by Izak Botha
Lioni attempted to use the ambulance’s weight advantage to plough through the Puch and slam into Schreider, but to no avail—the Puch held its course. To pull around his adversary, the adjutant sped up, but this set him on a collision course with Sant’ Anselmo University.
Using the lane between Sant’ Anselmo and the Villa Malta to his advantage, Schreider sped up alongside Lioni. Then, with fifty meters before hitting the ten-foot wall, the adjutant slammed on the brakes. Schreider followed suit, locking the wheels.
Smoke blustered as rubber melted to the asphalt. With meters to spare before smashing into the wall, both vehicles stopped.
The Helvetians leapt out first. Rifles drawn, they surrounded the ambulance. Weber and his guards followed, but instead of aiming inwards at the ambulance, they formed a defensive cordon around Schreider’s men, pointing their weapons outwards.
The back doors of the ambulance flung open and the gendarmes jumped out, but the Swiss Guard already had them in their sights.
Verretti climbed out of the ambulance, his face purplish and his veins bulging as he shouted profanities. He had lost three men in Antakya when they had captured Simon and Jennifer, which now gave Schreider the advantage of ten men to his five. But he believed his counterpart would not have the coglioni to open fire. He cocked the hammer of his pistol and advanced on Schreider. As at the Governatorato the day before, his gun was aimed at the adversary’s face.
‘Drop your weapon!’ Schreider shouted at Verretti. ‘Drop it!’
‘Go fuck yourself,’ Verretti spat. ‘You drop yours.’
‘You can’t win this one, Inspector.’
‘Neither can you, Colonel.’
With Verretti’s hand now visibly shaking, Schreider decided to be the stronger of the two and lowered his gun.
Verretti did not move. ‘Now, call your men back!’ the inspector barked.
‘I can’t do that, Inspector.’
One wrong move and Schreider was a dead man. Keeping his eyes locked on Verretti, he called on two of his men to fall in beside the inspector. From the desperation in the Italian’s eyes, Schreider knew the man was close to pulling the trigger.
‘They need a fair trial, Inspector,’ Schreider said, his voice more composed. ‘You know that as well as I do.’
Verretti stopped meters from Schreider. ‘Call off your dogs, or you are no longer part of this.’
Schreider took a moment to reflect. He reminded himself that he had made his peace with God. He lifted his hand for his guards to move in. ‘Take his pistol!’ he barked.
‘Don’t you dare, Helvetians,’ Verretti spat. ‘You try that, and I’ll put a bullet in your commander’s head.’
The Helvetians hesitated, but Schreider signaled for them to move in. ‘I gave an order, Halberdiers!’ The first Helvetian stepped in to disarm Verretti and the inspector swept his pistol towards him. That was when Schreider saw his chance. ‘Now!’ he shouted.
Verretti swung the firearm back towards Schreider but the inspector’s momentary lapse gave the Helvetians the opportunity they needed. The first Helvetian went for the firearm, ripping Verretti’s hand down as the inspector squeezed the trigger. The second dove into the inspector’s midriff, knocking him down. Verretti fired in the fall. His first round hit the Puch behind Schreider. The second ricocheted off the tarmac, narrowly missing Schreider’s leg. Together, the Helvetians wrestled the inspector to the ground, pinning him face down on the asphalt with his arms behind his back.
Verretti fought to free himself, but the Helvetian on top of him was too strong.
‘Shoot these fuckers!’ he screamed.
‘No, hold your fire,’ Schreider called out.
Verretti struggled to lift his head from the ground so he could face the colonel. ‘I’ll kill you,’’ he cried. ‘I swear on my fucking life!’
Schreider was not inclined to argue. He knelt on Verretti’s shoulder blade. ‘You’re a prick, Verretti,’ he said, holding his pistol to the inspector’s cheek. ‘A weasely, little, shriveled prick. But my guess is you already know that. You’re a policeman for the love of God. You should be ashamed of being involved in this.’
Schreider stepped back. Knowing that in a moment the Order of Malta guards would fill the square, he entered the ambulance. Simon was handcuffed to a rail; Jennifer lay strapped to the stretcher. ‘I’m here to help you,’ he said. ‘Move away so I can unlock the cuffs.’
Jennifer turned her head towards Simon, and ‘help’ was all she could manage to say.
Schreider could see from her cloudy eyes that Verretti had drugged her and ordered Simon to untie the seatbelts holding her down.
Jennifer wanted to walk on her own, but could not find her feet, so Simon lifted her and carried her from the ambulance.
Verretti thrashed violently. ‘Let go of me,’ he shrieked. ‘You can’t do this!’
Schreider opened the back door of the Steyr Puch for Simon and Jennifer to get in. He had just taken the wheel when armed guards charged from the Villa Malta gate. Close behind them followed the Maggiore and Cardinal Cardoni.
Schreider was uncomfortably aware that Verretti now had the advantage and ordered his men to retreat. He shifted into reverse as the first shots struck the Puch.
Weber returned fire with a burst of four rounds. His men followed suit. When two of the gendarmes fell, the villa guards dove for cover behind a parked car.
The two Helvetians holding Verretti also scampered for cover, and the inspector flung himself on his stomach beneath the ambulance. He aimed at Schreider’s Puch, firing several rounds in quick succession.
Schreider hit the gas, reversing towards the exit in the top corner of the piazza. Halfway back up the piazza, he twirled the steering wheel, spinning the vehicle one hundred and eighty degrees. Not losing momentum, he sped towards Via di Porta Lavernale.
Weber waited until his commander had disappeared behind the boundary wall before jumping into his Puch. He was about to call for his men to retreat, but he gave in to impulse. Instead of gearing up, he shifted into first. He stepped on the accelerator and his vehicle bucked forward, hitting the rear of the ambulance at forty miles per hour. Though he could not see the inspector, he heard the man crying out. He hoped he had hurt the bastard.
Gunfire exploded around Weber as he backed up. The windscreen of the Puch took several rounds and shattered. He yelled for his men to take cover behind the vehicle. They ducked behind the Puch and fired across the bonnet and around the back. Reversing back up the piazza, Weber ordered them to take position on the running board and bumper. On nearing the perimeter wall on the far side, he shouted for them to hang onto the roof rack. Then, swinging around and changing gears in mid-turn, he sped down the Via di Porta Lavernale after Schreider.
Crawling from beneath the wrecked ambulance, Verretti ordered his remaining gendarmes to get back in. He leapt behind the wheel as an Order of Malta limousine and two urban assault vehicles with Malta guards raced through the gate of the villa. When the limousine stopped beside him and the Maggiore demanded the silver casket, Verretti was dumbfounded. How could the cardinal want the letter at such a time? He could not care less about the damn artefact. It was Schreider he wanted. He retrieved the artefact and threw the casket through Santori’s window, but instead of returning to the ambulance, he wrestled the limousine driver from his seat. Ordering Lioni and the men to follow in the ambulance, he sped off.
Ensconced in the back of the limousine, Santori stared at Cardoni. He sighed, relief etched on his face. He had the letter back. Now their task was to deal with the fugitives. It would not be easy, but Mother Church came first.
Chapter 45
Schreider radioed command. ‘Alarmbereitschaft Eins, now!’ he shouted into the mic.
There, His Eminence Santori finally got his way. This call, though, was not to save the Holy See from harm, but rather to prevent carnage. He was now up against the gendarmerie, and if Verretti would get his way, the entire Italian Carabinie
ri. God forbid, the College of Cardinals would get caught in the crossfire.
Spewing orders as he sped across the Tiber, he called up the entire Vatican Swiss army. Wearing the mandatory ceremonial dress his men must secure the Apostolic Palace. If they were going down, they might as well do so proudly. The palace was also the only place where he could guarantee Simon and Jennifer’s safety—at least until Interpol intervened. He could not believe he was securing the palace from its own occupants.
On his return, and with no idea where else to go, he sped into the forecourt of Saint Peter’s Basilica. Veering sharply to avoid pedestrians lingering between the central obelisk and Maderno’s granite fountain, the Puch roared up to the Bronze Door at the end of the colonnade. Behind the Bronze Door, a long, barrel-vaulted corridor led to Antonio da Sangallo’s famed Royal Staircase, which in turn led to the Regal Room adjacent to the Sistine Chapel, where the Holy See was presently assembling. This was the colonel’s destination.
As the Puch halted before the Bronze Door, a platoon of guards greeted him. He called Weber over and ordered him to assist with Simon and Jennifer. After helping them from the back of the vehicle, Schreider made sure Jennifer could walk on her own before accompanying them up the steps to the Bronze Door. In the corridor, several more guards were waiting. They had just formed an escort around Simon and Jennifer when the sound of screeching tires reverberated off the marble walls. Peering behind them, Schreider saw a black Order of Malta limousine and several urban assault vehicles race around the colonnade and towards the Bronze Door.
‘Secure the entrance,’ he shouted to his lieutenant at the base of the steps. Then, he turned to Weber. ‘Take them to the Regal Room. I’ll be there in a moment.’
When the lieutenant in the colonnade saw Inspector Verretti behind the wheel of the limousine with the two cardinals in the back he panicked. ‘It’s the inspector, Oberst,’ he cried out. ‘What should we do?!’
‘Let the cardinals through, but no one else.’ Schreider waited for the sergeant to organize his men into a tight formation in the street and on the steps in front of the Bronze Door. Before sprinting up the passage towards the Royal Staircase, he repeated his order: ‘No one gets through but the cardinals. That’s it.’
On reaching Bernini’s statue of Emperor Constantine the Great, he found a platoon armed with semi-automatic rifles approaching from the Basilica Narthex where he had apprehended the bomber the day before. He stopped briefly to make sure two sections secured the passage, then continued, ordering the rest of the men to keep pace with him. Halfway up the staircase, he could hear Verretti spitting venom as the Helvetians restrained him at the Bronze Door. He did not look back.
As Schreider turned into the second flight of steps leading to the Regal Room, he thought of the Emperor Constantine. Why Bernini’s five-story high, marble masterpiece mattered at that moment was impossible to say. Many times, he had admired it, but only now did it dawn on him that the statue begged a few questions. The work depicted the emperor gazing skywards while rushing into the Battle of Milvian Bridge. From the historian Eusebius, we gather that Constantine had been startled by the appearance of a cross in the sky and after the emperor had his men paint crosses on their shields, his army indeed defeated his rival, Maxentius. The statue was inscribed with the legendary words of the emperor’s vision: ‘In hoc signo vinces,’ meaning ‘In this sign you shall conquer,’ and Schreider had read the words countless times, but he had never considered the kind of cross Constantine had seen. Next to the statue, the Vatican displayed a Roman cross. Is this what Constantine had purportedly seen? After all, the emperor had been a sun worshipper. Of course, some scholars would suggest that what he had seen was the Chi-Rho, representing the first two letters of Christ’s name in Greek. As Schreider recalled, the early chi also represented the solar-ecliptic path across the celestial equator. Was it even possible to see a Chi-Rho cross in the sky? Did God impart signs like that? Schreider had begged for signs all damn day, yet he had received none. Then again, he was still alive, so maybe that was sign enough. He could not help appreciating the irony that the Vatican—the nerve center of Catholicism—had chosen the Royal Staircase as the formal reception area for foreign dignitaries, frequently royalty and presidents; to think that these worthies might be admiring the statue of a sun worshipper on their way to meet His Holiness.
At the Regal Room, Schreider stationed guards at each of the six entrances. Halting in the center of the hall, he saluted his captain. As Weber returned the salute, Schreider drew his sword. He swiveled into a right turn, lifting his knee waist high. In a final show of strength, and with all the grace of a Lipizzaner, he lowered his heel to the marble floor.
Schreider knew he might rue this day, but Weber’s devotion gave him the courage to see it through, even if it cost him his life. Events were forcing him to stand up for his beliefs; for what he knew was right. The Church had done outstanding work in treating the sick and elderly, in feeding the poor and caring for orphans and housing destitute families. But the same Church had crucified those who opposed its views and convicted thousands to death for heresy, burning them at the stake and hanging them from the city’s gates. Despite the Vatican’s claiming to abide by divine laws as prescribed in the Holy Bible, it also had its own judiciary and a discrete legal system based on Italy’s. The pope’s judicial authority, which he exercised through the Prefect of the Supreme Tribunal of the Apostolic Signature, was a judicial system consisting of a judge, a tribunal, a Court of Appeal and a Supreme Court. All four courts had their seats at the Palazzo del Tribunale at the Piazza Santa Marta behind Saint Peter’s Basilica. As head of the courts, the Most Holy Father presided over all matters as supreme ecclesiastical judge. His was the final say in any ecclesiastical judgment, and therein lay the problem. Although the Vatican’s legal system prescribed sentences of up to thirty-five years, their courts were only mandated to prosecute minor crimes and give light sentences with limited penalties—a contradiction surely, but one rarely noted. Serious cases had to be passed to the Italian courts, and this should certainly be the case now. The Vatican had no authority as per to its agreements with Italy, to hand down death sentences, especially not for theft.
Nor was Schreider yet convinced that Simon and Jennifer would be fairly dealt with by the presiding pontiff, for whom he had a great deal of respect. Years of securing the Apostolic Palace had enabled him to build a close relationship with the Holy Father. In fact, Schreider had accompanied the pontiff on his morning walks many times. Setting out from the Fountain of the Eagle, the pope would choose a route around the back of the Vatican Radio Station. At the altar at the Madonna di Lourdes, he would stop to pray. On their return, he often asked Schreider to race him, then jokingly absolved the colonel when the younger man purposely lost. The pope frequently spoke of his life before becoming head of the Church. In his rise to the papal throne, he had spent much of his time campaigning for and establishing sexual ethics amongst the clergy. During this period, pedophilia scandals had shaken the Roman Catholic Church to its core; involving thousands of cases, his investigations had led to the defrocking of hundreds of priests and bishops. His no-nonsense approach in dealing with this plague had seen him elected to the papacy, although not by an overwhelming majority. His excommunication of senior clerics implicated in protecting the disgraced had silenced the Church’s critics and had had enormous influence on world leaders and the faithful alike. His breakthrough in attracting young people back to the faith had also resulted in a steady growth in membership. Prior to his reign it had appeared that the Church was on its way to extinction.
Yes, the Holy Father was an honorable man, Schreider decided. God willing, His Most Holiness would act wisely. Standing to attention, his eyes fixed on the Royal Staircase entrance, Schreider awaited the arrival of the cardinals.
Chapter 46
Jennifer raised her head from Simon’s chest and wiped the tears from her cheeks with the palm of her hand. Disengaging herself fr
om his protective embrace, she turned towards the empty hall. Her eyes scanned its four walls, which rose for fifty feet or more above them. The renowned Regal Room, situated at the heart of the Apostolic Palace, served as the antechamber of the Sistine Chapel during conclaves and as a reception hall when world leaders visited. Gleaming marble nudes framed frescoes of Church history beside stuccoed doorways. The hall was arguably the most lavishly decorated space in the entire city, and Jennifer had never seen such opulence.
A barrel-vaulted ceiling rested on a corbelled cornice, its open ends framing two massive arched windows. Through the window furthest from her, she recognized the southernmost building in the Belvedere Courtyard. Had it only been twenty-four hours since she had been out there, waiting for the library to open?
She turned towards the papal throne, which for many was the symbolic seat of God. She had dedicated her life to a religion she thought centered on humility and modesty, yet here she was gazing at the antitheses of these virtues. The richly gilded throne sat upon a three-tiered dais luxuriously cushioned in red velvet with carved cherubs perched upon its arms and the proud emblem of the Vatican poised above it.
Jennifer stood in defiance of immorality.
As sadness consumed her, her gaze alighted on Simon. The bell of Saint Peter’s Basilica pealed in the background, and she closed her eyes. During their flight from Verretti and his men, she had wanted to let Simon know she was all right and that she did not blame him for anything. As she had lain half sedated on the stretcher unable to free her hands to touch him, she had wanted him to know that she accepted the blame for what had happened. None of it was his responsibility, except that he had not physically dragged her away from the Cave Church. She bitterly regretted ignoring his demands to leave the site. Her stubbornness had put his life in danger as well as her own. In any case, the letter was assuredly lost now, if not Apostle Peter’s bones.