CHAPTER 5: You Break It

 

Rome

 

Night draped the city like a lover's embrace, velvety and soft. Karen's hotel room overlooked the east bank of the Tiber and she could clearly see the Vatican City lighting up the night.

Karen was stripped down to her panties in preporation for a bath. Her cellular phone buzzed and she picked it up.

"Paula Haggart."

"How are matters going?" It was Vadnez.

"Why didn't you tell me they had already settled the insurance claim?"

"They did?" Vadnez asked, surprised.

"Yes, they did. But I think something is going on under the table."

"Hmmmm. You're authorized to take whatever action is necessary."

"You sound like you know something."

"I've heard disturbing rumors about the Mafia getting involved with art thievery," Vadnez explained.

"The Mafia!?" Karen stammered. "And the Vatican City? What would either of them have to gain?"

"That is a very good question. That is your assignment. Goodbye."

"Vadnez! Don't you--"

Click.

"Shit!" Karen turned the phone off and tossed it on the bed. "So much for this 'one day' job." She started her bathwater and finished undressing, wrapping a towel around her head. When the tub was full, she turned the water off and stepped in, sliding down until only her face was exposed. She closed her eyes with a long sigh. This job was starting to look bigger than she anticipated. Some vacation.

Karen heard a slight scraping and immediately snapped her eyes open. A figure garbed in black stood over her with a silenced .22 pointed at her head. She grabbed the hand just before he pulled the trigger, heard the soft sound like a kernel of corn popping, and felt the passage of the bullet so close, it took hair. The smell of gunpowder was sharp in her nose. Karen twisted the hand savagely, causing the gunman to lose his balance, and punched him in the face. He dropped the pistol with a pained grunt and pulled Karen completely out of the tub. She went, adding momentum, and they both fell into the wall. The gunman grabbed Karen by the throat and squeezed, using his weight as leverage. Karen, fighting the pain, hooked a leg around his and flipped him on his back. He still maintained his grip on her throat,and threw her into the wall head first. Dazed, Karen slid to the floor, dimly aware of the gunman looking for his fallen weapon in the bathtub. She struggled to her feet, just as the killer brought his hand out of the tub, holding the gun. She kicked it out of his hand and it clattered against the far wall. The gunman moved in and punched Karen hard in the stomach. She doubled over and, with a scream of rage, came up with a haymaker that nearly lifted her attacker off his feet. He stumbled backwards into the tub. Holding her stomach, Karen lunged into the bedroom and fumbled for the Glock 20 in her carry-on. The attacker, dripping wet, came out of the bathroom aiming the .22, and Karen stretched out in a dive across the bed, firing three rounds rapidly. The gunman made a tiny noise as he was propelled back into the bathroom, the .22 cartwheeling out of his grasp to land on the floor. Karen could only see his feet sticking out of the bathroom door and she advanced cautiously in a crouch, gun aimed. When she reached the bathroom, she saw that the first two rounds had put craters in the assassin's chest, and the third took out his throat. Blood was everywhere, on the tiled floor, and the wall.

Karen lay on the floor and curled up in a coughing spasm. She squeezed her eys shut, fighting the pain in her stomach and throat for long moments. Finally, the agony subsided and she climbed to her feet, gulping in air.

Damn, Karen thought, I don't need the police hamstringing me. They could be in the Vatican's pocket. She went over to the dead body and lifted the ski mask. Arturo, the driver. Did they really think she was an amateur?

Karen quickly gathered her things, threw on a form fitting chemise without underwear, slipped on her flats, and looked around for another exit. She could hear the sirens drawing near, which meant someone had called the police when she fired her gun. Maybe hotel security was about to burst in on her.

Karen slung the carry-on across her back before stepping out onto the balcony. She could see in the distance the flashing lights of the police cars speeding to the hotel. She closed the balcony doors and looked up. The hotel building was Romanesque, with heavy exterior masonry, the roof forming an overhanging entablature; cornice, frieze, and architrave. The elaborate detailing would provide plenty of hand and footholds. She stood on the balcony railing and held onto a column with both hands, looked down, and saw the police had arrived. Someone was already pounding on the door.

Karen shimmied up the column to the balcony on the floor above, climbed it, and shimmied up that column until she grabbed the cornice, using the ornate carving as hand and footholds to reach the roof. Karen moved quickly across the roof. The rooftop of a nearby building was close and she leaped the distance to it, crossed several more in this manner, then took a fire escape down to street level.

At her hotel room, the Rome police kicked the door in and swarmed all over the suite, along with hotel management and security. In seconds, they found the dead body.

The chief inspector, a dark-haired man with hard eyes, looked over the bathroom.

"I want prints found," he commanded.

In the alley, blocks away, Karen took the phone out of her carry-on and dialed Vadnez.

"Yes?"

"Someone just tried to kill me. The police are going to find fingerprints all over the scene--I had to leave in a big hurry."

"It'll be taken care of. What are you into?"

"That's what I should be asking you." Karen said.

"I'll see what I can turn up at this end. In the mean time, keep a low profile. There is an exclusive art auction in Venice and Linda Holt has a reservation."

"Art auction? You think the painting might turn up there?"

"No, but I don't completely rule out that possibility. Only the top pieces in the world are auctioned there and the proceeds go to the Vatican church to be distributed among the various relief programs."

"You mean, supposed to be distributed. They could be collecting the insurance money and try to sale it also."

"You think the Vatican church is behind the attempt on your life?"

"Well, it was their chauffuer that tried to kill me. What do you think?"

"I think you'd better proceed very cautiously. Vadnez out."

"Right," Karen said to herself. "This vacation is really starting off on the right foot."

 

 

"You idiot!" Cardinal Fallini shouted. "I didn't want Paula Haggart dead! She had nothing on us!"

"I know that," Bishop Sylvanus snapped back. "I didn't order Arturo to try to kill her!"

"Then who did?"

"What about the insurance company? Perhaps they panicked and decided to kill her."

"Perhaps. Well, nothing can be done about it now. We must prepare for the auction. But rest assured I will be confronting our 'friends' at the insurance company."