Page 184 of Unholy Saint

“Right on time; six minutes out.”

Zeno reported from the southern approach.

“Road is clear.”

“Greco’s people are ready,” Matteo added.

Twenty-two officers waited out of sight on the quarry floor. None belonged to the local police. Greco had pulled them from financial crimes, organized crime and a tactical unit based outside Liguria. Artemus had checked every name. Then he had checked their spouses, siblings, debts and private accounts to make sure they were all clean.

The plan forged ahead according to schedule. At seven, warrant teams would enter thirty-one properties across Rome, Florence, Naples and Bari. At the same moment, the Serra files would become public. Without warning.

There would be no polite knock at an office door. No time to burn records, move money or put bullets into witnesses.

My phone showed six fifty-five.

Greco’s voice entered the encrypted channel.

“All teams ready.”

“Convoy approaching,” Raze replied.

“My warrants move at seven.”

I looked toward the pale edge of the sky. Adriana was waiting at the estate with the women. Before I left, she had stood in my room and asked me to return. I had promised to try. At the time, it had been the only truth I trusted myself to give her. Now the memory of her face followed me into the hills and the violence waiting beyond.

“Two minutes,” Atlas declared.

Engines reached us from beyond the trees.

Raze raised one hand and every man around the quarry fell silent.

A black sedan came around the bend at a steady speed. Two men sat inside. The passenger spoke into a phone while the driver watched the road with both hands high on the wheel.

The trucks followed.

Each carried two sealed containers. The company name painted across their doors belonged to an agricultural exporter with no farms, no workers and several million euros passing through its accounts every year in what was obviously a money laundering scheme.

The rear escort remained close enough to the final truck that its driver had no clear view ahead.