Chapter Text
Lamps illuminated the wet cobblestones of Rome’s narrow streets. A man known only as Zestial glided through the shadows just beyond their reach. He passed alongside the plaster walls, his light footsteps muffled by the distant sounds of late-night revelers. The thick scent of tobacco smoke hung in the damp air. It might have made a lesser man’s head spin, but Zestial was no stranger to the fight against its intoxicating effects. His destination was a modest, unassuming apartment building on the outskirts of the city, where he was to extract General Giovanni Caruso. The stakes were high. Caruso, a key Italian military officer and recent defector, possessed detailed knowledge of the notorious Chilean weapons dealer known only as El Cisne.
As he approached his target, Zestial paused briefly to check the surroundings for potential threats. The absence of movement indicated that he was cleared to approach, though his practiced discipline prevented him from lulling into a false sense of security. He chose a path that skirted around the building until he could approach from the backside. With the practiced ease built from years of stealth, he slipped quickly through the back door whose lock an accomplice had broken earlier in the day. Swiftly, he climbed the narrow staircase. Every creak of the old wood seemed like an assault on his senses in the otherwise quiet stillness. He finally stopped on the third floor and approached an unassuming door with the label 3B hanging loosely from a pin.
A lifted hand gave the prearranged signal- three sharp knocks followed by two slower ones- and the door slid open just enough for his tall and slender frame to pass through. The lined and anxious face of General Caruso was there to greet him. The man’s eyes widened in recognition and relief as he stepped aside to allow Zestial entrance.
“Signore Zestial, thank God you’re here,” Caruso whispered, his voice a strained murmur. “I feared the worst.”
“Keep your voice low,” Zestial replied, his tone calm but commanding. “We don’t have much time.”
The apartment was sparsely furnished, a few pieces of mismatched furniture scattered across the small living room. Zestial’s trained eyes quickly assessed the surroundings – a single suitcase by the door, packed and ready; a worn map of Europe spread across the table, dotted with hastily drawn lines and circles.
“I have everything you need,” Caruso continued, pointing to a leather satchel on the table. “Documents, maps, names – all the information on El Cisne’s network. But they know I’m here. We must move quickly.”
Zestial gave a curt nod, grabbing the satchel and slinging it over his shoulder. “Stay close to me and do exactly as I say,” he instructed. “We’ll take the back stairs and avoid the main streets. Follow my lead.”
As they made their way down the dimly lit corridor, the distant sound of a car engine approaching made Zestial tense. He quickened his pace, Caruso trailing closely behind. The faint glow of headlights swept across the building’s façade, casting long, ominous shadows. They reached the back exit just as the sound of heavy footsteps echoed from the front entrance– the enemy was closer than he had anticipated. He pushed Caruso through the door and into the alleyway, the cool night air a stark contrast to the stifling tension.
“We need to reach the safe house,” Zestial whispered calm but urgent. “It is still a few blocks away. Stay in the shadows and keep moving.”
They slipped through the narrow cobblestone streets, each step measured and silent. The labyrinthine passageways of Rome offered a maze of escape routes, but Zestial knew they were not out of danger yet. He sensed a figure moving along the rooftops above them, whether friend or foe he could not say. At the first opportunity, he immediately altered their course by pulling Caruso into a darkened alleyway. After several more turns, they were finally close to their destination. The only move remaining required them to cross a well-lit thoroughfare. During the day, they might have hoped to blend in with the crowds going about their daily business. But at night, this district in Rome was empty and still. Zestial looked around with trained eyes, noting the condition of the alleyway they had just passed through and the available vantage points one might have from the roof tops above.
“Keep behind me and move quickly. If something happens, you must get yourself down the side street straight ahead of us and knock four times on the blue door.”
Caruso nods his understanding and pulls the satchel closer to his body. With a final glance across their surroundings, Zestial steps out of the shadows closely followed by the Italian general. As they reached the middle of the deserted road, a lithe and agile figure leaped down from a fire escape. A woman with sharp gray eyes and long dark hair pulled tight into a bun on the top of her head moved to intercept their path, pistol raised and pointed directly at Zestial. Her voice held a cruel and calculated sharpness.
“Did you really think we would let you take him so easily?” the woman asked deridingly, her voice echoing in the stillness of the night.
Zestial tensed, his hand instinctively moving toward his own weapon, but before he could respond, the sound of gunfire erupted from the rooftops above. Bullets whizzed past them, forcing them to dive for cover behind a nearby car.
Zestial gritted his teeth against the pain as a bullet grazed his arm, leaving a searing trail of agony in its wake. He could see figures moving on the rooftops, silhouetted against the moonlit sky, their weapons trained on him and the Italian agent.
“We need to move!” Zestial shouted over the din of gunfire, grabbing Caruso by the arm and pulling him toward the side street as bullets continued to rain down around them.
Caruso stumbled but managed to keep pace, his breath coming in ragged gasps as they raced toward the safety of the blue door. With one final burst of energy, they reached their destination, Zestial slamming the door shut behind them as the gunfire faded into the distance.
Caruso collapsed against the wall, panting heavily. Standing above him, Zestial sighed with a wave of relief. He spared a glance for the blood that was beginning to seep from his wound and into the dark fabric of his jacket. Despite the pain, it was a superficial wound that could easily be tended. For now, his priority remained focus on getting General Caruso out of Italy so that they might finally be one step closer to putting an end to El Cisne’s reign of terror.
