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“If only they knew the truth.” Father O’Malley says ruefully.
“They can never know the truth, Father. That would put an even bigger target on my back. I already got paid. I’m stuck with the deal I made with the devil.”
“Then what will you do?”
“I think I will risk Zurich. I want to be in a controlled environment. A hotel is not it. I do not control who gets in and out. Going to a hotel leaves me wide open to all sorts of scenarios. . . the assassin dressed as a room attendant, room-service delivery man, poison gas flash-out, all sorts. Zurich is the only place I will feel safe from the world, even though I will be surrounded by a different kind of enemy.”
“Your life is very complicated, son. Let’s try it.”
Saturday early evening and the stage is set for my grand escape.
"All set," Father O'Malley says, his voice steady and reassuring. I can see the determination in his eyes, a reflection of my own resolve.
We've spent the last four days poring over maps and discussing strategies, trying to find the safest way for me to leave the country undetected. The plan we've settled on is straight out of a spy movie, but it's our best shot at keeping me alive.
"Remember," Father O'Malley continues, "stick to the plan, and you'll make it out safely." His fatherly concern is evident and endearing; something I’ve never felt before.
The church doors creak open, revealing the night sky outside, illuminated by the headlights of twenty black sedans lined up in formation. Each car seems identical, their drivers indistinguishable from one another.
Father O’Malley had been very insistent and unequivocal. The drivers MUST be in all-black suits, back shirts, and black ties. No variations. There are 6 identical-looking men walking out of the church and into the sedans, each one entering a random car.
My heart pounds in my chest, adrenaline coursing through my veins as I try to count my heartbeats on my wrist. I take a deep breath and focus on the task ahead, drowning out the fears that threaten to overwhelm me.
As soon as we reach the parked cars, Father O'Malley gives a subtle wave of the hand, signaling the drivers that the game is on. They start their engines simultaneously, the roar echoing off the church walls. With practiced precision, they exit their vehicles and stand in formation, awaiting their passengers.
"Time to choose your ride, Liam," Father O'Malley says quietly, gesturing towards the row of idling cars.
I bite my lip, anxiously considering my options. Every decision feels monumental, each choice carrying the weight of life and death. Finally, I settle on one of the middle sedans, hoping it's inconspicuous enough to avoid detection.
"Good luck," Father O'Malley whispers as I slide into the backseat, closing the door behind me. The driver nods at me through the rearview mirror, his face expressionless.
"Thank you," I reply, my voice barely audible over the sound of engines. My thoughts race as the reality of my situation sinks in—there's no turning back now.
As if on cue, Father O'Malley raises his arm and brings it down in a swift, decisive motion, then enters the sedan in front of mine.
The drivers snap into action, each sedan pulling away from the church and disappearing into the darkness, destination,MIA.
My heart races with every turn we take, every traffic light we pass, but as the miles stretch on and the airport looms closer, I allow myself a small measure of hope.
Maybe, just maybe, this plan will work. I hope I’ve outsmarted whoever it is who wants to kill me.
Chapter twenty-nine
LIAM IS HERE.
TONY
It is 5 AM, for crying out loud. Who in God’s name could be texting this early? The usual suspects are all upstairs sleeping.Annoyed, I check my phone just to make sure the person does not send another text and wake up Mom with the pinging. We both had a very rough night.
Tony, it’s me. Liam. I need to speak with you. Please come outside.The text says, but none of it makes sense. Outside where? Surely he can’t mean—
I shoot a text back asking,outside where?
Open the door.
Noooooo. This can’t be happening. This is not happening. My whole family is here. He knows that.
My joints creak as I pry myself from the recliner's unyielding grip, each muscle groaning a protest. It's a symphony of discomfort that crescendos into a low grunt as I finally stand. For a moment, I linger, letting the blood find its way back to myextremities, then I shuffle forward, my fingers fumbling for my night robe draped over the armrest.
