Blaze of Glory (18 page)

LORENZO FLIPEPI GAZED AT the rising sun. He had waited all night for its arrival. There had been many occasions when events required he stay awake through the night. Those nights crept along, one minute slowly morphing into the next.

A gentle cough, softer than a kitten’s mew, drew his attention from the window. He turned and gazed at the small form asleep on the hospital bed in the center of his tiny, dirty apartment. The form shifted, grimaced, and rolled to her side.

A moment later the eight-year-old girl with straight black hair was asleep again. He watched the thin blanket that concealed her form rise and fall with each breath—a ballet of life.

Seeing her made him ache, delivered a pain so hot and so deep he had to force back tears. Eight years old. Just eight. And for the last two years, Mia had seen almost nothing of the outside, just what passed by the car window whenever Lorenzo took her to the hospital.

He glanced around the apartment. It was small, with only one bedroom and one bathroom. It was all he could afford, and half of the time he was in arrears on the rent. The landlord, a blimp of a woman with a matching heart, often looked the other way.

A gentle knock came from the door. Lorenzo opened it, and the cool dawn air rolled into the room. Standing in the pale glow of the yellow porch light stood Ornella, Lorenzo’s sister. Despite the early hour, she looked fresh, rested, and ready to greet the day.

“I’m sorry to ask you to come so early,” Lorenzo said, stepping aside.

“Nonsense, it’s only a couple of hours and I rise early anyway.”

Lorenzo closed the door. “It’s just that I have to be at work early.”

“I understand. It is not every day that so many dignitaries come to our city.” Ornella stepped to the tiny dining area, hung her long coat over the back of a chair, and set her purse on the table.

“How did she sleep last night?” Ornella spoke softly and let her eyes drift to the child.

“She slept through the night,” Lorenzo said, matching her tone. “We had a little episode about two this morning. Choking. But it passed quickly.”

“That’s good. When did she last eat?”

“We had some ice cream about ten o’clock last night.”

“I mean really eat.”

“About six. I heated up a can of chicken noodle soup and made toast. That’s her favorite.”

Ornella walked to the hospital bed and straightened the snow-white sheets, careful not to wake her sleeping charge.

Lorenzo removed his blue uniform coat from the closet and slipped it on. “I may be late. I will get home as soon as I can.”

“Don’t worry yourself about it. Mia and I are best friends. I can stay all night if necessary.”

Lorenzo bent over his daughter’s form and kissed her on the forehead, then walked to the door. He turned to face his sister. “If the landlady comes by, please tell her that I will try to have the rent ready in a few days. She’s been very understanding.”

“But won’t you let me handle that, Lorenzo? I’ve spoken with my husband—”

“No, it’s my responsibility. You and Ricardo have financial needs of your own.”

Ornella stared at him with kind eyes. “We can manage, brother. We are family and family sticks together.”

“I can’t allow it.” Lorenzo pursed his lips.

“Well, since you won’t be here, you can’t stop me.” She smiled. “Ricardo thinks you two should move in with us, and I agree. That way I wouldn’t have to get up at dawn and come here. I could be of much more help if you and Mia lived with us.”

“I appreciate the offer, Ornella, but it just isn’t that easy.”

“What is not easy for you is swallowing your pride, but we understand. The offer remains open. Mia needs a mother figure in her life. She’s needed one ever since Isabella left you.”

“I do not want to talk about Isabella.”

He’d trusted her. Loved her. And she’d come to him one night saying she was leaving him for another man. A man who was not a police officer, who kept normal hours and would be home to take care of her. Just like that, she abandoned her husband and daughter. Lorenzo had not seen her for three years.

“I’m just saying that you would have more money for Mia if you lived with us. Perhaps better doctors could save . . .” She couldn’t finish the sentence.

“It would not be enough. Ten times my salary would not be enough.”

“Have your lawyers made any headway?”

“No. They’re still trying to force the insurance company to live up to its promises, but they’ve made no progress. The insurance company has more lawyers.”

Ornella stepped from Mia’s bedside and joined her brother at the door. She kissed him on the cheek. “It is the lawyers and the doctors that keep you poor, brother. Don’t let your pride make it worse.” She removed a bit of lint from his lapel. “You look handsome. You always look handsome.” She wrapped her arms around him and squeezed. “I worry about you and Mia. I pray for you every night and during the day.”

Lorenzo wrapped his arms around her shoulders and pulled her tight. He rested his cheek on her head. “Ornella, if something should happen to me—”

“Stop saying that.” She pulled back. “It is as if you know something is going to happen. It frightens me.”

“I just have to be sure you understand.”

“I understand, brother. You have reminded me many times.”

“I need to hear it for my own comfort.”

“If something should happen to you,” she said slowly, “I am to go to your desk and open the top drawer. There I will find a key that fits a safe deposit box in the Napoli Central Bank. Mia’s important papers are there. I am to retrieve them.”

“And you will do that for me? You’ll do that for Mia?”

“Of course I will. You know I will. You shouldn’t have to ask. But nothing is going to happen to you.”

“Of course nothing is going to happen to me, I’m just being careful.” He felt tears rise in his eyes. Before she could see, Lorenzo turned and left. He paused at his front window long enough to catch one more glance at his leukemia-ridden daughter.

BY THE TIME LORENZO pulled his tired Renault into the police parking lot, the sun had emerged full form from the horizon. He checked in with the desk officer and left the station in one of the department’s newer patrol cars. It took fifteen minutes for him to work his way along the surface streets after the police barricades that he’d help set up. He parked a block away from the
Miramare Hotel Grande
and covered the remaining distance on foot.

This morning it was his job to check the status of the Naples police officers’ stations. There had been a division of labor: Italian army provided snipers stationed on the roofs of many of the surrounding buildings. Secret Service agents and their equivalent from other countries provided in-hotel protection and transportation. The Naples police were to handle crowd control and traffic control. Lorenzo assumed there were other groups doing things he was not privy to. No doubt there were a dozen intelligence agencies hiding in the bushes.

His supervisor Aldo had called for several layers of blockades, each manned by uniformed officers. In every case but one, no one was allowed to pass. Deliveries passed through one blockade and only after each vehicle had been cleared. Should any one of the heads of government want to be driven from the premises, they had to obtain permission first.

Lorenzo made stops at three of the barricades, then made his way to the third of three checkpoints delivery trucks had to clear before being allowed to approach the building.

“There is a delivery van requesting permission to approach,” a tall, dark-skinned officer said to Lorenzo.

“From what vendor? Do they have papers and badges?”

The officer said they did.

“Let them pass.”

A few moments later a white Mercedes-Benz panel truck drove slowly to the checkpoint where Lorenzo stood. A logo and name on the side of the truck indicated it was owned by a large flower company near Rome.

“I’ll take this.” Lorenzo waved his hand, and three officers hurried to action. One used a small video camera on a pole to search the undercarriage for explosives; another walked around the vehicle looking for anything out of the ordinary. Lorenzo stepped to the driver’s window. “Papers, please.”

The man handed him a small stack of orders and a page that identified the driver and company. Lorenzo nodded. “Please pull the hood release.”

The driver, a man in his thirties, did. One of the officers checked the engine compartment and pronounced it clear.

“Is the back unlocked?” Lorenzo asked.

“Yes.”

“Please turn the engine off and hand me the keys.” Lorenzo held out his hands.

The man laughed. “If I were going to run over you, I would have done so by now.”

“Please, sir. The keys.”

The driver handed them over, and Lorenzo went to the back of the vehicle and opened the double doors. Inside and mounted to the sides were several metal shelves. The floor was covered in buckets filled with flowers. From the back, Lorenzo could see the back of the driver’s head and that of a female passenger.

He closed the doors and moved to the passenger side of the vehicle. The woman was young, with smooth, dark skin. She glanced at him then turned away. Around her neck hung a badge like the one the driver wore. Lorenzo recognized it. They were assigned to anyone who needed access to the building. Each badge had a bar code and a radio-frequency identification chip embedded in the plastic.

Lorenzo motioned for the chip reader and one of the officers brought a device that looked very much like a large television remote with a tiny LCD screen. Lorenzo passed it over the badge and nodded. He then returned to the other side of the vehicle and passed the scanner over the driver’s badge.

“How long will you be in the building?”

“Until nearly noon,” the driver said. “We have to cut and arrange the flowers to make the centerpieces for the lunch gathering.”

“You must wear these badges at all times. Is that understood?”

“Si, officer.”

Lorenzo looked to the woman. “Do you understand about the badges, signora?”

“Si.”

“Let them pass.” Lorenzo said and stepped away from the vehicle and watched it drive toward the building.

He felt ill.

DELARAM WAS A VICTIM, not a co-conspirator. At least she felt that way until the policeman looked her in the eye, read her badge, and she said nothing. The only image her mind could form was that of her parents being killed in the slowest, most painful manner.

“You behaved like a noble woman.” Abasi glanced at her, his perfect white teeth shining between his lips. Delaram wondered if she were strong enough to knock any of them out.

Abasi drove the flower truck down a drive and into the basement of the hotel. Light from fluorescent fixtures encased in protective wire mesh replaced the first rays of sunshine.

Darkness seemed to follow Delaram. They had left the villa in the dead of night, traveled dark dirt roads, flown in a large helicopter over night-shrouded hills. She’d sat in the helicopter, half afraid they would crash, half afraid they wouldn’t.

The helicopter landed at an abandoned private airport. Delaram had lost her sense of direction minutes after take off. She tried to use the pale glow on the horizon to determine which direction was east, but sunrise had been too far off. She couldn’t tell if she was gazing at the sun’s first rays or the glow of a city. To make matters worse, the pilot changed directions a dozen times. Filled with despair that mounted with every hour, Delaram gave up trying, gave up hoping, and gave up thinking.

By the time the helicopter landed and she and the other women were loaded into four SUVs of different makes, Delaram had fallen into such despair that she moved like a zombie. As far as she was concerned, her life had already ended. An hour, maybe two later, Abasi pulled the SUV onto the back alley of an industrial district. A string of warehouses bracketed the alley. The press of a button on a remote opened one of the wide loading doors. Abasi pulled the car in, stopped, exited, but left the motor running.

“You. Out.” He pointed at Delaram. She slipped from her place in the backseat. The space was nearly empty. A white, flower delivery van was parked to one side. The space smelled of motor oil made slightly pleasant by an ocean breeze. She was close to the ocean.