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Gianni nods. "Right away, Boss."
The hunt is on, Fiero and Romola. You won't know what hit you.
I stride onto the 2,000-foot tarmac hidden in the forested region of my compound, scanning the horizon for any sign of their helicopter. This runway won’t ever land a big plane, but it’s perfect for my two-seater. My men flank me on either side, armed and ready for confrontation should enemies find us here.
"There!" One of them points to a small speck in the distance, which he sees through his binoculars. He passes them to me, and I see the speck disappear from sight behind some clouds.
"That's them," I confirm, quickening my pace. I board my plane, and the engine roars to life.
Through the cockpit window, I motion at my men to clear the runway for takeoff. I pick up the radio and get through to Franco. “Handle it here, will you?”
“Stay safe, Boss,” he ends the call.
I begin to taxi the plane and advance the throttle to full power. The wheels claw for grip on the tarmac, the plane gaining speed with every passing moment. Slowly, I lift off the ground in a blast of sound and acceleration.
I need to know exactly where Fiero’s gone. I search the horizon, looking for any sign of my nemesis. My heart beats like a war drum as I strain my eyes, searching for a tiny spec in the sky. Every cloud could be hiding them, every shadow a possibility.
I head in the general direction where I last saw his chopper, towards the West. However, Fiero’s no fool. If I come in too close, he’ll realize who sits in this plane. He’ll try to lose me in the air.
Switching on the radio, I transmit a false signal to all nearby aircraft, indicating that I'm having some technical difficulties and will switch to standby frequencies. The last thing I want is to alert Fiero that I’m tailing him in the air.
Our men are no fools. If there’s an accident, they’ll have to find us. All my planes and choppers have ADS-B and Transponders. Fiero’s might, too. I turn mine on and scan the skies for a blip. There! My screen brightens up with all the air traffic. I see four planes in my immediate radius, but we are near an airport. I follow the indicators on my monitor for aircraft to the West and notice one moving at a slower speed, just over 150 miles/hour.
It’s the chopper! Fiero’s.
He’s now turning Southwest. If I head west with a slight deviation North, I should easily be able to intercept their course.
I turn on the software to see all the predicted routes for his flight, and then I see it. He’s taken a sharp turn from West to Southwest and has been cruising straight for three minutes.
His speed’s the same.
He doesn’t plan to change the route.
He’s probably heading towards Ostia, along the coast of the Tyrrhenian Sea.
That leaves me with just a few minutes to catch up with him because Ostia is only fifteen minutes away by air.
I smile at the realization that I just hacked Fiero’s plan without him even knowing I did so. It’s a good thing he’s never flown against me before. I know these skies like the back of my hand. There’s no escape.
I bark a laugh, hands dancing over the controls. Did he really think it would be that easy to run from me with my diamond?
I pick up my speed, following Fiero’s trail. My plane dances effortlessly through the air, my eyes scanning the horizon, fingers tightening on the controls. I stare intently at the GPS screen, following the blip that represents Fiero’s.
I break through a cloud layer, emerging on the other side, still on his tail. The air grows choppy and unstable, buffeting my small one-engine plane, but I hold fast. Not even Zeus's lightning could throw me off now.
And then, I see just the tiniest glimpse of metal before it disappears under the clouds. I duck down too and smoothly pass over the coast of Ostia, its sandy beaches looking like black sand in the dark.
I keep on track at the same speed since it’s faster than the choppers. My heart pounds, adrenaline coursing through me. Suddenly, the helicopter reappears, dipping low over the sea.
Without warning, Fiero veers hard to the left, making a direct path for the choppy waters. Where the hell is he going? I nosedive right behind him.
"I’ve got them now," I say with grim satisfaction. "They’re mine."
Just then, lightning hits the skies.
Chapter 46
Romola
