might roll over.
But there was no time for a roll. Instead, Mercedes met truck with a crash of splintering glass and tearing sheet metal.
'Hold it; stop!' Jason yelled.
Before the Volvo was entirely still, Jason bolted from the rear, dashing toward the mass of metal that was hissing and steaming like the death throes of some mythical dragon.
Jason sprayed the carnage with nine-millimeter bullets until the Sten's firing pin clicked on an empty chamber and the barrel burned his hand through the canvas cover.
Slamming another clip into the weapon, he took two steps forward before he was restrained by Adrian's hand on his shoulder.
'No time to put a bullet in each of 'em, laddie. We canna ken if there's more about. Best we make our way while we can.'
Jason reluctantly agreed with the wisdom of the observation, if not the sentiment. He would prefer not to chance facing any survivors later, survivors who would be less than appreciative of his bounty in letting them live.
Chapter Twenty-nine
Il Giardino de Mare Risorte
Sardinia
The next afternoon
After the highway was effectively blocked by the collision, Adrian had been forced to reverse course, taking an all- night alternate route to put a protesting Clare on a flight to Edinburgh via Rome and London. Like it or not, she would visit with her grandchildren for a few weeks.
Jason was as happy to have the Scot join him as Adrian was to see action once again. The pastoral life, though simpler and potentially longer, lacked excitement, the addictive narcotic from which Adrian had not entirely withdrawn since his retirement from SAS. Neither man knew what to do with Maria, a question largely mooted by her stubborn refusal to join Clare out of harm's way, and the fact that she would provide the introduction to Dr. Calligini as well as translate the questions Jason had.
The one thing the remaining three had agreed upon was that a couple drew far less attention than two men and a woman. Adrian had set out for Turin while Jason and Maria would follow in a day or so.
Jason and Maria spent a day on the Costa Smeralda, on Sardinia's northeastern coast. It was, Maria informed him, the ritziest part of the island. The scalloped coastline consisted of hundreds of small stretches of narrow beaches, each containing one or more resort hotels. Many were so close together that 'ocean view' consisted of craning one's neck left or right even to glimpse the water between buildings. The beach, the water, and the decor of the Holiday Inn-knockoff hotel were interchangeable with south Florida, if slightly less tacky. The major difference was that even the Sunshine State's major hotels would have blanched at prices rivaling the French Riviera.
In a bikini from one of the hotel's several overpriced shops, Maria drew less than covert glances from male vacationers whose chubby wives and loud children were also reminiscent of Florida. Jason watched her tan on the beach while he stretched out on a lounge, where he could watch the single path from the hotel.
He was the only sunbather wearing a shirt. He was also probably the only one with a pistol tucked into the waist of his swimming trunks.
In the late afternoon, Maria produced another of her Hermes scarfs, this one in brown and gold depicting horses' heads, riding whips, bridles, and other stable gear Jason didn't recognize. He had no idea how it had survived the last few days, and even less where it had been.
Tying two corners around her neck, she turned for him to knot the remaining ends behind her back. 'See, a backless blouse.'
Just as he had done for Laurin a hundred times.
'How very clever,' he said.
She turned before he had finished, startling him. 'You don't sound surprised. Maybe you tied some other woman's scarf for her.'
'Maybe.'
She started to say something, thought better of it, and nestled against him like a puppy seeking warmth from its mother. 'I'm getting chilly. Let's go in.'
He would have preferred the touch of her body against his to any comfort inside. Strands of her hair tickled his nose pleasantly. Instead of the smell of salt water, her skin had a musky, pleasant odor that was not the residue of her tanning lotion.
He started to put an arm around her shoulder and stopped in midair. He wasn't here for romance and neither was she. Maria, after all, had voiced the request that had made the eyebrows of the hotel's otherwise circumspect desk clerk give a slight quiver of surprise: Mrs. William Rugger of Tampa, Florida, insisted on una camera con due letti, a double room, an accommodation usually requested by European families traveling on a budget.
Jason had pointed out that any variation on the norm was potentially dangerous. Maria had countered that the danger of sharing a bed was more than potential.
Jason was well aware of the futility of arguing with a woman: an apparent victory simply meant the fight wasn't over.
Besides, they would be staying only a single night, two at the most.
Jason struggled up from the lounge with a mixture of disappointment that a possible romantic moment had slipped away and relief at its escape. He led the way to the pink stucco building and down a hallway with wallpaper exhibiting blue and pink seashells. Uncharacteristically, Maria chatted aimlessly: the quality of the beach, the warmth of the water.
He stopped when he reached the door of their room. Squatting, he surveyed the doorknob.
'Looking for fingerprints?'
He shook his head as he stood. 'Nope. When we left I used spit to stick a hair between the frame and door. It's still there.'
It took her a moment before she nodded her head. 'If anyone had gotten into our room…'
'We'd know about it,' he finished, pushing the door open.
She stood in the hall. 'You think…?'
'I think it pays to be careful.'
She stepped across the threshold behind him, shoving the door shut. 'Playing spies is fun for just so long. Yesterday when those people started shooting at us, I thought…'
Her lips quivered and a single tear tracked down her cheek, the trickle before the dam broke. She covered her face with her hands, and her shoulders heaved. Between sobs, she blurted, 'I hate acting like
… like such a weak person.' She hiccupped. 'But I cannot take it, the killing, the brutality of…'
Impulsively, Jason wrapped his arms around her. He tried to think of something comforting to say but couldn't come up with anything, only a very hollow, 'It'll be okay, really. Everything will be fine…'
She pushed off against his chest, regarding him with red-rimmed eyes. 'It will not be okay! You and those, those… people!' She spit the word as though it were a curse. 'You and they will keep it up until you are all dead, and God help anyone who gets between you! And for what? Some macho, male bullshit!'
He was tempted to point out that opposing the use of deadly force to impose environmental views was hardly a personal vendetta. He doubted the observation would do much good.
Her eyes were locked onto his. 'Violence only makes for more violence. Do you not understand? Killing one another is not the way to resolve differences!'
Tell that to Laurin, he thought. But he said, 'Think, Maria. Both the, er, incidents began by them attacking us.'
She used a forearm to wipe her eyes, smearing mascara and leaving dark areas under her eyes like a raccoon. 'Jason, one side has to stop, to try to reason with the other. Can you not understand?'
He understood perfectly. One didn't reason with rabid dogs, a life-form he held in a great deal more esteem
