by John Sneeden
After snapping the mag back into place, he abandoned the tree and sprinted to the van. He eased up to the open driver’s side window. The keys dangled from the ignition, so he pulled them out and stuffed them in his pocket. There was little chance the man was coming back, but this would cut off his escape if he did. Hearing no sounds from within the building, Zane crossed the dock, stepping softly on the wood planks so as not to send out vibrations. When he arrived at the entrance, he noticed the door was slightly ajar. It seemed careless, but it also signaled that the man had no intention of coming back.
Zane leaned up to the gap and listened for a full moment. Hearing nothing, he nudged the door open and entered. The interior stank of mildew and aged wood. The intensity of the scents seemed to suggest the place had been abandoned. The perfect location for a rendezvous.
Zane’s eyes soon adjusted to the interior. Stacked boxes rose around him, along with a number of unidentified objects. The place was a maze of stored goods. Zane listened intently but still heard no sound. Soon, the outline of a door appeared in the back left corner of the building. He guessed it led to the dock. The thief was probably boarding a boat there now. Zane had to admit the whole thing was brilliant. Escape by boat while law enforcement searched Rome for a white van.
Zane maneuvered down an aisle flanked by two rows of boxes. After traversing about half the distance, he heard a thump and stopped. The sound seemed to have come from the front of the building. He crouched. The front door was still ajar. A dark shadow filled the space. Someone was there. Had the man circled around, or was it someone else?
Suddenly, the door slammed shut, and Zane heard movement in another part of the room.
As he dropped to one knee and raised his pistol, a stark realization set in.
He’d been trapped.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Rome, Italy
AS HE HUNKERED in the darkness, Zane rebuked himself for an earlier oversight. When the man had exited the van, he’d spent very little time examining his surroundings. In fact, he’d almost seemed nonchalant. At the time, Zane had attributed it to overconfidence in a well-executed plan, but now, he realized it might have all been premeditated. Draw in your target by making yourself look like easy prey.
A rustling sound came from the far corner of the room. As he tried to pinpoint the location, the staccato pop of semi-automatic gunfire erupted from the same place. Bullets shredded the boxes around him, knocking them over. He dove behind a stack of pallets to his right. They wouldn’t stop any of the rounds, but they would conceal his profile.
He was pinned down, but there was one positive. As he dove away, Zane had seen the muzzle flashes across the room. He knew there were two shooters, both set up near the rear exit. In an effort to fix their position even further, Zane rose up and squeezed off two shots. As expected, they returned fire, allowing Zane to mark their precise location.
Unfortunately, Zane was down to six rounds. From this point forward, he had to make every bullet count. No more probing fire. If he fired again, it needed to be a kill shot or a distraction to cover his escape.
Another round of gunfire splintered the pallets in front of him. They had fixed on his position as well, so Zane dropped to his belly and squirmed toward the rear wall. Shoot and move. Shoot and move. The words of his old SEAL instructor echoed in his mind.
After traveling about fifteen feet, he found a metal cabinet and slid behind it. The cabinet was lightly constructed, but would provide more protection than the pallets. As Zane took a few deep breaths, a familiar scent reached his nose. He turned and looked behind him.
When he realized what it was, a smile spread over his face.
He’d just found his ticket out.
***
Petr and his partner Ivan squeezed their triggers repeatedly, sending a spray of bullets toward the longhaired bastard hiding across the room. This time, they’d managed to pinpoint his location, and there was no chance he’d survive the barrage of bullets raining down on him. It was not a question of if a bullet would hit him but how many.
It felt good to unleash his anger. Fifteen minutes earlier, Dante had radioed he was being followed by a man on a motorbike. When Petr heard the description—a man with long brown hair—he realized it was the same man who’d knocked him out in Menaggio and escaped with the girl.
The temptation to stay and kill the man had been too strong. He had to die for humiliating them, so Petr had ordered a change of plans. Instead of escaping by boat, they would lure him into the building, where they would kill him. The others opposed the idea—after all, Viktor had made it clear the relic must be brought back above all else—but Petr pulled rank. He wasn’t going to lose this opportunity for revenge. Besides, he’d stowed the relic on the boat and had given the driver strict instructions to whisk it away if things inside went bad.
Thankfully, they weren’t going to.
Petr’s ammunition finally ran dry, so he dropped behind the counter. Now safely hidden, he snapped in another magazine. He doubted he’d need it—their target was either dead or bleeding to death—but he wasn’t going to take any chances.
“Do you think we got him?” Ivan whispered from a few feet away.
“Do you hear anything? Of course he’s dead.”
Despite the bravado, Petr knew their opponent was crafty. Not only had he eluded their grasp in Venice, but he’d also managed to get the girl back. In order to kill such a man, you had to respect him first. A faint sound carried from the far end of the room. Petr frowned. The only thing he’d expected to hear was a groan, not movement.
“Did you hear that?” Ivan asked.
“Wait,” Petr hissed.
If he wasn’t dead, surely he was bleeding out. The noise had probably just been the man writhing in a pool of blood. Seconds later, a clank came from the same location. It was an odd sound. What’s going on? Petr looked around the edge of the counter. Suddenly, a square-shaped object hurtled toward them out of the darkness. It landed about ten feet away then slid to within a few feet of where Petr was hidden. He saw it and smelled it. It was a metal can, and he knew what was in it.
Suddenly, Petr understood what was happening. “Get out!”
Without waiting for a response, he rose from behind the counter. At most, he had a second or two to make it through the back door, so he sprinted. A gunshot carried from the far end of the room, and Petr knew the target was the can.
Out of options, he did the only thing he could do—he braced for the explosion.
***
After the canister of gasoline slid to a stop, one of the men shouted a warning. Zane already had his pistol in the air. Throwing the can accurately had been the toughest part of the two-step plan. Shooting it would be easy.
Someone rose and moved for the exit. He’d probably figured out what was going on and was trying to escape. It wouldn’t matter. Zane took aim and fired twice, hitting the can. A fireball erupted to the ceiling. The explosion had been even more powerful than he’d expected. No one within ten feet would survive.
As he rose and stepped from behind the cabinet, a boat motor started outside. The relic. Zane sprinted toward the exit. As he neared the counter, something moved to the left. One of the gunmen rose awkwardly and lifted his weapon. He was badly burned but still alive. One of them was about to die, and it wasn’t going to be Zane. He shot him twice in the chest. The man’s body thrashed, his rifle spraying bullets harmlessly into the ceiling. He teetered for a moment then fell forward.
There was no time to waste. Zane rolled the man over and retrieved his rifle. He might need the extra cartridges. The boat motor whined outside. The others were leaving, and they were taking the relic with them.
Zane pushed through the door and onto the dock. The boat was moving off to the right, trying to angle around another building downriver. He lifted his rifle and saw muzzle flashes at the rear of the craft. Rounds struck the water close by, arcing toward him. Zane squeezed off a couple of shots of his own
then ran to the right to avoid being hit.
Once out of range, he lifted his rifle again, but the boat had already disappeared.
The relic was gone.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Vatican City
ZANE AND JONAS Stegmann followed the priest up the dark stairwell. The cleric clutched a brass candleholder in his right hand. Its flames cast gargoyle-like shadows against the wall.
“This way,” the priest said when they reached the third floor. “We’re almost there.”
He led them down the dimly lit corridor, eventually stopping at an oak wood door on the left. He used his free hand to fish a skeleton key from the folds of his cassock. It looked as though it had been forged in the Middle Ages. He inserted it into the cast iron lock and turned it sharply. The door surrendered with a loud groan.
Stepping aside, he motioned them into a simple reading room with two large windows overlooking the Belvedere Courtyard. The musty air was filled with the scent of books. The simple furnishings consisted of a table and four chairs on the left and a bookshelf on the right.
They had come to meet with Father Silvio Fiori, the assistant curator of the Secret Archives. Zane figured Stegmann had chosen the secluded room in order to get away from the chaos below. There were important matters to discuss, and he didn’t want to be constantly interrupted by his investigative team.
Stegmann looked at the priest. “I believe you said Father Fiori is on his way?”
“Yes, sir.” The priest lit two candles on the table with the one he was holding. After he finished, he looked at the commander. “Can I bring you anything?”
Stegmann shook his head. “That won’t be necessary. Thank you.”
He bowed slightly and stepped out of the room, closing the door behind him.
Zane crossed to one of the windows and looked down. The courtyard was still a hive of activity. Priests, students, and Swiss Guards moved in and out of the building. Paramedics attended to people on the sidewalk while firefighters placed giant fans at the entrance.
A sharp buzz drew Zane’s attention back to the room. Stegmann retrieved his phone and stared at the screen. He shook his head and stuffed it back in his pocket.
“Do you need to take that?” Zane asked.
“Not yet.” He settled into one of the seats at the table. “It’s the polizia.”
“The Rome police?” Zane abandoned the window and sat down across from the commander, surprised Stegmann hadn’t taken the call.
“They spoke to one of my captains earlier. It seems they’re a bit upset about me setting you loose on the streets of Rome.”
Zane frowned. “Did you tell them who I was?”
“Not exactly. We only told them it was someone working on our behalf.”
“I’m assuming that’s a problem?”
Stegmann waved it off. “I’ll talk to them later. For now, we need to follow the trail while it’s still warm.”
Zane was relieved, yet couldn’t help thinking there would be fallout. While the police might look the other way if a Swiss Guard ventured onto their streets, he wasn’t quite so sure they’d feel the same way about an armed and unidentified American doing so.
Stegmann must have sensed his concern. “Don’t worry. We have a very good relationship with the authorities here in Rome. In emergency situations, they tend to look the other way.”
“I didn’t realize the relationship was that deep.”
“We have the largest network of ears on the planet. When Rome needs some little piece of information—something crucial to an investigation—we’re always there to help if we can. In return, they extend copious amounts of grace when our investigations take us outside these walls. Besides, I can assure you, incidents like this one rarely happen.”
Stegmann pulled a folded piece of paper from his suit coat pocket and placed it on the table. It looked like a satellite image of Rome. “I want to get some information from you while we wait.” He indicated the blue line representing the Tiber River. “Show me where the gunfight took place.”
Zane scooted closer to the table. Once he oriented himself, he used his finger to trace the route he had taken from the Vatican to the Pietro Nenni Bridge. After locating the line of structures along the east side of the river, he tapped the first one. “Here.”
“You’re sure?”
“Positive.”
Stegmann moved one of the candles closer and leaned forward. “That’s a bit further north than I thought. I’m not too familiar with the area.” He looked at Zane. “You said this was a boathouse. Was it in use?”
“It seemed to be abandoned.”
Stegmann nodded. “They probably chose it for that very reason.”
The commander was about to continue when the door pushed open. A priest dressed in a crisp black cassock entered, shutting the door behind him. As he came into the light, Zane noted he was in his late sixties or early seventies. He had a receding hairline and wore a pair of square, wire-rimmed glasses. He carried a laptop, which he set on the table. Skeleton keys and laptops. Only at the Vatican.
Stegmann introduced the two men, and all three took seats at the table.
Stegmann gestured toward Zane. “As I told you on the phone, Herr Watson came to warn us of the theft that just took place.”
“I only wish I had been a bit sooner.” Zane fixed his gaze on the priest. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you. Luca was a special man.” His lip trembled slightly as he gathered his words. “I expect I’m going to be in for a long period of grief, although I must say it still seems surreal. I keep thinking I’m going to wake up, and Luca will still be here.”
Zane nodded his understanding. “I’ve only been here a short time, and I’m already hearing great things about him.”
“He was a giant in his field, a brilliant man with an encyclopedic memory.” The priest opened the laptop and powered it up. “But it’s not his mind I’ll remember most. It’s the man himself. You’ll never meet a finer person. He always put the needs of others before his own.”
“Father Cortesi’s work ethic was second to none,” Stegmann added. “I would often find him in his office late at night, poring over some document or flipping through a book that was six inches thick.” He laughed at the memory.
“And he always did so without complaint,” Father Fiori said.
Stegmann nodded at the laptop. “So you have some information for us?”
“I have a little. I’ve just come back from the underground archives. I was trying to piece together what happened after Luca and the courier entered the vault.” He looked at Zane. “We affix sensors to each storage container. Two were triggered in succession. The first was related to the Augustine papyri.”
“The package that just came in?” Zane asked.
Father Fiori nodded.
“And the other sensor?” Stegmann asked.
“A relic in another section of the vault.”
“Let me give you a number.” Zane pulled out his phone and scrolled until he found the photograph from Pauling’s laptop. He slid the phone across the table. “Is that it?”
Father Fiori donned a pair of reading glasses and examined the screen. After staring at the image for a moment, he looked back at his laptop. “Yes, that’s it. The item number and the image both match our database.” He looked up at Zane. “You knew what they were looking for?”
Zane nodded.
Stegmann looked at Father Fiori. “What can you tell us about it?”
“I’ve never seen it before. But I can tell you it was housed in Section Seven, which holds some of the most valuable relics in all the Secret Archives. In order to be housed there, a document or artifact must meet two very specific qualifications.”
“What are they?” Zane asked.
“One, it must relate directly to events in the Bible—a personal item owned by one of the disciples or a New Testament manuscript, something like that. And two, it must currently be under review.�
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Zane’s eyes narrowed. “So someone on your staff would have been actively studying this relic.”
“Not necessarily. Even though Section Seven houses one of our smallest collections, it still contains hundreds of objects. And with our small staff, we can only go through so many at any given time. I’ll look though.”
As Father Fiori searched for more information, Zane’s thoughts turned to the map. There was little doubt it was connected to the relic in some way. But how? If someone were working on the relic, perhaps they would know.
“Here we are,” Father Fiori said. “It seems Luca was working on it. Strangely, there aren’t any notes.”
“Another dead end.” Zane immediately regretted his choice of words.
Father Fiori pulled off his reading glasses and stared into space. After a moment, he turned toward Stegmann. “I apologize. How could I forget? I need to tell you a quick story. About two weeks ago, a small personnel issue developed among the staff. Luca and I wanted to discuss the matter privately, so we decided to take lunch at his favorite cafe near the Piazza Cavour.”
Stegmann looked at Zane. “This is a very common practice. Some say the Vatican walls have ears.”
Zane smiled. The same could be said of Delphi.
Father Fiori continued. “While we were waiting for our meal, Luca told me about his new project. I remember it related to a relic from Section Seven. He was convinced it was a hoax but said it had come to them from a reputable source who thought otherwise. What got my attention was what he said next. He said if he was wrong and the relic was real, it could be one of the greatest finds in archaeological history.”
Stegmann straightened. “Did he say what it was?”
“No. Just as he was about to give me a little more detail, our food arrived, so he told me if there were any interesting developments, he’d let me know. We also knew we had to discuss the personnel matter.”