Omega Plague: Collapse (4 page)

“Haven’t seen you for a week. You’ve been traveling?”

“I got back from my brother’s place in Salerno last night.
Retirement has its perks, travel being one of them. And I only have to say Mass
once in a while now.”

“Right.” Bruno nodded and looked back over the water. He
drummed the railing with his fingers as he stared at nothing. They stood there
in silence for a while. Then the priest spoke.

“How are things at work?”

Bruno continued tapping. He didn’t answer right away. “Good
question. Could be better, I guess.”

“You all right? Something bothering you, Bruno?”

Bruno stopped tapping. He looked over at Father Tommaso.
“You ever do something you think is right, but it breaks the rules?” He enjoyed
talking to Father Tommaso about Napoli’s chances of winning the Scudetto this
season and the region’s Roman and Greek roots, but Bruno seldom spoke about
religion. And he almost never requested advice from the priest, but tonight was
an exception.

Father Tommaso swirled the wine in his glass. “Don’t we all
do that sometimes?”

“So how do you know what’s the right thing to do?”

“You’ve got to have faith, Bruno. Faith that your heart will
guide you.”

“Faith?” said Bruno. “What if you don’t have it?”

“We all have it. But sometimes we forget it’s there.”

Bruno didn’t respond. He looked back over the water into the
night and started tapping the railing again.

Father Tommaso stood there for a moment and then spoke
again.

“I’ll leave you to your thoughts.”

“I’m sorry, Father, I just—”

“No worries, Bruno,” said the priest as he went back into
his flat. “If you want to talk, please, just knock anytime. Buona notte.”

As he stood there alone in the cool evening, Bruno’s
thoughts returned to cover-ups, deception, and disobedience. This is how a
republic ends, Bruno realized. Even though he agreed with Veri, he sensed their
insubordination might represent the beginning of something insidious. Local
needs might override decrees written by some distant, unseen official.
Expediency might replace principles. The rules that kept nations intact might
fray, and eventually snap. Yet as he thought about the possible unraveling to
come, he realized that he was wrong: this wasn’t the beginning of collapse—in
truth, it had already started. The useless politicians in Brussels had already
begun their blathering about coordination of efforts, sharing information, and
“solidarity,” but from what Bruno understood about human nature, things could
very quickly become every country, every city, even every man, for himself.

Bruno did not sleep well that night.

Chapter 3

October 9

Bruno could see the lights dotting the coastline through the
mist even before they were halfway across the bay, but the rest of the world
around him floated in inky darkness. The choppy sea that night made Bruno
acutely aware of every handhold on the patrol vessel. He stood in the
glass-enclosed cabin, Veri in front and Cristian across from him. The cabin was
small enough that there was only an arm’s length between Bruno and Cristian. In
front of the cabin, the patrol boat captain peered intently at the control
panel and listened with headphones to radio traffic, oblivious to his
passengers.

The blue light from the instrument panel provided the only
illumination. Bruno glanced at Cristian, whose face looked sickly in the pale
light.

“Hey,” said Cristian as loudly as he dared, not wanting the
boat captain to hear. “How the hell can he drive this damn thing without
lights? I know we’re trying for stealth, but it’s pitch-black!”

“This is a Model 800 motovetta. It’s got enough radar and IR
sensors to see a match flame five klicks away.” Bruno gestured toward the
captain. “He probably drives better in the dark than he does during the day.”

Bruno returned to his own thoughts. There must be more to
what they were doing tonight

Veri turned facing outward so he could talk to both of them.
The rough sea made him keep both hands on the railing running along the cabin.
With the glow of the light and his goatee, he looked menacing.

“All right, gents, you know what’s going on. The
confiscation order is a week old, and we’ve all seen what it’s done.”

Bruno reflected over the last week. When enforced, the
resistance to the confiscation order had turned violent in a few of the major
cities, catching the government flat-footed and serving as a costly distraction
from disease monitoring and containment, as more cases began to pop out in
Rome. Why resistance had been a surprise to the morons running the Ministry of
the Interior was unfathomable to Bruno. And with seven million registered
firearms, Bruno was certain that the government’s efforts would ultimately be
futile.

There had been little reported violence in the rural areas,
particularly in the South, leaving Bruno to wonder if they weren’t the only
ones who had disregarded the order. When Bruno had asked Veri what he thought,
Veri had just smiled, saying cryptically that he had many friends in the
service who thought being far from the provincial commands makes many things
easier.

“Still,” said Veri, “I think the Interior Ministry is using
what’s going on as an excuse for something bigger. Not that I have a problem
going after this particular bunch of thugs. But we’ll see if I’m right when we
get the expanded mission brief.”

Veri shifted position, leaning forward. “Keep your ears
open. The rest of the squad will meet us on the dock.”

The boat slowed noticeably now; they had begun to maneuver
up to a long, concrete pier with no illumination save for the lights of the
city. Two people moored the boat and returned to the pier. Once the boat was
secure, the captain indicated it was safe to disembark.

As they left the boat behind, Veri, Cristian, and Bruno
secured their facemasks. They had already started to ration their surgical
masks, stretching their life over more than the recommended one day. The masks
were becoming grimier by the hour. Bruno hoped that, no matter the shade of
grey, they would still provide some kind of protection.

The revelation that the doctors were not in quarantine in
London, but were actually dead, had caused a firestorm. Even the notoriously
lurid British media refused at first to show pictures of what the doctors
looked like after death. But then the pictures leaked out, circulating first on
people’s phones, then throughout the commercial media. Diseases like
flesh-eating staph, Kaposi’s sarcoma, and necrotizing pneumonia had consumed
the doctors. In the media, some medical professionals theorized that whatever
it was must have ravaged the victims’ immune systems, leaving them vulnerable
to opportunistic infections. Like they all had “hyper-AIDS,” one said. British,
French, and Italian authorities tried to quarantine everyone who had come in
contact with the doctors. The media said it would be too late—quarantine hadn’t
worked during the swine flu pandemic that broke out in Latin America a number
of years back, and it had barely stopped Ebola in Europe. The doctors had come
into contact with hundreds of people during their European travels, including,
of course, high-level government officials. While there were no reports of the
disease outside of London, Paris, or Rome, Bruno knew it was only a matter of
time before it spread.

The two who had moored the boat joined the three figures
standing on the pier. In the semi-dark, Bruno couldn’t make out their faces,
other than to see they, too, wore masks. There was enough light to see their
uniforms, which were the same as worn by the trio from Capri. The Carabinieri
had abandoned their cheerful blue attire for dark navy tactical uniforms. They
were thick and practical, complete with helmets and body armor, and black boots
heavy on the feet. All of them carried 9mm submachine guns slung across their
chests.

As the two groups of officers approached, they all held
their hands out with palms down, as if showing their nails to each other. No
one shook hands.

“Good,” grunted Veri. “Everyone’s clear.” Given that no one
was exactly sure of the disease’s incubation period, a hand check wasn’t
perfect, but it was a quick method to see if anyone had tremors, the initial
symptoms of infection. Yet Bruno wondered whether they should even bother,
since no one was sure if people were contagious even before the tremors began.
Maybe the real purpose of the check was to give people a false hope that let
them continue to function. Otherwise, no one would set foot outside their home,
and then things would really go to shit, and fast.

One of the five stepped forward. Bruno thought he had met
him before, the bright-blue eyes standing out even in the shadows against the
man’s tan skin, but it was difficult to tell with everyone masked.

“Veri, good to see you again,” he said. He motioned toward a
waiting blue van.

“Lieutenant Colonel Costa.” Veri nodded in acknowledgment.

The back doors of the van were open, and all eight of them
entered, the last person shutting the door.

Bruno now remembered Costa, the provincial commander in
Naples. Bruno surmised that if lieutenant colonels were out doing real
operations instead of signing reports and giving orders, law enforcement truly
teetered on a razor’s edge. Costa’s head, shaved bare to the skin, glinted from
the small light in the van’s ceiling. They sat on the bench that ran along the
inside of the van, while Costa stood stooped in the middle, bracing himself on
the walls with both hands. He knocked on the panel immediately behind the
driver and the van’s engine turned over twice before coughing to life. Then the
van moved slowly off the pier.

“Thanks to our colleagues from Capri for coming,” Colonel
Costa began, raising his voice to be heard over the engine. “I’m glad the
island is calm enough for you to assist us.” His face grew grimmer. “I wish I
could say the same for Naples. We’ve been stretched thin already—most of my
officers are guarding critical infrastructure, not kicking in doors. The
Camorra clans have been active, taking advantage of the fear of this outbreak,
whatever it is.”

Costa continued, briefing-style, all business.

“So here’s the sitrep: Coordinated raids on organized crime
cells are taking place all over the country tonight, on direct orders of the
Commanding General himself.” Costa paused to let the import of his words sink
in before continuing. “Every major city in the country has at least ten squads
making arrests tonight. There are twelve other squads in Naples alone. In Rome
and Milan, there are even more. Tomorrow morning, the PM is going to announce
this initiative to enforce the weapons confiscation order and smash organized
crime once and for all.” Veri exchanged a knowing glance with Bruno and
Cristian.

Costa’s voice grew severe. “But back to our business
tonight. Our targets are these six individuals—two Bosnians, and four
Camorristi—they’re holed up at this address.” Costa pulled out a flat screen
pad from a deep pocket in his jacket and handed it to Veri. “Here are pictures
of them and a schematic of the building and their flat.” Veri studied it,
swiping through each photo, and passed the pad along.

As they looked at the pictures, Bruno eyed his colleagues in
the van, wondering when the last time was any of them had been on a raid. He
recognized a couple of them, like Marco, who was supposed to have come to Capri
but instead ended up stuck in Naples. Marco and a few others looked like they had
just started to shave. The rest of them teetered on the edge of what should
have been a lengthy, well-deserved retirement. Bruno hoped they hadn’t gone too
soft from years of riding a desk. This whole damned operation struck Bruno as
futile. Why go after a few thugs now? What good would it do, with some sort of
unknown virus spreading?

Costa continued to talk as each team member looked at the
pad. “This bunch crawled out of some shithole more than a year ago, and their
gang’s been terrorizing the Quartieri Spagnoli worse than any other Camorra
clan.”

Costa paused, giving time for each team member to study
information on the pad. “Note that two of the Camorristi are brothers. They’re
probably the most dangerous. These two and their crew have muscled the Russo
clan out of their territory. And I don’t have to tell you what a bunch of
savages that lot was. These brothers have both done time for assault with a
deadly weapon and extortion, and are implicated in the killings of five rival
clan bosses. God knows what else they’ve done that we don’t know about. So be
careful.” By the time the last person handed the pad back to Costa, the van had
come to a stop.

Costa looked at the men arrayed around him. “No doubt some
of you are wondering why we are bothering with this scum at a time like this.
Keep in mind, this is a nationwide, coordinated effort. Like I said, there are
twelve other squads in Naples taking part in raids tonight, not to mention in
Milan, Palermo, Catania, Rome, Bari—I could go on.” His eyes now shone with
emotion as he spoke. “If we can take down the leadership, in one blow, then we
cripple organized crime nationally. And maybe keep Naples that much farther
from falling into anarchy.”

“Falling into anarchy?” said Cristian sotto voce to Bruno.
“Naples is
always
in anarchy.” While Bruno considered whether Cristian
was being serious or just trying to be an ass, Costa’s eyes narrowed and he
looked straight at Cristian.

“You! Di Cassio, isn’t it? Is there a problem?”

“No, sir!” replied Cristian in his best military voice.

“Good. Keep it that way.”

Bruno felt Costa had answered his unspoken question about
the reasons underlying these raids. But judging by how deep into the pool of
manpower they dove to get enough people for the raids, they’d be lucky if none
of them got hurt.

The van came to a halt.  Costa opened the doors and the
squad tumbled out, two at a time.

“We’ve parked two blocks away. We’re on foot the rest of the
way, so with luck, we won’t be spotted.”

As they assembled near the back of the van, the team began
to check and double check their main weapons and sidearms.

Veri leaned over to Cristian and swore under his breath.
“Cap’e cazzo! Can you not control your mouth even for a second?” Cristian
didn’t say anything, but from the look in his eyes, Bruno knew that under the
mask, Cristian sported a shit-eating grin.

Bruno looked around. The dingy apartment buildings and
uneven cobblestone streets meant they were in the heart of the Quartieri. Bruno
glanced at his watch. The luminous analog display showed 01:02, well past the
newly-imposed nationwide curfew of 22:00 hours. Anyone out and about now risked
arrest. Bruno looked up and drank in the night air. Silence blanketed the
warren of narrow cobblestone streets. The only noise rippling in the night was
the distant sound of what to Bruno sounded like gunshots. Things were indeed
falling apart.

After a final review of the schematics and discussion of
tactics, the team began to quickstep as quietly as they could toward the
entrance to the apartment building. The streetlights cast pools of light here
and there, illuminating the mist in the chill night air.

Bruno went over the plan again in his head as they
approached the entrance. Third floor, Interno 3A, down the hall on the right.
He could feel adrenaline surge as the group paused just before the entrance, in
a line with backs against the wall of the low, stone building.

Cristian and Veri were together, but Bruno’s assigned
partner was a fresh Academy grad, a kid named Gianluca. Bruno glanced to his
left to check on his partner. Gianluca’s hands trembled slightly as he checked
his weapon one last time. Bruno reached over and touched him on the arm. “Hey,”
whispered Bruno, “it’s all right. Stay right behind me and follow my lead.”

Gianluca nodded. “Right. Don’t worry, chief. I’ve got your
back.” Bruno imagined that under his mask, the kid smiled a pale half-smile.

Bruno patted him on the shoulder. “I know you’ve
got
my back—just don’t shoot me
in
the back, okay?” Bruno joked. But the
teasing and confident gesture belied Bruno’s true thoughts: Old men and boys.
Already that’s all we’ve got left.

Finally, each man gave the ready signal and they slipped
into the building entrance; on cat feet they walked up the flights of stairs.
The light in the stairwell flickered on and off, the old fluorescent lighting
in desperate need of an upgrade. The two lead team members stopped as they
arrived at the landing. The door to Interno 3A lay just to the right of the
stairs. The two lead officers stopped, and they readied their battering ram.
The team dotted the stairs, winding partly down almost to the floor below, as
there was not enough room on the landing for them to fit single file. Bruno and
Gianluca stood almost at the head of the pack. From where he stood, Bruno could
hear men shouting or arguing over the buzz of a television. They’re awake, he
thought, and cursed to himself. On a silent count of three, the lead officers
swung the ram, powering through the door with the sound of rending wood and
metal.