Conrad took a seat next to a young man wearing angel wings and watched the rehearsal. The angel handed him a flyer. It was in German and titled OSTER-ORATORIUM. Conrad had to think up something. "Sprechen Sie Deutsch?" he asked the angel.
"No, dude, I'm American," the angel said. "Semester abroad. Chicks dig this shit. So do guys. But I dig chicks. So don't dis my wings."
Perfect, Conrad thought, glancing around the vast church. He looked up at the oblong pastel ceiling high above the rows of curved wooden pews. It was held up by fourteen sandstone columns. "Do you actually have a part?"
"I get to announce the resurrection and that Jesus is alive."
"That's awesome."
"Yeah, and then I get to score with the second Mary Magdalene over there from Copenhagen."
"Never going to happen," Conrad said with an earnestness born of experience that shocked even him. "Hey, my phone battery is gone. Can I borrow yours?"
The angel handed him a Nokia and said, "Got an emergency?"
"You could say that," Conrad said. "I definitely need to call God."
"Well, you've come to a house of prayer, so pray."
"That's okay. I've got her number."
27
Benito had the engine running by the time Serena reached the limousine. Her phone rang. It was Conrad.
"Where on God's green earth are you?" she demanded as she climbed in the back.
Conrad said, "It's time we lay our cards on the table. Meet me at the Villa Feltrinelli at Lake Garda tonight at six. You're the Baroness von Berg."
"You must be joking," she said. "I'm supposed to be in Rhodes tomorrow."
"Then you better know what's on the agenda," he said, and hung up.
She met Benito's eyes in the rearview mirror and said, "What's our status on the globes?"
"Brother Lorenzo says they are prepared and will arrive separately in Rhodes as art for the exhibit at the Palace of the Grandmaster. By keeping them roped off, he feels closer inspection will wait until after the summit."
Serena's mind was racing while the engine ran in neutral and Benito waited for her signal. Lake Garda was in northern Italy, a good three hours by plane, train, or automobile. And she had duties to perform at Mercedes's grave site.
"Get me a seaplane, Benito. I'm going to fly myself to Rhodes-after an unscheduled stop. You get yourself back to the Vatican and accompany the globes to Rhodes. Don't let them out of your sight."
Benito nodded and moved the car into drive just as Serena's door opened and Midas climbed in next to her.
"What are you doing, Midas?" she nearly screamed.
Benito hit the brakes, and before she and Midas even stopped bouncing, he had a 9mm Beretta pointed over the front seat at Midas.
Midas put up his hands and said, "I needed a ride to Pere Lachaise for the burial. I thought I could take the opportunity to seek your spiritual counsel. Look, I have none of my aides with me."
"You mean assailants."
"Whatever."
Serena sighed, exchanged a glance with Benito in the mirror, and nodded.
They drove slowly out the side, past a gate, and onto Rue Saint-Honore, where the crowds had quickly dispersed and the boutiques had opened for business again, as if the orgy of stage-crafted grief had never happened.
"Conrad Yeats stole something of great value from me," Midas said firmly.
"Mercedes will be missed," Serena said calmly.
"I am speaking of the contents of a safe deposit box in Bern," Midas said. "Yeats broke into my bank and stole my box."
Serena realized that she had to meet with Conrad. "Well, you'll need to employ better security to reassure your other customers."
"No, you'll need to get it back for me and kill Yeats when he contacts you."
"Why would he do that?"
"Don't play me for a fool. Mercedes told me everything about your sordid relationship with the man. So did Sorath."
With the mention of Sorath, Midas wanted her to know that he was a member of the Alignment and that he knew she was, too.
"All the more reason for Sorath to be upset to learn of your loss. If you tell me what it is, maybe I can help you."
Midas turned his gaze from the Dei medallion dangling around her neck to the Eiffel Tower in the distance. "A few minutes ago I wondered if Sorath was Sarkozy, that pompous French prick."
"If you're asking me whether he's the Antichrist, no," Serena said. "But I'm sure a man like Sarkozy would give the position some serious consideration if it were offered to him. You, too."
"And the pope?"
"The Vatican can't be bought off like the Russian Orthodox Church."
"No, it was bought off far earlier by Constantine and the Dei," Midas snarled. "And just who do you think you are? You're a little ecclesiastical whore of the pope, a false prophet if there ever was one."
Serena let that one go and allowed silence to fill the car. They were on the Boulevard de Menilmontant. Soon they'd reach the cemetery. "I'm sorry, you were asking me for help?"
Midas looked at her with quiet rage. "I hope for your sake you have the globes."
She retorted, "I hope for your sake you have whatever it is you think that Conrad Yeats stole from you."
"Oh, I will," Midas said. "Because you will take it from him after you kill him. Only then will your loyalty to the Alignment no longer be in question."
"And yours isn't?"
"I have leverage, Sister Serghetti," Midas said. "It is the most important tool in business. It is having something the other party wants. I have something Sorath and the Alignment not only want but desperately need."
"And what would that be?"
He smiled. "You think you have something the Alignment needs in those globes from Solomon's Temple. But here, too, I have leverage: I know you don't have both of them. The Americans still possess one. And if two globes show up in Rhodes, I will know that one of them is a fake. And then where will you be?"
Serena felt a chill. Midas had sources within the Pentagon or the Dei, maybe both. If the Pentagon, her thoughts turned to Packard; if the Dei, they immediately went to Lorenzo. Either way, her plan to unmask and ultimately thwart the Alignment was at risk-along with any future she hoped to share with Conrad in this lifetime.
"Benito, I think Sir Midas is threatening to kill me."
"Si, signorina. The family will take care of him."
"The cardinals will be thanking God in their prayers once you're gone, Sister Serghetti," said Midas. "Or do they still call you Sister Pain in the Ass behind your back in Vatican City?"
"I think Benito was referring to his family," Serena said, then lowered her voice to a whisper for effect. "The Borgias."
The name clearly registered with Midas. The Borgias had been the Church's first crime family in the Middle Ages and included eleven cardinals, three popes, and a queen of England. They killed for power, money, and wanton pleasure. That was centuries ago, of course, and Benito's branch of the family had long left the Church to establish the Mafia.
"You crazy bitch," Midas said. "You play us all off each other. The Americans, the Russians, the Alignment, the Mob. You are the devil."
"Well, we all have our issues," she said, looking him in the eye. "I'm curious, Midas. What exactly is the Alignment promising you? You already have more money than just about anybody else in the world. And you seem to recognize what the Church has known for centuries-that those in power are more often defined by history rather than the other way around."
"A new world order is coming," Midas said. "The old order, including the Church, will pass away."
They drove past the Metro station Philippe Auguste and through the main entrance of the Pere Lachaise Cemetery, which had been established by Napoleon in 1804.
Serena took advantage of the scenery. "I've heard that before." She made a point of looking at his trembling hand and then out her window at the rows of crosses, tombstones, and burial monuments. "What good is the new world order, Midas, if
you're not around to enjoy it?"
Midas smiled. "That is this thing, is it not?"
"Yes," she said as Benito parked behind the convoy of cars trailing the black Volvo hearse. "I know where I'm going when I die. So, unless there's another heaven I don't know about, where are you going to end up?"
Midas's eyes were black and shining with a secret he seemed to be dying to tell her. He leaned over. "I have news for you," he whispered. "There won't be a heaven or an afterlife."
She looked at him curiously. He seemed more certain of what he was telling her than he had seemed of anything else.
"Who knows," Midas added. "Even you might enjoy the new world order and forget all about Conrad Yeats. While you've been worrying about him, he certainly hasn't been worrying about you."
Midas pulled out his BlackBerry and played a video clip from a private file on his smartphone's memory card. The video showed Conrad frolicking in bed with a young girl in a Miami Dolphins jersey. The time stamp at the bottom of the frame showed that it was barely forty-eight hours old.
"That's enough, Midas."
"Good." Midas put away the phone in triumph. "Then we are agreed. You kill Conrad Yeats to prove your loyalty to the Alignment and bring what Yeats stole from me to Rhodes."
"Or else?" she asked.
"Or else I'll expose your sham with the globes, and it will be your funeral I'll eulogize at next week."
28
GRAND HOTEL A VILLA FELTRINELLI. LAKE GARDA, ITALY
It was half past four when Conrad's Town Car turned off the country road and onto a long private drive lined with stately palms and cypresses. The end of the gravel drive opened like a dream to reveal the majestic Villa Feltrinelli and its octagonal tower overlooking the waters of Lake Garda.
The Feltrinelli family, who made their fortune in lumber, had built the villa at the end of the nineteenth century. By the middle of the twentieth century, in the waning days of World War II, the villa became famous as the final residence of Italian dictator Benito Mussolini before his execution. In the twenty-first century, Swiss management had turned the Villa Feltrinelli into one of Europe's most private, secure, and romantic luxury hotels, an unspoiled paradise far from the cares of the outside world.
The perfect place, Conrad thought, for a rendezvous with Serena.
A young Swiss miss welcomed him as Baron von Berg in the grand entry hall with a bouquet of rosebuds. Conrad looked past the circular sofa and carved wooden benches to the marble staircase with tall stained-glass windows and gilded mirrors. There were twenty-one guest rooms in the main villa, including the Magnolia Suite where Mussolini had slept. For Serena's sake, Conrad had booked the private boathouse outside the main villa, away from the other guests.
A sporty Italian bellman named Gianni took Conrad's weekender bag that he had purchased in nearby Desenzano after his six-hour ride from Bern involving two trains, one passport check, and one transfer in Milan.
"Guten Tag, Baron von Berg," said Gianni in passable German. "Where is the baroness?"
"She has her own ride."
They walked outside the covered pergola and past the pool with ducks and terraced gardens toward the lakeside boathouse. Two couples were enjoying afternoon tea on the lawn while a third played a game of croquet. Nothing was forced, including the prosecco offered to Conrad on a floating tray. Life and love seemed to flow quite naturally here.
"We have our own yacht for cocktail cruises," Gianni told him. "You can arrange for a motor launch to take you and the baroness around the lake and even explore the medieval castle at Sirmione."
"That sounds wonderful, Gianni," Conrad said, sipping his drink.
The boathouse was spacious enough, with dark wood paneling and eggshell linens and upholstery. Its tall windows with sheer lace curtains offered a spectacular view of the lake.
Once the young bellman had closed the door on his way out, Conrad turned to find a dessert tray of lemon mousse sprinkled with fruit and edible flowers, a jasmine-scented candle burning on the nightstand, and rose petals strewn throughout the marble bathroom.
The only thing missing from this perfect romantic scene was Serena.
He looked at the antique Rolex, his gift from Baron von Berg. It was almost five o'clock, and Serena's seaplane was due to land on the lake any minute now.
Conrad removed the watch and adjusted the dial until the Roman coin fell onto the table. He then pulled out a set of two books titled Coinage and History of the Roman Empire that he had picked up at a rare coin shop in Desenzano. The pages were thin, the lines single-spaced, and the font small, which made reading hard, but he found what he needed.
Conrad picked up the ancient Roman coin.
It looked almost like an American quarter, with Caesar instead of George Washington on one side and an eagle on the other. But this eagle looked quite distinctive, with a club on its right and a palm frond on its left. Indeed, it looked just like the medallion Serena wore around her neck.
He took a closer look at the letters engraved around the coin's rim:
UROUIERAS KAIASULOU
Instantly, he knew the translation. He had come across it on coins during his digs beneath the Temple Mount in Jerusalem:
OF TYRE, THE HOLY AND INVIOLATE
He flipped to a page with the heading "Judas's Thirty Pieces of Silver" and a quote from the Gospel of Matthew:
Then one of the 12, called Judas Iscariot, went unto the chief priests, and said unto them, "What will ye give me, and I will deliver him unto you?" And they covenanted with him for 30 pieces of silver.
The book said the coin was a so-called Shekel of Tyre, or temple tax coin. It was the only currency accepted at the Jerusalem temple, so it was most likely the coinage with which Judas had been paid for betraying Jesus Christ.
The bust on the front didn't belong to any Roman emperor, Conrad realized, putting away the coin books. It belonged to Melqarth, the god of the Phoenicians, with a laurel wreath around his head like Caesar's. Better known as Baal in the Old Testament. Sacrilege to Orthodox Jews, to be sure. But these coins were the only ones close enough to pure silver to be accepted at the temple. Roman coins were too debased.
He searched for a date on the coin. He found it on the reverse side, left of the eagle and just above its club.
EL
That was the year 35 C.E. on the Julian calendar-or 98 B.C., according to contemporary calendars. Well within the time of circulation during Jesus' lifetime.
It was certainly not the Tribute Penny that Jesus had used to advise followers to go ahead and give their tax money to the state but their whole hearts to God. If anything, the shekel represented quite the opposite-man-made religion that trusted not in the God of heaven but in Caesar and the power structure of this world. The penny was blessed, in short, and the shekel cursed.
Like the Dei.
Conrad's concentration was broken by the sound of a prop engine. He looked out to the lake and saw Serena flying in. Hopefully with some answers, for once.
29
Serena swung her seaplane over the treetops and came in for her final approach on the shimmering waters of Lake Garda. The breathtaking Villa Feltrinelli rose on the distant shore like a fairy castle. The sheer audacity of Conrad's selection of such a romantic locale, and this while he was on the run, amazed and angered her. A virgin like her wouldn't last the night at a place like this, especially with a man like him.
She'd flown her first high-wing Otter as a missionary in the Australian outback. Later, she'd flown in the African bush. This plane was a propeller-driven DHC-3, powered by a single six-hundred-horsepower Pratt amp; Whitney Wasp radial and fitted with floats, just like the type she'd used in the Andes during her work with the Aymara tribe. That was where she'd first met Conrad, on Lake Titicaca, the highest lake in the world and her personal favorite. No doubt it was an association he had hoped to evoke here.
She prayed in advance for God's wisdom and strength to do what her mission required of her. The only
problem was that she had so many missions these days, often at cross purposes. Her challenge here, she had to remind herself, was to steal from Conrad whatever he'd stolen from Midas, find out what else he knew, and then somehow get rid of him in such a way as to satisfy the Alignment and her own conscience.
Keeping her vows of purity, therefore, was the least of her worries.
She eased back on the throttle and put the Otter down into the water. The water was calm and gold in the late-afternoon sun, perfect to land on because of the enclosed nature of the lake. To her starboard, the hills looked like black paper cut out against twilight. Lots of peace and quiet here, she thought, which suited her just fine after the events of recent days and the days to come.
She taxied toward the boathouse in front of the villa. A man stood on the stone jetty with a rope tie. It wasn't Conrad. It was a porter from the villa who came alongside the Otter to tie it down.
She switched off the engine and climbed down to the plane's float. It was definitely more balmy and sensual here than in Paris at this time of year. She steadied herself for a second under the wing while she reached back into the cabin to pull out her little leather backpack. Then she took the extended hand of the young porter, who helped her step onto the jetty.
"Baroness von Berg. The baron is waiting for you."
I'm sure he is, she thought, and nodded with a smile but said nothing as she followed him down the jetty toward the villa. She could see that the Villa Feltrinelli offered everything a couple like her and the baron could want.
She looked out at the lake. If the porter knew who she was, he was saying nothing. That was one thing she had to give Conrad: Even if every member of the staff thought the holy Mother Earth had come for a secret tryst with her lover, and hazarded a guess this was her habit, nobody else would know. As much as she wanted to avoid the appearance of moral failure, this scenario was what it was, and people could think what they wanted.
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