by Rene Fomby
“Hmm.” Sam stared out a window at the Spanish Steps splayed out in front of her down below. Tourists usually gathered down there by the dozens to snap pictures on their cell phones, but today the streets were strangely empty. Sam had a feeling that probably wasn’t the case right now in front of the Turkish Embassy. “You know, I might just have an idea about how to tackle that.”
34
Rome
Sam quickly brought Gavin up to speed on the discovery of the train and the secret tunnel under the Vatican, and Mehmed’s suggestion that the aqueduct most likely connected Vatican City with the ancient port at Ostia Antica. “After we found the train, I did some serious Googling on aqueducts and the ruins at Ostia Antica. As it turns out, the archeology dig out there is being run by an old professor of mine from the classics department at the University of Texas, Michelle Greystone. She still teaches classes in Austin during the fall semester, but the rest of the year she spends out here, supervising the dig. I can look up her UT email address and shoot her a message, asking if we can meet up with her to see what she might know about a tunnel entrance.”
“Actually, Sam, she might not be all that responsive to answering her college email from Austin. Or to an old student dropping by at random to upset her tightly scheduled routine. But I can get the FBI to pull up her cell phone in a heartbeat, and I’ll give her a call myself. I guarantee she’ll make time in her busy schedule for a visit from the Feds.”
“Yeah, I think you’re right. Good thinking, Gav. So, after we connect, hopefully she can help us work out hard part numero uno, finding out where the heck the tunnel comes out on the other end. If, in fact, it even does, given how much time has gone by since it was first constructed. I think we’ve all figured out that fact about secret tunnels by now.” Sam was back to pacing again, and her fidgeting was starting to drive Gavin nuts. “Hard part number two, assuming we even figure out how to get into the tunnel, is that we’ve got to make it from the train station down to the tenth floor. And then into the lab.”
“And I think we can both go on the premise that our security badges are completely kaput already. Probably cancelled well before they made the raid on the lab and arrested Mehmed.” Gavin leaned back in his chair, pressing a red welt onto his forehead with his right hand. “Okay, then. Let’s take this one step at a time. I think it’s safe to assume that any one-on-one discussions with Mehmed are off limits for the time being. So our top antiquities scholar who might be able to sort any of this out is now on ice. But, on the positive side, if we can gain entrance to the lab complex through the train tunnel, the rest of the operation should prove to be pretty easy. Particularly if we can figure out how to fire up that train, and then use it to transport the contents of the lab to someplace safe.”
“But if our ID cards don’t work—”
“You let me worry about that little detail, Sam. After all, when you put me in charge of security, I wasn’t exactly sleeping on the job. I had contingency plans, and then I had plans for if all the contingency plans fell apart. As long as they haven’t posted any guards, we can get in and out of the lab without leaving any footprints showing we were ever there. But we need to make tracks on that, because I need to get back into the hunt for Andy. Which means I need to be back in Rabat in a day or so at the latest, to set up my trap for Tulley’s henchmen.”
“Then what are waiting for, old man?”
35
Ostia Antica, Italy
As far as Sam could tell, Dr. Michelle Greystone hadn’t aged a day since she had taken the class on ancient Roman mythology at the University of Texas, now over a decade and a half earlier. Except that she had allowed her hair color to go completely natural. But, bobbed in a tight pixie cut, it actually left her looking even younger, if possible.
When they finally reached her on the phone, Dr. Greystone had indicated she was tied up working with students at the dig, so they agreed to make the short thirty-minute drive from Rome to see her on site. Which wasn’t much of a sacrifice on their part, after all, since they needed to search for the tunnel entrance anyway.
“A secret escape tunnel? Wow, that’s a major archeological discovery in and of itself.” They were gathered in front of a table that was covered with maps of the area, each of them showing slightly different takes on Ostia Antica’s topology and infrastructure. Dr. Greystone flipped between them one by one, studying the details very closely. “Hmm. I think the best way to approach this is to rule out any areas where my team has already dug in hard. As Sherlock Holmes quite famously explained, once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth.” She grabbed a sticky notes pad and started scratching comments on the pad that she then slapped onto the main topology map.
Sam caught Gavin’s eye. “Hey, I just had an idea. Couldn’t we get your guy Bob Sanders to point his satellites in this direction, get a look-down scan for any buried structures?”
He shook his head. “No time for that. Even with Bob’s influence, it would still take several days to get everything set up. But yeah, I already sent him the request, so if we flame out here, that’s our backup strategy. The problem is, I need to get back to Rabat.”
“So we need to find our tunnel today,” Sam suggested.
“Exactly.” Gavin checked his watch. “And we’re rapidly running out of daylight on that.”
Dr. Greystone stopped what she was doing and looked up. “I probably shouldn’t ask, but this tunnel of yours, it wouldn’t have something to do with—”
“Yes and no,” Gavin answered. “It’s a long story. But, in case you’re worried about all that, it’s an unrelated issue that’s complicated by the fact that Vatican City is a war zone right now. And, of course, your government greatly appreciates any assistance you can give us in all this.”
“I’m not worried about my government, Agent Larson, I’m worried about the Italians. And the Vatican, for that matter. If they get pissy about something we’re doing here, I’ll be back in Austin teaching summer school before you can say Jack Sprat.”
“I get you. So let me assure you that your help will be kept strictly confidential unless you decide it should be otherwise. Fair enough?”
“I can work with that. As long as I get first dibs on the escape tunnel story, assuming you find it.”
“You can call that gar-rahn-teed, Dr. Greystone. So, you got something yet?”
She pulled the main map over to a side table and started pulling Post-It notes off it one by one. Finally, she had only two yellow stickies left on the map. “I’d say if there’s a tunnel entrance located anywhere in this general area, your best bets are one of these two sites, based mostly on what we know about the standard slopes of Roman aqueducts and significant obstructions between Ostia and Rome. Building an aqueduct is kind of like building a road—you try and plan for the most efficient, least labor-intensive route possible. Again, Sherlock Holmes. Eliminate the impossible.”
“I’ll have to trust your judgment on that, doctor. You’re the expert.” Gavin pointed to the sticky note nearest to him. “Sam, since we’re running short on time, why don’t I scope out this area while you check out the other site. First one to find the tunnel buys drinks.”
“And drinks for my old professor, here,” Sam suggested. “Who knew we’d reconnect in this fashion after so many years? And I was really surprised you still remembered me.”
“Actually, Ms. Tulley, once I saw you in person I recognized you immediately from my old class in Greek and Roman mythology. But you had a different name back then.”
“Yes, professor, you’re right. It was Goldberg. My maiden name. That was years before I met my husband, Luke.”
“And Samantha Goldberg was the bright and shining star of my class, as I recall. A perfect score on the final, the only student of mine who has ever accomplished that particular feat. I remember my first thoughts when I finished grading it, that you must have somehow gotten your hands on an advance copy of the test. Ch
eated. But then I thought about your performance in class, and on the other exams, and I realized then and there that you were something special, that you were going to become a major force to be reckoned with in this world. And it looks like I wasn’t wrong about that.”
Sam’s face turned bright red as she struggled with how to respond, so Gavin helped her out. “If we get a chance later this evening, I’d love to tell you some stories about Sam that will prove to you just how special she truly is. And how she has cheated death on more than one occasion. But right now we need to get a move on. The sun is sinking, and we won’t have a chance in hell of finding that tunnel entrance in the dark. Sam?”
“Right behind you, boss man.” Sam pointed to her purse, lying on a side table. “Mind if I leave that here for now while we climb around all over the hills out there?” she asked.
“No, I think you’ll be better off leaving it right where it’s sitting,” Dr. Greystone answered, stepping briskly across the room and reaching into a large box to pull out two flashlights. “But here, take these. Even in daylight, it can’t hurt to throw a little extra light here and there to see what’s lurking behind all the heavy brush. Or, speaking from personal experience, something to help defend yourself from whatever critters you might find crawling around out there.”
“Good thinking.” Gavin grabbed the flashlights and handed one over to Sam. “Ready, Freddy?”
“Ready as I’ll ever be,” Sam answered, already up and heading for the door.
※
The climb was even tougher and more exhausting than Sam had imagined, and Dr. Greystone had been right about the various critters scurrying around the rocks and brush. The sun was already starting to sink into the Tyrrhenian Sea behind her, and she was about to give up hope of ever finding the tunnel, assuming it was even here, when she pulled back the fronds of what looked like an overgrown Sago palm to uncover a wooden door, sloped slightly inward enough to allow a large number of loose stones to be scattered across it, providing even more camouflage from distant observers. There was nothing on the door to indicate what was behind it, but the opening it protected was almost exactly the size and shape of the aqueduct they had discovered beneath the Vatican. She grabbed her cell phone from her pocket.
“Gavin! I think I’ve found it!”
“Where are you? I can’t see you from here.”
“I’m almost to the top of the hill, right about dead center of my search area. There’s a big Sago palm covering the entrance.”
“I’ll be there as fast as my little legs can run!”
※
Gavin was almost completely out of breath by the time he reached her, scampering up the side of the hill like a monkey. He stopped for a second to take a sip from his water bottle, bent over slightly and wheezing.
“Man! I guess I’m not the young pup I used to be. Gotta start spending more time at the gym, and less at the dinner table. But come on, Sam, let me see what you found.”
Using her flashlight to pull back a few of the palm fronds, and carefully avoiding the spikes at their base, Sam pointed the flashlight in the direction of the door, lighting it up in the gathering gloom.
“What do you think, Gavin? You think this is the mouth of the tunnel?”
“I can’t imagine what else it could be, Sam. Come on, let’s try and get that door pried open.”
It took the two of them several minutes to clear the rocks away, then Gavin stepped cautiously up the sloped wooden wall, careful not to fall through a rotten section of the wall and keeping slightly to the right of the door. Finally, giving the wall a last little shove with his feet to make sure it was going to hold, he reached over and pulled on the door handle. As he expected, the latch was stiff from probably decades of being abandoned to the elements, but finally it started to give. Gavin doubled down, using both hands and wrenching hard with his arms and back, and this time the handle turned freely, and the door collapsed inward with a groan.
“Was that sound you or the door?” Sam asked mischievously.
“Both, I think,” Gavin answered, smiling back at her. “But I’m really beginning to appreciate having these flashlights along for the ride. It’s pitch black in there.” He leaned into the open doorway, shining his light around, looking for the floor and any of the local fauna that might pose a challenge for them. But the area looked pretty clear, and the floor started right at the base of the doorway, either concrete or packed granite at first glance. “You up for a short bit of exploration?”
“Right behind you.”
Sam maneuvered carefully behind the palm tree and followed Gavin through the door. Inside, the dimensions of the tunnel were roughly the same height as the train terminal at the other end, but the walls had been widened out considerably. No train tracks were visible as yet, but their flashlights weren’t strong enough to light up more than about twenty or thirty feet in front of them, so they started moving slowly down the tunnel, Gavin keeping his light pointed forward and Sam swinging hers from side to side to watch for any rats, snakes or other unpleasant and unwanted varmints.
After five or so minutes of walking they finally came upon a loading dock, spread out on either side of a two sets of rusted train tracks, sitting crossways atop a long line of creosote-soaked railroad ties. In front of the loading dock, the tracks connected to a turntable, easily large enough to allow the train’s engine and coal tender to be disconnected from the train, then turned around and reconnected a little further down the line.
“Well, I guess we have our answer, Sam. Looks like all roads still lead to Rome. Even this little railroad.”
Sam climbed up on top of the left-side train platform, shining her flashlight down along the line as far as she could see. “So, what’s the plan now? Keep exploring, or come back first thing tomorrow morning with supplies and a better idea on how we’re going to break into the Vatican labs?”
“I don’t know that there’s much more we can accomplish here tonight. I was kind of hoping they had one of those pump trolleys sitting around here, but it looks like we’re out of luck, so I’ll need to round up some alternative transportation for us. No way we’re going to walk the whole fifteen miles back to Rome. That would take forever. Not to mention we’d be in poor shape to move all those amphorae up to the train station when we finally got there.”
“Okay, then, I guess it’s back to Dr. Greystone’s office. Now that we’ve found the tunnel exit, we can swig down a well-earned adult beverage or three and plot out our next steps for tomorrow.”
“Good idea, Sam. And don’t forget, the drinks are on you.”
36
Fatebenefratelli Hospital, Rome - Wednesday
Cardinal Orso woke up with a pounding headache. Glancing around the small room, he saw that he was in some kind of hospital room. A saline drip was attached to his left arm, hooked up to a half-empty bottle that was sitting off to the side, next to a lightly beeping monitor that was reporting on all of his vital signs. As his eyes cleared, he noted with great relief that all of the numbers appeared to be on the normal side.
A television had been left turned on, hanging from the opposite wall, and the pictures he now saw flickering across the screen caused his heart monitor to start beeping loudly for a brief moment. The Sistine Chapel was—gone! And St. Peters was partially in ruins! What in the name of God had happened after he collapsed?
His breathing returned to normal, and the obnoxious beeping quieted beside him. He reached over and grabbed the remote for the television, turning the sound up so he could hear what the reporter was saying.
“… and the Vatican has made it official. The attack on the papal conclave was evidently the work of the Turkish government, a cowardly attempt by its Muslim leaders to destroy the very heart and soul of Christendom. Of the one hundred fifteen Catholic cardinals gathered inside the chapel to elect a new pope, only one has survived, Cardinal Orso of Rome, and even he is now in a coma in an unspecified hospital somewhere in the city.”
&nbs
p; The reporter had been looking back at the chaos and carnage behind him, bodies still being pulled from the wreckage and laid out on white sheets in the middle of St. Peter’s Square. Now he turned to face the camera, his eyes red and puffy with grief. “Giuseppe, one question still remains. What about the white smoke that emerged from the chimney atop the doomed Sistine Chapel in the moments just before the attack? There’s little doubt that a new pope had been chosen. But who? Was it one of the cardinals who lost their lives in the crash and subsequent explosion? Or was it perhaps Cardinal Orso, who many had pegged as one of the leading candidates going into the conclave? If Cardinal Orso survives and wakes up from his coma, perhaps we may someday know the answer to that question. Or, more likely, it will remain a mystery for all time, and the Church will have to find a new way to identify the person God has chosen to lead His Church out of these horrific and troublesome times. Back to you, Giuseppe.”
Orso heard steps coming down the hall, and quickly turned off the television and closed his eyes. He needed to think, he needed time to come up with a plan for how to handle all this when he finally emerged from the coma. The reporter had suggested that maybe he—as the last cardinal still alive—might know the answer as to who was actually elected pope by the conclave in the last few minutes of its existence. And that suggested a unique opportunity. He just needed to think everything through very carefully. He couldn’t afford any slip-ups, not now, not when God had apparently granted him a second chance at realizing his life-long ambition: his dream of becoming pope.
37
The Tunnel