by John Sneeden
Zane looked over her shoulder. Displayed on the screen was an article about the Vatican Secret Archives. Academics, reporters, and a few members of the general public were being allowed to tour the facility for a limited time. But it was the image at the top of the article Amanda wanted them to see. The photograph depicted a man crouching in an aisle of the Secret Archives. He was pulling out a drawer that looked just like the one in Pauling’s JPEG.
“Mystery solved,” Zane said.
“They call them the Secret Archives,” Carmen said. “I guess they’re not so secret after all.”
“Oh, they’re still very secret,” Amanda said. “The journalists were only allowed into a small, controlled area. This is a wild guess, but I’d say they probably saw less than one percent of the Vatican’s collection. And you can rest assured they didn’t see the things the Vatican wants hidden. Most of the critical documents and artifacts are housed in an underground vault.”
“Maybe that’s where the relic is being kept. And perhaps this group is going to try to break in and get their hands on it,” Carmen suggested.
“Good luck with that,” Zane said. “Vatican City is protected by the Swiss Guard, so unless they’re bringing a small army, an attempt like that would be suicidal.”
Amanda’s brow furrowed. “The Swiss Guard? Those guys in the colorful clown suits?”
While Zane had a great deal of respect for the Swiss Guard, he understood why some might underestimate their capabilities. After all, their traditional renaissance outfits with puffy sleeves and rainbow of colors didn’t exactly exude power and strength. But the image was misleading. “Don’t let the uniforms fool you. They’re a fierce fighting force. Their soldiers are as tough as any out there. I can assure you they’d quickly put down a group of common street thugs trying to punch through and take one of their relics.”
“And how would they do that?” Amanda asked. “With swords?”
“You’re too focused on what the tourists see,” Carmen said. “Being Italian, I know a little bit about them. If you want to start something, they’ll bring some pretty heavy firepower to the fight. Try venturing into an unauthorized area, and you’ll likely be staring down the barrel of a Heckler and Koch MP-Five or MP-Seven.”
“Okay, let’s assume you’re right. That means this won’t be a smash-and-grab operation.” Amanda looked at Zane. “So what then?”
“Based on what Carmen overheard tonight, it’s possible this group has someone inside the U.S. government. And if that’s true, why not the Holy See?”
“An inside job.” Carmen bit her lower lip and nodded. “That might be the only way to steal anything from the Vatican.”
Zane looked at Amanda. “Let’s go back to the relic. Any idea what it might be?”
“I’ve been thinking about that. So far, I haven’t come up with anything.”
Carmen’s eyes narrowed. “What about the tag attached to it? Would that give us any important information?”
“It’s possible,” Amanda answered. “Unfortunately, I zoomed in as much as possible. It’s too blurry. We’re going to need some photo-enhancement software to figure it out.”
“We’ll forward it to Brett and have him start working on that.” Zane nodded at the picture on the screen. “How would you even categorize the relic?”
Amanda tapped her lips with a finger for a few seconds. “You want my honest answer? I don’t have a clue. I’m very familiar with artifacts of the Near East, but this doesn’t resemble anything I’ve ever seen before. If someone held a gun to my head, I’d say it was a decorative piece, but at this point, it’s all complete conjecture.”
“Maybe we should just send the image to the Vatican and ask them what it is,” Carmen said. “They would know. Wouldn’t they?”
“Not necessarily. You have to remember the Secret Archives holds millions of documents and thousands upon thousands of artifacts, relics, and other religious objects. Unless this is something very important to the Catholic Church, I’d say it’s unlikely any of them will know what it is, even the curators. They’re going to need that number.”
A look of frustration spread over Carmen’s face. Zane shared her frustration, and yet, he also realized they were closer to the truth than they were before. Brett should be able to enhance the image, and once he did, it would simply be a matter of getting the number to the Vatican authorities.
“Even before we get the number, we need to contact the Vatican and let them know what might be coming their way,” Carmen added.
“I agree. I’m going to contact Ross tonight and let him go through the proper channels.”
“Why don’t we call them directly? This operation—whatever it is—could be going on right now.”
“Because they probably wouldn’t take my call.”
“I have a close friend who is a priest at Vatican City. I’m sure he could get us the number of the Swiss Guard.”
Zane shared her urgency but preferred they remain out of sight until the powers that be approved a meeting of some kind.
“Let’s see if I can reach Ross first. If he can’t get through tonight, we’ll call your friend.”
“Fair enough.”
Zane dialed the Oracle’s number on the burner phone. He answered on the first ring. “I’m at dinner with the director, Watson. Is this important, or can I call you in an hour?”
“We need to talk now if you can.”
“I understand. Just a moment.”
Zane heard muffled movement in the background. About thirty seconds later, the Oracle came back on. “Okay, I stepped outside.”
“Carmen and Amanda are with me. I’m going to put you on speaker.”
“Certainly.”
Zane set the phone on the table. “Can you hear me?”
“Loud and clear. Did something happen after we last spoke?”
Zane had called him an hour before to deliver the shocking news they’d found and rescued Emily Pauling. He’d also given him a brief sketch of the events at the mountain villa, from the finding of the laptop to the arrival of the gunmen.
As the Oracle listened, Zane brought him up to date on the relic and its possible connection to the Vatican.
After Zane finished, the Oracle asked, “This relic, the stone circle… Amanda doesn’t know what it is?”
She leaned toward the phone. “Dr. Ross, I’ve never seen anything like it. At this point, I can’t even categorize the object, much less identify it.”
Before he could respond, Carmen interjected, “Ross, we need to alert the Vatican.”
“I can. Watson, can you be in Rome by tomorrow afternoon?”
“Absolutely. If we leave in the morning, that won’t be a problem.”
“No, it’s just going to be you.”
Carmen frowned. “What about Amanda and me?”
“The two of you are traveling to Milan.”
Milan? Zane was now thoroughly confused. “Okay, I give up. Why are they going to Milan?”
“Because they’re going to be picking up some very special guests at the airport.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Vatican City
THE LAST RAYS of the sun had disappeared below the horizon as Zane turned onto Via di Porta Angelica. Much to his frustration, traffic was at a standstill here. Tourists crowded the sidewalk to his right, which ran along the eastern wall of Vatican City. The majority walked toward the Tuscan colonnades of St. Peter’s Square a block ahead, while others headed east into Rome, looking for a place to dine.
Zane glanced at his watch. Carmen and the others should be with the new arrivals in Milan by now. They would remain there overnight then begin the journey south in the morning. He wasn’t surprised the Oracle was sending over more team members, but he was surprised one of them was Keiko. Other than a brief foray into the Amazon basin, this would be her first time in the field, a milestone in Delphi history.
As he waited for the traffic to advance, Zane’s mind returned to Katiya. The long drive from Menaggio
had given him more time to think about all that had transpired over the last few weeks, and one thing had become crystal clear. He continued to regret his decision to break off their relationship. Unfortunately, she had rebuffed his efforts to restore it. So what now? He could attempt to contact her when he returned to the States, but it was possible she’d reject his offer again. In fact, she might have even moved on with another man by now. And if that was the case, it was better to let things go now.
The sharp blow of a horn brought Zane out of his thoughts. He looked in the rearview mirror. Someone was irritated he hadn’t noticed traffic was moving again. He gave them a little wave in the mirror then accelerated forward. A minute later, he turned right through St. Anne’s Gate, one of the few vehicular entrances to the Vatican. As he came to a stop, two Swiss Guards stepped out into the cobblestone alley, blocking his way. They wore blue regular duty uniforms with black boots and black berets.
One of the guards remained in place, while the other approached the driver’s side. Zane rolled down the window, showed his identification, and gave his reason for being there. The guard seemed to be expecting him but asked him to step out so they could perform a brief sweep of the vehicle. As he exited, two more guards appeared. One waved a metal-detecting wand over Zane’s body while the other circled the car with two German Shepherds. Zane had left all of his weaponry with Carmen, so he knew there was nothing to find.
When the search was complete, he climbed back in.
The lead guard approached again and pointed down the street. “Please go one block down, and take your first left.”
As Zane pulled away, the guard was already speaking into a collar mic. Everything was handled with crisp efficiency inside the walls of the city-state. If someone wanted to steal something from the Vatican’s archives, they were going to need a high level of sophistication.
Zane drove forward. When he arrived at the end of the block, another guard was there to direct him to the left. Zane turned and pulled into one of several parking spots. Although he’d never visited the interior of Vatican City, he knew the sand-colored buildings on the right were the Apostolic Palace complex, the official residence of the Pope. He studied some of the lighted windows and wondered if the Pontiff was there now.
The guard arrived as Zane was getting out. “Good afternoon, Herr Watson. I’m Hauptmann Schluessel.”
A captain. Apparently, they were taking his visit seriously.
“Thank you.” Zane shook the offered hand. “It’s an honor. It’s not every day I get escorted around the Vatican by an officer of the Guard.”
“And it’s not every day Oberst Stegmann gets a visit from American intelligence.” He gestured toward the peach-colored building on the left, the barracks of the Swiss Guard. “This way, please.”
Inside, Zane was directed through a security screening area. After Zane cleared, Schleussel escorted him to an all-glass office on the right. Zane noticed that since entering the walls of the Holy See, he’d been under a strict chain of custody. At every point in the process, he was always under someone’s watch.
“May I get you something to drink? A bottle of water?” Schluessel offered.
Zane waved him off. “I’m fine. Thank you.”
A few minutes later, a man with an air of authority strode through the entrance. He was well over six feet tall, all of it solid muscle. He had a square, chiseled face and closely cropped blond hair. His silver eyes not only conveyed intelligence, but an acute awareness of his surroundings.
After passing through security, he stuck his head in the glass office. “Herr Watson?”
Zane rose and shook the man’s strong hand. “Zane Watson.”
“I’m Commander Stegmann.” His accent was thick, much like that of a certain body builder-turned-actor-turned-governor. “I apologize for running a little late. The Holy Father is entertaining a group of cardinals from South America, and they’re discussing a number of issues that are—how shall I say?—very divisive in the church. Unfortunately, the controversial nature of the visit has brought out all the crazies.”
“I can imagine it doesn’t take much to accelerate the threat level around here.”
“Whatever you can imagine, multiply that by ten.”
Zane laughed. “Thank you for taking the time to meet with me, Commander.”
“It’s my pleasure. When our American friends tell us they have important information, we listen.” He glanced at his watch. “If you don’t mind, we’ll use my office upstairs.”
The commander led Zane down a central corridor. They passed two armories filled with racks of semi-automatic and fully automatic weapons, from Heckler & Koch MP5 submachine guns to SIG SG 550 Sniper rifles. Zane smiled. If Amanda could see their cache of arms, she’d never question the prowess of the Swiss Guard again.
Reaching the end, the two took an elevator to Stegmann’s office on the second floor. It was a simple affair: a mahogany desk, three chairs, a bookcase, and a large safe, which Zane assumed contained the commander’s weapons.
Stegmann stepped behind the desk then gestured toward one of the chairs facing him. “I’ll be quite honest. You don’t look like an FBI agent. For a brief moment, I thought you were an impostor.”
Zane laughed. It was a comment he got quite often. He actually liked the fact he didn’t fit the physical stereotype of an intelligence operative because it meant he drew less attention. A foreign agent was less likely to focus on a somewhat stylishly dressed man with long hair.
“Well, I have a confession to make.” Zane settled into the chair. “I’m not an FBI agent.”
“You’re not?” Stegmann frowned.
“I do work for the U.S. government. Some would say we’re a subset of the CIA, but that’s not exactly—”
Stegmann held up a hand. “Don’t worry. I realize there are some agencies within the world of intelligence that can’t be named publicly. Believe it or not, we have a few of those ourselves. Anyway, I know the director personally, and if you came at his request, that’s good enough for me.”
Stegmann’s phone vibrated. As the commander stared at the lit screen, Zane shifted his gaze toward the office’s sole window. The ribbed dome of St. Peter’s Basilica glowed in the distance, a reminder of how tightly packed the buildings were within the Vatican walls.
“Sorry about that,” Stegmann said after responding to the text. “How do you say it in English? There is always something.”
Zane nodded toward the basilica. “I’m jealous of your view.”
Stegmann sat back in his chair. “When I was first appointed commander, my office was on the other side of the building. But that didn’t seem fitting. So I called in our facilities director and told him that if I’m asked to protect the life of the Holy Father, I wanted to at least be able to look out the window and see his residence.”
“I can imagine it wouldn’t take you long to get over there, if necessary.”
“I can be at the Pontiff’s door in one minute and thirty-seven seconds.”
“Let’s hope you never have to be there that quickly,” Zane said.
“Of course, we have security personnel around him at all times. I’m a worrier by nature. I guess it’s one reason I was a natural for this job.” Stegmann set his phone aside and leaned forward. “Enough about me. Tell me what brings you here.”
“What did the director tell you?”
“To be honest, not much. Unfortunately, when I took the call, I was in the middle of preparations for the convocation of cardinals. I had about five minutes, so he gave me a shortened version. He said your government had reason to believe a group may be planning to steal an artifact from our vaults. He also said this group had already killed someone. As you can imagine, that got my attention.”
Zane realized he’d better start at the beginning. “How much time do we have?”
“As I said, one person has already been killed, and the people may be on their way here. You have as much time as you need.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
FATHER LUCA CORTESI removed his reading glasses and peered out of his window on the third floor of the Vatican museum. Darkness had fallen, bringing dozens of lighted windows into view. In some ways, night was when the real work began at the Holy See.
He pushed aside the large binder and rubbed his eyes. He couldn’t look at the arrangements anymore. His brain was beginning to shut down, the product of his recent spate of fourteen-hour workdays. The Vatican was about to send a collection of relics on a tour of cities across the globe—Vienna, Berlin, Paris, London, New York, Chicago, Sydney, Tokyo, Dubai, and Milan—and Cortesi had been burning the midnight oil, reviewing final transportation and security preparations. If he didn’t get this right, treasured objects could get lost or stolen, and none of those things were acceptable.
Cortesi could’ve retired to his apartment an hour ago if one of their courier services wasn’t running a half hour late. Apparently, the driver had experienced engine problems about a half hour from Rome. Ordinarily, Cortesi would’ve let the security team check the package in and store it in a locker until he could get to it the following day. However, this was a high-priority delivery, which meant the driver and the curator must both witness the item’s storage.
Cortesi’s phone lit. He picked it up and looked at the screen. Someone was calling from the south entrance. He engaged the call. “Sì.”
“Father, the courier has arrived.”
“Thank you, brother. Check him through. I’ll be right down.”
Cortesi stood. The day was almost done. After taking care of the delivery, he’d retire to his chambers with an archaeological journal and a box of pastries. The sweets were compliments of a visiting group of French nuns, and he had already resolved to consume the entire box. Yes, it was gluttony. But he could always confess it tomorrow.
As he made his way to the first floor, Cortesi felt a surge of excitement regarding the package waiting downstairs. It was a small collection of papyri that had recently been uncovered at an archaeological site in Algeria. The dig was centered around the ruins of a fifth-century church near Annaba, the modern name for Hippo Regius. Most of the papyri were torn, and what remained was mostly illegible, but what they had been able to translate suggested something astounding. The writing was similar in content and style to one of the biggest names in the history of the Roman Catholic Church—Augustine of Hippo, better known as Saint Augustine.