“Back!” I yelled, keeping those nearest me at bay.
Thrash metal blared from the speakers but there was no other sound. The roar of fast-paced music only added to the tension that gripped my stomach.
I pushed open the service door and saw a corridor lined with offices and restrooms that ended at a kitchen. On the other side of a long stainless-steel preparation counter was a fire exit.
I hurried down the corridor, aware that Milan was on his feet now, following me.
I moved faster. In the gloomy kitchen there was a smell of grease and stale fat that turned my stomach. I ran forward and sensed movement from close by my left side. I ducked just intime to avoid one of Milan’s thugs, who slashed at me with a carving knife.
He overbalanced, and I sent him flying with a swing of the hand that was holding the gun. The weighty pistol cracked the man’s skull and I saw his hate-filled eyes go blank as he fell.
The attack broke my rhythm and slowed me, allowing Milan and the others to close the gap between us.
I burst into the kitchen, leapt onto the preparation counter, and slid to the other side. As I rolled off, I fired a couple of high and wide shots into the wall above the doorway.
Milan and his squad of thugs paused, and that gave me the space and time I needed to reach the fire door safely.
I pushed the bar. Nothing happened. The door remained firmly shut. I noticed a padlock and chain holding it in place and fired a brace of shots at the lock, which shattered.
Milan and his people were almost on me now.
I unwound the chain, pushed open the door, and slammed it shut a second before Milan reached it. I wrapped the chain around the stem of the outer handle and threaded it through an old eyelet that would once have housed a bolt. I pulled the chain tight as the door was forced open a crack and looped the links on themselves to hold it fast.
I turned to find myself in an alleyway behind the bar. There were footsteps approaching from left and right.
A fire ladder hung down to my left. With no desire to fight my way through Milan’s people, I hauled myself onto the bottom rung. I clambered up the rusty old fire escape to the roof of the building. Once safely behind the balustrade, I craned over theedge to see one of Milan’s men run down the alleyway and unwind the chain. He opened the fire door for his boss and the crew, who stormed out.
I watched them for a moment as Milan barked instructions. Satisfied they hadn’t cottoned on to my escape route, I backed away from the balustrade and made my way across the rooftop to safety.
CHAPTER38
AFTER CROSSING A city block over the rooftops, I found a safe place to climb down: a fire escape on Via Alfredo Cappellini. I jogged toward Termini station, went through the busy concourse and hurried east to Via Marsala on the other side of the grand terminus, where I caught a cab.
There was no sign of Milan or his people, but I sat low in the back and obscured my face with my hand until we were out of Esquilino. I was grateful to put the run-down neighborhood behind me, and if the cabdriver thought there was anything unusual about my behavior, he didn’t so much as bat an eyelid. People didn’t work poorer neighborhoods like Esquilino without learning to take the rough with the smooth.
I instructed the driver to head to Ostia. We passed through the heart of Rome before reaching the colorful coastal neighborhood a little over an hour later. I asked the driver to drop me acouple blocks from the cell-phone store, and after checking I hadn’t been followed, I hurried into the apartment where I showered and changed into a dark gray suit of lightweight cotton. I wore it with a white shirt, open at the collar.
Once I’d washed off the sweat and grime from my encounter with Milan Verde and his people, I called Justine.
She answered immediately, her face filling my phone screen.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
Was she really that perceptive?
“Nothing. Why?” I tried, chancing my luck.
“I know where you were going, and you’ve just cleaned yourself up, which means you probably ran into trouble,” she replied.
Never try to outfox a profiler.
“It wasn’t anything I couldn’t handle.”
“I don’t like the thought of you being out there alone. I want to come to Rome. Mo-bot and Sci too,” Justine said. “You need an experienced team around you. You shouldn’t be facing this alone.”
“I appreciate the sentiment, but you all have work to do in LA and I’m okay,” I replied. “I really am. You’re giving me everything I need from there. You’re reacting to perceived danger, but I’m fine.”
“Don’t try to psych me, Jack Morgan,” she replied. “You’d be more effective with us at your side.”
