When the firing started everyone scattered. McCabe popped the trunk and tried to free Chip, but Noto put the Opel in gear, took a hard left, accelerating, driving down the west side of the steps, picking up speed, front end bouncing, trunk lid swinging up and down before slamming closed.
Bullets pinged off the obelisk in front of him. Another bullet ricocheted off the sidewalk next to him. And then someone grabbed McCabe from behind and pulled him back off his feet and brought him down behind the balustrade. McCabe turning now, looking at him, dark hair, late thirties, a guy he'd never seen before in his life, squatting next to him.
"You okay? Stay down. There's a sniper up there."
That's all he said. He was an American and had probably saved McCabe's life, but who was he? The guy glanced up at Psuz on the rooftop and took off, crouching low, moving along the balcony, and disappeared down the steps. The shooting continued, Psuz firing at the police, and the police firing back.
McCabe looked through the balusters, watched the dark- haired guy run down. Below him the Opel lost control, hit the stone railing on the second level, spun out and crashed broadside into the eastern wall. McCabe could hear the whelp of sirens, looked down, saw two carabinieri sedans enter Piazza de Spagna from opposite sides, pulling up at the bottom of the Spanish Steps, more cops getting out of the cars, moving through the scattering mass of panicked tourists. The shooting had stopped.
Mazara was confused. He had seen Angela on the terrace, sitting at a table by herself, sipping coffee. What was she doing? He ran there, hopped the entrance gate, and saw her crouching at the wall, peeking over. All of the customers had gone in the hotel, leaving their cappucini and espressos, their biscotti and cannoli on the tables. There was no one around. He crouched next to her. "What are you doing? Why are you here?" He reached for her hand and tried to pull her up. "Come with me. We have to go." He could see the carabinieri running down the steps, swarming the Opel, pulling Noto out of the vehicle. "There is no time."
She was watching the action below, hardly paying attention to him.
"It's over," Angela said, glancing at him. "Go before they arrest you."
"What about you?"
“I’m staying.”
And in that moment he understood, it became clear what had happened. "You and McCabe, uh?"
She looked at him and nodded. He reached behind his back, gripped the Tanfoglio, wanted to take it out and shoot her for betraying him, but he couldn't do it. Two carabinieri sedans drove up Via Sistina and stopped twenty meters away. And now Roberto had no choice but to go. He ran across the terrace and went over the wall, hanging and dropping to the courtyard below.
An ambulance followed two police cars pulling up on the street above them, lights flashing, sirens wailing, and a crowd had formed around the Opel, police holding people back. Angela had come down from the top, put her arms around him, hugged him and then stood close. Captain Ferrara opened the trunk. McCabe could see Chip curled up inside. The EMS techs moved down the steps with a gurney and lifted Chip onto it, untied the gag and freed his hands. His eyes were closed and McCabe didn't know if he was alive or not. Then Chip's eyes flickered open. He looked around and saw McCabe.
'"Are you afraid to die, Spartacus? When one man says no, I won't, Rome begins to fear.'"
"I think he's going to make it," McCabe said to Angela.
Chapter Thirty-eight
Joey boosted himself up on the eastern wall, and jumped a couple feet to the apartment balcony he’d seen earlier, going over the railing onto the patio and into the apartment, door unlocked, no idea who lived there, no sign of anyone, and moved down a dark hallway to the front door. He unlocked it and turned the handle, opened the door and went out.
He took the stairs down two flights, opened the door and moved through the crowd that had formed around Piazza de Spagna. He could see Sisto in the square, hands cuffed behind his back, two cops pushing him in the back seat of a patrol car. He walked past store fronts: Rucoline, Byron and Scalinata, all the way to American Express. He looked back. No one was following him. There was a taxi queue down the street. He went there, got in a cab and took it to the train station. It was 4:47.
Sharon had spent the night with Joey at the Excelsior but something was different. He had changed, or maybe she was finally seeing the real him. He seemed crude, vulgar, not the suave, handsome guy she had fallen in love with. It was a big disappointment after all the planning and anticipation, putting her life on hold, flying to Rome to be with him. She was ready to give up her marriage, what was left of it, her job and family to be with Joey. She had been that sure, that confident.
He was supposed to meet her at the hotel, be there when she arrived, but he wasn't, and he hadn't called till the next evening. She'd said, "You know how long I've been waiting for you?"
"I've been tied up. Doing a job for my uncle," Joey had said.
"What, they don't have phones in Italy?"
"Babe, I'll make it up to you," Joey said. "Check out, come to the Excelsior, this cool, classy hotel on Via Veneto, you'll love it."
"Why don't you come and get me?"
"I'm beat," Joey said. "Do me this favor, will you? We'll go shopping. I'll take you to a nice dinner."
That sounded better.
When she got to his room an hour later he seemed preoccupied like his mind was somewhere else.
"What took you so long?" Joey said.
"Hi, Sharon, it's good to see you. I'm glad you're here." Telling him what he should've said.
"I'm sorry," Joey said. "I've got a lot on my mind."
He looked tired, bags and dark spots under his eyes. "You've got a lot on your mind? I'm the one taking all the risk." She paused. "Want me to unpack, or what?"
"Yeah, sure. Make yourself at home."
"Why don't you take me to bed," Sharon said. "Show me how much you missed me."
Joey said he was too tired.
Too tired? From what?
His voice woke her up the next morning, Joey talking on his cell phone. He was already showered and dressed.
"I gotta go," Joey said. "Backo shortolo."
"I thought we were finally going to be able to spend time together, not worry about anything."
"We'll have lunch," Joey said. "I'll show you the sights."
He moved to the bed and kissed her forehead like he was her father.
"I'll make it up to you."
We'll see, Sharon was thinking.
Joey didn't come back for lunch, and she was getting antsy. Had been in the room the whole day, waiting, watching CNN. He finally called at 3:30, telling her to meet him at the train station. No explanation. Just be there, he'd said, talking to her like she was the hired help, barking orders, sounding like he was annoyed, irritated.
Sharon wondered what she'd gotten herself into. Was Joey like this before, and she'd missed it? No, he'd been gracious and attentive, a perfect gentleman. She wanted to check his passport, see if he was the same guy. She'd just left a bad relationship and wasn't going to get into another one. She considered cutting her losses, fly home and put it all behind her.