Shrouded In Silence

49





Night had fallen sufficiently to cast dark shadows over Michelle as she ran to the corner. The first block had allowed her to stay close to the side of the building but she had to wait for the cars to pass. A glance over her shoulder told her nothing. Jack must still be struggling in the alley with the reporter because he wasn't in sight. She wanted to go back, but Jack had told her to run. He must have known he could endure the struggle. Michelle knew how strong Jack was and felt certain that he could hang on. Worst-case scenario would be that the newsman had a wild story to print about chasing the Townsends.

Once across and on the other side of the street, she settled to a slower pace to avoid calling attention to herself. A crowd of people was leaving the metro, and she blended into them. Just ahead was the ticket window. She stepped up.

"Going to Piazza de San Giovanni," Michelle said.

The man looked at her a moment too long and stared at her hat. Then, he pushed a ticket under the window but said nothing.

"Got to get rid of the hat," she mumbled to herself and snatched it from her head. "The thing must look weird."

For several moments, she observed the crowd to see if anyone was watching her. Kids on the streets of Rome dressed in weird outfits, and people might have assumed she was only one of the pack, though she was a bit old for that scene. Stepping toward a large bench, she dropped the hat on the seat and walked away. Hurrying down the stairs to the tracks, she realized again how stale the overcoat smelled. No longer was it necessary to keep up appearances, but the overcoat provided a cover for the night air so she left it on. Once she reached the bottom of the stairs, Michelle watched people lining up to catch the next train that would be coming in shortly.

The metro station always seemed to be filled with people. Rome's subway station had forever been a major part of how commuters traveled through the city. While buses and cars plowed through traffic in the street above, the A and B metro service provided a cross-city service that was fast and effective. With standing room only in the coaches, in the summertime the subway could become terribly hot, but this was a November night and on the chilly side.

Standing nearer the edge of the platform, Michelle noticed a man at the other end watching her. Wearing a stylish brown wool suit with a dark purple shirt and a striped bluish tie, he clearly was dressed better than most of the passengers milling around the tracks in faded blue jeans and sweatshirts. His extremely short haircut reflected he had fairly recently shaved his head and was letting the hair grow from a bald look. A scar ran down his cheek. Michelle turned away and pulled up the collar on her overcoat. For a few moments, she turned away, but glanced out of the corner of her eye. The man in the brown suit kept watching her.

She'd seen that same outfit somewhere before, but where? For a moment the memory blurred and then she remembered the man taking her picture across the street from Santa Maria Church. Jack and Dov had pooh-poohed the idea, but it had concerned her. This was the man! No coincidences there.

Walking cautiously to the front end where the train would stop, Michelle could hear the coach arriving. A strong gust of wind whistled down the tunnel, and the cars careened into the station, shrieking to a quick halt. She jumped into the first coach and turned to watch the man. Hustling along the side of the cars, he stepped into the coach directly behind her and worked his way toward the adjoining door where he could continue to watch her through the coach windows.

Whoever this jerk was, the man was definitely on her tail. She had to play it cool lest she precipitate a response she didn't want. The subway roared down the tracks into the black tunnel and came out at the next stop where she should depart. Michelle watched him in the back car, standing motionless. Clearly, she would have to make the first move, but if she got off now, it could provide a trail to Guido. She couldn't let that happen. Once again the car pulled away from the station and raced down the tracks. Pushing her arm against the shoulder holster, she made sure the gun was in place.

Having missed her stop, Michelle knew every other station would only take her farther from the Piazza de San Giovanni. She needed to act, but what could she do? Whoever this monkey was, he'd be off as quickly as she departed. He could be part of The Scorpion terrorist ring, or he might be one of Albert Stein's men. Of course, the tail could just be one of those crazy spooks that roamed Rome's back alleys and side streets. Nothing added up right. In any case, she had to shake him and staying on the train wouldn't do it.

The car slowed and the recorded voice on the overhead speakers announced the passengers should be cautious in getting off the train. Michelle scanned the crowd waiting to board. She could wait until most of them entered and then dart out. With people stepping in, the creep might miss an abrupt departure. Even if he saw her leave, she could get a significant head start. The train slowed.

The purple shirt and blue tie weren't moving. The first passengers stepped off the subway and people began boarding. The warning light flashed that the doors were about to shut. Bolting between two men, Michelle leaped to the station platform and ran for the exit without looking back. When she rounded the corner, Michelle saw a restroom sign straight ahead. The ladies room was an option that hadn't occurred to her. Darting through the open door, she walked into the crowd of women. Without hesitating, she marched toward the stall and locked herself in.

Could the brown suit be waiting outside the bathroom door? It was more than possible. On the other hand, he might have missed her coming in and gone on down the hall. If so, by now he had to conclude he'd lost her. If he really was after her, he wouldn't disappear quickly, and she might run into him again. Michelle had no alternative but to wait.

Rumblings started in her stomach, and Michelle instantly knew what was coming. She grabbed the side of the wall to steady herself. An attack had not hit for some time, but she knew she couldn't stop the invasion. The stress of being followed had set it off. Taking a deep breath, Michelle tried to relax, but her hands and arms started to shake. She tightened her eyes to block out the sights, but the vision rolled up anyway.

A huge trailer pulling a gasoline tank came straight at her, hurling down the highway at breakneck speed. Like watching a slow motion rerun of an old movie that she'd seen a hundred times, Michelle saw the truck driver's face grimace in horror as he violently tried to pull his eighteen-wheeler back onto his side of the road. The cab jerked to the left, but the trailer swung wildly toward their car. Her mother screamed just as the rear of the trailer smacked the front end of their vehicle. The sound of the front being torn away rang through the automobile with a shriek of metal ripping apart. Their car started spinning wildly.

"Michelle grabbed the door handle that her father always kept locked, but the car started tipping to the side. She heard glass breaking and saw the windshield shatter into a million pieces. The car went sideways and her grip on the handle broke. Pain erupted when she crashed into the top of the car. For a second, it felt like they were going to spin and then the car bounced sideways and started to roll. Her body began bouncing up and down on the top of the car that was crumpling upward into the auto. A massive rock smashed into the side of the rolled vehicle and everything stopped except pain and glass that kept flying like tiny missiles. Pieces of the broken windows hurled past her neck and arms. A trickle of blood started running down the side of her face.

Michelle lay on the top of the car with the bent roof gouging her. Shock had already partially anesthetized her, but the agony kept pumping and she knew she was hurt worse than she ever had been in her life. Outside a voice kept shrieking.

Her father started crawling through where the windshield had once been. Michelle could smell gasoline, and the scent was growing. His strong arms started easing her into the front seat.

"Padre!" she cried. "Padre!"

"I've got you, dear," her father said. "Don't worry. I'll get you out."

"My leg!" Michelle screamed. "The throbbing hurts so bad."

"Don't cry," her father said. "You'll be out of here in a second."

Michelle looked down and realized her left leg had turned at a strange angle. Legs weren't suppose to do that. She looked into her father's face and saw blood flowing out of his hairline and running down his nose. Without stopping, he pulled her through the windshield and onto the pavement.

"Don't move," her father said. "Lie very still."

Ahead of their car she could see her mother trying to crawl. Her blouse was torn and blood ran down her arm. The smell of gasoline had become so strong that it hung in the air like a pall.

Suddenly an explosion shook the ground. Her father fell backward onto the pavement, and an orange ball of fire rolled up into the sky followed by clouds of black smoke. All sound stopped and only silence prevailed. There were only movements without resonance. Then Michelle saw her mother.

The explosion had slung her against a slab of rock rising from the side of the road. Her neck hung at an obscene angle as if her head had been internally disconnected. She didn't move, but stared straight away with empty eyes.

For the first time, Michelle remembered exactly what had happened, and the horror froze every fiber of her being. She had never spoken of her mother's death nor discussed it with Jack. The matter was closed, sealed, finished, but now it was clear that conclusion had never happened in her mind. Michelle could no longer escape the dead eyes of her mother staring back at her on the side of that road.

She rubbed her clammy hands against the walls of the bathroom stall as she slid to the floor with knees wobbling like putty. Sinking to the floor, she began crying bitterly. She could not avoid the most intimidating fact of her life. The wreck had killed her mother.

Tears rolled down Michelle's face as the penetrating edges of her memory slowly faded. Sounds returned, and she could hear women walking just outside the stall, but she couldn't move. Her weeping continued unabated.

"Hey, lady!" a woman called out. "You OK in there?"

Michelle couldn't answer.

"Do you need a doctor?"

"No," Michelle finally mumbled. "I'm OK." She could hear the footsteps of other women gathering around the door.

"An ambulance?" Another woman shouted.

"Please, no," Michelle said. "I'll be fine in a moment." She began pushing herself back up off the floor. "I'll be out in a few minutes."

Even though her hands continued to shake, control was returning. The sight of her mother's empty eyes had undone her more completely that anything else that had ever occurred in one of these post-traumatic encounters. Michelle could no longer avoid the fact that she had run from every day since the wreck. Her mother had died in the explosion and her death was more than Michelle could face. The curtain had been ripped open. Reality was on the table before her, and she would have to face it.

Michelle finally opened the stall door and stepped out. A few women stood around waiting, wanting to make sure she was all right.

"Thank you," Michelle said to the women and began washing her face.

The old overcoat no longer had a purpose. Even if she was still being followed, jettisoning it might convey a different appearance. Michelle took it off and hung the coat on a hanger attached to the wall. If she was going to leave, she would need to walk out resolutely no matter how wobbly she felt. If the creep was out there, she'd know soon enough.

Drying her hands, she pulled the bobby pins from her hair and the strands tumbled down to normal shoulder length. Her regular look would also help offset her appearance to women entering into the bathroom. Taking a deep breath, she tried to walk resolutely toward the exit, but her legs still felt wobbly. Michelle gritted her teeth and kept moving forward.

Once outside, she glanced around the long corridors but didn't see the brown suit man. Walking slowly and close to the wall back to the platform, she looked back and forth but recognized no one. Once in the loading area, Michelle blended into the waiting crowd.

With a gust of wind, the metro train came sweeping into the station and slowed. The crowd rushed toward the doors sliding open. Michelle hurried onto the train. The doors closed and the train pulled away.



Standing behind the cement column that supported the roof over the metro, Klaus Burchel had watched her leave the bathroom. Michelle Townsend had seen him on the train and was running. He had to be more cautious. She had stayed in the bathroom nearly thirty minutes, which meant the woman was definitely hiding from him. Klaus had picked up the thin-rimmed hat off the bench where Michelle left it. Waiting for her to come out, Burchel slipped it on, hoping to alter his appearance. No. She'd recognize it. Burchel dropped the hat on the floor.

When she came out of the bathroom, Burchel immediately noticed the long hair and guessed she was on her way back to the train. Staying a considerable distance behind her, he edged through the crowd. She had gone over the top walkway leading to the other side, which meant she was going back to Piazza de San Giovanni just as he had heard through his eavesdropping device. No longer did he need to stay close. Jumping on the last coach, he would get off at San Giovanni station. Things were working out just as Stein had said they would. The old man needed an update.

Burchel emerged at the far end of the platform and got on the last coach just as the doors closed. He pulled out his cell phone and began dialing. After a moment, he heard the other end answer even though Stein said nothing.

"We're returning to the Piazza de San Giovanni right now," he said.