Mystery: The Sam Prichard Series - Books 5-8

by David Archer

  Gary shrugged. “This one was specially ordered, and ran about twelve grand. If you don't need all the different operating systems, you can probably get one for less than ten.”

  Sam whistled. “Put it on your Christmas list, baby, and I'll see what I can talk Santa into. Meanwhile, let's get both your computers up and doing their jobs. Gary, you never did answer her question.”

  “Well, first things first,” he said. “What we'll need to do is lock onto the number you're going to call, got that handy?” Sam dug out a piece of paper and passed it over to him. “Okay, now what I'll do is go into the major telephone service here, and do a highly illegal tap on that line.” He sat down at his computer and began tapping on its keys like a piano virtuoso playing a master composition. Indie stood at his shoulder, watching everything he did. Sam noticed that she nodded a lot, as if approving of his actions or techniques.

  A moment later, Gary handed the slip of paper back to Sam. “Okay, I've locked on to that number. What I've done, is built a virtual clone of that phone into this computer, so that I can hear and record everything that goes through that number. That includes touch tones, so any number that gets dialed on the phone will be displayed right here on my monitor. Okay, Mr. Prichard, you can call whenever you're ready.” He plugged in a set of headphones and slipped them over his ears.

  “It's just Sam, Gary,” Sam said. “Okay, I'm calling now.” Sam dialed the number from the paper into his phone, and then listened as it rang. It was answered a moment later by a man's voice.

  7

  “Hello?” The voice seemed slightly hesitant.

  “My name is Sam Prichard,” Sam said, “and I was given this number by Harry Winslow. He told me to call whenever I got to Rome.”

  Again there was a slight hesitation. “Well, Mr. Prichard,” said the voice, with a slight but discernible Italian accent, “any friend of Mr. Winslow is a friend of mine. How can I be of service to you?”

  “Well, I'm here on business,” Sam said. “There's a situation that I've been asked to try to prevent, a situation that could have grave consequences for the entire world. Do you have any idea what the situation is I'm referring to?”

  “I'm afraid that I do not,” said the voice. “And worse, I have forgotten my manners. My name is Vito, Vito Mangione. Now, can you be a little more specific about the situation?”

  “Is your line secure?” Sam asked abruptly.

  “It is,” Vito said. “You may continue.”

  “Okay, good,” Sam said. “I've been working with Harry on a case involving a rogue American agent. This man's been orchestrating a plot to bring about a global government, actually following a great deal of biblical prophecy regarding the end times. Now, he hasn't been going at it from a Christian perspective, but was following some weird Mesopotamian religions, but it comes out pretty much the same.”

  “Following biblical prophecy? Are you talking about the Book of the Revelation?”

  “Yes, exactly,” Sam said. “The man's name was Chandler, and he was basically setting himself up to be the puppetmaster behind the antichrist and the false prophet. Now, that's how we would see them from the Christian world, of course, but he had a different viewpoint on it that fit his own religious beliefs. All I know about that is that he didn't see the end of the story the same way that we do.”

  Vito was quiet for a moment. “Chandler? I don't believe I've heard that name. Is it someone I should know?”

  “Not that I'm aware of,” Sam said. “The issue right now is that his plans involve creating some terrible disasters, acts of terrorism on a scale like we've never seen before. He designed his plan with several steps, each one worse than the one before, and each is triggered by the one before it. From what we've been able to determine, the very first step, the very first tragic event, is the assassination of His Holiness, the pope.”

  There was a gasp on the line. “But this cannot be! Who would do this terrible thing?”

  “That's the problem were dealing with,” Sam said. “We've got to figure out either who is arranging it, or who the actual assassin is, and the big problem is that we don't know when this is supposed to take place. Do you know if the pope has any special appearances scheduled in the next few days? Anywhere that might make him vulnerable to an attack?”

  “Actually, no,” said Mangione. “His Holiness is taking some time for personal reflection, and is not leaving his chambers for a few days. If this thing you speak of is to happen soon, it would have to be, how do you say it, an inside job? It would have to be someone with access to the papal apartments. That would be nearly impossible; I cannot imagine anyone who could have such access and entertain such thoughts.”

  “Look, Vito,” Sam said, “I'm part of a team from the United States that's been assigned to stop this from happening. Officially, no country is recognizing any of the things that I told you as fact. This man Chandler had so many people involved in his plots, and has amassed so much influence, and you can read between the lines on that, that even our leading politicians are scared to go against him. Now, he, himself, is out of the picture; unfortunately, he designed this plot to continue even without him or his involvement. What that means is that whoever is supposed to do these things is probably going to go right ahead with their part of the plan. The disaster is that if that person manages to bring about this assassination, it's going to set off another round of assassinations throughout Europe, followed by the sinking of some tourist cruise ships with all lives probably lost, and after that there will be an attack on American schoolchildren that I can't even describe.”

  “And how many, Mr. Prichard, are in your team? Do you have the sufficient forces to do what must be done?”

  Sam sighed. “There are four of us. Two of us are computer and intelligence experts, and the other two are investigators. We're what you've got, and we need your help. Can you give us any kind of leads that we can follow, anything to help us try to get a jump on the situation?”

  Once again, there was silence on the line for a matter of several seconds. “Mr. Prichard,” Mangione said. “If it were not for the debt that I owe to Mr. Winslow, and the fact that you have invoked his name, I'm quite certain that I would consider you a lunatic and hang up on you. However, if Harry Winslow sent you to me, then he had a reason.” There was humming on the line, as Mangione was apparently thinking through what he wanted to say next. “At this point, I don't know what to say. I'll need to think about it. I have the caller ID, can I reach you at this number?”

  “Yes,” Sam said. “Vito, please understand that we don't have anyone else to go to in Rome, at least not right now. If you come up with anything, anything at all, and I don't care if it sounds crazy to you, call me. Let my people take it and run with it, and if there's something to it than it will give us a chance to head off this disaster. If not, well, that we will have eliminated one possibility, right?”

  More humming for a moment, and then, “Very well. I will call you after I have given this some thought. Goodbye for the moment, Mr. Prichard, but I will call you again soon.”

  “Thank you, Vito,” Sam said. “I'll talk to you then.”

  Sam ended the call, and looked at Gary. The skinny kid nodded, and pointed at his monitor while unplugging his headphones.

  A dial tone suddenly could be heard through the speakers on the computer, and then there were a series of tones, as Mangione dialed a number. Sam touched Gary on the shoulder, and whispered, “Can he hear us?”

  Gary shook his head. “Nope,” he said. “It's a one-way connection. We can hear him and everything that goes through his phone, but he can't hear us at all.”

  Sam nodded, just as someone answered the call Mangione had made.

  “Salve?” the call was answered in Italian.

  “Ho appena avuto un interessante chiamata telefonica,” Mangione said, also in Italian. “Un agente Americano retiene che ci sara un tentativo di assassinare Sua Santita!”

  “Well, crap,” Sam said, “it'd b
e nice if we knew what he was saying!”

  “He said he got an interesting phone call from an American agent who thinks someone might try to assassinate the pope,” Ken said. “Or something close to that, my Italian's a little rusty.”

  The person Mangione had called said, “English. Did he say who it might be?”

  “No,” he said. “There is a group of them, special investigators from America. He said there was an American rogue agent who is essentially trying to take over the world, and he has laid a plan that involves the assassination of His Holiness.”

  “And do you believe there is any truth to the story?”

  “This agent was sent to me by Harry Winslow,” Mangione said. “That is enough to tell me that Harry Winslow believes it, and that is enough to tell me it must be true. If there is one man who always has his facts in order, it is Harry Winslow.”

  “Who is this agent? And did he tell you who the rogue agent was?”

  “The man who called me was named Sam Prichard,” Mangione said. “He said the rogue agent's name was Chandler. That's all I know at the moment.”

  “Chandler? Oh, mio caro Dio! And do you know anything about where Chandler might be?”

  “Prichard said that Chandler was no longer in the picture. I assumed that to mean that he is no longer alive. He also said that the problem they are facing is that Chandler's plans will go on with him or without him. They don't know who is behind the assassination, and have asked me if I can give them any leads. Carlo, I don't know what to do. If I go to His Holiness, I will probably not be believed, and I would have to expose these Americans. If our governments are turning a blind eye to this situation, then I fear what would happen if I try to take that path.”

  “Yes, yes,” said the man called Carlo. “I agree completely. Vito, my friend, it appears that you did not know Chandler, and in that you are very fortunate. Chandler is, or was, a power broker. He makes it possible for people to gain power, whether that power be political, financial or in some other medium. Now, the way that he always did this was by making certain that he always had information that other people did not wish to see come to light. By merely threatening to expose that information, he could direct the paths of entire nations, sometimes even groups of nations. There are so many things in our world today that were conceived in his diabolical mind that I doubt I could possibly identify them all. If he has conceived the plan that you speak of, a plan that calls for the assassination of our beloved Holy Father, then I am forced to believe that that assassination will take place. He will have devised a means for its accomplishment that will probably be beyond our ability to detect.”

  Mangione sounded like he was about to panic. “But Carlo,” he said, “we have to do something! We can't simply sit back and allow it to happen. What can we do?”

  “I agree, I agree,” said Carlo. “Let me think. Give me some time to think this through, and I shall return your call. For now, keep this between us and God.”

  “Yes, I will. Please, Carlo, if you can think of anything we can do, let me know.”

  The call ended, and Gary's fingers flew furiously over his keys. “What I'm doing,” he said, “is getting a lock on our friend Carlo, there. Odds-on, he's about to make a call of his own, and I want to know who he calls, don't you guys?”

  “Absolutely,” Ken said. Sam nodded his agreement.

  Gary sat back, and sure enough, a new sequence of tones was heard through the computer. There was ringing, and then the call was answered. This time, the person called seemed to be speaking native English.

  “John Spencer,” he said, answering the phone. “How can I help you today?”

  “John, it's Carlo. I think we may have a problem.”

  “Carlo? What kind of problem? It's gotta be serious for you to call me on this line. Fill me in, buddy.”

  “Do you remember Grayson Chandler? There are some American agents in the city who are claiming that he has orchestrated a plot to assassinate the pope. Do you know anything about this?”

  “Holy Mother! I know Chandler, but I never heard anything about this kind of thing. Who were the agents, who are they with?”

  “All I've heard is that Harry Winslow sent them,” Carlo said. “The only name I've heard is Sam Prichard. I think he must be the agent in charge. The last I knew, Winslow was in America's homeland security agency, but I don't think anyone ever believed that's all he was doing. I mean, he's Harry Winslow, anyone who wanted to retire him would probably have to do it with a bomb!”

  “Prichard, that's not a name I know. And this guy said Chandler was behind this whole thing?”

  “Yes, and as far as I know, Chandler must be dead. There was something about the Americans being worried because the plan will go off even without Chandler being alive to see it through. John, do you know anything, anything at all, about a plan to assassinate His Holiness?”

  Spencer was quiet for a moment, but then he came back on the line. “I don't know of anything,” he said, “but I did run across something a few days ago. There was a package that came in, and I thought at the time that it seemed odd-sized and heavy. We were told to just hold onto it until someone came to claim it, and we were told to release it to the person who gave us a certain code phrase. That code phrase struck me as odd, also, because it was something about white smoke from the chimney. Since the pope is alive and healthy, I thought that was a strange choice for a passphrase.”

  “Oh, my dear God!” said Carlo. “There would have to be a connection—that would be too great a coincidence to be believable. Do you have any idea what was in the package? Was it a weapon of some sort, do you think?”

  “I have no clue what was in it,” Spencer said. “Could it have been a weapon? Possibly. I can't say that it wasn't, but I can't say that it was. The package was long, probably more than three feet long, maybe eight inches tall and ten inches wide, and must have weighed almost twenty pounds. It could have been a weapon. I mean, a package that size could hold just about any kind of rifle, including a disassembled sniper rifle. Man, I wish I'd paid more attention.”

  “What about the man who picked it up?” Carlo asked. “Do you know anything about him? Were you there, did you see who picked up?”

  “No, I'm afraid I wasn't there. It was picked up day before yesterday, while I was out to lunch. Let me see if I can get Jeffrey to tell me anything. I'm going to put you on hold for a few minutes, okay?” He didn't wait for a response, but put Carlo on hold immediately.

  Sam leaned forward and looked at Gary. “We got any idea who that Spencer is?”

  Gary tapped a few keys, and then smiled up at Sam. “John William Spencer, Political and Economics Officer at the US Embassy to the Holy See. This guy is right smack in our embassy to the Vatican! And this Jeffrey he's talking about is Jeffrey Montrose, who would be his superior.”

  Indie had taken a chair and pulled it up close to where Gary was working on his computer at the desk, and was staring at him with wide-eyed wonder. Sam put a hand on her shoulder, and she turned to face him. “It's sort of like,” she said, “like – like if you got to meet Sam Spade, or any other hero you might've had growing up. Gary might be a kid, but he's probably one of the best I've ever seen at the type of thing he's doing right now. I plan to learn a lot over the next few days.”

  Sam grinned. “I've got a hunch that might go both ways. From what I gather, you've done an awful lot without having all his fancy equipment and supercomputers. There are probably things he could learn from you, too.”

  “No doubt about it,” Gary said. “We talked on the plane about a lot of things, and to be honest, I'm absolutely amazed at all she's done without any special equipment, or some of the training I've had.”

  Suddenly, the hold music they'd been listening to ended, and Spencer came back on the line. “Carlo? Listen, man, Jeffrey won't give me anything on the guy who picked up the package. I'm not sure what's going on here, but it's making me nervous. Can we meet up? Someplace outside?”

&n
bsp; Carlos let out a sigh. “Let's go to the pizzeria,” he said. “I can be there in about an hour. I just need to finish up a few things here, and then I can be on my way.”

  “Okay, Pizzeria Colombo?”

  “Yes, that's the one. I'll see you there in an hour, maybe a little more.” Carlo hung up the phone, but Spencer seemed to linger on the line for a moment longer. After a few seconds, the line went dead.

  “Okay, kids, we're on to something,” Sam said. “Do we have any idea who Carlo is?”

  “Not a hundred percent certain,” Gary said, “but I think it could be Carlo Santorini.” He tapped a few keys on his computer, and a photograph appeared on the monitor. “According to a State Department security file on the Vatican, Santorini would be an assistant to the prefect of the papal household. Now, that sounds like he'd be way up in their organization, but that isn't necessarily the case. The prefect would have dozens, maybe even hundreds of assistants, all of them people who serve as butlers, and such, to the pope. There are also a lot of Benedictine nuns who work there, doing the cooking and cleaning and such.”

  “Then, if that's him,” Ken said, “then he'd have access to the pope, himself. And you say there may be hundreds of people like him? Good God, all it would take would be one. If Chandler could turn one of these guys, all he'd have to do is slip something into the pope's food, or rig up a grenade to go off or something. How many freaking people are we going to have to check out, anyway?”

  “As many as it takes,” Sam said. “What I'm wondering is whether we should crash that little meeting of theirs at the pizzeria. Seemed to me that Spencer had something he wanted to say, just not over the phone.”

  Indie nodded her head in agreement with Sam. “Yeah, I sort of got that same feeling. It was like he knew something, but he was worried about who might overhear it, maybe even right there in his office. Might be worth somebody going out there and listening in.”

  Ken looked from her to Sam and back again, then nodded his head. “Okay. You two go. I look like crap, but you two could look like a couple of tourists. I think you should go and listen in, see what you can find out. I'll stay here with Einstein Junior, in case those guys make more weird phone calls.”