Blood Prize (8 page)

T
he G11 team placed themselves out of sight around the warehouse, creating several defensive positions and three backup escape routes, well in advance of the time schedule. Petra remained one street to the north-west, occupying an overlooking third story rooftop terrace with a view of all access to and from the target area. The position also acted as an emergency point of communication.

“Our enemies can’t know about the girl, Tom. No matter how distasteful, we have to break in and confront her.”

“Won’t she reject us?”

“We’ll have to be convincing.”

Noah knew that initial failure meant an end to most operational missions. Not many received a second chance in the field.

Nobody liked working on Sundays, particularly in the city and not because of any pious observance of the religious holiday. Visibility mattered. On Sunday mornings, the CBD quietened; no business people, which added an extra, unwanted dimension to their work. People became more obvious if they couldn’t blend into a crowd.

“Let’s go, Tom. The girl’s left the rear door ajar. We’ll go in through the back.”

“Doesn’t that seem strange to you?”

“Yes, but it’ll help when we confront her. At least we can claim that we didn’t break in.”

Tom and Noah entered the yard at the rear of the laboratory at exactly ten o’clock, as instructed by the priest.

_____________

The creaking sounds that emanated from the laboratory’s testing area made Isobel uneasy. She could have stayed at home, but she felt just as vulnerable in her small north-shore apartment.

She felt a little more comfortable verbalising her security measures.

“Ok, I’ve left the back door open.”

Possibly not the wisest of decisions, but she believed it might give her a second or two, if she heard someone come in.

“And, I’ve got the local police on speed dial.”

Isobel determined that her biggest worry involved her not hearing an intruder, leaving her no time to run, so she accustomed herself to every sound in the laboratory, no matter how miniscule.

“Oh no …”

She heard something. A muffled thump from inside the laboratory. In one awful instant, Isobel became aware of her worst fears. This time she didn’t wait. She bolted from her office and down the stairs.

In her panic, she slid off balance and her momentum drove her against a bench and she fell.

Isobel gulped at the air, trying to fill her lungs. She attempted to rise from the debris and run, but she couldn’t coordinate her movements. She looked up and focused on the back door.

The door … It’s only metres away.

_____________

Tom led Noah through the gate and on towards the laboratory. They worked their way through neat stacks of drums filled with inflammable chemicals until they reached the rear door.

He listened. No-one.

Tom squeezed his head through the gap. Still no-one. Satisfied, he quietly slipped inside and left the door open for Noah.

“It’s clear.”

Tom turned away from the door and took several rapid steps forward before becoming aware of a flash of movement in his peripheral vision.

“Noah. Stop. Look out.”

Tom twisted his torso and head out of the way and struck out at the attacker with his shoulder.

“Oh hell … It’s the girl.”

A young woman lay stunned at his feet. He bent down, lifted her tiny frame and placed her onto a pile of fabric beside the door. Blood trickled down her face from a small cut above her hairline and he searched his pockets in vain for a means to mop it up.

Noah intervened. He located a clean handkerchief and began wiping the droplets of blood away from the girl’s face.

Tom perceived movement and her eyelids widened with realisation.

“What’s going on?”

The young woman sprang from her makeshift bed, slapped Tom across the left side of his face and screamed.

“Don’t touch me.”

Tom dodged the next wild swing and moved a step to his right to avoid any further attempts.

Perspiration began to form on his brow.

“I … Look … I …”

Tom’s body temperature seemed to increase the moment he became aware of her; the sublime feminine quality of her super slim figure, her raven coloured hair and especially the vivid blue of her eyes.

Her unsolicited attack made him feel both blissful and angry; causing an uncomfortable longing, like experiencing joy and at the same time, being punched in the stomach.

“What are you staring at?”

Embarrassed, he blinked in rapid succession and looked away.

She struck out at him again. At that moment, Tom’s fighting instinct may have been the only conscious machinery working. He allowed her to move in close, intercepting the attack by grabbing both of her wrists.

“Leave me alone. Get away from me.”

Noah rushed over and shook Tom’s shoulder.

“Tom … Let her go.”

Noah sighed, raised both of his hands and tried to smile.

“Isobel. Miss Kite. We’re not here to hurt you.”

“Who are you then? You attacked me.”

Tom couldn’t stop himself from staring at the girl once again; his heart pounding behind his ribs. He moved closer. Wanting the contact, he faked an attempt at placating her.

“Actually, we came through an open door and you ran into me.”

“You still have no right just barging in here.”

Noah stepped forward and moved between them.

“Isobel. My name is Noah and this is Tom Fox. I believe you’ve heard of him. We’re not here for any reason, other than to meet you.”

“You scared me.”

“No. I don’t think so. You seemed to be running for your life before you reached us. Is there someone else in this building?”

_____________

This is the famous Tom Fox. Her Tom Fox? No way.

She felt nothing but repugnance. He stared at her like most men did, like some kind of predator.

Isobel took in a deep breath and closed her eyes. She knew that her negative response to men acted as a means of defence; a shield created by a ravaged belief system, yet in the moment, it always felt like the truth.

“Miss Kite …”

Noah coughed and she realised that she stared back at the tall young man in front of her with equal intensity. She calmed her features, smoothing out her frown. With an effort, she removed her contact from his piercing blue eyes and concentrated on his companion.

“You still have no right …”

“Miss Kite, why are you so afraid?”

“I thought they’d come back.”

“You thought
who
came back? You’re expecting trouble?”

“Perhaps, I’m not sure.”

Tom screwed his face into a scowl.

“This is serious, girl. We need to know.”

Isobel felt the loathing come back and squeeze at her gut. Her facial muscles tightened and she returned Tom’s glare with her own scornful look.

“I’m no girl. Anyway, why are we having this conversation? I don’t even know you.”

Isobel heard the buzzing. She noticed the black man removing a communicator from his pocket, before thrusting his palm into the air for silence.

“Isobel … There are men about to enter this building. Is there a reason the Special Religious Police are here, other than us? It’s important that you tell me.”

She nodded and pointed towards Tom.

“Yes. They’re coming for me … because of him.”

F
rederick Vogel slumped in the back seat of the speeding Alfa Romeo sedan and watched the late afternoon sunlight recede from the hills of Lombardia. He viewed the shadows as a reflection of his darkening mood; long fingers of gloom reaching out to consume the light.

His annoyance escalated into sour anger on the way from Sydney to Japan. By the time he stepped from the Qantas jumbo and into the waiting lounge at Narita airport, his fury needed a target. He yelled at the first person who came near him. The confused Qantas steward took all of his insults before fleeing towards her departure gate.

The steward in charge of the British Airways flight to Rome’s Ciampino Airport suffered a similar fate, as did the staff on the connecting Alitalia flight from Rome to Malpensa Airport in Milan. Even the easy one and a half hour drive to the city of Como did nothing to placate his anger.

The fools …

They thought this meeting important enough to fly him across the world. Surely, nothing could be more vital than the Fox affair. Instead of controlling the priest and as a consequence, his own fortunes, his superiors deemed it necessary for him to waste his time trading banter with a pompous cardinal.

“Driver, go faster …
Rapido.
”

Frederick needed sleep. He tried to close his eyes and induce slumber, but the negative ramifications of his absence kept him from relaxing.

The sound of stones striking metal brought him to alertness. His driver entered Villa Dal Santo, spinning the rear wheels of the vehicle, as he manoeuvred through a set of elaborate iron gates.

Frederick sensed danger. As his driver slowed, he searched the two eighteenth century buildings, once known as Villa Maria Taglioni and Villa Maria Serena, for any possible threat.

Nothing.

The two most beautifully elegant residences in the Como region seemed lifeless. He couldn’t distinguish anything other than vague outlines.

It shouldn’t be this dark.

The only illumination came from the vehicle’s headlights.

Surely this can’t be. My secretary organised this appointment in advance, yet the place’s deserted.

“Driver, don’t stop the car. Something stinks.”

Damn it. It’s too late.

The inside of Vogel’s Alfa Romeo lit with brilliant light, as a Mercedes McLaren raced up from behind, cut them off and skidded to a stop in the gravel.

Frederick felt for his weapon.

A hit, but why? Why would a cardinal want to assassinate me?

He wrenched at his nine-millimetre Beretta, but he couldn’t retrieve it fast enough.

As he struggled, a woman emerged from the driver’s seat of the McLaren. She removed her cap, shook loose an abundance of curly auburn hair and putting her hands on her hips, looked directly at him.

The woman gave him a smile that he could only interpret as pure contempt, before strutting away towards the villa’s entrance hall.

It’s her. How could this be?

Vogel felt stunned. In the glare of the headlights, he saw the same slightly muscular shoulders and arms protruding from her body-hugging blue singlet. He recognised the movement of her perfect arse and the athletic legs beneath her white tights.

She’s so much like Uta … Surely not, it couldn’t be her.

Uta hid with the PMSG in a terrace-house in the eastern suburbs of Sydney, half a world away.

He began to shiver involuntarily.

_____________

The cardinal’s eyes blazed with anger as he pulled the woman into a rough embrace.

“What do you think you are doing? You allowed yourself to be seen.”

“It only added to his confusion.”

“
Stupido, Idiota.
You presume too much.”

“My timing shrunk his balls, my love.”

The woman reached up and pulled the cardinal’s head forward. She forced her mouth hard against his and cried out, as he bit her lower lip. She looked almost ecstatic as she sampled the salty taste of her own blood.

He pushed her away.

“How is our plaything?”

He needn’t have bothered with his enquiry. He could see the lust in her expression.

“
Animale
. Control yourself. We shall have our fun later. When we won’t be disturbed.”

The cardinal watched her hips began to sway and gyrate to some unknown beat, causing his manliness to swell with sensation. He couldn’t keep his gaze from her ultra-tight riding pants. They hid nothing and accentuated everything; the cleft between her legs clearly visible; threatening his composure.

He looked away and refocused his thoughts.

Vogel remained an unfortunate necessity; a means to an end. He smiled and warmth surged through his body. Enhancing the rest of the evening’s activities, by taunting Vogel, provided a pleasing appetiser.

The thought of the main course exhilarated him.

A very fortunate boy … Truly blessed.

Gratifying a cardinal’s desire is the greatest of privileges. Every bit of pain experienced in the service of God and his ministry is a glorious sacrifice; an end hardly deserved by such uneducated peasants.

He sensed her eyes devouring him before she spoke.

“My love, I’ve done what you asked. All is in place. Fox believes he’s the key. The game begins.”

“Good. Very good.”

He bent toward her, filling his senses with her natural perfume.

“Pour me a brandy,
per favore
. I think I’ll keep our wretched little Vogel on edge for a while longer. The wait will do what violence cannot.”

“Don’t drink too much, Leonardi. I want you at your best, for our play …”

He slapped her face.

“Insolent bitch.”

She bit into her own lip and moaned.

“Go upstairs and make sure our little street urchin is ready the moment my business is concluded.”

_____________

Frederick Vogel sat in the beautifully frescoed entrance hall and fumed. He hated this kind of treatment, even from the high and mighty Black Cardinal, Leonardi Dal Santo.

They’re a bunch of hypocrites
.

Vogel considered the man and his profession. How could such a corrupt bastard rise so high in any organisation, let alone the Holy Catholic Church? Only the Assembly board and a select few in the Curia, seemed aware of the Archbishop’s passion for cruelty; the reason for the Black in his title.

Keep focused. Uta … Only Uta The Raptor matters. Nothing else.

Her sudden arrival seemed staged; the cardinal trying to scare him perhaps. It worked. Her appearance terrified him. It created the very real possibility that his precious spy might be working for someone other than him; Uta or a woman so similar that they could be twins; an unthinkable state of affairs. Each scenario implied that the Black Cardinal secretly controlled the Fox operation.

For a second, he thought about his late father and his lame advice. ‘Pull yourself together. Hide your fear. Never show the enemy your mind.’

He needed the advice. His longevity might depend on it.