The Mozart Conspiracy

Chapter Sixty-Eight

Ben hadn’t thought he’d ever hear that voice again. But it was right there in his ear. It sounded a little different, indistinct, garbled, like there was something wrong with the man’s mouth. But it was definitely Jack Glass on the other end of the phone.

‘You know who this is,’ Glass said.

Ben didn’t reply.

‘You know what I’m calling about,’ Glass continued.

Ben stayed silent.

‘I have something of yours. Meet me outside.’

‘When?’

‘Now. Right now, Hope.’

Ben shut the phone. ‘I might need this,’ he said. He dropped it in his pocket. Claudio didn’t argue.

Ben ran up the corridor. He passed the crown lying on the carpet and ran on.

A side door was flapping open and he stepped out into the night, into the icy fog hanging over Venice. There were no stars. His footsteps echoed up the pitted walls of the narrow street. He could hear the swish and gurgle of the canals, the water lapping at the old stone banks and the sides of the buildings.

He ran out onto the piazza, the white stone steps and columns of the Teatro Fenice behind him. Ahead of him was a stone quay.

Jack Glass was standing near the edge. There was a street light above him, mist drifting in its glow.

He had his arm around Leigh’s neck. A black hand clapped across her mouth. Her eyes were dilated with fear, her hair plastered over her face.

Glass’s other hand clutched a knife. It was a Ka-Bar US military killing knife. It had a seven-inch blackened carbon steel blade with a double-edged tip. Its sharp point was pressing hard against Leigh’s stomach.

Ben took a step closer. He looked at Glass’s face under the peak of the baseball cap he was wearing.

He was disfigured. He had no nose. He had one eye. His skin was bubbled and yellow and black, still raw and seeping in places. One side of his mouth was stretched downward, the skin puckered and loose. His lips were mostly gone.

In a cold rush of horror Ben remembered the helicopter explosion. He and Clara had got out and run across the snow to safety. Two seconds later the chopper had gone up. Two seconds. Maybe just enough time to scramble out of the cockpit. Not enough time to escape entirely from the blast.

He took another step. As he came closer Glass’s mouth twisted into what used to be a smile. ‘Here we are again,’ he said. His voice was lumpy and fleshy.

‘Let her go, Jack. It’s no use.’

Glass smiled. He pressed the point harder into Leigh’s stomach. She struggled in his arms.

Ben winced. He took a step back. ‘What do you want?’ he asked.

‘You took my life away, Hope,’ Glass said. ‘Now I’m going to take something away from you.’

‘You want a ransom,’ Ben said. ‘I’ll pay you whatever you want. I’ll give you the money to get your face fixed up. Whatever it takes. Let her go.’

‘You don’t get it,’ Glass shouted. ‘I don’t want money!’

Ben felt ice in his heart. This wasn’t a kidnap. ‘Kroll’s dead,’ he said. ‘It’s over. Let her go and leave now. I won’t come after you.’

Glass just smiled.

‘Please,’ Ben said. He took a step forward again. ‘Let her go.’

Glass just smiled.

‘I promise you’ll be left alone,’ Ben said. ‘I’ll help you. I’ll help you get whatever it is you want. But you’ve got to do the right thing. You’ve got to let her go.’

Glass grinned.

‘Take me,’ Ben said. ‘I don’t care. Take me instead. Let her go.’

Across the misty piazza he could see people walking. A young couple. Behind them, a family. Someone pointed. There was a yell. Then another.

That was what scared him most. That Glass just didn’t care any more.

‘Let her go!’ he shouted. Desperation was starting to rise.

Glass was still grinning. Leigh struggled.

Their eyes met. Ben looked into hers and he made her a promise he prayed he could keep.

‘This is for you, Hope!’ Glass screamed.

Ben saw the intent flash through the man’s mutilated face and he knew what was coming. He saw the black gloved fingers tighten on the leather handle of the Ka-Bar. He saw the muscles of the right arm and shoulder tense under the heavy coat.

‘No, no, no—’

The arm pushed. The knife drove in. Glass’s knuckles pressed against Leigh’s belly. She went rigid and drew in a sharp breath, the gasping sound of surprise people made when a cold blade pierced deep into their body. Ben had heard it before.

Glass let her fall. She dropped like a puppet with the strings cut. Her knees folded under her. She hit the hard ground with the knife embedded in her stomach. It was in up to the hilt.

A woman’s scream echoed across the piazza.

Glass gave Ben a last look and ran. His footsteps echoed away down one of the backstreets.

Ben rushed to Leigh and sank to his knees beside her. She was lying on her back, sprawled across the stone quay, coughing gouts of blood. It was leaking out all over her costume. He held her. His hands and face were sticky with it. There was so little he could do. The passers-by were running over. Someone screamed again. A young woman held her hand over her mouth.

‘Call a doctor! Ambulance!’ Ben yelled at them. Ashen faces peered down at him. Someone pulled out a phone.

She was trying to speak to him. He pressed his face against hers. She convulsed. Her eyes were rolling in fear. He held her tight. He didn’t want to let her go.

But she was going.

‘I love you,’ he said.

She mouthed something in reply.

He held her as her pulse became weaker and slower. Then weaker still. Then nothing.

He shook her. There was blood everywhere. He was kneeling in a spreading pool of it.

‘The ambulance is coming,’ someone said in a hollow voice.

Nothing. No pulse. Her eyes were open. There was no breath coming from her lips.

He shook her again. ‘Fight!’ he screamed at her. ‘Fight it!’ The tears were mixing with the blood on his cheeks. They streamed down and dripped on her face.

‘She’s gone,’ said a voice overhead.

He buried his face against her shoulder. She was soft and warm. His shoulders heaved as he clasped her tightly. He rocked her.

‘She’s gone,’ the voice said again. He felt a gentle hand on his shoulder. He looked up. A young blonde woman was gazing down at him. Her face was contorted. She was crying too. She knelt down beside him and took his hand. ‘I’m a nurse,’ she said in English. ‘I’m sorry. She’s gone. There’s nothing more to be done.’

Ben knelt there with his head hanging. The nurse reached out and closed Leigh’s eyes. Someone laid a coat over her. People were crying. An elderly woman blessed herself and muttered a prayer.

People were coming out of the opera house. A crowd gathered quickly. There were cries of horror. A couple of voices said her name. Claudio ran out of the building. His hands were clutched to his face. There were sirens in the distance, growing louder.

Everything faded. Ben’s mind became still. He couldn’t hear the noise. He could see only one thing. He opened his eyes. They were white against the streaks of blood. He stood up and looked down at Leigh’s shape under the coat.

The crowd moved aside for him. Eyes followed him. Hands touched him, lips moved.

He walked away. He looked up and saw someone at a window, waving to get his attention. It was an old woman. Her face was wild. She was gesticulating. Pointing down the shadowy backstreet. He understood what she was telling him.

He began to walk, and then his walk quickened to a run, and then his footsteps were hammering under him and clapping off the walls of the twisty, murky alleyway.