"Isolani"
As she rounded the corner, Franca blinked in surprise to see the Fiat Coupe parked across the way. A moment later she saw flashes of light and the windshield suddenly erupted in craters and spider webs.
The bright glare of the Alfa's headlights in the scope affected Angelica's aim, so she went for a cluster of single shots with her Steyr AUG A2 towards the driver's area. Due to their low angle, the 5.56x45mm rounds impacting the windshield mostly ricocheted or expended most of their energy punching through the laminated glass. One of the rounds did penetrate, however, and slammed into Franca's shoulder. A second one also penetrated, but yawed violently on exit and what should have been a fatal head-shot instead just grazed her skull, opening a long, but shallow, wound track along her left temple.
She vaguely heard Franco shouting at her and at the last moment she violently wrenched the wheel over, putting the Alfa up on two wheels as it screamed past the Fiat. The car fell back on to all four wheels, however Franca's vision swam and then narrowed as she drifted on the edge of consciousness. She felt Franco's arms around her and then a violent forward lurch, followed by a sense of weightlessness. For a moment, she saw stars and then cold blackness closed over her.
Franca awoke on her back feeling cold and wet. She looked up and stars slowly flowed past her. Her left shoulder burned and her head throbbed and she found her thoughts muddled. It took her a moment to realize she was in a river, floating along with the current. She turned her head and saw thick forest extending up the cliffs. The steep cliffs extended right to the water, preventing her from finding anywhere to leave the water.
She felt something heavy bump into her right leg and she jumped, startled. She slapped the water with her right hand, her palm smacking on a hard object. It took her a moment to identify it as a log. The flush of adrenaline in her system warmed her, and she grasped out for it with her right arm, hooking it over. She did the same with her left, crying out from the pain that blossomed from her shoulder. She started kicking herself towards the shore, using her right arm to help steer and also drawing on the languid current to help carry her along.
She came around a bend in the river and felt the current start to increase. Ahead, she heard a low rumble and realized too late she was entering shallow rapids. She entered the rapids, bouncing along with the log. She tried to hold on, but the pain in her left shoulder flared and she was soon knocked off. She bounced through the rapids, her soaked clothes and boots slowing her down and saving her from a collision with the log, which rolled and tumbled forward of her. The rapids were short and soon she found herself deposited on the other end into a deep pool of still water. She slowly kicked herself towards the shore and found a sand bar. She hauled herself on it and passed out.
"Come on, boy," the old man said to his old Labrador. The dog trotted back beside its master, who carried a small tackle box in one hand and a fishing rod in the other. Taking advantage of the full moon to do some night fishing, he now made his way back towards his Alfa 156 Sportwagon estate.
Once again, his dog rushed off and he heard it splashing in the river. The man shook his head, knowing he'd have to dry the dog off before he could let him into the car. As he came to a clearing, he saw the dog on a sandbar a few meters out into the river, standing over some form. At first, he thought it a dead animal washed ashore, but as he approached he could see clothes, blonde hair and bare arms and realized it was a human.
He set down his tackle box and rod and waded into the river. Fortunately the shallow water depth and sluggish current allowed him to maintain his footing as he waded out to the sand bar. A retired doctor, he quickly took her vitals and determined she still lived. He reached down and started to turn her over. She cried out in pain and when he removed his hand, he found it covered in diluted blood. He went to his knees and more gently flipped her onto her back. He removed a pocketknife from his belt and cut the strap of her tank top, pulling the material back. He could see a bullet entry wound above her left breast, her white bra stained a deep shade of pink from the mix of blood and water. The wound itself continued to weep blood and a small trickle flowed out from underneath her scalp. The old man removed his jacket and carefully lifted her head and upper body, running the sleeves underneath her armpits to create an improvised sling.
"I'm sorry, but this is going to hurt," he said, though he wasn't sure she could hear him. As gently as he could, he slowly dragged her off the sand bar and into the river and then on to the beach.
"Stay with her, boy," he ordered his dog, who promptly sat on his haunches. The old man shuffled as fast as his legs would carry him to his vehicle parked about 200m down and drove forward over the grass and onto the beach next to the woman.
As a retired doctor, he carried a fully equipped first aid kit. While it wasn't designed to treat gunshot trauma, it did have enough stock to allow him to clean and dress her head wound as well as staunch the bleeding from her shoulder wound. In addition, he'd added some additional medicines like wide-spectrum antibiotics and heavier-duty analgesics. He crushed these two and mixed them in with some bottled water.
"I need you to help me get you on your feet," the man said. The woman nodded slowly. Once up, he helped her to the back of his car and helped her sit on the lowered tailgate. He gave her the water and she quickly drained the bottle.
"Th-Thank…yo…you," she said, her voice slick and her words slurred. The doctor knew she was in shock and he lowered the rear seats flat, roughly laying out a wool blanket. The woman slowly fell back on to it and he covered her with a second one. He then tugged it forward from the passenger seats until she was mostly inside. He moved her legs to allow him to close the rear door then he started the engine, setting the heater to maximum. His dog lay next to the woman and the doctor placed the first aid kit in the back and then lowered the rear hatch before getting behind the wheel.
The closest major hospital was a not-insignificant distance away. The doctor himself maintained a small clinic attached to his house for the people of neighboring communes who needed general care and it contained the tools necessary to remove the bullet. Her pulse remained strong so he felt confident the bullet had not opened a major blood vessel and she was not in danger of bleeding out in the near term. He therefore decided the clinic would be the best place to take her.
The analgesics had taken effect by the time he pulled into the parking lot of the clinic and the woman was able to proceed inside under her own power. The doctor cut away the rest of her tank top as well as her bra and helped her lay down on the folding examining table. He administered a local anesthetic to her shoulder and in the interim arranged the necessary surgical instruments. He properly cleaned the wound and examined the wound track.
"How…how ba…bad is it?" the woman said. The doctor noticed that her breath was no longer ragged, which he took as a good sign.
"I've seen worse," the doctor admitted, though he didn't add that it had been in combat. He knew that whatever hit the woman had not been a pistol caliber, though the damage pattern looked too light to be from a high-powered rifle. He continued his examination, determining that the bullet had indeed missed any major artery or vein.
"Even with the local, you're likely to feel some discomfort," the doctor noted. "However, I don't want to give you a general anesthetic."
"I under…understand," the woman said. The doctor nodded and proceeded to remove the bullet. The woman winced and gritted her teeth, but she did not cry out.
"It's looks like a rifle round," the doctor said, holding up the bullet. "It held together pretty well, which probably minimized the amount of damage it transmitted."
When the woman didn't reply, the doctor turned to her and realized that she had fallen asleep.
The sun streaming through the slats in the window shade fell upon the sleeping form of the woman, slowly warming her face until it triggered her to wake. She slowly rose up on the bed, finding herself wearing a large t-shirt and her underwear. Her left shoulder ached and when she pulled forward the collar on her t-shirt, she noticed a large bandage taped above her left breast.
She looked around and found herself in what appeared to be a spare bedroom based on the sparse amount of furniture and fine layer of dust on everything.
She heard the doorknob turn and saw a matronly woman enter.
"Ah, you are awake!" she said. "I will get the doctor." She turned and left, closing the door behind her. A few minutes later, an elderly gentleman entered the room wearing a white medical coat. Her recollections of the previous night were hazy, but she identified him as the man who had rescued her.
"How are you feeling?" he asked.
"Tired. Hungry. Some slight pain in my shoulder," the woman replied automatically.
"Well all of that is to be expected," the man said.
"What happened?" the woman asked.
"I found you near the river, unconscious, last night. You'd been shot in the shoulder and almost in the head. I brought you back to my clinic and removed the bullet and bandaged your wounds."
"What?" the woman exclaimed. "Where am I? Who are you?"
"You are in my home, east of Milan. My name is Edmondo and I'm a retired doctor. I run a clinic for the neighboring communes because the nearest hospital is over 50km away. I didn't find a wallet on your person, so can you tell me your name?"
"My name is…is…" Edmondo watched her close her eyes tightly as she thought. "I don't remember," she said, her eyes showing sudden fear.
"Do you know where you live?"
"I'm a student. At Rome University," the woman said. "I mean, I was…"
"You appear to have hit your head," Edmondo noted in a calm, soothing voice. "In such cases, temporary retrograde amnesia is not uncommon. You should start to regain your memories quickly, so do not be alarmed. I will have Lia bring you some breakfast."
"Thank you, doctor," the woman said.
Dusk had fallen outside and a lamp provided a pool of illumination as the woman sat on the end of the bed after her shower. Lia had returned her cleaned jeans just before she left for the day, along with a borrowed t-shirt, and her boots were by the bed. She dressed and stepped outside of the room into a short hallway, which she walked down to the living room.
"Feeling any better?" the doctor asked from where he sat in a leather recliner, his dog on the rug beside him.
"Yes, thank you."
"Do you remember anything more?"
"Yes. My name is Franca and I live in Milan. Everything else is still a bit fuzzy, however," she lied. In fact, she remembered most everything now and she needed to know if she remained in danger.
"Your memories should continue to return as time progresses. I do not believe your head injury serious, however you should probably visit a hospital and have some tests run," Edmondo suggested.
"Thank you. You said I had been shot? Have you contacted the authorities?"
"No. Communications out here is somewhat iffy at the moment. A tree felled our cellular tower during the last windstorm and those snails at Telecom Italia are taking their time to replace it. They may no longer be owned by the government, but they continue to act like it," he snorted.
"Are there any public transport services in the area?" Franca asked.
"There is a bus route in the next town over, however it takes a rather meandering path to the city, requiring multiple transfers. I'd be happy to drive you to your home in the morning."
Franca shook her head. "You've done so much for me, already. I cannot impose on your hospitality anymore."
"Nonsense," Edmondo said. "You've been seriously wounded. Besides, it's nice to have someone to talk to. My wife died some years ago and since then it's just been the dog and I."
Franca decided to stay with Edmondo for two additional days, regaining her strength. He drove her to a town that offered direct train service to Milan, buying her a ticket. He also provided her with €100. She insisted he provide her with a business card so she could repay him once she returned home.
She exited the train in the commune at Lodi and hired a cab to take her to a private secure storage facility in the industrial area of the city. She supplied her name, fingerprint and retinal scan and then a staffer escorted her to a private room. A few moments later, a panel opened and a dumbwaiter system deposited her box. She supplied three fingerprints to the reader and it opened. Inside the box were copies of her actual identity documents as well as a set of falsified ones for a "Danjette Valdemar" of Copenhagen, Denmark. Each also held €10.000 in bank notes, 50 1 oz. Canadian Maple Leaf gold bullion coins and clones of their credit and ATM cards as well as credit cards issued in Danjette's name.
She removed a copy of her actual identity documents plus the Danish ones along with €5.000 in cash. She re-entered the waiting cab and had it drive her back to the train station. She purchased a new ticket to Milan, though she exited the train at Linate Airport. She used her Danish credentials to rent a car and drove to a commune on the shore of Lake Pusiano, north of the city. She parked a block away from the villa she shared with Franco. Located on a hill overlooking the town, they'd built an attached garage so Franca could store and work on her cars as well as perform customer repair work on the side from time to time.
As she approached on foot, she didn't see anyone. This didn't surprise her, for while she knew that at least one security agency knew what she looked like, it seemed that might be all they knew. She went up to a retaining wall and removed a loose brick, reaching in to retrieve a plastic box that held a spare key to the garage.
She continued down to the back door and unlocked it. She stepped into the garage area and disabled the alarm system. While state of the art, Franca knew it could be defeated. She crossed over into the villa and climbed the stairs to the master bedroom and removed a fresh outfit from the closet, laying it on the bed. She also pulled back the carpeting on the floor and opened the embedded safe, finding the contents untouched. She removed a Glock 26 pistol in an "inside the waistband" (IWB) holster. She removed the pistol, verified the action, and then inserted a magazine. She changed out of her current clothes into a new set. She also placed some more outfits in a suitcase and left the garage on foot, resetting the alarm and replacing they key.
While her Giulietta Spider Veloce was in the garage, she feared the government might have access to the anti-theft tracking device installed. She left the villa and made her way back to Milan. She stopped in a commune on the outskirts of the city and stopped to use a bank ATM machine and tried her personal card, finding that it worked and that her account balances appeared to be untouched. Still, she couldn't be sure that the government didn't track this, as well, so she hit Cancel and retrieved the ejected card. She and Franco maintained totally separate accounts under assumed names and neither knew anything about the other's. This prevented one of them being captured or killed from allowing the government to roll the other one up using common financial information.
She made her way to the Via Montenapoleone and visited a spa and salon to have a facial, manicure and pedicure performed followed by having her blond hair professionally (and temporarily) dyed black. When she stepped out, she both felt and looked like a new woman. She checked into a mid-level hotel on the outskirts of the city and visited a nearby Internet café. She searched through news outlets and eventually came across a story reporting that a car carrying Cristiano Savonarola, his aide, and two unnamed passengers crashed into the river with the death of all four people. She checked the obituary columns and funeral announcements, but found nothing. She also looked for news on the seizure of property or assets belonging to Cristiano, but again, found nothing.
Next, she looked for rental apartments in Parma and copied down the number of a few options. She went to a local cellular store and purchased a pay-as-you go cell phone. She used this to contact the apartment owners and scheduled a visit for the following day. In the morning, she purchased a train ticket for Parma and toured the apartments, choosing one next to a bus line and a block away from a grocer so she would not need a car. She signed a four-week lease, with an option to extend it.
Over those four weeks, Franca continued to attempt to find out what happened to Franco, Cristiano and Pinocchio. She was greatly frustrated by not knowing who she could trust. Part of what helped keep her and Franco safe for so long was limiting the number of people who knew who they were. Before he slipped away from the government's hounds, her uncle Angelo Marinov told her that Cristiano had been betrayed to the Agency by one or more of the other heads of the Milan faction. She tried to contact him now, but he'd buried his trail effectively. She visited the villa every Saturday, but each time she found no trace of any visitation.
In the fourth week, she used her Danish passport and risked a train trip to Rome to look up Nino. She found him, and he passed along the rumor he'd heard that she, Cristiano and Franco had all been declared dead by the government. He also told her that the Agency had successfully killed the remaining senior members of the Milan faction at a farming villa in Castelverde, plunging the organization into chaos.
She then rented a car and to Frascati. She checked in to a small motel and that evening she scoped out her farm. She saw both Dominico and Paula, but didn't attempt to make contact with either. She was a natural blonde again, having decided to wash out the remaining dye after seven weeks rather then have the treatment reapplied.
She spent the next day on a hill across from the farm, observing it through binoculars. Dominico and Paula appeared to be acting normally. That evening, as they settled down on the terrace for dinner, she made her approach. She'd dressed in a black leather jacket, black jeans and black boots with black gloves and had her hair and face covered under a black balaclava. She carefully made her way to the terrace and came up behind the two. She kept her right hand in her jacket pocket on the Glock 26.
Paula saw her first, her eyes going wide. She dropped the platter of food she was holding, though fortunately it fell only a few centimeters to the table. Dominico saw his wife's reaction and he spun around in his chair.
"What do you want?" he challenged. "This is a working farm. We have precious little of value for you to pawn to feed your drug habit."
"I'm not here for trinkets or trifles, Dominico," Franca said. She reached up and removed the balaclava to reveal her face.
"Franca!" Paula exclaimed. She rushed forward, but stopped when she saw the stern look on Franca's face.
"Has anyone been here since Franco and I left?"
"Nobody beyond the usual deliveries," Dominico stated. Beside him, Paula nodded her head.
Franca relaxed her facial features and her body. She allowed Paula to embrace her and took Dominico's hand. Paula went to the kitchen to get another place setting.
"We thought something terrible had happened to you all when you didn't return," Dominico said. "We're used to you going off for months at a time, but those times you let us know."
"I'm sorry," Franca replied. "We ran into a lot of trouble up north and I had to lie low for a time."
"Where's Franco? And Pinocchio?" he asked.
"Dead. At least I believe so. The Agency beat us to Cristiano's. We rescued him, but Pinocchio was left behind. We crashed into a river and I was swept away from the others. "
"What do you plan to do?" Dominico asked.
"The government now knows what I look like, but they appear to know nothing else so it should be safe for me to head home. I just wanted to let you two know I was safe and see if Franco had contacted you."
Franco stayed with Dominico and Paula through the weekend, then headed back to Milan, where she purchased an apartment within the city and hired movers to move select items from the villa to the new apartment. She contracted with a charity attached to the Archdiocese of Milan to donate the remaining clothes, furniture and household items left at the villa, sending anything left over to the dump.
As fall moved into winter, Franca spent a great deal of time reflecting as she shuttled between her apartment in Milan and the farm in Frascati. She especially thought of Nino, now retired and enjoying life with his grandchildren in a villa east of Rome. The government no longer hunted him like hounds did a fox. The Tibetan Terrier could rest and live out the remainder of his days in peace and quiet. At one time she'd called him weak, but she realized it was not his weakness, but the government's strength, that had finally run him down. She'd heard the rumors of little girl assassins and dismissed them as folly. Then Franco told her of the pig-tailed girl in Montalcino who'd moved like lightning and shrugged off gunshots. And she remembered the blonde-haired girl illuminated in the headlights of her car and how, after both being knocked head over heels by impact with the car and being shot by Franco, she'd risen to her feet and continued firing.
Franca realized that restoring her father's name or avenging his death had both been fool's errands. The bombs she and Franco made didn't restore her father's name, only tarnished her own. They didn't avenge his death, but instead only created new death. For eight years she'd fought for what she thought was honorable and just, and now she realized that she was no less corrupted than the system she'd sworn vengeance against.
Like Nino, she eventually came to accept that which she couldn't change and decided to start her life over.
