New Rome Rising

by Rene Fomby

  ※

  “I’m telling you, the map and my GPS say it’s right here, but I don’t see no mosque.” The maze of narrow, winding streets and the complete absence of anything resembling a skyline had Dez completely turned around, and if it wasn’t for her phone’s GPS, she would have no idea by now where exactly in Toledo she was standing. It could be anywhere as far as she was concerned.

  “Okay, I get you,” Gavin agreed, looking around himself for anything even remotely resembling a mosque. “The tourist map shows it standing right out in the open, with a big red dot marking the spot, but it looks like we were misled. Let’s just walk in the direction of the cathedral and pick something else along the way.”

  “How about that theater, just across the street from the church?” Ramon suggested. “We could split up from here, then rendezvous back there in about an hour.”

  Gavin shook his head. “Too close. If anyone’s watching—”

  “I’m not saying we sit down together or something,” Ramon explained. “Just make eye contact, then Dez can take off in the direction of that synagogue she’s been dying to see, and you and I can follow a short distance behind.”

  “That’ll work,” Dez said, stowing her phone and the map in her bag. “In that case, I’ll go first, then you guys come along about five minutes apart. Plan?”

  “Plan,” Gavin and Ramon echoed, shoving their own phones in their front pockets.

  “Okay, the guide book says you have to buy a ticket to get in. The tickets are sold at a small gift shop across from the entrance. Go to the front of the church, then turn left down a small street that runs along the south side. The shop is about halfway down the block. I’ll buy a ticket, then let’s space ourselves out every fifteen minutes. One of us leaves the church as the next one enters.”

  “Got it.” Gavin pointed toward a small tourist shop. “I’ll hang out here for the next thirty minutes or so, until it’s my time. See you in an hour.”

  ※

  The guidebook said Toledo’s cathedral was a masterpiece, well worth the ten bucks it took to get in, but Gavin didn’t get it. To him it just looked like just another tired old European church, a church that had long since worn out its welcome on that increasingly agnostic continent. But he wasn’t there to be a tourist, so he wandered deeper into the heart of the cathedral, trying to blend in with all the other tourists while he surreptitiously scouted the darkest corners of the church for ambush points and sniper positions. And the place was full of them.

  The cathedral roof was supported by dozens of massive columns, each of which looked like it was itself composed of maybe a dozen smaller columns, all mashed together into one. Straight ahead of him was a tall, boxy structure he assumed from the church map he had studied was the choir, the appointed meeting place for the midnight tête-à-tête with the mysterious Spanish priest. Turning toward the entrance to the choir, his eyes were immediately drawn upward by a brightly colored decoration situated squarely behind a large skylight that was cut deep into the ceiling. Life-sized carved figures of various Biblical figures and a crowd of what appeared to be angels hung dangerously along the edges of the hole, giving the sense that they might tumble out onto the cathedral floor at any moment. Colored frescos of other scenes from the Bible covered the walls around and behind the sculptures. It was like nothing Gavin had ever seen, nor expected to ever see in a thirteenth-century church.

  Now suitably impressed, he continued his walk toward what he thought was the front of the church, where he came to a massive floor-to-ceiling altarpiece, covered with life-sized carved figures spelling out stories from the New Testament, all adorned in more gold than he imagined might be stored away in all of Fort Knox. The altarpiece itself was protected from the public by large iron grates, but even so the effect was stunning. Which was obviously the intent.

  Since the altarpiece was under lock and key, any attack that night was unlikely to come from that direction, so he turned back to examine the choir itself. A large crowd of boisterous schoolkids had filled up the room, chattering and laughing and doing everything in their power to avoid paying attention to their schoolmaster, so he decided to examine the area from a distance. There was a life-sized statue standing atop a table at the front of the choir that he assumed was the Virgin Mary with a toddler Jesus—life-sized apparently being the recurring theme of this cathedral—but he couldn’t find anything threatening about the wide-open choir, so once again he moved on.

  Several rooms branched off the main cathedral. One was labeled The Treasury, and he danced quickly through the crowds oohing and ahhing at the decorations in the main area and ducked inside. The room’s roof was covered with a spiderweb of spun gold, and glass cases throughout the room were filled with ostentatious displays of gold and jewels. The centerpiece was a 500-pound, 10-foot high Monstrance, an intricate tower of pure silver covered with gold that was carried each year through the streets of Toledo during the Feast of Corpus Christi. Gavin couldn’t imagine what the security must be like for that parade.

  Having finished with that room, he moved on to another area, a room with walls literally covered with paintings by the Spanish artist El Greco, a former resident of Toledo. Gavin seemed to recall from his quick scan of Dez’s guide book that the name “El Greco” came from the fact that the artist had been born somewhere in Greece, hence the name, and had moved to Spain at some point in his late thirties.

  Checking his watch, Gavin noticed that he had already lingered well beyond the agreed meeting time in front of the theater, so with a final glance to etch the cathedral’s layout into his mind, he aimed for the exit. As he did so, he noted with scientific precision that the main cathedral doors had been securely locked, and there appeared to be another small entrance on the north side of the church that was locked as well.

  Stepping outside, he had to shield his eyes from the sudden onslaught of light, so he pulled a pair of Foster Grants out of his jacket pocket and slipped them on. He then turned right, retracing his steps toward the front of the cathedral, and as he turned the corner he saw Dez and Ramon right away, drifting around apparently aimlessly in front of the cathedral. Dez caught his eye, briefly, and with a small twitch of her hand she headed off down the hill toward the historic Jewish synagogue.

  65

  Venice

  “Harry, where are you? You sound like you’re inside some kind of tunnel.” Sam switched her phone to her other ear, hoping it would help her hear him better. But it didn’t.

  “Sorry, Sam. I’m in my car, heading back home from the office. Interstate 10 is under construction again, so the sound you’re hearing is from my tires being worn bald by all the broken asphalt. I can hang up and call you again from the house?”

  “No, this is fine. I need to blow out of here in a second, anyway, so it’s good you caught me now. What’s going on out in Texas?” Sam held up a hand, letting Finance Minister Rossi know she would be slightly delayed leaving his new office.

  “I picked up a potential new case today, and I need to run it by you to make sure it’s even something I should consider. There are deep political implications that could result in a major blowback for the firm, so it’s not a decision I’m comfortable making on my own.”

  “Okay, look Harry, I trust your judgment on this, as I do on everything. But if you want, shoot me a short email and I’ll check it out. I’ll get back to you by lunchtime in Texas. That sound all right with you? Or do you need something faster?”

  “A couple of hours will be perfect. What are you up to, by the way? Your office said you’re stuck in Venice for the time being. Bank troubles again?”

  “No.” She glanced over at Rossi. “I don’t know how much I can say right now, particularly over an unsafe line. And my office really shouldn’t be broadcasting my whereabouts, even to you. After all, you could have been one of Willie’s cronies. But let’s Skype when I get home tonight. I’ll buzz you over the law firm’s secure VPN. Sound good?”

  “Can’t wait,
Sammie. And I can’t wait to tell you about all the houses I found for you when you come out house hunting next month.”

  “O-k-a-y, now it’s me who can’t wait!” Sam stepped out into the hall as Rossi reached behind her to make sure the door was locked. “See you in a few, bestie.”

  “Only if I don’t see you first,” Harry responded with a chuckle.

  66

  Vatican City

  The bald man tossed the clutch of papers onto his desk with disgust. “You’ve got to be kidding me, Joseph. First, all-out global war with the Muslims, and now this? Is this man insane?”

  Joseph Pinotti pulled at his nose, staring down at the rough draft of the pope’s new idea, a letter to the patriarch of Constantinople proposing a reunification of the two halves of the once both Catholic and Orthodox Church. “It’s been tried before …”

  “No, it’s been mentioned before. It’s been trial ballooned before. But I think everyone realizes that, a thousand years after a very nasty and public divorce, the Catholic and Orthodox Churches cannot possibly be Humpty Dumpty’d back together again. Way too much water has passed under that bridge since the Schism, even if we could find some way to reconcile the original issues that drove them apart.”

  “Yes, my old friend, I agree. I can’t see Patriarch Eusebius agreeing to take a knee before the pope, any more than Cerularius did. And Eusebius has the added problem of dealing with the pope’s anti-Muslim rhetoric, all the while ruling over a church that is completely surrounded by Islam. In fact, I wouldn’t at all be surprised to hear that the Turks have already had him arrested and put on trial for treason against the state.”

  “So what do we do about it, Joseph? Benedict the pope? Is that even a possibility?” Savio began pacing the room in frustration.

  “No, I think not. Forcing Orso to resign and then putting him on ice, that’s not going to work with this pope. Besides, unlike Benedict, Orso is wildly popular. Plus, even if we could somehow remove him, who’s going to take his place? And how? Every cardinal who could vote in a conclave is now dead, thanks to the Turks, and the pope still hasn’t named any replacements.”

  “What about the Families? What’s their opinion on all this?”

  “The Black Nobility? Well, that’s a split decision. Most of them are just grateful they can finally step back out of the shadows, after fifty years of hiding. And they have this pope to thank for that.”

  “Surely you have some sway over all of them? You’re the head of the House of Borghese, after all, and Grand Master of the Order of Christ. One of the last remaining princes of the Church. They’ve trusted you to protect their interests in the Vatican ever since your father died. They’ll trust your instincts again, you just have to ask.”

  “I think they’re way too busy dealing with the sudden restoration of their special status and position at the Vatican, all thanks in no small part to Orso. And remember, I may have been one of the highest-ranking members of the Families in recent history, but I’m nothing now compared to the pope.”

  “So we’re stuck with the Miracle pope, is that what you’re saying?” Savio stopped pacing and slumped into a chair, his head sunk deep into his hands.

  “I’m afraid so. He’s with us for the long haul, so we’re just going to have to figure out how to manage him. If that’s really even possible. And as for this—” He reached down to scoop up the copy of the pope’s letter to Patriarch Eusebius, stuffing it into his briefcase. “Eusebius is in no position to agree to it, so it’s dead in the water at this point. Nothing we need to worry about.”

  “You look like you’re heading out. Where to this time?” the bald man asked.

  “There’s an emergency NATO meeting in Paris tonight, a discussion of what to do about Turkey. Most of the members think the plane incident was simply the final straw in a long series of hostile moves by the Turkish regime against the West.”

  “And you’ll be there why?”

  “pope Peter’s call for a religious war against Islam has stirred up a hornet’s nest within the NATO bloc. They’ve asked the Vatican to provide assurances that it is all nothing but empty rhetoric, bluster in the chaotic aftermath of Turkey’s attack.”

  “Can you make that promise? I don’t see the pope backing down from his position so soon ….”

  “And he won’t. The papal bull will be released while I’m standing before the North Atlantic Council.”

  “And what will happen then?”

  Joseph paused just before stepping through the doorway and turned back. “Then there will be war, my friend, on a scale mankind has never seen before. And then all hope for the future of this world will be lost.”

  67

  Houston

  With Sam’s blessing on the case, Harry called the imam and several of Nabil’s professors. Every single one of them vouched overwhelmingly for his honor, and while two of the professors acknowledged that the evidence appeared incontrovertible, at least what evidence the police had made public, they all swore that he was the very last person they would have expected to waltz into a refinery and blow the place up.

  Something about this case made Harry’s sixth sense tingle. Something about it just didn’t add up. An engineering doctoral candidate with no history of religious extremism or violence or embitterment at some kind of slight in the workplace or classroom, why in the world would he do something like this?

  Once again Harry pulled up the video that had been playing for days on all the news feeds. Nabil is shown bending down, fooling with something hidden behind a pipe riser, with his fellow engineers standing nearby, not paying any attention. Then, suddenly, he stands up and walks briskly away from the camera. About a minute or so later, the view becomes complete chaos, a sudden violent explosion and flames and smoke, and when it all clears, bodies are lying everywhere. All of the bodies except for those of the two people who had been standing closest to the blast, bodies that were now merely vaporized gas and ashes.

  On his third time through the video, this time in super-slow-motion, Harry thought he noticed something. A glitch of some sort—a frame of the video that jumped just a fraction. He went back to that point and ran it in a loop, watching the little hiccup in the video feed from the security cameras over and over. Sure enough, something was off. But what? Was it just a malfunction of the recording technology, like when Netflix stuttered over a slow Internet connection? He made a note of that frame number on the video to look into later, then resumed his painstakingly slow examination of the rest of the recording.

  68

  Toledo, Spain

  With Dez taking a covering position across the street from the south entrance and Ramon covering the north entrance, Gavin ducked through the unlocked south-side door and stepped into the almost pitch-black belly of the now empty cathedral. He pressed his back to the wall inside the door for a few seconds to let his eyes adjust, then stalked quickly across the open floor to the relative safety of the choir walls. His eyes automatically swept for targets, places where an assailant might be hiding, but of course it was what he couldn’t see that mattered in a situation like this.

  The soft-soled shoes he had chosen for the meeting were a blessing, as even the slightest sound echoed in the empty abyss of the church. Gavin was dressed all in black to blend into the ebon surface of the night, his well-tanned face the only minor exception to his otherwise fully camouflaged regalia.

  Near the front of the church he slipped past the statue of the Virgin Mary and into the body of the choir. Here the darkness was even more intense, almost physical, a thick woolen blanket pressing down on all of his senses. Slowly he scanned the room in front of him, but nothing jumped out at him from the oppressive gloom. He glided toward the choir seats to his left, using his memory to augment his limited vision and keeping his footsteps as silent as the night, his left hand stretched out blindly into the inky darkness. About halfway into the room he felt a cold knob directly in front of him. He pulled a small well-shielded LED light out of his poc
ket and flicked it on.

  A leering, fanged demon stared right into his face, not a foot away.

  ※

  Gavin jumped back without thinking, his heart thudding in his chest. When his breathing finally settled, he flicked on the light again, and this time he could see in an instant that the demon was nothing more than a wooden carving, decorating the end of a row of choir stalls.

  “It’s called a misericord,” said a voice directly behind him, making him jump for the second time in almost as many seconds. Gavin spun around, and with the light from his little flashlight he could see the face and outline of a priest, his point of contact for the meeting. “Well, not that particular carving, actually, but the carvings on the other seats. They work like little shelves to help support the buttocks of monks and other worshipers who are forced to stand for uncomfortably long periods of time during services. But then, that’s not why you came here tonight, is it?”

  Gavin drew in another deep long breath to resettle his nerves as he examined the shadowy priest standing before him. “No, it isn’t. I’m here for information of a far different sort, and I’m told you can provide it.”

  “You were? My, that’s curious, because actually I have a little something I need to show you.” With a blur, the priest whipped out a snub-nosed pistol from deep within his robes, and, reacting instinctively, Gavin swung his little metal flashlight to intercept it. The flashlight impacted something soft, probably flesh, and as the priest yelped with pain, Gavin finished the move by bringing up his left knee, slamming into the gun from below and forcing it out of the priest’s grip. The priest dropped to the floor, wasting a few precious moments searching hopelessly for the gun in the dark as Gavin reached into the small of his back and pulled out his own pistol.

  Immediately one of the misericord chairs behind him exploded with the impact of a large-caliber round. Gavin ducked and swung around, searching the front of the choir room for the source of the gunshot, when the priest body checked him from the rear. His own gun went sailing off into the darkness as he spun back around to defend himself, now almost impossible in the murky blackness of the cathedral. Another shot rang out and bounced off the floor right at his feet, and immediately he heard a loud “oof” that told him the bullet had found its final resting place in the body of the wayward priest. Keeping low and trying to use the south side of the choir for cover, he made it to the front just as a shotgun blast and several other gunshots rang out to his right.