The Rome Prophecy

129

Valentina’s hands are glistening with viscera and blood.

She wipes them on Shooter’s corpse and doesn’t even flinch. There’s a gun tucked into his belt. The idiot thought he didn’t need it.

Valentina takes it.

And his cell keys as well.

She searches his body for anything else of value. There’s a special radio, like the ones used by subway staff, a cell phone, a small Maglite, some matches, cigarettes and money.

That’s all.

She searches his shirt pockets, flips him over and checks the back pockets of his pants.

A spare magazine for the Glock.

She looks again at the old cell keys. They may well open the cages just down from her, but she knows they won’t open the security gates on the levels above. She heard electronic buzzing. That means he must have a swipe card of some kind.

She searches him again.

Nothing.

Valentina feels a jolt of panic. Her plan is in ruins. Without a card of some kind, there’s no way out.

Still, she has the gun.

She checks it.

It’s the one he fired in the church. The magazine’s been refilled since then. She slides it back in and flips off the safety catch. If she can’t get out, then at least she’ll kill a lot of people trying.

Slowly she emerges from the cell, and makes her way towards the torches and the staircase.

As she feared, the gate there is a modern one, with an electromagnetic catch.

She shines the tiny Maglite across the lock and over a pillar next to the gate.

Her heart sinks.

There’s a fingerprint sensor.

Valentina looks across to the dead man in the cell.

Maybe she could carry him this far. That’s possible.

She sprints back to the cell and jams the torch in her trousers.

Just lifting Shooter is a Herculean task.

His limbs are floppy. His flesh slippery with blood.

She sits him up. Grabs him under the armpits and lifts him. He’s heavier than she thought. She has to press her body against his and force him against the wall to stop him collapsing like a rag doll.

Within seconds, she needs a breather.

It means standing face to face with the corpse, his head on her shoulder, his dead cheek pressed against her skin.

Valentina takes a deep breath, squats and executes an almost perfect fireman’s lift.

With Shooter draped over her shoulders, she makes her way across the uneven floor to the security gate.

Once there, there’s a new problem.

She can’t reach his hand and lift it to the sensor.

She drops the corpse and there’s a sickening squish of loose organs and spilling body fluids.

She manoeuvres him so he’s facing the gate.

His hand still won’t reach the sensor pad.

‘Damn!’

Once more she grabs him under the arms and heaves him into an upright position.

She doesn’t have enough hands.

She needs to shift one hand from under his armpit to grab his right hand, select a finger – presumably his index one – and swipe it across the sensor.

If she tries that, then the body will fall.

She drops him again and looks across to the cells.

The girl she saw in the nearby cell is watching her.

Valentina moves towards her.

The poor kid looks frightened to death.

Valentina remembers that she’s soaked in Shooter’s blood. It must be all over her face, her hands and her blouse. ‘It’s all right, don’t be afraid.’ She holds up the keys she took from Shooter. ‘I’m a policewoman. I’m coming to get you out.’

The kid backs away, eyes wide with fear.

Valentina wipes blood from her face.

She finds the lock, and slips the key in.

A splash of light shows that the girl is covered in bruises.

There are cuts all over her hands, legs and arms.

She can’t be more than ten.

Maybe even younger.

She has big brown eyes that no doubt once shone with fun, and an oval face with an impossibly cute, dimply chin.

Valentina pushes open the cell door.

She stares more closely at the girl.

The kid looks just like Anna.