The Italian Mission by Alan Champorcher Read Free Book Online

crunching the gravel. They were climbing a steep little hill and she had to catch her breath mid-sentence.
    “Like most things in life, yes and no.”
    “I have a pretty good idea what the yes is — you’re convinced that the politicians are calling the shots at the Agency. Right?”
    “Partly that. But what’s even more disturbing is that the Company isn’t really in the driver’s seat anymore. You must feel that in Washington. There are private security consultants underfoot everywhere, working for God knows who — NSA, DOD, DCI, NATO — all stumbling over one another. I thought our coordination was supposed to have been improved after 9/11, but things have gotten worse. The Middle East is full of goddamned amateurs, all of them thinking they’re ….”
    Before he finished the thought, a series of gun blasts echoed through the valley in front of them. Jill flinched. “What was that?”
    “Not sure. Shotgun maybe. The Tuscans are crazy for hunting, but the season doesn’t start until next month. Probably target practice. You notice you don’t hear many birds? They shoot anything in the woods that moves.”
    “That’s comforting.”
    They walked for a while in silence before Conti spoke again, almost to himself. “America does not go abroad in search of monsters to destroy.”
    “Who said that?”
    “My ancient relative.”
    “President Adams?”
    “The second one. John Quincy. When he was my age, he’d already authored the Monroe Doctrine. What have I done? Crept around Afghanistan and Iraq spying on radical Imams. In service of a failed policy. Not much to be proud of.”
    “You compare yourself to those two? Bound to be a bit disappointing.”
    “It’s not that I compare myself to them. But I do want to live up to their memory.” Conti rubbed an ancient signet ring on his right hand, the worn initials JQA barely discernable. “They held to their principles in a flawed world, and the country was better for it. I don’t see how I can expect any less of myself.”
    At the end of the vineyard the road petered out into a single track through an oak thicket.
    “Thank God,” Jill said. “Not that this conversation isn’t fascinating, but I’ve really got to pee. Wait here. I’m going to find some bushes. Let me know if anyone comes by.”
    “O.K., but there are snakes in these hills — vipers.”
    “You’re kidding!”
    “Not kidding. Did special ops throw in a handgun when they were equipping you for battle?”
    “Yeah.” Jill rummaged in her pack and pulled out a Glock 19, a pistol not much bigger than her hand. “They even showed me how to load it.” She reached in deeper, pulled out the loader and began pushing rounds into the magazine.
    “Impressive,” Conti said.
    “Unfortunately, they didn’t have time to teach me to shoot it.”
    “Well, even if you don’t hit the snake, the noise will drive him away.”
    “Great.”
    As Jill walked away from the path looking for cover, Conti sat on a rock and opened his guide to the Via Francigena . Suddenly, a piercing scream echoed through the trees behind him, followed by several gunshots.

10.

    The Via Francigena, Siena, Italy,Tuesday Afternoon

    Conti crashed through the underbrush in the general direction Jill had gone, dodging around small stands of oaks, then stopped abruptly. A dead body lay on its stomach in a clearing. Not wearing spandex and camouflage. Not Jill. He almost collapsed in relief.
    He knelt down and turned the body over. Chinese. Still grasping a pistol in his dead hand. He barely had time to register these facts before he heard another shot. Conti propped the corpse on its side and hunched down behind it. A second bullet thumped into the body. He lay there for a moment, then leapt up and took cover behind a nearby tree. Two men were running fifty yards down the hill. As they crossed an open field, he got a better view. One of them carried an inert mass over his shoulder. Jill’s red hair hanging straight down,