Turned to Stone (32 page)

47

Jaime didn’t know where the sound had come from, but he didn’t hang around to find out. He leapt into the nearest room, hit his head on something hard, and rolled onto a mat. As he sat up, he realized that the object was a washbasin, and he was in the bathroom.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the door, Alvino Nascimbene had turned and fired two rounds at the new arrival. But the gunman was quick and threw himself to the floor even before the trigger was pulled. Two bullets found Nascimbene’s chest. A third passed through his throat and he dropped to the ground, a pool of blood expanding around his body.

Someone stepped out of the shadows, strode toward the body, and gave it a kick to make sure its owner was dead. Persuaded that this was the case, he approached the wheelchair, took a handkerchief from his pocket, and dried the elderly man’s face.

“Clark, what took you so long?” Carrera was panting.

“I was downstairs, with Rosa. We found some intruders going down in the elevator.”

“Intruders?”

“Roberto Barrero and Paloma Blasco. Don’t worry, Uncle Angelo. Rosa’s watching them.”

“Thank God you showed up. We have to be quick. Load the truck and let’s get out of here.”

Clark turned to the bathroom door and looked inside. “If you don’t mind, I have some unfinished business with this guy.”

“There’s no time, Clark! Get the sculpture on the freight elevator and—”

“Right away, Uncle Angelo.” Clark reloaded his pistol. “This won’t take long.”

Down in the basement storeroom, Roberto and Paloma felt their hearts thump when they heard the shots. Rosa, who was standing guard, felt the same thing. The two captives were bound together around the waist with some packing twine Clark had found in the storeroom. There was also a bruise on Roberto’s forehead, the result of a blow he’d received when he tried to defend himself.

“What’s that shooting?” Rosa asked in alarm. “Was anyone else with you?”

“There sure was.” Roberto glared at her. “Captain America, Iron Man, Hercules, Perseus, and the X-Men. Your daddy and cousin should be pushing up daisies by now.”

Anxiety got the better of Rosa. She couldn’t believe that the night she had waited so long for was going to be stained with blood. The possibility she feared most was that the shots had come from the trigger-happy Clark. She had asked him to go upstairs only because if she’d left, he would have blown the two captives’ brains out. Now she regretted not going herself.

“It’s Jaime Azcárate, right? He’s the only one up there.”

“Don’t underestimate Jaime. I hear he wiped the floor with you up in that village near Soria.”

“I’m not underestimating him.” Rosa sounded concerned. “Now keep quiet, and you might just make it out of this alive. Unless you want me to tell Clark he can do whatever he wants to you.”

“Who’s going to hear us?” Roberto said. “Anyway, between the music playing out there and the gunshots happening upstairs, all we have to do is wait for the carabinieri.”

Rosa looked around in desperation. From the half-open cupboard where Clark had found the twine, she took a handful of thick paper that she wadded into a ball and shoved in Roberto’s mouth, in the process receiving a bite to her hand that she repaid with a loud slap. About to repeat the process with Paloma, she noticed the woman’s frightened expression and hesitated. “Do I need to do this?” she asked.

Paloma shook her head.

“Good. Now stand up. I can’t leave you here.”

Rosa took Paloma by the arm and helped her to her feet, forcing Roberto, who was bound to her like a conjoined twin, to also stand. She led them to one side of the storeroom and opened an old trunk. “In there! Come on, do it!”

Paloma rushed to obey first, and as a result, had to suffer Roberto’s weight on top of her.

Rosa closed the chest and headed to the elevator. Having given up as lost her plans to start a new life, the best she could hope for now was that it wasn’t too late to prevent a massacre.

As soon as Clark started toward the bathroom, Jaime Azcárate slammed the door shut and bolted it.

“What are you doing to do now, journalist?” Clark called from the other side. “Throw yourself into the toilet and flush?”

Jaime didn’t answer. Clark was out there with a loaded gun and a venomous desire to take revenge on the person who’d repeatedly thwarted him. A simple door lock wouldn’t stop him for long. He glanced around, then made a dash for the shower. On one wall, a small rectangle of frosted glass allowed the light from the streetlamps to filter in. Jaime opened the tiny window and looked out. The opening was too tight for him to pass through, and, at any rate, the fall to the street was three floors. If he jumped, he’d break more than a few bones.

A gunshot rang out and a bullet passed through the door. Jaime ran out of the shower, knowing he was a sitting duck there, though the bathroom offered no better options. A second bullet made a hole just above the lock and Jaime threw himself to the floor. He stretched his arm out to grab the edge of the washbasin and his fingers found a cylindrical object. He took hold of it and dragged himself back to the shower.

He had just closed the opaque shower screen when the bathroom door opened with a violent crash. Clark appeared in the doorway with a sadistic expression on his ruined face. The plaster cast on his nose was filthy, a monstrous snout that went with the blood and grime on his face and hands.

Clark stood at the shower for a moment, assessing the situation. There was no one in view. Without a second thought, he fired twice at the screen, making two holes that spidered out into tiny cracks. No sound came from inside.

He fired again at two different points. Same result. Slowly he approached and laid his hand on the aluminum knob. Holding the pistol firmly in one hand, he reached out with the other and jerked the screen open.

A jet of pressurized deodorant doused his face a second before becoming consumed by a sudden burst of flames. Clark only had time to fire once before his hands flew to his blazing head. Screaming horribly, he ran to the sink and doused himself under the faucet.

From where he was crouched in the shower, Jaime put Roberto’s lighter back in his pocket, dropped the can of deodorant, and struggled to his feet. He ran out of the shower and stood over Clark, who was now writhing in pain on the floor in a puddle of water.

“I’m sorry,” Jaime said, genuinely regretful for what he was about to do.

Then he put the sole of his foot on the back of the attacker’s head and crushed his face against the floor. Clark stopped moving.

There was nobody in the hallway. Angelo Carrera had disappeared, and there was no sign of the maid, either. All that was there was the bleeding corpse of Alvino Nascimbene. Jaime was about to return to the elevator, but then he changed his mind. There was one thing he had to do first. He owed it to Paloma.

He retraced his steps and kicked the lock on the door to the room beside the one where the paintings were stored. But he had nothing like the brute force of Roberto Barrero, and the door didn’t budge. The only reward for his efforts was the pain in his foot so intense he was afraid he’d broken every bone in it. “The key! The fucking key!” he muttered through clenched teeth.

He knew Carrera must keep the key somewhere in the apartment, but there was no time to search for it. He went to Nascimbene’s body, took his pistol, and fired twice at the lock before—using the other foot this time—he kicked the door again. This time it burst open.

The room was small and virtually empty. Through the darkness Jaime could make out a prismatic object leaning against the back wall. He flicked the light switch, and as the object became illuminated, his eyes lit up, too. The object was a meter and a half tall and was draped in a sheet.

Jaime approached and pulled off the covering, and he suddenly felt as if the ground had vanished from under his feet.

From on top of a square base, the white head of a woman stared back at him with fierce eyes and wild hair, looking furious to find herself there. To Jaime, she appeared to be screaming to be set free.

“Medusa . . .” He was overcome with emotion and added more quietly. “Why aren’t you here, Paloma?”

For a moment it felt as though the danger had dissolved in that mystical space. The fear and tension had disappeared. Jaime felt just one thing: pride at reaching the end.

Since the beginning of this adventure, Jaime had encountered several pairs of eyes that had been full of hatred, brimming with rage and pain. But none of them had been equal to the expression of wrathful violence that some long-ago Greco-Roman master—with Andrea Bolgi’s later, unsolicited assistance—had managed to confer upon on the marble.

Jaime dialed Roberto’s cell phone, but his friend appeared to have turned his phone off. He took a few photos of the bust from various angles. So absorbed was he in savoring the feeling of triumph that he didn’t notice the sound of footsteps hurrying down the corridor.

Rosa Mazi burst in. “Where’s my father?”

“Hiding in his bedroom, I presume.” Jaime continued to take photographs.

“And Clark?”

“In the bathroom. Cooling off.”

Jaime turned and faced her, standing up as tall as he could. He didn’t remember her being so tall and sinewy, but he was long past being impressed. He felt his strength and confidence returning, as if the Medusa were passing him some of her power.

“Long time no see, ‘Sandra.’ ”

Rosa hesitated. She felt uneasy. This tense situation was not exactly of her design, but she certainly had contributed. “Who killed Amatriaín?”

“It’s not Amatriaín. That was Alvino Nascimbene.”

“What?”

“Your father will explain it to you from his prison cell.”

“The hell he will! Help me get it out of here.”

It took Jaime a moment to understand what she was asking. Once he did, he gave Rosa a mocking smile. “Don’t you get it? It’s all over. Your father, your brother, Clark—your whole stinking organization has gone to shit. All you are now is a headline in tomorrow’s papers.”

“That’s not true! Tonight’s the night everything is supposed to change. We have to clear out this apartment and get rid of anything that might implicate us. I just want a normal life—A
normal
life!”

“Rosa, what’s going on here?”

They turned toward the voice. In the doorway was a slim man in a close-fitting suit with very short hair. He stood there looking at them.

“Dino!”

“I couldn’t find you, so I went down to the basement to look for you. The police are here.”

Rosa went pale.

“The police?”

“Someone complained about the noise. Who are those two people in the trunk? And the body in the corridor? Good God, Rosa—is there something you want to tell me?”

“What people?” Jaime asked. “What trunk?”

“What have you done with them?” Rosa asked.

“I left them there; I didn’t know whether they were dangerous. I don’t understand any of this, honey. What’s going on?”

“She can explain later,” Roberto Barrero said, shoving Dino into the room. Behind him, Paloma was wearing an expression of indignation that disappeared as soon as she followed Roberto into the room and spied the Medusa.

“Jesus . . .”

Jaime opened his arms to indicate the breadth the room. “I don’t think Jesus is in here, but it
is
beginning to get a bit cramped. Did you two get yourselves into trouble?”

“Clark found us and tied us up,” Roberto said. “Then your girlfriend stuck us in a fucking trunk. Her fiancé found us, but he left us there. Good thing the rope was so ancient.”

“Jaime, you’re bleeding!” Paloma cried. Jaime touched his side, and his hand was bloody when he pulled it away. One of Clark’s bullets had found him, but, to his surprise, he hadn’t felt any pain. As he bent over to examine his wound, Rosa swung around and snatched Nascimbene’s pistol from him. She walked over to the doorway and blocked the exit.

“Right, everyone at the back of the room!” She aimed the weapon at them.

Dino appeared stunned. “Honey!”

Jaime gave him a sympathetic look. “New to the family, huh?”

“Shut up!” Rosa screamed, aiming at Jaime’s chest.

Everyone in the room stood as still as the Medusa herself. Then Rosa raised the gun to her own temple.

“What are doing, Rosa?” Dino looked and sounded horrified. “Honey, don’t do anything stupid. Let’s talk about it.”

“It’s too late.” She began to sob. Her hands were trembling, and she beat the pistol against her head. “Everything’s lost, Dino.”

“No, that’s not true.”

“Listen to Dino. Every situation has a solution.” Jaime tried to ignore his wound, but he was beginning to feel dizzy.

“Rosa, my darling!”

Rosa stood in the same position for what seemed like an eternity. She looked at Jaime, then Dino, and then the Medusa, an expression of hatred gradually forming on her face. Then she turned the gun away from her head and pointed it at the creature. “This is all your fault.”

“No!” screamed Paloma as Rosa opened fire on the sculpture.

Angelo Carrera quickly understood that he was running out of time. As soon as he heard Clark shooting at the bathroom door, he steered his electric wheelchair to the apartment at the end of the hallway. In one of his private rooms was the control panel he used to communicate with the
Phoenix
. Unfortunately, there was no one on the boat who could help him now. If the police weren’t already on their way after questioning Dr. Galliano, they would be as soon as a neighbor reported the gunshots. The need for escape was urgent.