Page 68 of Theta

The hospital security vehicle declines to follow us onto the highway, although I'd wager our license plate number is currently being relayed across Sardinian police radio waves.

"Okay, we’re good for the moment," I say.

"It's illegal to leave someone at a hospital?" Killian asks.

"Under certain circumstances, yes. If the person you're dropping off is a legal adult, mentally competent, awake and aware, and able to speak for themselves, it's fine. But minors and the elderly, or someone too incapacitated to communicate for themselves, it's illegal."

"Oh. I didn't realize that."

"So what we just did…" Killian prompts.

"Eh, if it was my ER, no one would blink twice. It happens more than you'd think. Enzo was conscious and able to speak, so I'd have tagged him as competent. But most hospitals just don't like it when you do what we just did. I don't know the laws here, obviously." I check our back trail, but see nothing amiss. "We need to ditch this car and find the port. Being trapped on an island with Pugli's men looking for us is somewhat less than ideal."

“No shit." He taps at the infotainment screen, but of course, everything is in Italian. “Just when we really need a fucking translator. Um. Where do ferries dock? Ports?"

"Try, ahh…porto?"

He types the word into the search bar and reads the top result. "Porto di Isola Bianca?"

I shrug. "No clue, Killy. Let's go with it. We can always play stupid tourist and ask for directions."

"The bulletproof vests are sort of a giveaway," he points out. "And, um…how are we going to get through any kind of terminal security with our weapons, and without ID?"

I glance at the backpack now on the floor of the footwell between Killy's feet. “That there is a bag full of guns, huh?"

He snorts. "Yeah. Exactly."

"Shit."

"I think Enzo said the ferry ride was several hours long, too, so I don't think it's the kind of trip we can make by just stealing a little outboard punt or whatever."

"Any public transport is going to present the same issue, and so will trying to get across in a car ferry. We’ll still run the risk of the bag and car being searched, and oh yeah, we did technically steal this car, and oh yeah, we stole it from the eight dead men in Tomas's apartment. And there's the matter of the three men at the other flat."

"You think the local authorities have connected us to any of that?"

I can only shrug. "Doubtful? We weren't exactly guests of Sardinian law enforcement, after all."

"And we can't let that happen, either," Killian says. "Pugli has sources everywhere, in all sorts of official channels, apparently, seeing as he's Interpol.”

"Let’s get closer to the port and ditch the car first," I answer, after thinking. "Once we're on foot and sure we're not being followed, we can figure out how to get off this island."

The car's native sat-nav guides us, in Italian, through the bustle—relatively speaking—of downtown Olbia. Fortunately, I can follow the highlighted route on the screen easily enough even if I don't understand the verbal directions.

We slip easily into Olbian traffic and find the port, but instead of trying to find the ferry office, I cruise past it and reroute back into the narrow, bright, old-world streets of downtown Olbia.

"So now what?" Killy asks. "Dump the car somewhere?"

I nod. "That's my thinking. Park it somewhere with the keys in it and head out on foot."

"And then…what? Stow away?"

I roll my eyes. "For sure. Hide in the luggage compartment."

"What would our parents do in this situation?" Killy asks.

I sigh. "They'd call in. Or steal something. I don’t know.” I’m panting, suddenly, finding it hard to breathe past the steel bands around my chest. “I don't know!"

Killian rests a hand on mine. "Hey, breathe. We'll figure it out."