Chapter 64 - The Midnight Exodus
The aqueduct smelled of centuries-old damp moss, cold limestone, and stagnant mineral water. We waded through knee-deep sludge in absolute darkness, guided only by the faint green phosphorescence of Julian's tactical beacon.
Above our heads, muffled concussions vibrated through the stone roof—the sound of thermite charges detonating as the extraction team systematically sanitized the safehouse to erase any trace of their operation.
"They had satellite locks on our backup grid," Julian whispered as we scrambled up a crumbling stone staircase half a mile away, emerging into the misty expanse of a moonlit vineyard. "Someone tagged our position from the inside, Clara. It wasn't just Leo's transceiver."
I froze in the tall grass, shielding Leo from the biting autumn wind. "What do you mean?"
Julian held up the handheld monitor of his telemetry kit. "The tracking beacon that guided their dropship wasn't emitting from Leo's central nervous system. It was transmitting from the medical stabilizer pack we took from Castiglione’s Venetian vault. The very medicine we used to save his life had a military transponder baked into the synthetic carrier proteins."
A cold dread pooled in my belly. "Which means they've been watching our every move since Venice."
"Worse," Julian said, his eyes scanning the horizon where two black helicopters were sweeping searchlights across the distant hills. "The antidote was never intended to cure him. It was a homing flare designed to bring the asset home to the mother ship."
A low purr of an engine rumbled from the dirt road ahead. Julian immediately raised his rifle, stepping in front of me and Leo.
The high beams flicked on, blinding us with twin halos of golden light. But instead of gunfire, the horn gave two short, distinctive taps.
The driver’s side door swung open, and an elderly woman with silver hair pulled into a severe bun stepped out into the mud, wearing a full-length cashmere overcoat and holding a heavy caliber revolver pointed casually at the ground.
"Get in, Clara, before those corporate dogs turn my vineyards into an open-pit mine," the woman commanded in an aristocratic, gravelly tone.
I lowered my stance, stunned. "Countess Beatrice...?"
"You saved my granddaughter in Florence from Castiglione’s human trafficking ring," Beatrice said, her steel-blue eyes narrowing at the approaching chopper blades in the sky. "A debt of blood in Italy is never forgotten. My private jet is idling at an airstrip five miles from here. If you want your boy to live past sunrise, stop staring and move."
May you like
Without a second thought, Julian and I lunged into the back of the armored limousine, slamming the heavy doors shut just as sniper fire began chewing the dirt behind us.
***
