Thirty-three

Belhadj had dislodged the pigeons to let Daria know where he was. He shot the big, blond American and turned his massive gun toward Asher Sahar, just in time to see Daria’s suicide dive.

The Syrian watched the stranger in the brown jacket kneel and hide the red canister in Asher Sahar’s messenger bag.

Belhadj ducked back out of sight as the throng of trapped tourists scattered and five people with American accents shoved against the tide. A wide array of weapons broke through.

“Freeze!… Nobody move!… Do it!”

The thunder of boots and barked commands seemed to revive Daria, who stirred, rising off the floor to kneel beside Asher, her head spinning.

Owen Cain Thorson boomed, “Do not move!”

Daria, on her knees, realized opponents were in close proximity. She couldn’t focus enough to see them and their voices were tinny and muddled, as if over a walkie-talkie on a stormy night.

“Stop!” Thorson ratcheted the slide on his machine pistol. “Don’t move!”

Daria felt a hard, cold shape by her knee. One of Asher’s SIG autos. She wrapped her fingers around the handle.

Five CIA weapons locked on her.

Major Theo James pushed his way through the crowd, panting, his face red.

John Broom, also on his knees, skittered across the floor and into the line of sight of the CIA weapons. “Wait, wait, wait!”

He raised open palms toward Swing Band.

Thorson’s jaw dropped. “Broom? How the hell—”

John pointed behind the CIA assault squad. He had never spoken so quickly in all his life, and was appalled to hear his voice rise an octave. “This is Major Theo James! U.S. Army! He’s USAMRIID! Also World Health! Major? Identify yourself!”

Theo gulped. “Ah, yeah. Me. That’s me. Hi. I’m him.” His instructors in officer training school had never covered this scenario.

John, freaking out, saw the steely glint in Thorson’s eye and the seething anger in his jaw. He figured the odds of Thorson shooting through him to kill Daria to be about fifty-fifty.

“Owen! The major has primary responsibility for the virus! Do you hear me? Whatever else happens, containing the virus is his job! Major?”

Theo couldn’t figure John’s angle but played along. “Ah, yeah. Yes! Absolutely!”

Thorson held his machine pistol in both hands, aimed at John Broom’s chest and, through him, at Daria’s chest.

Daria gripped Asher’s fallen weapon and tried to push through the dizziness. What was happening?

“B-Broom?” she tried.

Agent Maldonado squinted through blood from her badly cut eyebrow. Two other agents bled on the floor.

“Owen, protocol!” John barked. “The major takes control of the virus. Right?”

The ex-SEAL, Collier, squinted over the sights of his .45. His bristly gray mustache twitched. “That is protocol.”

Up on the rosewood balcony, Belhadj didn’t move.

Thorson didn’t move.

John didn’t move.

Theo James said, “Fellas?”

The moment passed, and everyone could see it in the subtle shift of Thorson’s stiff shoulders. He nodded, once. “Yes. Army takes the virus. Do it.”

But the barrel of his weapon didn’t budge.

John exhaled. “Good. Okay. We good, everyone?”

This wasn’t Collier’s first firefight. He watched his boss, then his eyes flickered to the dead and the dying on the floor. He looked at the unarmed civilian on his knees. Behind him, the Israeli target looked barely conscious.

Collier said, “Stand down, people. We good.”

When Thorson didn’t move, Collier’s mustache twitched again. “Boss? We are good.”

Thorson lowered his barrel about three inches.

John tried really, really hard not to pee his pants. “The major gets the virus?”

Thorson rolled his eyes. “Yes, Broom. Step clear of the prisoner.”

“Major?” John gulped. “This is my friend Daria Gibron. She is the virus culture. Take her, please.”

Thorson’s eyes almost shot out of his skull. “What?”

But Theo was quick on the uptake. He had pegged Collier as the most regular military man in the bunch. “You. I’m Major Theo James, U.S. Army. This woman is Patient Zero for a biohazard threshold event. Help me secure her for transport.”

Collier holstered his weapon. “Yes, sir.”

Thorson went apoplectic. “What? No! She’s—no!”

But the other agents had already lowered their weapons and were securing the onlookers, calming the crowd.

Daria, on her knees, lay one sweaty palm on John’s shoulder. “What … what…”

And she passed out.

*   *   *

On the balcony, Belhadj waited a few beats. He lowered his handgun, then melted into the gloom of the Catedral de Milano.