“I think you’re right,” I said.
Luna was about to respond when gunfire erupted all around us.
Chapter 15
The shots came from the hillside above. We were lucky we weren’t targeted by a proficient marksman. A volley of bullets chewed the dirt near our feet. I grabbed Luna and pulled her toward a tree by the side of the road as the gunman corrected his flawed aim.
He must have been using an automatic rifle because as we ran he switched from fairly targeted semi-automatic fire to strafing. The rapid staccato of shots echoed around the wide valley.
I pushed Luna behind the trunk of an ancient stone pine, rooted at the very edge of the hillside, and she grabbed a branch to stop herself from tumbling over the steep drop. I joined her as bullets shredded the thick bark of the tree in front of us, and we crouched and moved along a narrow ledge to take cover behind a collapsed stone sheepfold directly beside the tree. A hail of bullets chipped the large boulders that protected us and filled the air with dust.
Luna cursed in Italian. “He must have followed you.”
“Or you,” I countered. “Who the heck is it?”
The gunfire stopped. There was a moment of stillness disturbed only by the ringing in my ears. I took the opportunity to glance over the stones and saw movement on a ridge about 150 feet above us. The rough hillside was covered in tufty grass dried to an earth brown and pocked with patches of gray stone. There was a rocky outcrop on the ridge edged by some bushes, which concealed the shooter. The slope to either side of the ridge was steep but looked scalable. I ducked back as the gunman snapped a magazine in place and open fire again.
As a hail of bullets struck the stones, I leant close to Luna and said, “When he runs out of ammo, let him see you.”
She looked dismayed but nodded agreement. I crouched and swung my legs over the side of the cliff, starting to climb down the root system that stuck out of the hillside.
Earth and stones fell away as I clung to the gnarled roots. Above me the crack and snap of bullets continued. I was soon low enough to be concealed by the lip of the road, starting to traverse a tiny ledge, a vein of rock that stuck out of the hillside. I held on to roots, rock, and, where there was nothing else, earth, as I edged around the bend, inch by inch. There was a lull in the gunfire as our assailant reloaded, but it soon resumed.
I started sweating in the sweltering heat. My clothes grew damp and dirty as I hauled myself along the hillside. My breathing became labored; my arms and fingers ached from the effort of keeping my balance. When I finally thought I’d be shielded from view by the curve of the road, I clambered up the steep slope to the edge. There was an old metal barrier here. I used it to pull myself up and over. I could see Luna behind the boulders, which were being peppered by bullets, but the shooter was hidden from my sight by the curving terrain, which meant he couldn’t see me either.
I ran across the road and scrambled up the steep slope on the far side. I covered the 150-foot incline in a minute or so and was gasping and sore by the time I was about level with the gunman.
I picked up a large stone and crept along the hillside until I saw the man lying prone behind the scrub that concealed him from the road. The sound of gunfire meant he didn’t hear me approach, but when I was a few feet from him, he ran out of ammunition and paused to reload. I froze, but wasn’t quick enough. He must have caught my movement because he turned and his eyes widened when he saw me.
He reached for a pistol on the ground beside him, but I leapt forward and swung the stone down onto his skull, knocking him away from the handgun. We grappled and rolled around the outcrop. I was punching him in the ribs while he groaned and tried to defend himself.
He got lucky and dazed me with an elbow to my nose. I rolled clear. We both stood and faced each other. The pistol was behind me. I saw him eye it greedily, but I was closer.
I ran for the gun, grabbed it and raised it at him as I swung back.
To my shock, he didn’t freeze. Instead, he ran across the outcrop, pushed through the vegetation, and hurled himself off.
Chapter 16
He cried out as he fell. The terrible sound was cut short by a sickening thud as he hit the ground far below. I ran to the edge and pushed through the surrounding scrub as far as I could until I saw Luna begin to ease her way hesitantly over the boulders. As I leant forward, I saw our assailant’s twisted body on the road below, a pool of blood spreading from his head.
Movement caught my eye and I saw our taxi approaching, taking one of the bends further along the valley, about a mile away.
I stepped back from the outcrop, hurried along the ridge to the sloping hillside and scrambled down the steep incline, sending stones and dirt sliding ahead of me. I was gasping and drenched with sweat by the time I joined Luna beside the man’s body. She had crouched down next to him, her fingers pressed against his neck.
“He’s dead,” she stated, though I’d been in doubt. “What happened up there?”
There was accusation in her eyes or maybe I was just projecting my own guilt? I hadn’t done anything though. It was strictly self-defense. Maybe she couldn’t suppress the cop in her.
“He jumped,” I replied. “We were fighting, and when I got the upper hand, he threw himself over the edge.”
Luna stood and eyed me skeptically, but her attention shifted to something behind me and I turned to see the cab approaching.
The driver’s eyes widened as he halted close by.
“You take the taxi back to Rome,” I said. “I’ll call the cops. Keep your name out of it.”
Luna hesitated.
“Go,” I urged her. “I can handle this.”
She nodded and pulled her identification from her purse as she walked toward the cab.
“Polizia,” she said, holding up her ID.
She spoke to the driver through his window. After a brief exchange, she climbed in the back.
The cab crawled by the body, the driver unable to take his eyes off the broken corpse. He sped up once past the bloody mess, and I saw Luna give me a final glance before the vehicle disappeared around the bend.
I pulled out my phone and dialed emergency services on 112. When my call was answered, I said, “Do you speak English?”
“Yes,” a man replied. “Of course. Please state the nature of your emergency?”
“My name is Jack Morgan. I’d like to report an accident.”
The operator took details of my location and a brief account of what had happened before telling me the police were on their way.
With the call made, I approached the body and conducted a quick search. I didn’t find any personal possessions other than a cell phone, which I slipped into my pocket. The shooter’s left arm was in the pool of blood spreading out from his cracked skull, but his right lay limp against the asphalt. I lifted it and rolled up his shirt sleeve to discover a series of distinctive tattoos.
I pulled his sleeve all the way up to his shoulder and used my phone to take photographs of the body art. I could see religious and occult symbols, skulls, crosses, strange fleur-de-lys, but nothing immediately recognizable, so I sent the images to Mo-bot for analysis.
When I had everything I needed, I rolled down the man’s sleeve, repositioned his arm and then took some photos of his body and close-ups of his face, which I also sent to Mo-bot.
I had a feeling the cops would search me, so as I stepped away from the body, I removed the SIM card from his phone and put it in the second slot in my own.