30

The Ponte Vecchio (‘old bridge’ in Italian) spans the Arno at its narrowest point. The famous three-arched span is believed to date back to the Roman period and has always had a variety of vendors, stalls, and tables along its length. Once known for its butcher shops, the bridge now features mostly high-end jewelers that cater to tourists.

The ‘back shops’, as they are called, were added in the seventeenth century and consist of actual stores that were built out past the sides of the bridge to dangle over the river. Metal and wooden struts support their undersides like stanchions on an observation deck.

Hidden in darkness, Sarah clung to one of them.

Moments earlier, while concealed in the bridge’s shadows, she had tossed her coat on top of a duffel bag stuffed with newspaper before propelling herself at the bottom of the Ponte Vecchio. The Zodiac had continued at top speed toward the next bridge where the cops had mistaken the duffel bag as their suspect and had opened fire on the coat.

It would take them a few minutes to realize their mistake.

Meanwhile, Sarah grabbed one of the damp beams and started her climb. She pulled on the closest strut with her hands and pushed against the stone foundation with her feet until she reached the bottom of a back shop. There she found a crack and lodged her fingers in it while she adjusted her footing.

A few feet away, she noticed a metal drainpipe held in place by thick metal anchors. She was confident that it could handle her weight. To reach it, she swung her legs back and forth like a gymnast on the uneven bars until she generated enough momentum to launch herself from the crack. She snagged the pipe with one hand, then started her ascent.

Thirty seconds later, she was crouched on the roof of a back shop.

‘Halfway there,’ she said, slightly out of breath.

‘Roger that,’ said Cobb as he scrambled into position.

No longer worried about blending in with the crowd at the museum, she tossed her scarf and brunette wig into the river before she pulled her skin-tight black pants from above her knees to below her ankles. Her matte-black bodysuit absorbed light, leaving no trace of reflection. To complete her outfit, she slipped on a pair of black gloves and pulled a hood and blank mask over her head.

It wasn’t just black; it was actually blank.

No eyes, no nose, and no mouth.

The effect was beyond creepy.

Still sheltered from view by the taller roof that covered the bridge itself, she ran on top of the back shops for forty feet, completely hidden from the oblivious police on the next bridge. But she knew as soon as she ascended to the main roof — which would give her access to the buildings to the south — she would stand out as a silhouette against the well-lit river. Her outfit would help for a while, but she figured someone would eventually spot her.

Sarah climbed the next drainpipe to the main roof before sprinting all the way to the end of the bridge. In the distance she could hear shouting, but she didn’t know if she had been seen. She didn’t dare take her eyes off the slippery terra cotta tiles under her feet. It was like running on ice. She could do it, but she had to be perfect or she would go flying. Roof tiles shot out from under her feet like flicked marbles, skidding down the slope of the roof and into the river below.

Just before she hit the end of the span, a spotlight from the squad car on the distant bridge illuminated her sprint. The military policemen who had fired at her coat had finally realized that they had been duped, and that didn’t sit well with their Italian machismo. Instead of radioing in her position, they tried to hit her with a lucky shot.

Cobb spoke in her ear. ‘The police have blocked off the bridge. We have to keep going to get across to you. We’ll be there soon.’

‘Mmm-hmm,’ was all Sarah replied as she grabbed the next drainpipe. This one took her off the roof and up the side of the tallest building on the south end of the bridge.

As she made her way up, she heard a shot.

Five feet away, a tile shattered, the fragments scattering in all directions.

She kept her cool and scrambled over the edge of the roof. The next rooftop was fifteen feet lower than her current position and six feet away. She ran down the slope of the roof and jumped over the gap to the next building. Then it was over the rise of that roof and down a drainpipe on the other side before her feet hit the solid ground of a narrow alleyway.

Dressed in black, she was virtually invisible in the shadows.

After that, she ran as fast as she could, hoping to conceal herself in the maze of alleys between the Ponte Vecchio and the next nearest bridge on the south of the river. She was aiming for the Boboli Gardens, a scenic park filled with sculptures and trees and plenty of places to hide.

She heard the shrill piercing of a hand-held whistle and realized her getaway wouldn’t be that clean. Police or Uffizi guards, she didn’t know which, had followed her across the Ponte Vecchio and spotted her landing in the alleyway. She didn’t have time to look back, but she guessed she was hearing no more than two sets of footsteps chasing her.

‘Ummm … maybe a distraction?’ she said as she ran, turning the corner and opting for Via de’ Bardi. She knew she could make better time on the asphalt than on the older cobbled lanes.

‘Josh is approaching your position,’ Garcia said. He was monitoring the chase from the CCTV cameras in the area. Eighty feet later, Sarah darted right into another alleyway, this one leading toward the gardens.

‘They’re almost on you,’ McNutt said. His voice was soft, as if he was afraid of being overheard. ‘On my mark, you leap high like you’re an Olympic hurdler. Understand?’

‘Yep,’ was all she could muster between breaths.

The security guards were less than ten feet behind her now. She was in great shape, but they were actually gaining on her.

Must be soccer players, she thought.

As she approached an alley on her left, she heard McNutt’s voice.

‘Now!’ he blurted.

She leaped like a track star, and as she did she saw McNutt tumbling below her. A slim black case was strapped to his back, and his aluminum crutch went flailing.

The timing couldn’t have been more perfect.

To the pursuing guards, the suspect had just knocked over a crippled man, who tumbled to the ground with a shriek of pain. Worse still, they ran headlong into the crash so they had no time or space to avoid him. They collided with him at full speed: arms, legs, and crutch all tangled in a frenzied dance of calamity.

McNutt grunted and groaned but did not speak — words would reveal that he was not Italian. The guards rapidly disentangled themselves, blurting apologies in their native tongue before darting off down the lane. But the damage was done. The suspect’s lead was too great now.

Of course, Sarah didn’t know that.

After taking one for the team, McNutt decided to have some fun with her. ‘Sarah! It didn’t work! They’re gaining fast! Oh my God, run faster!’

‘What?’ she blurted. ‘Where are they? I don’t see them.’

‘Neither do I,’ Garcia said as he stared at his CCTV feed.

‘Sweet lord, they must have wings. They’re actually flying!’

‘They’re airborne?’ Garcia shouted, his voice filled with confused panic. ‘How are they airborne?’

McNutt started to laugh. ‘I’m just kidding! I got you both. April Fools!’

‘April Fools?’ Sarah shouted. ‘I’m running for my life, and you’re pulling a prank?’

‘That’s the best time to pull one. No way you expected it.’

‘I know I didn’t,’ Garcia said, laughing. ‘That was awesome!’

Still smiling, McNutt grabbed his crutch and limped down the alley even though he didn’t really need the support anymore. He’d brought it mostly for camouflage. People tended to avert their eyes from injured and disabled people. The crutch made him nearly invisible.

‘Josh,’ Garcia said. ‘End of the alley, turn left.’

A few minutes later, a car slowed next to him. He tossed the crutch and the bag with the rifle into the trunk and slammed it shut. Then he slipped into the back seat next to Sarah, who was wearing a white blouse over her black catsuit. She smiled at him sweetly, and then punched him in the arm as hard as she could.

‘That’s for messing with me,’ she said.

He laughed it off. It was totally worth it.

As the car drove back toward the Ponte Vecchio, they passed the Uffizi security guards, walking dejectedly along the side of the road.

They didn’t give the attractive blonde more than a glance.

The brunette they were after had escaped.

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