The slow pace would have been maddening to the average person… but I knew it was far better to take my time and avoid a gunfight.
The morning was hot enough to make me sweat under my bodysuit and bulletproof helmet, but I ignored it. I’d endured discomfort a hundred times worse on previous missions for MI6.
By noon, I reached the olive groves –
When I heard voices.
I immediately found cover in a thicket of bushes and drew my suppressed Glock.
As my heart pounded in my chest, I listened carefully –
A man and a woman.
They were laughing and carrying a picnic basket.
They passed by me 30 feet away.
Through the foliage, I caught sight of the man.
Not Dario Rosolini…
But he definitely looked like he was related. Maybe a brother.
It would have been incredibly easy to take them both out.
The man first, just in case he had a gun –
Then the woman.
But if anything went wrong – if the man got off a shot or the woman screamed – it might alert security.
Neither of them was the target. It wasn’t worth the risk.
So I waited until they were gone.
I held my position for another 15 minutes just to be sure, then started moving again –
And then froze in my tracks when I heard a feminine wail in the distance.
Not of alarm –
But of passion.
I heard her voice cry out, short and high-pitched – “Ah – ah – Ah – AH – ”
And I immediately thought of fucking Lars and got seriously turned on.
Goddamn it, Rachel, keep your mind on the fucking mission!
Instead of on fucking missionary, a naughty little voice whispered in my brain.
Keeping my mind on the mission was difficult, though, as the woman reached a screaming climax.
I continued on my way. I figured I had at least ten minutes post-coitus where they wouldn’t stumble across my path.
As I moved, though, I could feel the wetness of my underwear… and not just from sweating under the noonday sun.
I found a spot at the edge of the olive orchards with an unobstructed view of the entire back of the house.
I used my range finder to measure the distance.
It was 1200 feet away –
Piece o’ cake.
Between me and the mansion were massive green lawns and a swimming pool off to the left.
Nice place, I thought. Organized crime must pay extremely well.
I lay on the ground in the underbrush, arranged my rifle, and started looking through the scope.
I went window by window, trying to find Rosolini.
The noonday sun loomed high overhead, which meant no direct light shining on the windows.
Which meant minimal reflections on the glass panes…
And thus better visibility.
Not only that, I had requested and received a polarized lens for my scope, which cut out even more glare –
Which meant I could see inside the mansion’s rooms.
…sort of.
Some were easier to see inside than others –
Like the French windows that lined the kitchen.
Inside, a couple of servants were preparing food… but no sign of Rosolini.
I scanned the other windows but returned to the kitchen every 30 seconds. It had the best visibility – and I figured there was at least an outside chance the target might go in there.
About 500 feet to my right, the couple from earlier – the outdoor exhibitionists – walked out of an olive grove and towards the house.
If they only knew how close they’d come to dying today.
How close they were to dying now.
I could have dropped them in seconds if they’d been the targets.
But they weren’t the targets… so they lived to fuck another day.
Lucky bastards.
Once they were gone, I focused on the kitchen.
And then something happened.
The servants looked up like they’d heard someone’s voice, then scurried out.
My pulse quickened with excitement.
Two men walked into the kitchen.
One looked like he was related to the guy who’d fucked the screamer in the orchard…
But the other man was definitely Rosolini.
A third person was off to the side, but I couldn’t see him. The mystery man was concealed by an inconvenient reflection on the glass windows; I could only tell he was there when he moved, which I could see through the reflections.
Didn’t matter. I was here for Rosolini.
I had a pretty good shot overall –
Except reflections on the glass partially obscured my view.
Not only that, but Rosolini was leaning over a kitchen counter, and the second man stood between us. It looked like they were hovering over a cell phone and talking into it on speakerphone.
I could have shot through the other man –
But that would’ve significantly decreased my odds of killing Rosolini.
So I just waited and hoped for a better shot.
Suddenly, two more figures entered the kitchen –
The man and the woman from the orchard.
As soon as they walked in, Rosolini stopped leaning over the counter and stood up to face them.
Dead in my sights.
This was it.
I breathed out…
And in the space between my heartbeats…
I pulled the trigger.
POW!
In the close-up view of my scope, the bulletproof glass over Rosolini’s face turned white as snow with a thousand tiny cracks. Around the weakened area, though, the glass was still transparent.
The first bullet had been explosive-tipped; the second was a regular bullet that would punch through the weakened glass and paste Rosolini’s brains all over the wall.
I was just about to pull the trigger for the second time when I saw the mystery man dash out of the shadows towards Rosolini –
And my blood turned to ice.
I would have recognized that profile – that blond hair and golden beard – anywhere.
LARS p>
I was already pulling the trigger – my brain had already sent the message to my finger –
But seeing Lars made me twitch the tiniest bit and hesitate a fraction of a second.
A fraction of a second was enough.
Lars was already tackling Rosolini to the ground when the bullet punched a hole through the weakened glass.
FUCK!
I’d missed the target –
But all I could think was, WHAT THE FUCK IS LARS DOING HERE p>
But now they knew I was here –
Which meant I had to get out of there ASAP.
I stood up, slung the rifle across my back, and ran.
At this point, I didn’t give a fuck whether the cameras saw me.
All I wanted to do was GET OUT.
As I sprinted through the olive groves, all I could think was, What the fuck p>
What the FUCK p>
WHAT THE FUCK p>
How the hell could such a coincidence have happened p>
And then I realized:
There’s no WAY this was a fucking coincidence.
None.
Zero.
But WHY p>
Why put me in a situation where I might see Lars and fuck up – like I just did p>
Unless –
Unless the client thought I would turn down the job if I knew Lars worked for Rosolini.
FUCK.
I reached the stone wall and grabbed the rope ladder, which I’d hidden in the underbrush.
I threw the grappling hooks. By the grace of God, they caught on the first try.
As I climbed, the hairs on the back of my neck prickled –
Like I was being watched.
The feeling of being the prey instead of the predator.
I could just bet I was in somebody’s sights right about now –
Maybe Lars’s.
That frightened me more than anything.
I wanted to rip off my helmet and scream, Don’t shoot! It’s me, don’t shoot –
But part of me wondered if that might make him even more liable to pull the trigger.
I just moved as fast as I could, pulling the rope ladder along with me as I rolled over the top of the wall.
As soon as I landed on the other side, sweet relief coursed through me despite the pain of impact.
If somebody could have shot me, they hadn’t done it –
And the wall was perfect cover.
I pulled off the bulletproof face helmet and felt the sweat pour down my face.
I still looked around frantically, like the boogeyman might appear out of thin air –
But the vineyards were deserted.
I threw my helmet, rifle, and rope ladder in the trunk of the BMW…
Got behind the wheel…
And hauled ass out of there as fast as I could.