by Rene Fomby
He also saw a second email, one from the U.S. Attorney’s office handling the case. Apparently they were refusing to share any of the evidence they had until and unless he was appointed official council for Nabil Rahum. And that was a problem. Although he had submitted his formal application to practice before the Southern District of Texas, he had no idea when that would get approved. Sam Tulley was already on the approved list, so he assumed he could slip in under her license, but that still left problem number two.
The Rahum case was a hot potato, and not a single lawyer in Houston—or anywhere in the state of Texas, for that matter—wanted to have anything to do with it. It was the kind of case that could taint a lawyer’s reputation forever, like the proverbial bad apple. That meant, if he signed on to it, or signed Sam up as senior counsel, they were stuck with it forever. If for some reason he changed his mind, there was no way any federal judge was ever going to let him off the hook and approve his withdrawal as counsel. Besides, the U.S. Attorney would probably be overjoyed at having a wet-behind-the-ears newbie attorney taking point for the defense. It just made their job all that much easier. And the judge would be delighted to move the case along at warp speed and not have to deal with any of the routine road blocks a more experienced attorney might throw out.
He checked the clock on his computer. Still the middle of the day out in Italy. He grabbed his phone and sent Sam a text.
※
Sam couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Instead of urging Catholics around the world to reach out to their Muslim neighbors in peace, the pope seemed to be inciting just the opposite. And the main body of his speech—she had never actually read any of the Christian New Testament, but it sure sounded like he was using direct quotations from scripture to back up his call to war.
Just then her phone dinged. A text from Harry. She really didn’t have time to deal with anything more at the moment, but it was Harry—
※
Harry’s phone rang only once before he answered. “Sam! Thanks for getting back to me. I understand you’re pretty swamped at the moment.”
“Up to our asses in alligators, as they say in Louisiana. What’s going on, partner?”
“Okay, I don’t want to keep you, but I wanted to let you know I’ve run into a little snag on the new case.” Quickly he brought her up to speed on the issues with the U.S. Attorney’s office. “So they won’t even let me in to talk to him before I—we—officially sign on to the case.”
“Hmm. And that would mean we’d be in it for the long haul. No judge in his right mind would ever let us withdraw.”
“Exactly what I was thinking. So, you got any ideas on how to proceed from here?”
Sam chewed on her lower lip. “I don’t have anything you haven’t probably already thought of, but maybe I can give Gavin a call. He might have some contacts at the FBI, someone who can put a little pressure on the Feds to at least let you do a face-to-face with Nabil. I can’t see signing onto the case without at least getting that under our belt.”
“Hey, I’d appreciate that, Sam. Oh, by the way, what do you think about the pope’s little speech?”
Sam was sitting at her desk looking out across the Piazza San Marco at the Doge’s Palace, where she knew Carlo Rossi and the prime minister were huddled right at that moment with their closest advisors, trying to find some way to climb out of this whole sordid mess.
“Well, I don’t really know, Harry. I’m kind of thinking whatever struck him down during the conclave must have done some permanent damage to his brain. The man is totally off his rocker.”
“Yeah, I’d have to agree. But even down here in the Protestant heartland, people are already going nuts. Hardly anything is getting done, everyone’s all out in the streets. And not a Muslim to be seen anywhere.”
“That doesn’t sound very promising for your new potential client, Harry. Or, I should say, our client.”
“No, Sam, it doesn’t. And if all this craziness continues, anyone even remotely associated with a known Arab terrorist isn’t exactly going to feel a whole lot of love around here. So I’m thinking maybe we take a powder on this one.”
“Hare, you’ve got to follow your heart, do what’s right and ignore everybody else. If you take the high road, it’ll all work out okay in the end.”
“Yeah, I know. The problem is, unless we can get more info on the case, get a better read on whether we think he did it, my heart just doesn’t know which way to turn.”
“I hear you. Look, I’ll reach out to Gavin, see if he can shake the tree a little for us. Meanwhile, if things in Houston are anything like the way they are out here, stay safe and stay off the streets if you can. I’ve got a bad feeling things are going to get a whole lot worse before they ever take a turn for the better. If in fact they ever do.”
74
Madrid
Gavin snatched up his phone on the second ring. “Hey, Sam! Good to hear from you! What do you know these days?”
Gavin still hadn’t received a permanent desk assignment, so he had decided to hang out in Madrid for the time being while he followed up on the whereabouts of the missing Ramon Mendez. The American Embassy was full to the gills with personnel evacuated from North Africa, but they had managed to snag him a small office just south of the monument to Christopher Columbus on the Paseo de la Castellana.
“I wish I could tell you all was fine and dandy, Gavin, but I’d be lying. The entire country of Italy is a complete mess right now.”
“Yeah, the embassy here’s been taking on a ton of stragglers from Rome the past few days. I get the impression that city’s pretty much shut down completely.”
“As is the rest of the country, to be honest. With all the craziness going around, I’ve had to lock up half of my factories and send everybody home for the duration. With pay, of course. None of this is their fault, but I’ve heard some nasty rumors that some of the workers might be planning a little sabotage, so better to be safe than sorry.”
“As if they didn’t have enough problems as it is.”
“Yeppers. As the guy says, I guess you just can’t fix stupid. But hey, enough about me. How did things work out in Toledo?”
“Bad on every front.” Gavin explained everything that had happened, and how he was now trying to chase down his traitorous former partner. “Other than that, Sam, I got no leads. Just one more missing federal agent, and that one single, mysterious word, if I even got that part right in the first place.”
“Grim, eh? Yeah, that’s not much to go on. But I’m pulling for you, Agent Larson. If anyone can find Andy, it’ll be you.”
“Thanks. But I’ve pretty much given up any hope myself right about now.” Gavin leaned back in his chair, staring out at the street traffic one story below. “So I take it you’re not just calling to chit chat. What’s up?”
“Harry’s picked up a case in Houston. You may have heard of it, the alleged terrorist bombing of a refinery out in Baytown.”
“Yeah, I caught some of that. What’s the deal, Harry thinks they might have the wrong man?”
“Something like that. Anyway, he—we—haven’t decided whether we want to take him on, for obvious reasons, but before Harry walks away from it, he at least wanted to talk to the guy, get his story. Problem is, the U.S. Attorney is putting up a wall, saying we have to commit to the case before we get any evidence or access at all. We can’t even talk to the guy.”
“Okay, I think I know where you’re going with this. There’s a good chance this case will turn out to be one big turd cake, and you don’t want to swallow it down whole before you at least check it out.”
“Pretty much dead on, Gavin. So, what do you think? Do you still have any contacts out in Houston that Harry could talk to, make sure the Feds’ case on this guy is as airtight as they’re letting on?”
“I do know this one guy, owes me a huge favor from way back …”
“Look, Gavin, I don’t want you—”
“No, no, it’s okay, S
am. After everything we’ve been through together, I feel I owe you a big one, too. Look, obviously I can’t make any promises, but let me make some calls and see what I can find out. Harry still got the same cell number?”
“He does, it’s the 512 area code from when he lived in Austin.”
“Okay, give me a few hours. I’m kind of sitting on my hands right now, anyway, waiting for Bob Sanders to get back to me on that little rat bastard Ramon Mendez. So it’ll give me something useful to do.”
“Thanks, Gavin, I really appreciate it. How are things out in Spain, anyway? Are people going crazy like they are everywhere else in Southern Europe?”
“Not so bad, at the moment, at least not compared to your neck of the woods. And Greece. Wow. I’ve heard rumors that we might be pulling out of Athens, too, maybe in the next few days. The pope’s little speech hasn’t helped, either. Holy war? Holy shit, is what I say.”
“I’m with you, Gav. Well, good luck with the hunting. Call me if you need anything, anything at all.”
“Will do, Sam. And you watch your back, okay? You seem to have this thing for attracting fire bombs and car bombs.”
“Hopefully that’s all behind us, Gavin, so I’ll just stick to dropping F bombs for the time being. But that reminds me, I do owe Mehmed a check-in call. He’s slowly getting back to some sort of normal, but I hate to think what would have happened to him if you hadn’t shown up with the U.S. cavalry—”
“All part of the job, Sam. All part of the job. Just glad we’ve got the cavalry on our side, you know?”
75
Cappadocia
“Well, the pope’s speech couldn’t have been any better if I’d written it myself. Which I pretty much did.”
Constantine had set up a desk in his garden, soaking in the desert sun one last time before the big move. Duval was seated across from him, sorting through a pile of folders.
“Yes, Sire, it was very effective. Do you think Patriarch Eusebius will go along with it, though? I mean, the Schism has been in place for almost one thousand years. Do you think there’s any way the two churches can reconcile things?”
“Eusebius will do as I command, Duval. I’ve already sent him a message, and he should be making the announcement sometime later today. Meanwhile, is everything in place for tonight?”
“Yes, the faithful have been summoned, and they will start collecting at the Chi Rho churches just after sunset, ready to receive their sacraments.”
“Good. Good.” Constantine looked up and noticed that the sun had already begun its slow descent into the west. “Just a matter of hours, now, and everything in this world will change forever. Just as the Lord formed our world out of chaos, so must the new world be forged out of the fires of chaos as well. I look forward to finally settling into our new palace, and leaving this abominable hole in the dirt behind us.”
“It has served us well, though,” Duval noted as she stood up to leave. “But if Your Grace will excuse me, I still have a great many details to look into before this evening.”
“Of course. We’re still on track for Saturday?”
“Yes, Your Grace. I promise you, you will awaken in the new palace on the Sabbath.”
“Excellent! Keep me posted on everything that happens.”
“I will, Sire. Project Eschaton will go off exactly as planned. New Rome is already at our doorstep.” She looked up, watching the dark stain on the northern horizon. “The forecast calls for heavy storms, arriving sometime late this afternoon. I will send someone to move your desk inside before it gets here.”
Constantine nodded, distracted, as Duval set off for the elevator that would take her down to her office, six floors below. She still hadn’t moved into Boucher’s office—no time for that, and with the bigger move scheduled in just two more days, there really wasn’t any point. But Boucher … what in the world could possibly have happened to the General?
76
Houston
Harry didn’t recognize the caller ID showing up on his phone, but it was from a local number in Houston, so he took it anyway.
“This is Harry Crawford. How might I help you?”
“Mr. Crawford, this is Special Agent Jeffrey Parker. I’m an old friend of Gavin Larson.”
Harry sat up a little straighter at his desk. A friend of Gavin’s? It looked like Sam had come through after all. “Yes, Mr. Parker. Good to hear from you. I take it this is about the Nabil Rahum case?”
“Look, I can’t talk specifics right now, but can we meet up, say, over breakfast tomorrow morning?
“Sure. You name the time and place.”
“How about that chicken and donuts place in the Heights? You know where it is?”
“I do. And I’ve been dying to try it, but you know, donuts …”
“One of the seven unforgivable sins, for sure. But I’ll let you buy me one, anyway, and we can talk. How does really early in the morning sound? Sevenish? You have a problem getting up with the chickens yourself?”
“Seven is great. I’ll see you there.”
Harry hung up and stared for a moment at his phone. What could an FBI agent possibly have to talk about that he didn’t feel safe discussing over the phone? Was this case about to take a hard left turn on him?
77
Venice
With the workday finally coming to a close, Sam cleaned up her desk and grabbed her purse, heading out for a quick bite at a café in the Piazza downstairs. But she hadn’t yet made it out of her office when her phone rang. Annoyed, she pulled it out of her purse and checked the screen. Carlo Rossi.
“Carlo! The fourth call from you today. That must be some kind of record. What’s new with you?”
“Samantha. Are you someplace safe right now?”
“Sure, I’m in my office. I was just heading downstairs for dinner.”
“Stay there. I’ll send a team to get you.”
“A team? Are you sure that’s—”
“Trust me. All hell is breaking loose in Europe right now, from southern Spain to Italy, and all the way to Greece. I can’t risk having anything happen to you.”
She stepped over to the window looking out over the Piazza, and sure enough, it looked like a full-scale riot had broken out down below. One police car had been tipped over on its side and set ablaze, and soldiers were quickly erecting barricades in front of the Doge’s Palace.”
“Carlo, what the heck is happening out there?”
“Not really sure just yet. But Venice—Venice is nothing. The reports I’m seeing—” He broke off abruptly, talking excitedly off to the side to somebody else, then came back on the line. “I’ll have someone at your office in less than ten minutes. In the meantime, sit tight, and don’t open the door for anyone. They’ll ring you on your phone when they’re ready to extract you.”
“Okay, I’ll sit tight. Where are they taking me?”
“We’ll meet up on a ship stationed out in the Adriatic. It’s the safest place for any of us right now. Trust me.”
“I do, Carlo. But—my daughter? In Siena? Is she safe there? Even inside the castle?”
“I already have some people on that. Your daughter, your mother-in-law, we’ll get them someplace safe, too, until we can get this all sorted out.” He sounded distracted again, with muffled shouts coming over the line. “Look, I’ve got to go. I’ll see you on the ship later tonight.”
And Sam heard a click as the finance minister hung up the line.
78
Madrid
Gavin had just shut down the computer in his office and gathered up his things to leave when the violence erupted out on the street below. The scene from his window looked like a total free-for-all had broken out, with gunfire everywhere and people running aimlessly in all directions, so he pulled his 9mm pistol out of his desk drawer and checked to make sure it was loaded and ready. Eleven rounds in the magazine, one in the chamber.
Even with the window closed, he could smell smoke, and he immediately spotted a large f
ire raging unchecked in a building just across the way. Flipping his computer back on, he was instantly deluged with field reports from all across Europe. The entire continent was going berserk. Sometime just after sunset, mobs of people from Greece all the way to southern Spain had pounced on anyone and everyone they came across, focusing especially on anyone who looked Islamic or like members of government offices. The army had been called out in each of those countries to try and restore order, but nothing seemed to be working.
He caught one brief news flash out of Athens, something about one of the crazies who had been nabbed by the police and who literally had torn his own arm off trying to get away. None of it made sense, it was all like some insane television show about a zombie apocalypse.
Just then he heard a massive explosion, somewhere close and off to the south of him. Unlocking his window, he pushed it open and leaned out. Flames and smoke were billowing from the Congress of Deputies, Spain’s version of the House of Representatives. He could already make out emergency crews rushing at top speed in that direction, ignoring all of the other violence breaking like a fiery wave across the city.
His phone dinged. The embassy was under assault, and they were texting out instructions for all American personnel to take cover. The world had gone stark raving mad.
79
Cappadocia
Duval knocked, and Constantine called out for her to enter.
“Your Grace, it has begun. Everything is proceeding exactly as planned. Athens, Venice, Madrid, even southern France. All in flames, with their governments completely neutralized.”
“Madrid?”
“Yes, the Catalan deputy entered the chamber in the middle of an emergency session of the Spanish Congress. As we expected, no one thought to check him for explosives. Almost half of the three hundred fifty members were killed immediately, and many of the rest will die from their injuries overnight.”