Omega Plague: Collapse (5 page)

The team poured into the apartment one behind the other,
shouting “Police! On the ground!” Bruno felt his partner’s hand on his shoulder
as they stomped into the apartment. Scenes of upturned tables and men with
hands in the air flashed into Bruno’s vision, but he focused on his own part of
the mission, heading to the right, down a short hallway, and through an open
door.

“On the ground!” Bruno shouted as he saw the bald-headed man
standing in the middle of the tiny bedroom. The man wore jeans, but no shirt.
Bruno entered the room, focusing on the man, while his partner followed right
behind him. “On the ground!” Bruno repeated. “Face down, hands behind your
back!” The man dropped to one knee upon Bruno’s second command, but Bruno
noticed the man’s head flick to the right. The dingy room had a cot, table, and
lamp as furnishings, but nothing more. Bruno noticed the large tattoo on the back
of the man’s head as he moved to cuff him. But as Gianluca called “Clear!”
Bruno realized the room had not truly been cleared. He looked to the man’s
right, realizing that what looked like a solid wall actually had a knob in the
middle.

“Cuff this one!” shouted Bruno. “We’re not clear!”

Gianluca moved to the stocky bald man, snapping handcuffs on
one wrist, while Bruno transitioned to his sidearm to gain more
maneuverability. The closet was the folding-door kind, spanning almost the
entire length of the right wall. Pistol in his right hand, Bruno yanked the
knob and the door folded open like an accordion.

Something in the closet rustled, Bruno saw movement, and the
crack of a pistol—Bruno’s own pistol—rang out. A figure from the shadows fell
forward through hanging clothes into the room, almost at Bruno’s feet,
twitching as soon as it hit the floor. Bruno had shot the man in the head.

Before Bruno could say anything, something bashed him into
the wall. The impact knocked the breath out of his body. Stunned for a moment,
Bruno watched while Gianluca wrestled the partially handcuffed man to the
ground and Veri stormed into the room.

“He came at me!” shouted Bruno. “I saw him!”

The bald man, now beneath Gianluca, began to wail.

“He—he came at me!” said Bruno. “Trying to grab my pistol!”
Then he turned to Gianluca. “You saw, didn’t you?” Bruno heard a tremor of fear
in his own voice, the sound of a schoolboy caught starting a fight.

As more officers poured into the room Veri stared at Bruno,
but said nothing.

***

Bruno spent the rest of the night at the Naples Provincial
Command Headquarters answering questions from the investigators and filling out
forms. The questions were as predictable as the forms. When they finally let
Bruno leave just before dawn, Bruno saw Veri on the steps outside of
Headquarters, cigarette in hand. The streets were empty.

“I fucked up, I . . .” said Bruno, his voice trailing.

Veri gazed at Bruno, then took a long drag before
responding. “That garbage made a grab for your weapon. I saw it.”

“But Gianluca, he saw—”

“Gianluca didn’t see anything. He was busy with the brother.
I was first in the room. I told them what I saw. And that’s that.”

Bruno didn’t know what to say.

“That guy you shot—
that
guy deserved exactly what he
got. Anyway, we found weapons hidden all over that place. Who knows if that
piece of trash had one stashed near him.” Veri paused, dropped his cigarette,
and snuffed it out. “Of course, under normal circumstances, you’d be suspended
until the investigation is concluded. But things are already starting to get
bollocksed up. They need every available officer right now. So, they’ve
suspended the investigation, pending discovery of additional evidence, which
I’m happy to say is bloody unlikely.”

“Look, I don’t know if—”

“That’s enough talk, Bruno.” Veri patted him on the
shoulder. “You
did
fuck up. But you’re a good officer, Bruno. Now don’t
ever bring this up again, understand?”

Before Bruno could react, Veri walked off, leaving Bruno
alone with his thoughts in the cool air.

Bruno knew he should just leave, let it go; but something
made him go back inside Headquarters. He had unfinished business. After calling
in some favors and telling a few more lies, Bruno got permission to go down to
the holding cell.

Bruno found the bald man standing alone with his back to the
cell doors. Bruno studied him through the bars. The dark tattoo looked almost
three dimensional in the fluorescent light. Bruno donned his mask. Although
Bruno could tell the bald man had heard him talk to the guard just outside the
anteroom to the cell, the man continued to stare at the wall, not acknowledging
anyone else. The four other men in the cell also ignored Bruno’s presence,
remaining on the bench, talking in low whispers to one another.

Bruno stared into the cell. Then he spoke. “I think I
recognize your tattoo. It’s a double-headed eagle, no?”

Without turning around the man replied, in perfect
TV-announcer Italian, “Yes—from the Serbian flag.”

Bruno nodded. “I’ve read your file. I have one question. Why?
Why the Camorra? Why get involved with that lot?”

The bald man laughed softly. Then he turned and strode up to
the cell door and stared at Bruno across the bars, black eyes burning. “They’re
my family,” the man stated. Bruno stood nearly eye-to-eye with him, but the
bald man’s bulk made Bruno happy a cell door stood between them.

Bruno’s words, though, betrayed no such fears. “Family?”
said Bruno. “Your mother was from Naples, but your father was Serbian. You were
born and raised here I know, but that wouldn’t matter to the Camorra, now would
it? You must know that to them, in the end, you’ll always be Il Serbo. Isn’t
that what they call you?” Bruno smirked. “Definitely limits chances for
advancement, doesn’t it?”

“Tell me something,” said Il Serbo, cocking his head to one
side. “Did that other pig cop lie like you did about killing my brother? Did
that other pig cop lie to save your ass?”

Bruno paused before he spoke. He ignored Il Serbo’s
question. “I also read your brother’s file. He spent time in jail for armed
robbery and multiple assaults. He nearly got charged in the killing of a rival
boss in another clan and the rape of the dead man’s wife.” Bruno shook his
head. “But she was so scared to say what happened that he got away with it. So,
you’ll forgive me if I don’t shed any tears that I had to shoot him during a
raid. I can’t think of anyone who deserved it more.” Bruno smiled. “Except
maybe you—but you must be the smart one, right? You didn’t try to grab anyone’s
weapon . . . like your brother did.”

Il Serbo took one step closer to the cell door. “You lying
piece of filth!” Grasping the bars with both hands, he growled, “You think you
know a lot about me, don’t you? Well, let me tell you something else—something
that’s not written down.” He paused, then looked all around as he spoke. “All
this—you see all this? This is coming to an end soon, very soon, and when it
does, Signor Ricasso da Capri, I assure you I will come for you on your pretty
little island, you murdering little shit-sack, and I’ll tear your liver out.”

Even through the mask, Bruno felt as if the other man’s hot
breath shrouded his face. Bruno shifted his weight back.

Il Serbo laughed. “What’s the matter? Scared? Are you
surprised I know your name?” His voice dropped again. “Yes, I know you’re on
Capri—our clan has good ears.” He glanced around at his cellmates. “Oh yes,
even in this shit-hole. But don’t worry, you’ve got time. I’m going to gut that
old bastard that lied about what happened first. Then it will be your turn.”

Bruno turned sharply and strode to the door leading to the
antechamber.

“Or maybe your sister’s turn,” said Il Serbo. “I’ve always
had a thing for doctors, you know.”

Bruno froze. But he did not turn around. He hit the intercom
to summon the guard to let him out, the laughter of Il Serbo filling his ears.
After an age, the door buzzed open and he burst out.

Il Serbo shouted after him, “We’re safer in here than you
lot are out there! You’ll see!”

The laughter still rang in Bruno’s mind long after he left
the cell behind.

Chapter 4

October 12

Bruno thought about the weather, hoping they wouldn’t get
caught in the rain, and trying to fill his head with thoughts other than worry
about his sister. He had ridden on his motorcycle with Cristian when their
shift was over, after neither one could get Carla on the phone and the hospital
had told both of them she wasn’t there.

Cases of the disease were now being reported from Rome to
Florence and Milan, and cities outside London and Paris as well. People who’d
had no known contact with the doctors were falling ill. All Western European
governments had declared states of emergency. That meant schools were shut and
recommendations were to stay at home. It also meant military mobilization and
troops with automatic weapons on the streets of every European capital. People
hunkered down. Some older people who had got the disease had already died, and
hospitals were being flooded with people who were sick or thought they were
sick. The island, as yet, had avoided infection. Over the protests of
businesses, Capri’s mayor and municipal council forbade the landing of any
ferries carrying passengers to the island, in an attempt to prevent its spread.
People could leave, but they couldn’t come back. But the island lay only a few
kilometers from land. A small boat could almost certainly make landfall on the
island undetected. Bruno believed their efforts to stop the disease’s spread to
the island would fail.

Carla lived in one of the nicest parts of Capri, not far
from the main square. There were a few people walking here and there. Most of
them wore a mask of some kind.

Bruno walked stiffly, his neck and back still sore from the
raid two days ago. “If she’s not there, I’ll—”

“Don’t worry. It’s Saturday afternoon, you’re overreacting.
I’m sure she’s around somewhere. If I know her she just forgot to charge her
phone,” said Cristian as they approached her apartment building.

Cristian pulled out his phone. “Hold on. Wait a sec.” He
tapped Bruno on the arm. “The website’s back online—I can finally download the
video—the guy with the Shakes! Christ! Bruno, you’ve got to see this.” Cristian
handed him his phone, the video already playing. Bruno didn’t look.

Cristian told Bruno about an infected Irishman living in
London who had taken pictures and video of himself and uploaded it to YouTube.
They pulled the video, but not in time to stop it from going viral. The man
calls his tremors “the Shakes,” saying it was like what happens the morning
after a night of binge drinking. The British media loved the name, and it
stuck.

“It just came out yesterday,” said Cristian.

“I don’t want to watch it,” said Bruno.

“Come on! This disease is insane, look what it does!”

Bruno relented.

The man in the video sat shirtless in front of the webcam.
Pustules oozing blood covered the man’s face and chest. Bruno could hear the
man wheezing, trying to talk in English about the disease’s symptoms as his
lungs filled with fluid. Listening to the man describe what was happening to
him made Bruno regret being able to understand English.

“Christ, do you know what kind of panic this will cause?”
said Bruno. “You think this is a fake one, too?”

“Even if it is a fake, it could still cause complete chaos,”
Cristian responded. “I spoke to some friends in Rome yesterday. Stores are
already having problems keeping food on the shelves. And open air markets are
closed.”

“This one looks real. And if they can’t contain the disease,
panic will only get worse,” Bruno said.

Cristian shook his head. “They kept rabies out of Britain
for one hundred years—too bad they didn’t keep out Médecins à l’aide des autres
while they were at it.”

They approached the entrance to Carla’s apartment building
and walked in.

“Hey listen, Bruno, I’m sorry about what happened on raid. I
know it wasn’t your fault. I can only imagine how you feel, and—”

“Thanks.”

“If you ever need to talk about it, just—”

“I really don’t want to talk about it,” said Bruno as he
climbed the stairs up to Carla’s third-floor flat.

Bruno knocked on the door. No one answered. “Carla, are you
there?” No response.

He glanced at Cristian. “You have a key, don’t you?”

Cristian rummaged around in his pocket and produced the key.
He paused. “In case you’re wondering, I sleep in the other bedroom when I stay
here, so don’t think that I—”

“Just shut up and open the door.”

Cristian opened the door. Carla’s flat was considerably
larger than Bruno’s but the layout was not so different. In the foyer, a
suitcase lay near the door. At the other end, through the glass balcony door,
Carla stood looking out over the sea. They walked in. There was a flat screen
mounted on the wall in the main living area, with the news humming.

Carla turned around, saw them, and came inside.

“Ciao,” said Carla, giving Bruno a hug and Cristian a kiss
on the cheek. She was a petite woman with dark hair pulled back in a ponytail.

“We were worried about you. Your phone went straight to
voice mail and the hospital said you weren’t there,” said Bruno.

“Sorry, the phone ran out of charge, and I’ve had barely a
minute to think. It’s been so busy.”

“Why the suitcase?” asked Cristian. “Where are you going?”

“I’m going to stay at the hospital for a few days. They need
me there.”

“Did you see the latest video? Is it real?” said Bruno.

Carla took a deep breath. “Yes, we think so.”

“Christ,” said Bruno.

“Look.” She spoke to both Cristian and Bruno. “You should
stockpile some supplies; food, water, whatever you can. There are going to be
shortages. At least that’s what the pandemic models predict.”

“We will,” said Bruno. “But what about you?”

“The hospital is probably the most prepared for this kind of
thing. We’ve trained for pandemics. We’re ready.”

“All right, well—” started Bruno, but then the news caught
his interest.

A reporter he recognized from one of the national networks
stood in front of the UN building in New York City. The tall steel-and-glass
building reflected the light of early morning, and the sun was just rising. “We
can now confirm cases of this new disease outside the UK, Italy, and France. It
has now spread to New York, Cairo, Berlin, São Paolo, and Madrid.” She spoke
with authority.

“I’ve got to go,” said Carla. “Stay if you want, but lock up
after you leave.” She hugged them both and left, pulling the wheeled suitcase
behind her.

Bruno and Cristian stood in the middle of the room. Bruno
wondered what to do next. The reporter went on talking, but Bruno did not
listen.