The Devil's Triangle (A Brit in the FBI 4)

“I see her,” Louisa yelled, “about one hundred feet to my right, leaving the piazza. I’m right on her tail, and she hasn’t seen me yet.”

Lia continued in her calm voice, “Two more shooters on the balconies, one right above you guys and the other directly across the square. Both have dark hair, thirties, jeans and black T-shirts, no body armor.”

A shot hit the plaster column that protected Mike and Nicholas, showering sharp chips down on their arms, thankfully covered.

More shots, more screams. Tourists ran in all directions, fleeing into the shops and cafés that lined the square. Mike heard the European sirens, but she didn’t see any Carabinieri or police. Major Russo had assured Nicholas that they’d be here to back them up. Where were they?

Nicholas’s voice sounded in Mike’s ear. “Mike, we need to get free from the columns, get those two shooters. You break left on my mark, I’ll cover you. Ready?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Get across the western edge of the piazza to the alley, it’s forty feet from your spot. Three, two, one, go left.”

Mike exploded out of the small space, gun pointed, Nicholas laying down cover fire. A shot grazed her shoulder and she returned fire. She missed, but reached the alley. She had a much better view of the piazza from this vantage point.

Lia said, “Mike, balcony, shooter at your ten o’clock.”

Mike turned and fired, all in one motion. A man fell from the balcony, landed ten feet from where she stood.

“Lia, Nicholas is still stuck behind a column, down by the white grand piano. Can you free him up?”

“I can. Nicholas, a shooter’s directly above you, and I see another one across the piazza. I’ll hit the one above you if you get the guy across the way. This one’s blond, dark sunglasses.”

Nicholas shouted, “Where the bloody hell are the Carabinieri?”

“I don’t see a single one,” Lia said. “They’re coming, though, hear the sirens?”

“That’s the polizia, not the Carabinieri. Okay. Lia, take him out.”

Nicholas heard Lia’s shot, saw a man sprawl onto the ground. Nicholas rolled from behind the column, shooting up at the balcony as he went. A man screamed, his gun flying, and fell at his feet.

“Five down—there are probably more. Nicholas, we need another aerial view, I need someone else up here to spot them. Can you get on the balcony?”

“Yes.” Nicholas yelled at Mike, “Cover me, I’m going up.”

He burst out into the piazza, running hard. He stepped on a table and used it to catapult himself up to the balcony where the shooters had originally been grouped. His hands hit stone, scraping his palms, but he held on, managed to pull himself to the small parapet. He swiveled to look back at the piazza. Now he could see everything that was happening. He saw a sixth shooter, long black hair, stationed right above Mike, saw the edge of his weapon. He aimed and squeezed the trigger. The man yelled curses as he grabbed his wrist and watched his gun clatter to the ground.

Nicholas caught a glimpse of a furious face, then the man was off and running. Nicholas had no idea where he was going, but he took off after him, running on the narrow balcony, south along the piazza. At least the balcony ran the length of the piazza. He caught sight of Mr. Long Hair and he had another weapon in his hand. He was running parallel to Nicholas, down the balcony on the other side of the square, shooting at Nicholas when he could.

Nicholas shouted as he ran, “Mike, the balcony opposite me. Do you see him? Black hair, long? Do you have a shot?”

“I don’t, but if I come out into the piazza, I will.”

“Lia, cover her. Louisa, where are you?”

A breathless voice said, “I’m still tracking Kitsune. I’ve lost sight of her. Maybe she got into a boat. Do you want me to keep looking for her?”

“Yes. We’ll deal with this.”

Nicholas heard shots, looked over the edge of the narrow balcony to see Mike, her arms pointed at the balcony opposite, where Mr. Long Hair was crumpled half on, half off the edge. He looked quite dead.

Nicholas stopped. He counted six shooters. How many more?

A moan came over their comms.

“Who’s hit, who’s hit?”

Mike screamed, “Lia!”