Rudely awakened from his Swedish love nest, cold-blooded American Jack executes three people. The striking landscape he inhabits is too exposed, too clear from the clutter of civilisation to shelter a professional man of violence. He feels compromised, but a city won’t do either, that would be too intrusive for his Bushido sensibilities to cope with also. What he needs is a happy medium and he needs it yesterday.

Rome. Only assassins ever use pay phones anymore. On the other end of the line Jack’s Italian connection, Pavel, gives him an out: an old mobile phone and a grotty Fiat Tempra. It doesn’t feel right and neither does his safe house. Jack scopes it out, another pay phone, a tractor, and a woman sweeping her step, plus an open line of fire. Jack u-turns for the mazy streets of Castel del Monte – if it was good enough for the Medicis, it’s good enough for Jack. Continue reading →