Katch kept sheltered in the doorway, crouched low and hissing menacingly. But the cat did not face the storm. Its eyes glowed, reflecting their lights—and stared into the dark depths of the bunker.
44
6:07 p.m.
Propped up on the sofa, Tag clutched the smoke in his chest, struggling to let it steep into his lungs’ alveoli. He pictured the tetrahydrocannabinol dissolving into his bloodstream. The natural compound had both psychoactive and anti-inflammatory properties, perfect for easing tensions and dulling pain. But more importantly for his condition, the drug had an anti-spasmodic effect on a body.
Unable to hold the smoke in any longer, he let it sigh out his lips.
By now, the tremoring strictures in his limbs had already lessened. His breathing, while still tight, had eased. Of course, the tab of Valium he had swallowed a short time ago certainly helped, too.
During her drug run, Naomi had also purchased rolling papers and a lighter from the dealer. Once back here, she had helped Tag divide the single gram of weed into three joints. He planned to parse them out for as long as possible. It was why he had waited ninety minutes after taking the Valium before lighting his first joint. Unfortunately, this one had already winnowed down to a tiny roach clutched in a set of tweezers.
His plan was to alternate between Western medicine and natural herbology, to bide his time while he and Naomi waited.
“Is it helping?” she asked him.
She stood by the French doors out to the balcony. She had left the jamb open after he lit the joint, to help dispel the smoke and skunky odor. Even the small gap had dropped the room’s temperature precipitously. To keep warm, she had donned her coat and a wool hat and dragged a blanket from the bed and draped it around him.
Outside, the blizzard had finally struck the village. Winds blew in fierce gusts. Heavy snow obscured the view, lowering visibility to only a few feet past the window. A half foot of snow had already piled on the balcony.
“How are you feeling?” Naomi asked.
He grinned, far more relaxed, enough to offer a sarcastic “Bitchin’.”
He took another long pull on the joint, until it finally snuffed out and turned to ash. He held the smoke inside his chest longer this time, then slowly released the precious traces from his lungs.
As he sagged deeper into the pillows, Naomi waved the pall toward the open door, then closed it. “Done, my little pothead?”
“For now. Thanks. You’re a lifesaver. If you hadn’t—”
Behind him, the door to the room exploded open with a splintering crash. He jerked around, earning a stabbing pain in his neck. Armored men burst through, following a gray steel battering ram. They rushed inside with weapons raised, screaming for them to drop to the floor.
Tangled in his blanket, Tag struggled to obey. He rolled awkwardly off the sofa to the carpet, bumping into the coffee table and knocking aside his cane.
Naomi simply collapsed to her knees and raised her palms.
“Down!” a huge man bellowed at her, driving forward with a pistol leveled. He wore black armor and a matching helmet with a lowered face shield, all with no insignia.
She obeyed, sprawling flat, but not before Tag noted her agonized expression, her eyes sorrowful and pinched, wracked by guilt.
He felt a stab of the same.
They’ve found us... and we both know how.
Men surrounded them. Others searched the neighboring rooms. Then the one who had threatened Naomi called to the door, switching to French. “Tout est clair!”
Upon this acknowledgment, two figures entered, a man and a woman, both dressed in suits and bundled in woolen overcoats. They were followed by a third who showed a clerical collar with a prominent crucifix hanging at his chest. Tag remembered the Rolls with Vatican plates outside their flat. All of this dashed any hope that these assailants were a local police force.
Still, Tag imagined this group must have gained some cooperation from the Italian authorities. He remembered Laurent’s description of the enemy’s convoluted ties to intelligence services across the EU and beyond. In addition, the bastards must have waited for the cover of the blizzard to time this assault, to further mask their actions.
Still, the end result was the same.
TheConfrériehad found them.
The man in the suit crossed briskly toward them, carrying no weapon, only a briefcase. He stopped between Naomi and Tag.
“Where are the others?” he asked with no preamble, no gloating.
