“Two guys inside,” said Flash, who was sitting in the passenger seat. “Didn’t look too friendly.”
“They weren’t there earlier,” said Gregor.
“Is there another way up?” asked Flash.
“That’s the only road. But we can get up there through the vineyards down around the bend here. Just a longer walk, that’s all.”
Nuri drove down the road, showing Flash how the road cut into the side of the hill. The old monastery was to their right, just below the vineyards. They could stash the car near the ruins.
“You two wait here,” Nuri told Flash after pulling down the dirt driveway that led to the ruins. “I want to see if I can figure out what’s going on. I’ll sneak back behind the car and see if I can pick up anything from their conversations.”
“You sure you don’t want backup?” asked Flash.
“It won’t be a problem. One is quieter than two. Test your radio and make sure we have a good signal.”
Nuri got out of the car. He put on his Gen 4 night glasses, fixing the strap at the back of his head. While the glasses were slightly more powerful than the generation 3 glasses that were standard issue in the military, their real value was in their size — they were only a little thicker than swimming goggles, and weighed barely a pound.
Nuri rolled down the thin wire that ran from the right side of the goggles and plugged it into the MY-PID control unit, allowing the computer system to see what he was seeing. He checked his pistol — a Beretta fitted with a laser-dot pointer and a silencer — then did a quick check of the rest of his gear in the fanny pack he had around his waist. He’d taken a small can of mace and two of the hyperemic needles, but in truth he knew if he needed either, he might just as well use the gun.
He walked a few yards farther up the hill, moving through the trees as he approached the intersection where the guards were.
He was about fifty feet away when the dome light inside the Mercedes came on. He held his breath and went down to one knee as a Fiat approached from the main road. Reaching into his pocket, he took out a small microphone that was tuned to gather sounds from a distance. His fingers fumbled as he connected it to the radio headset.
The guard who’d been sitting in the passenger seat of the Mercedes got out and walked to the Fiat as it stopped. Nuri tuned his mike, but the Fiat’s muffler was broken and the car drowned out whatever they were saying.
The guard straightened and waved. Nuri froze, sure that the man was waving at him. But he was only signaling his companion in the Mercedes, who backed out of the way to let the Fiat pass.
He strained to see into the car as it passed but couldn’t see through the bushes.
“Computer, identify the occupants of the car.”
“Query: which vehicle?”
“The Fiat.”
“Unknown. One occupant. Driver. Unidentified female.”
“Female?”
“Affirmative.”
The Mercedes resumed its position blocking the road. The man who’d gotten out walked back over to the passenger side and got in.
“Can you identify the man who just got into the Mercedes?” Nuri asked the computer.
“Negative. Subject is approximately thirty years old. European extraction. Six feet three inches tall. Appears armed with a handgun in a holster beneath his jacket.”
Nuri angled to his right, trying to get a better line of sight on the intersection when they stopped another car. He settled into another clump of brush about twenty feet from the road and waited.
Ten minutes later a second car came up the road. This one was a Ford. He had a clear view into the windshield, despite the headlights. There were two women in the front seat; the back seemed empty.
The driver rolled down the window as the guard approached. The two women were laughing, giggling.
“The party,” she said in Italian.
The guard waved the Mercedes out of the way, and the car passed. Nuri retreated back to the old ruins.
By the time the Reaper was on station, there were a dozen people at the estate. Most were by the pool, though there were two in front of the house, near the cars. Nuri assumed they were guards and that the others were revelers.
“We’ll wait for them to get good and loaded,” he told Flash.
“How long is that?” asked Flash.
“Couple of hours.”
“You’re gonna wait that long?” asked Gregor.
“I can wait as long as I have to.”
At two-fifteen Nuri decided he’d waited long enough. “All right, we’ll go up together,” he told the others. “We’ll go up to that hedge line near the house. You guys wait for me there while I go in. Capisce?”
“We got it,” said Flash.
“Anything you say,” said Gregor.
“No questions,” added Nuri.
“No questions,” she said.
They got out and started up the hill, moving easily through the vineyards.
“Nice goggles,” said Gregor. “They’re starlight goggles, right? Cat’s eyes.”
“You weren’t going to ask any questions,” said Nuri sharply.
“Oh come on. That was harmless.”
“I could strangle you here and no one would ever know,” snapped Nuri.
Just as they were approaching the barns, MY-PID warned that a woman was coming down in their direction from the house. Nuri stopped at the edge of the vineyard, waiting to see where she was going. A minute or so later one of the guards slipped from the guard house, a good ten minutes earlier than the normal schedule dictated. He walked in her direction; they met in a small garden about thirty yards from the house, whispering before finding each other in the moonlit shadows.
“They’ll be busy for a while,” Nuri told Flash. “I’m going to circle around. Watch what’s going on with the MY-PID screen and let me know.”
“Got it.”
A few minutes later Nuri felt short of breath as he pulled himself onto the portico at the eastern end of the house. He knelt near one of the columns, catching his breath. Using the data from the Reaper, MY-PID had analyzed the circuitry inside the house and deduced that there were no alarm systems. It had also located the office on the western side of the house. He moved around the back, working his way toward the office.
Large French windows lined the exterior rooms on the first floor. He passed a large dining room and a living room before coming to the edge of the house.
Music was playing in the back; it was an Italian version of hip-hop, an odd blend of rhythms. Nuri slipped down to the bottom of the wall and peeked around. There were two or three girls in the pool, splashing each other and drinking out of champagne glasses. A man, presumably Moreno, was floating on a raft, his back to Nuri.
Let’s go, Nuri told himself. Get it on.
He moved back to the French door and tried pulling it open. It was locked. A thin shiv took care of the simple latch, and it gave way easily. He slipped in behind the light curtains, walking into the mafioso’s lair.
He got three feet when he heard the dog coming.
“Son of a bitch,” he muttered. “Nobody told me about dogs.”
11
The thirst was overwhelming. His whole body ached. His hands shook. He curled his fingers into a fist and put them under his legs. He tightened his stare at the woman at the desk across from his chair near the door to the examining rooms and offices inside.