Chapter 92 - The River of Shadows
Three miles south of the airport, beneath the ancient stone arches of the Ponte Vecchio, the roar of the explosion was barely a muffled rumble swallowed by the pounding rain.
I stood in the murky darkness of the old sewer outflow, water rushing past my boots, clutching Maya tightly against my chest. Mateo stood beside me, his submachine gun raised toward the grate that opened into the Arno River.
When the distant shockwave rattled the brickwork above us, Maya gasped, burying her face into my neck. "Mommy, was that thunder?"
"Just thunder, my love," I whispered, though my heart felt like it was tearing itself apart. "Just thunder."
Mateo checked his tactical watch, his jaw set in a hard line. "The charge went off. If Vincent made it to the water barrier, he'll reach the extraction boat in five minutes. If he didn't..."
"He made it," I snapped, cutting him off before he could voice the nightmare. "Vincent doesn't die that easily. He won't leave us."
Mateo looked at me, pity softening his battle-hardened eyes. "Elena... Vincent took enough morphine to kill a draft horse just to walk across that tarmac. Even without the blast, the man is bleeding to death. You need to prepare yourself."
"Shut up, Mateo," I whispered, tears mixing with the damp mist in the tunnel. "Just watch the river."
Two agonizing minutes passed. The only sound was the rushing water and Maya's small, rhythmic breaths against my collarbone.
Then, a splashing sound echoed from the outer grate.
Mateo clicked his weapon off safe, leaning into the shadows. "Identify!"
"De Marco," a choked, bubbling voice gasped from the water.
Mateo lunged forward, grabbing a pair of iron bars and heaving the rusted grate open. Together, we reached into the black, swirling water of the canal and hauled a heavy, waterlogged figure onto the concrete ledge.
It was Vincent.
His overcoat was burned away on the right shoulder, his skin blackened with soot and flash-burns. The white bandages around his torso were completely shredded, saturated with dark, arterial blood. He collapsed onto his side, coughing violently, vomiting river water onto the stone.
"Vincent!" I dropped to my knees beside him, pressing my hands against his chest. His skin was ice-cold, his pulse a frantic, fluttering thread.
"Julian..." Vincent rasped, his vision swimming as he tried to focus on my face.
"Did you kill him?" Mateo asked urgently.
"No..." Vincent coughed, a terrible rattling sound in his lungs. "His bodyguard... shoved him behind the aircraft stairs before the blast peaked. Julian is alive. Wounded, but alive."
"We have to move," Mateo said, looking up toward the street above. "The whole city is going to be locked down by state police and Julian's contractors within fifteen minutes."
"Can't walk," Vincent breathed, his head rolling back against the cold stone. "Elena... listen to me. Take the hard drive from my pocket. Take Maya."
"I am not leaving you!" I cried, grabbing his face with both hands, forcing him to look at me. "Do you hear me, Vincent? Five years ago I didn't know who you were. When you hunted us down at the airport, I hated you. But you bled for this child. You took a bullet for her today. You don't get to die in a sewer!"
Vincent's lips twitched into a faint, bloody semblance of a smile. "You always were... stubborn."
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"Mateo, help me lift him!" I ordered, slipping my arms under Vincent's shoulders.
Mateo hesitated for only a second before slinging his rifle over his back and hooking Vincent's legs. With a collective heave, we hoisted Vincent between us, dragging him deeper into the dark, forgotten arteries beneath the city of Florence.
