Ghost Ship

Dr. Dolittle was the first to respond. He turned the barrel of his Glock 19 from its previous target of Sam Reilly, toward Catarina, and squeezed the trigger.

Catarina was already diving to the ground.

At the same time, Sam lunged toward Dr. Dolittle. Sam gripped his attacker’s wrists, causing the shot to go wide.

Dr. Dolittle twisted his body, turning around in an attempt to pull his hand free of Sam’s grip.

Sam shoved the man’s arm downward in the opposite direction. The ulna and radius — those mostly parallel bones that ran the length of the forearm joined by a series of tendons and ligaments responsible for the wide range of movement of the wrists — were forced to twist apart. The trochlear notch, being the weakest point in the elbow, gave out first with a blood curdling SNAP!

Dr. Dolittle screamed in agony and dropped the handgun.

Sam reached down to grab it, but Dolittle, realizing that he was going to struggle to maintain control of the weapon, kicked it away with his foot.

Jaws leveled his weapon at Sam and said, “That’s enough!”

Sam stood up, still holding Dolittle’s broken arm. He positioned the man in front of him like a human shield.

“You think that little pissant’s going to shield you from anything?” Jaws asked, his lips twisted in a malevolent grin. “I can kill both of you with the same bullet.”

Dolittle shouted, “No!”

Jaws shrugged. “Sorry, boss. But we’re both dead if we screw this up. And frankly, I never liked you anyway.”

Dolittle cursed him in Russian.

And the underground carpark was filled with gunshots.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Lookout, overlooking Vernazza

Andre gave one last glance at the harbor of Vernazza.

He thanked the detectives who had given him a lift out of the main part of the city, where few cars were allowed access. He unlocked his rental car, which he’d left at a public carpark, and walked the rest of the way into the city the day before.

A moment later, he heard the sound of multiple shots fired.

The polizia heard them too.

Andre watched them quickly climb back into the police car, switch on their flashing lights and wailing siren, and disappear into the medieval city.

Andre toyed with the idea of going back just to be certain, but immediately dismissed the idea. No, either Sam Reilly was as good as he’d been led to believe and he would make his way to the rendezvous, or he wasn’t and he was already under arrest by the polizia.

Either way, it wasn’t going to help him to return to Sam Reilly.

Andre grinned at his surprisingly worthy adversary, making a silent prayer that the man would manage to evade the polizia, and reach the rendezvous point.

He sat down in the cramped Fiat, turned the ignition, and began to make his way to the location to beat him there.

Chapter Thirty

Sam looked across the room.

Jaws was lying dead on the ground. Blood weeping from three bullet holes in his chest.

Sam’s eyes drifted to the left, where Catarina still held the Glock.

Dr. Dolittle shifted his position, dislocating his elbow further in the processes, but came free with a painful grunt.

Sam didn’t try to catch him.

Dolittle turned and ran toward the end of the carpark.

He made it about five feet, before Catarina fired two more rounds into the back of his head.

Sam swore. “Was that really necessary?”

Catarina bit her lower lip, her hands still shaking. “I don’t know. Honestly, I think I now understand what you meant when you said that you reacted earlier on instinct alone — letting that kill or be killed thing kick in.”

Sam said, “He was making a run for it.”

She dismissed his complaint. “Yeah, probably to get his friends and finish off whatever the hell you started. Come on, I’ll show you my bike before the polizia arrive.”

“Good idea.” Sam bent down and picked up the Makarov semiautomatic, tucking it into the crease in his back once more. His eyes looked to Catarina. “You have somewhere to dispose of that?”

Her gaze went distant. “I’ll think of something.”

They followed the underground carpark down a series of stairs to the bottom, where an obsidian black, Ducati Diavel sports cruiser was waiting for them.

Sam grinned. “That’s your bike?”

“Yeah, what did you think I’d ride?”

“I don’t know. But it’s a hell of a nice bike.”

“Thanks. I like it.”

He straddled the seat, inserted the key, and pressed the ignition button. The powerful 1198cc Testastretta 11 Degree DS engine was an assertion of power and fluidity. It produced 152 horsepower and 123 Newton-meters of torque. It felt powerful just to sit on.

Catarina said, “You’d better go.”

Sam frowned. “You’re not coming with me?”

She shook her head. Her lovely dark eyes were solemn. “No. It’s better if I stay here. I’ll only slow you down.”

“What about the polizia?”

She suppressed a smile. “I’ll deal with them.”

“They might arrest you!”

“I doubt it. Just because I walked in here with you doesn’t mean that we were together. I’ll just say that I came to pick up something from a friend.”

Sam took a breath. “Are you sure?”