Dominus

by Tom Fox

  “Spit it out,” the Pope demanded.

  “This woman is deadly. Men who go up against her wind up one of two ways: either obliterated in the public sphere, ruined and defamed . . .”

  “Or?”

  “Or deceased, Your Holiness. A surprising number of her former opponents have had conspicuously short lives.”

  Gregory pondered the details. Then, finally, “I must speak to this woman. Get her on the phone, bring her over. I’m sure I can come to some sort of peace with her.”

  “I’m afraid that’s not going to be possible,” Raber answered.

  “Why not?”

  “Because the threats we’ve assessed are simply too great to allow for any outside interactions. From this moment, Your Holiness, I’m placing the Guard’s highest security protocols into effect. I’m going to have to insist that you remain in this room until we’ve apprehended the people who are threatening your life, and that you speak to no one while you’re here.”

  “You would make me a prisoner in my own office, Christoph?”

  Raber tried to convey a polite regret, but his features were firm. “I do apologize, Holiness. It’s for your own protection.”

  57

  Northwest wall, Vatican City: 5:18 p.m.

  Gabriella peered up at the wall before them. The whole of Vatican City was ringed by the enormous fortifications begun under Paul III nearly five centuries ago, building on earlier walls that dated almost seven centuries earlier. In most places the walls were at least two stories tall, rising as high as five in some places. All were constructed of solid stone that ranged from two to a remarkable ten meters in thickness.

  “Alex, it’s inconceivable that you think we’re going to get inside if they don’t want us to,” she said. In the deepening shadows of early evening the wall seemed even more forbidding than it did in the bright light of day.

  Alexander merely gazed at the seemingly impenetrable facade. The edges of his lips were curved in a confident smile. “Trust me, there are ways through this wall.”

  They were standing just off the Viale Vaticano, which ringed Vatican City, in a small triangle of grass and trees that met the street and abutted a series of right-angle bends in the great wall.

  “As I said before,” he continued, “people inside the Vatican have needed escape routes over the centuries.”

  “I thought the wall was meant to keep people out.”

  “Out, in—sometimes intention is a fine line. Life inside can be stifling. Members of the curia have had millennia to ensure that there are enough passages to provide for a quieter departure than walking out the Bronze Doors. Surely you’ve heard of the passetto viaduct?”

  “The one that leads into Castel Sant’Angelo?”

  Alexander nodded. “Inside the Vatican it opens into a small library in the Apostolic Palace. But that’s only one example, and that one was designed for safety rather than secrecy.”

  Gabriella looked again at the structure before them. “You’re suggesting there’s a passage here that will lead us undetected into the heart of the Apostolic Palace?”

  Alexander grinned. “Not quite. But I’m suggesting there’s a section of the wall, just over there”—he pointed to their right, to a patch of wall partially concealed behind a series of bushes—“that will provide us with a way into the grounds, emerging just behind the Città del Vaticano, the headquarters of Vatican Radio.”

  Gabriella was incredulous. “And I presume this door will just be standing open for us?”

  “It’s got a keypad,” Alexander answered. “That’s the only bit of this plan that’s not certain.”

  “The only bit!”

  Alexander ignored the sarcasm. “I’m counting on the code not having changed. I know that sounds unlikely given that it’s been a few years since I qualified as an insider. But on the flip side, the code stayed the same the whole time I was in the curia. And it’s worked every time I’ve used it to sneak in and out to visit my uncle since. All in all I’m fairly confident.”

  “So we type in your code, the door swings open, and we just stroll on into Vatican City, undetected?”

  “Oh no, we definitely won’t be undetected,” Alexander answered. “They’ll know we’re coming. There’s a camera just there,” he pointed high up to the corner of the wall, “and another just like it on the other side. And I’m pretty sure the door is monitored electronically. They’ll know we’re here the moment we get anywhere near it.”

  Gabriella looked dumbfounded. “I’m not sure it’s in our power to fight our way past the Swiss Guard.”

  “Neither am I,” Alexander answered. There was a devious smile on his face. “I was thinking we’d just let them arrest us.”

  Less than forty meters away, across the street in the room of a white stucco house with a red slate roof, Umberto and Tommaso huddled behind a narrow window. The elderly inhabitant of the ground-floor bedsit lay awkwardly in the corner, blood slowly oozing from the two bullet holes that a silenced Glock had delivered to her forehead.

  The directional microphone Maso had used earlier in the afternoon was mounted at the base of the window, which he’d opened less than three centimeters. Though the noise of traffic made clarity difficult, it was enough to monitor the conversation currently taking place on the other side of the road, beneath the shadow of the Vatican wall.

  Umberto rolled away from his crouch at the window and leaned against a nearby radiator, removing an earbud from his left ear.

  “Well,” he said, “that’s our way in.” He set down a camera, with which he’d snapped a few photos of the scene to send to Caterina. She’d asked for visual updates on everything they encountered. And after their failure to eliminate Trecchio and Fierro earlier, Umberto wanted to ensure they stayed on her good side.

  Maso turned toward him, his face disbelieving.

  “Didn’t you hear what the man just said? There’ll be guards on the other side of the door!”

  He paused, as if his point were self-evident. Umberto didn’t respond.

  “Guards,” Maso repeated more emphatically. “They’re not just going to let us waltz in after them.”

  Umberto grunted, rolled his eyes. He pointed to Maso’s hip. “What is that you have holstered there, brother?”

  “A gun.”

  “And you have others?”

  “You know I do.”

  “And you know how to shoot them?” Umberto asked.

  “Of course I bloody well know how to shoot them!”

  “Then, Maso, I simply don’t understand why we’re having this conversation.”

  58

  Swiss Guard central command center: 5:24 p.m.

  “Oberst Raber, you need to see this.”

  Raber quickly moved from his position at a central monitoring station to the control desk of one of his officers. He’d already stationed their full complement of patrols throughout the Apostolic Palace and at all major points of access and vulnerability across the city. The command center was double-staffed with officers monitoring the three hundred video cameras that fed into their central computer system.

  “See what?”

  “A trigger at the Unknown Gate.” The Unknown Gate was the sarcastic name the Swiss Guard gave to the tiny door leading from the Viale Centro del Bosco, which stood within the city just behind the radio tower, out into central Rome. The name had been given in homage to the foolish belief of members of the curia that the Swiss Guard knew nothing about it and so it could be used with impunity. In reality, it was just as closely monitored as every other point of access to the Vatican.

  “Is the movement in or out?” Raber asked.

  “The keypad’s been accessed from streetside. Someone’s trying to come in.”

  “One of ours?” Raber knew that a full shutdown of Vatican City didn’t mean that members wouldn’t sneak in and out. The possibility that it was a cardinal out for a covert meeting or a priest seeking a few hours’ respite would not be a surprise.

&nb
sp; “I don’t recognize them. Have a look for yourself, sir.”

  The officer fiddled a moment with his keyboard and two feeds appeared before them. The first was an external camera, which caught only the motions of a small stone door, swinging on its hinges in the great expanse of wall.

  The second feed came from the inside and clearly showed a male and female emerging from the entry point into Vatican City grounds.

  “They’re not ours,” Raber confirmed instantly. “Get our men to them now.”

  “They’re already on their way,” the officer answered. At the edge of the screen, the coordinated motion of a troop of guards could already be seen sweeping toward the dark premises of the Unknown Gate.

  Northwest wall, Vatican City: 5:29 p.m.

  “Careful,” Alexander announced to Gabriella, reaching up to take her hand. “There’s a bit of a drop down to the grass on this side.”

  She took his hand, grasped firmly and pulled herself through the tiny passageway in the stone. It barely qualified as a door, but it provided a way through. A second later, a soft thud, and she’d landed on the soil of the only nation in western Europe whose reigning sovereign was listed as God himself.

  It took less than three seconds for the distinctive rattle of cocking firearms to replace every other sound in Gabriella’s consciousness. She looked up to find that they were entirely ringed by Swiss Guardsmen in full tactical dress, indistinguishable from any other city’s SWAT team save for their lopsided berets bearing the ancient seal of the Pope.

  The mix of SG 552 Commando and Heckler & Koch MP5 assault rifles in their hands, however, was entirely modern.

  Without taking her eyes off the guards, Gabriella whispered to Alexander from the corner of her mouth.

  “Well, you said we’d be arrested. Here’s hoping these men are willing to limit it to that.”

  59

  5:33 p.m.

  The Swiss Guardsmen who had Alexander and Gabriella at gunpoint spoke with a politeness that was unexpected coming from men whose hands were clutched around enough firepower to obliterate them both in an instant.

  “Sir, madam, you have broken into the sovereign territory of the Vatican in violation of international law.” The man who spoke stood at the center of the semicircle that had them penned in. He looked indistinguishable from the others but seemed, by mere authority of voice and posture, to be their ranking member. “I am advising you that we are placing you under arrest on suspicion of terrorist activities.”

  “Terrorist activities?” Gabriella began. Alexander shook his head firmly. Don’t, he mouthed.

  “Two of my officers will now step forward to search you,” the lead guard continued, “but I am asking you in advance whether you are carrying on your person any weapons or dangerous objects of which we should be aware.”

  “No,” Alexander answered calmly, “we’re not.”

  “I do hope that is indeed the case,” the guardsman said. He nodded, and two of his soldiers stepped forward. The frisking they gave Alexander and Gabriella was severe and efficiently thorough.

  “They’re clean,” the pronouncement finally came. “The only items on them are personal, and two dossiers of files.” The soldier speaking handed the two folders to the officer in charge.

  “Please,” Alexander pleaded, “we’re not here to do anything but help. The Pope’s in danger, and we need those files to be able to assist.”

  The guards’ expressions didn’t change. “The Holy Father is well protected,” the lead officer said sternly, “and your possessions will be returned to you only after they’ve been examined in holding.” He motioned to another of the guards. “Place them both in cuffs. Then take them to the cells.”

  Gabriella understood the way apprehension protocols worked, and saw the signs of men working through well-rehearsed security patterns. She had to convince them to break with that normal order.

  “Before you lock us up,” she said, “we’re not here totally uninvited. We spoke earlier with Cardinal Rinaldo Trecchio.” She hoped the name-dropping might do some good. “We need to see him now.”

  The guard was unmoved. “Whatever your motivation, breaking in here was a very bad move, madam. You won’t be speaking with anyone until your arrest has been fully processed.”

  Cuffs were being locked around her wrists. Those at Alexander’s had already been secured. Yet Gabriella had to protest. These men had to listen. They couldn’t come this far only to—

  The thought remained incomplete. A barrage of gunfire overtook everything, transforming the surreal scene into one of pure chaos.

  It wasn’t gunfire like any Gabriella had ever experienced. There were no explosions, no reports of firing rounds. But she knew at once what she was beholding: the avalanche of rounds blasting into the earth at her feet was coming from suppressed weapons, bullets slicing silently through the air with deadly force.

  “Shit!” one of the Swiss Guard shouted, polite phrasing and decorum immediately abandoned. “Someone’s shooting at us!”

  “Not at us,” another guard yelled. “At them!” He pointed downward and all the guardsmen saw the same thing. The rounds were not landing at their feet.

  They were landing around the two captives they’d just arrested.

  “Cover them!” the leader shouted, and two of his men ran forward, slamming their bodies into Alexander and Gabriella and heaving them out of the line of fire.

  “And take out whoever’s doing the goddam shooting!”

  60

  5:42 p.m.

  Unlike those of their attackers, the Swiss Guard’s firearms were not suppressed and the unleashing of their return fire transformed the scene. Flashes of light blossomed in the semidarkness while the booming report of gunfire echoed off the trees and the stone of the Vatican City walls.

  “Get behind us!” one of the men shouted, ordering Alexander to his left. Beneath his feet, a clump of earth exploded, a silent round from the men outside landing centimeters from his left boot.

  He fell, more than ran, in the direction indicated. Gabriella was at his shoulder and the two of them kept pushing until they were finally out of the direct line of fire.

  “The same men from my apartment? From the car?” Alexander barked through the noise.

  “Who else could it be?” Gabriella shouted back.

  There was a slight lull in the gunfire, then a quick resumption. As five of the guards kept firing toward the source of the attack, two sidestepped from the main action and advanced to the interior of the wall itself. Keeping visible to their own men to ensure they didn’t inadvertently end up casualties of friendly fire, they inched toward the open door.

  “Now!” the commander shouted when they were close enough. His men ceased firing and the two guards covered the rest of the distance swiftly. One grabbed the open door, applied his full weight and swung it toward the closed position. As it slid into place, the second guard slammed it firmly shut, listening to ensure the lock had clicked into place. He entered a code that caused the keypad to flash red, a sign that it was locked down and would accept no more entries.

  Suddenly the scene was other-worldly quiet. The only sounds were the muted thumps of bullets slamming into the far side of the wall. But so many feet of solid stone wasn’t going to budge before ammunition of that caliber.

  “Get a team on the outside,” the leader commanded his men, “and apprehend whoever’s out there.”

  “Control’s already got men moving.”

  “Then take up positions here, and there, and there”—he signaled key locations around and behind them—“and ensure they don’t make any move toward incursion.”

  The men stepped silently into motion.

  The commanding guard finally turned to Alexander and Gabriella. They stood, hands cuffed behind them, huddled into each other. The officer glared at them.

  “It’s time you told me just who the hell you are.”

  Explaining oneself at gunpoint is never the easiest of tasks. Alexan
der was completely outside his zone of comfort. He tried to speak, but the words thumped and got stuck somewhere in his chest.

  “We’re here to see Rinaldo Trecchio,” Gabriella kicked in, repeating the cardinal’s name. She wasn’t used to being interrogated in this way either, but she had more familiarity with tense, gun-bearing scenarios than Alexander.

  “What do you want with the cardinal?” the guard demanded.

  “This is his nephew,” Gabriella answered, nudging Alexander. “The cardinal contacted us earlier today regarding an investigation we’ve been working on together.” She paused. “I’m an inspector with the Polizia di Stato.”

  “I’m unaware of any work being undertaken with the Italian police,” the guard interrupted. “Our territory is sovereign. So are our investigations.”

  “I’m not here in an official capacity,” Gabriella continued. “We’ve been looking into a series of deaths that have taken place in Rome since the arrival of the visitor you’ve had within these walls.”

  At the mention of the stranger, the guard’s features changed subtly, but remained unreadable.

  “Two men have been killed.” Alexander finally spoke, the Twitter photo of Professor Tosi colliding in his memory with the gruesome image of Marcus Crossler’s mutilated body. “We think probably by the same people just outside that door.”

  “And their intentions aim far higher. We’ve brought everything we could dig up in the way of proof,” Gabriella added, signaling the folders the guards had taken from them. “Proof of an attack against the Pope. We need to get to Cardinal Rinaldo Trecchio and provide him with what we’ve found.”

  The guard appeared to consider their information for a few silent moments, but then his face hardened. This was not his job. These were intruders; protocol was clear. They’d be taken to the cells and processed.

  He opened his mouth, but before a word emerged a chirping began in his ear.

  “Ja, Herr Kommandant.” He spoke into his mic. The two-way feed between his team and control had been live since their operation began. On the far side of the connection, Oberst Christoph Raber spoke a short series of commands to his officer.