Hope.
Shit.
There was old Nietzsche again, echoing across the ages. What had she told Danny before – hope was what got you killed. She chewed on her lip. She still believed that. But right now it was all she had.
Forty-Six
But Danny had indeed seen the goings-on in Delgado’s office. After tracing their path through the building he’d found a vantage point behind a patch of thick wild grass to observe, his heart racing and his fists clenching as he watched that son of a bitch grabbing at his girl. Now, with the pistol gripped tight in his fist, he came out from his hiding spot and made his way down the uneven hillside towards the house.
As he already knew, Delgado was a cruel and arrogant man but had few enemies in the region, meaning the place wasn’t guarded up to its eyeballs. Still, there were men patrolling the property – one front and one back – both armed with what looked to Danny like submachine guns. UZIs, if he had to guess, but only because they were the only submachine guns he’d heard of (a misspent youth watching Arnie movies to thank for that). Though he did understand enough about guns to know if they began trading bullets he wasn’t going to last two seconds with the measly handgun in his possession.
But they’d calculated for this eventuality. Sort of, at least. And the idea was to keep it a stealth mission. Get Acid and the eggs out without drawing attention to themselves.
Fecking hell.
It had sounded so simple back in Carlo’s kitchen, but he was fast starting to realise that plans such as this were easier made than done.
Keeping to the shadows, he reached the bottom of the hill and concealed himself behind a large olive tree that overlooked the western side of the house. Delgado’s office was at the far corner, and from this position he could see Acid at the window. She was looking straight at him but he was unsure whether she could actually see him.
He raised his hand regardless, mouthed, I’m coming, don’t worry – wondering even as he did, who’s benefit he was saying it for.
There were no guards on this side of the building but the heavy metal bars meant there was no way he could get her out through the window. Going in through the front door was his only option. Without taking a breath he moved quickly over to the perimeter wall and peered through one of the hexagonal holes cut into the stonework. The guard was standing with his back to Danny a few feet away. He thought he recognised him as a guy called Pietro that he’d met on previous visits, but it was difficult to tell from the angle and the way the severe spotlights made his black hair shine a reddish brown.
Before he could talk himself out of it, Danny shoved the pistol into his waistband and grabbed onto the top of the wall. It stood a little more than five feet high but he was able to pull himself up easily enough, swinging one leg over, and then the next, and sitting there a moment. Pietro was still facing the other way. His shoulders were flat and the UZI, held in two hands, rested limply at waist height as though he was weary – a long shift in hot weather would do that to you. Holding his breath and with gritted teeth, Danny lowered himself down off the wall, landing on the dry earth of an unused flower bed without making a sound. Seemed he wasn’t too shabby at this whole covert mission thing, after all. But he quickly shook that thought away.
Stay focused, laddo. Not the time.
He stayed low, shifting his weight onto his haunches and ready to leap forward if needed. In front of him Pietro didn’t flinch. Now, without daring to breathe, Danny moved his hand slowly and deliberately towards the pistol stuffed in his jeans and gripped the handle. In the distance he could hear the chirping symphony of thousands of cicadas, like background static suddenly rising up and filling his awareness.
Was it a warning? A sign?
Danny remained still, not taking his eyes off Pietro as he weighed up his choices, of which really there were only two. Shoot the guy and risk alerting the other guard (as well as those in the house), or take him out silently the way Acid had instructed. Undoubtedly there was a clear winner, but that way was also the hardest option and was giving Danny real cause for concern as he made the split-second decision and slipped the pistol from his waistband. In two strides he was behind Pietro, and in the same movement he flipped the barrel of the gun into his palm and swung the heavy metal handle at the side of the guard’s head. The impact made a dull thump and sent Pietro stumbling to one side. But didn’t knock him unconscious.
Shiting hell.
Danny followed up with another heavy blow, this time to the nape of the neck which knocked the man to his knees. A final hooked swing to the temple finished the job. It had all happened in a moment, but he felt worn out as he knelt over Pietro’s prone form to see blood pouring from a deep gash in the back of his head.
The sight had him a little dizzy, and he felt a strange sensation in the top of his groin. Not delight, per se, certainly not arousal, but it wasn’t entirely unpleasant either. Whether he’d just killed a man, he wasn’t certain, but the way Pietro was laid out, with his head twisted to one side (not to mention all the blood), he wasn’t going to cause them any trouble for the foreseeable future.
Danny was over to the front entrance of the house in two more strides, pressing himself against
