Free The Lost Relic by Scott Mariani Page A

a half-finished bottle of Chianti from the refreshments table, took a long swig out of it and then hurled it at her. The base of the bottle caught her across the forehead and she fell back with a gasp. Another woman and the bearded guy in the sandals caught her as she keeled over.
    ‘How dare you!’ the bearded guy shouted. ‘This is an outrage!’
    Gourko delivered a kick to his stomach that folded him double before slamming a knee into his face. He collapsed, wheezing, blood pouring out of his busted nose into his beard.
    Gourko laughed.
    The Robert Redford type in the Valentino blazer glowered at him, but did nothing. Crouching among the other hostages, Count De Crescenzo exchanged looks of horrified disbelief with his business partners Corsini and Silvestri. The bearded guy huddled into the arms of the woman he was with. The woman in the blue dress was slumped against the wall in shock, blood running from the cut on her forehead.
    ‘Am I going to get any shit from you fuckers?’ Anatoly screamed in Russian at the cringing assembly. ‘
Am I?
‘ He didn’t care that they wouldn’t understand him. They’d understand this. He aimed his machine pistol at the table and let off a rattling blast that smashed bottles and plates into flying pieces. ‘
Am I?
‘ he screamed again. Wine and food spilled onto the floor. The hostages cowered in terror.
    Gianni Strada was pale and shaking as he clung to his mother. The boy was holding her so tightly that it hurt. Donatella struggled to contain her own panic as the armed men strode up and down the room. The one who frightened her the most was this maniac with the blond ponytail sticking out from under his mask. Was that Russian he was talking? Sounded like it to her. What was happening?
How
could this be happening? Was no alarm being raised?
    Gianni suddenly let out a strange, high-pitched keening sound that dissolved into racking sobs. He clung to her even tighter, grasping handfuls of her hair. She could feel his tears wet against her neck.
    ‘You. Make that little ratshit quiet or he dies in the next two seconds,’ Anatoly raged, jabbing the gun an inch from her face.
    Donatella didn’t need a translator. She closed her eyes and stroked her son’s hair, murmuring words of comfort in his ear. Gianni’s sobs quietened to a low whimper.
    Anatoly unslung the padded case from his shoulder and laid it down on the table. He beamed at the hostages.
    ‘Good. Now let’s get down to business,’

Chapter Fourteen
    Ben paced the bathroom, thinking hard. There was no telling how many armed men were down there, and how many other people had been hurt. He dug in his jeans pocket for his phone.
    It was a rare thing for Ben to call the cops. In the kinds of situations his work had often involved him in the past, the last thing he needed was the police getting under his feet. But today he was just a tourist. He was unarmed, he had no idea what was happening, and he had no other options.
    He punched 112 into the phone keypad, the emergency number for the Carabinieri. Italy’s paramilitary gendarmerie were widely disliked but in a situation like this, with their rapid firearms response capability, they were the best people for the job. Fractions of seconds felt like drawn-out minutes as he waited for the dial tone.
    And nothing happened. His phone was dead, just like Donatella’s. His battery was about three-quarters charged and he was getting a good reception. Yet the phone was utterly useless. There was only one explanation, and that was that the intruders were using a cellphone blocker. The kind of equipment that police and counterterror units used to isolate cells of suspects before moving in. Which meant that what was happening downstairs was no ordinary armed raid – and with no way to call for outside help, Ben was going to have to deal with it on his own.
    Another burst of shots from down below made him think of Donatella and Gianni Strada. He imagined the boy’s terror. Felt