by Glenn Cooper
They had banged on half the doors on the level when the manager stepped off the elevator and approached with a warning finger.
‘You two! Stop what you are doing! You are bothering my guests.’
‘It’s an emergency,’ Cal shouted, kicking another door. ‘Giovanni!’
‘No. No! Stop it now!’ the manager yelled.
They ignored her, keeping up their frantic pace, going door-to-door, while the manager spoke in Hebrew into her walkie-talkie.
‘Did you get all of them on your side?’ Cal shouted to Irene.
‘This is the last one,’ she cried after kicking the door.
‘Upstairs!’ Cal said, running alongside and steering her to the stairwell.
‘Hey! Stop!’ the manager said, getting back on her walkie-talkie.
The second floor corridor was empty.
Room 200 was opposite the stairwell and that’s where Cal started, repeating the routine while Irene started across from him at Room 201.
He moved quickly, ignoring a woman who poked her head from room 202 and quickly retreated, slamming and bolting her door.
204.
206.
208.
The pain in Cal’s hands was waning and he used his knuckles to hit the door.
‘Giovanni! Giovanni!’
Inside, the priest was laying on his side, unresponsive, his bed a bloody mess.
Cal moved on.
The manager appeared on the floor and this time she was not alone. Two armed security guards, tough young men, were beside her and one called out in English.
‘You, mister! You, lady! Stop what you’re doing and come here!’
Cal ignored them until he heard the other one say, ‘Believe me, we will shoot you!’
‘Irene, stop,’ Cal said. ‘They’ve got guns.’
‘But Cal,’ she protested.
The guards ran up to them demanding they raise their hands.
In frustration, Irene kicked one more door and crumpled to the floor, crying her eyes out.
Cal ignored the guards and went to her, sliding his back against the wall until he was sitting beside her.
Then he cradled her in his arms and said, ‘We tried, we tried our best.’
The guards were standing over them, semi-automatic pistols pointed down at their heads.
‘Get up now and come with us! This is your last warning.’
‘Irene, it’s over,’ Cal said gently. ‘We’ve got to go.’
Cecchi was complaining to his men, ‘The thing I always hated about surveillance was when you had to go to the bathroom.’
‘When was the last time you sat in one of these vans?’ he was asked.
‘You were probably sucking at the teat, that’s how long. I’ll be back in a few minutes.’
‘Can you bring back coffee?’
Cecchi made a rude gesture and said, ‘Get your own coffee. I’m your boss, not your secretary.’
Cecchi, dressed in civilian clothes, climbed out the van doors and trotted across the street to a café.
Simple forensics had led Cecchi to this street in Ostia Antica, thirty kilometers from Rome. Knuckleheads will always screw up, he had reminded his men and sure enough, the fingerprints of a known criminal, Gianni Crestani, had been pulled off the flush lever in a toilet in Domenica Berardino’s flat. The raid at Crestani’s apartment had yielded his bank statement and Cecchi got a judge to compel the bank to release the records of his financial transactions to the Carabinieri. And there they found it: four smallish withdrawals from the same cashpoint on Viale Vasco da Gama in four days. Cecchi’s men had fanned out, showing a picture of Crestani to merchants in the neighborhood. The owner of a pizzeria a few doors from the cashpoint had identified the man as a recent and repeated patron of his store and based on the lead, Cecchi had ordered the surveillance for Ostia.
Cecchi left the café and was looking for a gap in the traffic to cross the street when he froze.
A man walked by him on the sidewalk. He was ninety-nine percent certain it was Gianni Crestani.
In a split second Crestani’s back was to him. He watched as he casually sauntered into the pizzeria and then Cecchi sprinted across the street and climbed into the van as his mobile started ringing in his pocket.
‘That’s me calling,’ one of his men said. ‘It’s Crestani.’
‘I saw him,’ Cecchi said, settling into his seat by the video monitor. The camera was trained on the front of the pizzeria.
‘What do we do now?’ the officer asked.
Cecchi thought about it and said, ‘We wait for the pizza to come out of the oven.’
THIRTY-ONE
The sound was pleasant but it was very far away.
It sounded like a bird, a happy, chirping bird, but as it got louder it became less melodic and angrier.
Giovanni’s eyes blinked open. The first thing he saw was a bloody wrist. Then the sound registered.
The telephone.
He reached for it and had to use all of his strength to make his hand grasp the handset.
‘Hello?’ he asked, his voice quavering, his confusion on full display.
The voice.
It all came flooding back. He knew where he was. He remembered his sorry state.
‘Where the hell were you?’ Schneider demanded.
‘I was … I think I fell asleep.’
‘You didn’t hear the phone? I called five times.’
‘I …’
‘What’s the matter with you?’
‘Nothing. Are you going to let my mother go?’
‘Yes, yes, soon, as I’ve said countless times. Did you get the third package?’
‘Yes.’
‘So you’ve got the nail?’
‘It’s here.’
‘Then it’s time. I have the photos of you with the thorn and the lance. Take the photo, the one with the nail and send it.’
‘I will.’
‘Then it will be time for the last steps.’
‘I see.’
‘Do you? Do you see? Do you remember exactly what I’ve asked of you?’
‘I think so.’
‘You think so? That isn’t good enough, my friend. You must do exactly as you’ve been instructed. For the final time, here are the steps. One: Place a table in front of the window and make sure the curtains are open. Two: Get the lance and place it on the table. Three: Get the thorn. Take it from the cardboard holder and place it so that it touches the tip of the lance. Finally: Get the nail. Place it on the table beside the lance. One end of the nail must touch the thorn, the other end must touch the lance. Then take the last photo of yourself with the relics in the foreground and the city of Jerusalem in the background. One last selfie.’
Giovanni was weak from blood loss.
‘And text that photo to you also?’
‘Yes,’ Schneider said impatiently.
‘Why the photos?’ he asked groggily.
Schneider’s voice was thick with anger.
‘Now look,’ he said, ‘this has already been explained to you. The photographs are of immense value to us. Propaganda value. These are the holiest relics in the Christian world and my organization possesses them. We lacked the nail and now it is ours. We will make a tremendous announcement when we release the photos. It will be a political announcement of great importance to us. You will see and you will understand, but by then your work for us will be over. When you have taken the last photo, leave the phone in the room and go to the airport. Go home. Your family will be waiting for you. My people, the ones who have been watching you will collect the relics and the phone.’
Giovanni’s voice was slurred. He felt sleepy. ‘I still don’t understand why you had to make me do this for you. If you have people here, they could have taken the pictures.’
‘But they are not the famous priest with the stigmata of Christ. They are not Padre Gio. People will see you and it will strengthen our message. Now enough of this. It is time to finish your job. It
is time for you to return home. Does your room phone have a speakerphone?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then put the phone onto the speaker and get the nail. Send me a photo of you holding it. I want to see it. Can you do that?’
‘It’s very painful.’
‘Do it anyway.’
Schneider made sure that the priest had shifted to speaker mode then hit his own mute button. He turned to Gerhardt who was lounging on a nearby chair.
‘What the hell is wrong with him?’ Schneider asked.
‘He’s a strange one, didn’t you notice?’
‘It’s more than that. He doesn’t sound well.’
‘At this point, a trained monkey can finish the job,’ Gerhardt said. ‘The idiot doesn’t know that he’s never going to take the last photo. A selfie! Good one, Lambret. As soon as the nail touches the other pieces – BOOM!’ He spread his fingers in the universal sign of detonation.
‘Hopefully, a very large boom,’ Schneider said.
Schneider received a text of Giovanni holding up the nail with the Dome of the Rock clearly visible over his shoulder. He took the phone off mute.
‘The photo is good. I can see you’ve been bleeding,’ Schneider said.
‘Yes, I’ve been bleeding a lot.’
‘Well, you’ll be able to get your health back soon, I think. Put the nail back where you were keeping it and go bring the lance to the table.’
He heard a weak voice say, ‘I’m getting it.’
Cal argued with the security guards and the hotel manager, while he and Irene were taken down the elevator. When they reached the lobby he was still arguing.
‘You’re making a big mistake,’ Cal said. ‘This woman’s brother is somewhere in the hotel and he’s in danger. Your hotel is in danger. The entire city might be in danger.’
One of the guards pointed a finger at him and said, ‘Mister, you’re making terroristic threats and we don’t tolerate this.’
The other guard asked the manager if she wanted them to call the police.
‘It’s not necessary,’ she sighed. ‘I just want them to go. We’re getting their things from their rooms and then they can leave us. Some peace and quiet would be nice.’
A young man with a shaved head and skullcap appeared behind the reception desk and greeted the other clerk in Hebrew. ‘Hello, Magda, how’ve you been?’
‘Good, Ori, how was the army?’
‘Like always. A boring weekend. What’s going on here?’
‘This guy and this lady have been causing a big disturbance. They’re getting kicked out.’
‘What’s bugging them?’
‘I’ve no idea.’
The clerk logged onto his terminal and while waiting for it to boot up his eye wandered to the piece of paper taped to the backstop of the counter. He pulled it off and headed for the door.
‘Hey, where are you going?’ Magda said.
He ignored her and went around to the lobby where he approached the manager.
‘What?’ she said. ‘Can’t you see I’m busy, Ori?’
Cal stopped arguing when he saw the clerk hold up their photo.
Irene saw it too.
‘Have you seen my brother, Giovanni Berardino?’ she asked.
‘I checked him in but he didn’t go by that name,’ the clerk said. ‘It’s Hugo Egger.’
Cal shouted, ‘What room? What room is he in?’
The young man thought for a moment and said, ‘Room 208 if he hasn’t checked out already. I can look on the computer.’
But Cal and Irene weren’t going to wait. They bolted toward the staircase, the security guards shouting for them to stop.
Gianni Crestani emerged from the shop holding four boxes of pizza. Two of Cecchi’s ROS officers were on the street, one smoking, the other casually reading a newspaper.
‘Hold back,’ Cecchi said into their earpieces. ‘Don’t crowd him.’
Crestani moved fluidly down the sidewalk and was soon out of view of the van’s cameras.
Cecchi sounded tense. ‘Don’t lose him.’
‘We’ve got him, boss. Take it easy.’
‘You’re out of your mind,’ Cecchi said to the technician beside him in the van. ‘Taking it easy is the last thing I’m going to do.’
Cecchi couldn’t seem to contain himself any longer. He exited the van, letting his street men know that he was coming up behind them.
One of the men spoke into his cufflink microphone, ‘Should we mobilize the hostage rescue team, boss?’
‘Feeling a bit insecure?’ Cecchi replied some fifty paces away.
‘When was the last time you fired your pistol?’ the officer asked.
‘Two months ago at the range, but I had a very nice grouping.’
The three ROS officers kept walking until the one closest to the target alerted the others that Crestani had put the pizza boxes down to open the door of a five-story apartment building, the one above an auto dealer.
‘Get in there,’ Cecchi ordered. ‘Don’t lose him but don’t get made. We’re coming.’
The lead officer saw Crestani disappear into the building. He let the others know and silently counted to ten before slipping inside as quietly as he could. The hallway was empty but he heard footsteps to his right, going up the staircase. He whispered his position into his cuff, pulled his gun from its paddle holster and pulled the slide back to chamber a round, holding the slide firmly as it went forward, to prevent a loud snapback.
He tiptoed up the stairs, straining to hear Crestani’s footfalls. He continued for one more flight before hearing a door open and close.
‘Third floor,’ he whispered to the others. ‘What’s your position?’
‘I’m in the building,’ his colleague said. ‘The boss is right behind me. Which apartment?’
‘Stand by.’
The lead officer took the last flight of stairs two at a time and slowly opened the third-floor landing door. Peeking down the hall he saw Crestani entering one of the flats. He ducked back into the stairwell.
‘Third door on the right, third floor.’
‘Wait for us,’ Cecchi said. ‘We’re almost there.’
He didn’t have to wait long for his two comrades to arrive. Cecchi put his hand on his shoulder and asked in a whisper if he was ready.
‘Ready, boss.’
‘Then let’s go.’
They crept up to the door and inspected it before backing away.
‘You think you can kick it in?’ Cecchi asked.
The lead officer whispered back, ‘It’s made of wood, I’m made of steel.’
Cecchi drew his Beretta and disengaged the safety.
He inhaled deeply and said, ‘When you’re ready, do it.’
The officer reared back and crashed his boot into the door jamb. The jamb held.
‘Again!’ Cecchi shouted. The officer replanted his feet and delivered another blow. This time wood splintered and the door crashed open.
‘Armed police! Show yourself with your hands up!’
The two officers in the lead blocked Cecchi’s view, but he heard the shouts.
A man, ‘Gianni! The police!’
Another man, ‘Grab the kid!’
A child, ‘Mama!’
A woman, ‘Take your hands off him!’
Then a gunshot, a deafening gunshot and the lead officer fell, clutching his chest.
The second officer fired off three quick rounds then he too staggered and slumped against a wall.
Crestani was five meters away down the hall. The thug was taking aim at him with a silver handgun and Cecchi felt the trigger of his Beretta yielding to the crook of his finger.
‘Where is the lance? Talk to me, father,’ Schneider said through the speakerphone.
Giovanni had it in his hand. ‘I’ve got it,’ he said weakly. The stabbing pain in the right side of his chest was once again making it hard to breathe.
‘Louder, please, I can hardly hear you.’
‘I’ve got it.’
‘And what are you doing with it?’
‘I’m putting it on the table.’
‘It must touch the thorn.’
As the lance came closer to the thorn, Giovanni cried out. The lance fell from his hand and hit the table with a loud thud.
‘What happened?’ Schneider shouted.
‘It burned my hand!’ Giovanni said.
‘Where is it? Where’s the lance?’
‘It’s on the table. It’s orange! The thorn is orange! The table is smoking!’
‘Calm yourself, father. This is just some kind of chemical reaction. It’s completely expected. Are they touching?’
‘No.’
‘You must make them touch.’
‘I can’t. It’s too hot.’
‘Then take your shoe and use it to push the lance until it touches. Do this now, please.’
‘You’ll release my family?’
‘Any minute now, as long as you finish the job.’
‘How will I know?’
‘I will put your mother on the phone.’
‘She’s there?’
‘Very close, yes. She is waiting for you to finish.’
Giovanni removed one of his shoes and poked at the orange-hot lance. The rubber sole of the shoe hissed and melted. He pushed some more until the tip made contact with the slender thorn.
In an instant, both relics turned from orange to red. Flames began to leap from the surface of the wooden table.
‘There’s a fire!’ Giovanni shouted.
Schneider hit the mute button and said to Gerhardt, ‘We should have thought of this. A glass or metal top would have been better.’
‘He just needs to hurry, I think,’ Gerhardt said matter-of-factly.
Off mute, Schneider said, ‘You need to move quickly to get the photos before the room catches fire. We know for sure that the temperature will decrease when the nail will come in contact. Hurry! I have just told my people to prepare to release your mother, your aunt and your nephew.’
Giovanni was scared to touch the nail. He’d already lost so much blood. If he lost too much more, he’d pass out again or maybe worse. And the pain would be terrible.
He got a wash towel from the bathroom and used it to pluck the nail from the open hotel safe where he’d left it. His wrists began to throb more heavily, but at least the pain was tolerable.