He afforded himself a brief smile in recollection of the gullibility of the man, but discipline soon took over. From the nearby corridor he heard the sound of a light switch followed by the shining of a hall light outside the office. The door, glassed in the centre, was covered by a metallic blind, prohibiting light from entering or escaping the office. There was no chance of him being seen from the corridor. If luck held out, the office would not be used tonight.
The meeting itself had been useful. While Gullet completely reassured him of the account, he had also achieved a good look at the office. He learned that Gullet would be away for the next few days and he had also learned a valuable piece of information about the safe. The safe was a combination lock, preceded by a lock that could only be opened by key, which conveniently Gullet always kept by his side. Not convenient to the intruder, but even on the back of his chair it was susceptible to light fingers. He was already aware of the combination. God bless Vatican policeman Agent Gregore.
There was no CCTV. He knew this after trying to obtain footage of Gullet’s activities. He knew all of the activities that took place within the room would be private and that included his visit.
To the casual observer it did not look like a safe. Tucked away below a series of folders in the far right corner of the room, it appeared more like a regular filing cabinet. The cabinet consisted of one neatly varnished wooden panel and had a small keyhole on the left hand side.
He removed the key from his pocket and knelt down gently in front of the first door. Exhaling deeply, he inserted the key into the lock. It turned with a clanging sound. Thankfully there was no alarm.
With the first phase over he inserted the combination under torchlight and it opened with the first attempt. Again there was no alarm. Inside, the contents were scattered. A series of papers were located in one plastic folder on the lower shelf while a large ring binder occupied the top. He assumed that most of the files for the company would be found in the metal filing cabinets on the other side of the room. Surely Gullet would not risk putting anything incriminating where the staff could find it. Nor would he risk hiding them in his home. If they existed they would be here – along with the other incriminating stuff.
The intruder inhaled deeply. The eighth commandment states thou shalt not steal, but stealing was not an option. Gullet would notice and that would be dangerous. He just needed to know what was included. He removed the files from the safe and shuffled them in his hands. Reading was difficult, but under the light of the small torch he could tell that the content was relevant. He fumbled his inside pocket and removed a small digital camera. He paused momentarily, taking a second to adjust himself. Then he pressed the on-off switch gently. The small lens inside the camera sprang into life, accompanied by a quiet mechanical noise that lasted less than two seconds.
He inhaled deeply. Aiming the camera at the first sheet he adjusted the focus and clicked to take the photo. For less than a second the flash of the camera illuminated that corner of the room, its light protected by both the blinds and the safe door. He paused momentarily to check the quality. Despite the small size of the screen he was satisfied the key information was readable.
He exhaled in relief. The heat felt prickly on his skin and a hideous itchy feeling made him uncomfortable. The sooner this was over with the better.
He leaned closer to the documents and surveyed them one at a time under the light of the torch. He photographed the first sheet three times and then proceeded to do the same for the rest. It took eleven minutes in total. Once over, he replaced the files in the safe exactly as he had found them. Finally, he switched off the camera and placed it safely inside his jacket pocket.
The intruder surveyed the room in detail, making sure everything was as it had been when he entered. After locking both doors to the safe, he eased slowly towards the door, straining for any sound of life.
Silence.
He inserted the office key into the lock as quietly as possible and opened it a few inches. As best he could tell the corridor was still deserted, the darkness interrupted only by the briefest hint of light from a faraway corridor, probably coming from a small desk lamp or a reflection from the main casino through a glassed door. Holding his breath he opened the door fully and sought to exit the room.
Suddenly he froze. Something other than himself was moving. In the distance to his right he made out the faintest sound of footsteps echoing against the hard carpeted floor.
He inhaled deeply. He had time, but he had to be quick. Acting on instinct he returned to the office, closing the door but without locking it, not daring to chance the sound of rattling the key in the lock. He crouched down low, his back to the door. From inside the office he was completely unsighted and the sound of footsteps had faded, its sound blocked by the door. He knew that any sound of movement would rouse the attention of the approaching person. His heart rate increased slightly.
Outside, the footsteps had become audible. From his position crouching behind the door, he looked as best possible through the metal blinds that crossed the door. Using caution he eased them open, taking care to avoid making any noise. Through the slightest of gaps he could see a smartly dressed male walking in the direction of the office, a white coffee mug swaying backwards and forwards from his right hand. Unsurprisingly it was a casino employee.
On the opposite side of the corridor a coffee dispenser was resting on a table, a red light emitting from the standby button. The employee stopped a few metres away from the door, looking first in the direction of the office, then the coffee dispenser.
Mark moved his eyes away from the blinds, momentarily nervous that the employee would check the door. He crouched down as low as physically possible, his eyes focused on the metallic blinds covering the main window of the office directly in front of him. He held his breath.
Silence.
Seconds dragged. Pain tore down his back. His instincts instructed him to shuffle for comfort but discipline took over. He knew he could not be seen or heard. Behind the door all was silent. Instead his attention focused momentarily on the main window. The lights of what he assumed to be a truck reflected against the metallic blinds followed by the sound of heavy revving.
Outside the room he heard a shuffling sound, perhaps less than five feet away. The employee was standing motionless in front of the coffee dispenser. He looked casually in the direction of the blinded office doors but unknown to Mark he moved on without taking interest. The employee eyed the coffee dispenser and stopped to place his cup under the tap. Espresso, latte, cappuccino, macchiato, hot water, and hot chocolate were just some of the choices written in Italian and German. He pondered the choices for several seconds and decided on the espresso. With the faint promise of dawn still distant over the horizon he needed the caffeine.
Outside the building the sound of voices became louder, stealing the intruder’s attention and causing him momentarily to consider his exit. As the seconds passed the sound of conversation became louder before fading, the direction of their voices indicating that they were moving, probably walking along the side of the casino. As best the intruder could tell the voices belonged to customers searching for the entrance to the casino, disappearing as they continued to walk away from the window.
Suddenly he heard a sound coming from the corridor. An object of some description had fallen to the floor and rolled towards the office door, hitting it and rebounding in some unknown direction. Unbeknown to Mark it was a coin. The employee cursed in German and bent over to search for it, his search guided by the vague light coming from the next corridor. The anxious wait was now unbearable for Mark as it came in such close contact. He flinched involuntarily.
The employee froze.
For several seconds neither moved. On the other side of the door Mark waited silently. Unseen to him, the employee located his coin. He dusted it down with his jacket and returned to the machine.
Patiently the intruder waited, a merciless wait, the thundering of his heart ma
king it difficult to control his breathing. Suddenly he heard a different sound. On the other side of the door the machine buzzed into life, the night-time silence broken by the sound of filtered coffee being dispensed into the mug perched on the metal grating. The employee waited. Seconds later a single bleep informed him it was finished. He gripped the cup with his stubby fingers and sipped the liquid slowly.
No sugar.
He looked down at the nearby tray and ripped open a packet of sugar, pouring it without care into the cup.
No stirrers.
Feeling frustration, he searched for several more seconds and decided to make do with a plastic knife. He stirred the coffee gently and threw the packet of sugar and the knife into the rubbish bin. He sipped the liquid as he walked, slowly returning to the main casino.
Mark inhaled deeply. His heart was pounding and his breath short but he knew it was over. He would wait for another three minutes then follow the employee the way he came. If his luck held out he would not be seen.
In a deserted part of the Vatican City, the man with blond locks and the head of the Vatican Police spoke urgently.
Targets would be back on the road tomorrow.
He exited, this time behind the wheel of a BMW.
Vatican banker Randy Lewis was still at his desk at 1am. In his tidy office, lit only by the dim glow of the 40-watt desk lamp, he pondered the document before him.
He was largely familiar with the financial performance of Leoni et Cie. Millions of minor shareholders, a few more significant shareholders and one main one, the Vatican, due to receive leftfield returns on their original investments. It was a good investment for the Vatican. The share price of the bank had hardly fluctuated at all: impressive in times of economic uncertainty.
Yet something worried him. Removing the lid from his Caran d’Ache fountain pen he circled the one major irregularity. He had missed it the first time but the second time it did not compute. He wrote a note in the margin.
What the hell was going on?
30
Mike and Gabrielle left Rome late the next morning. Following the activity of the previous day, Thierry and the cardinals agreed that Gabrielle was still in significant danger, despite her no longer being the majority shareholder of Leoni et Cie, and that Mike would remain as her bodyguard for the foreseeable future.
This was welcomed all round. Unsurprisingly, Vatican security had been heightened since the attack and a full inquiry was to be launched into the Swiss Guard. Thierry was charged with the responsibility but this did nothing to appease Cardinal del Rosi. After hours of persuasion, he and the returning Camerlengo, furious at the attack on his niece, declared their intent to conduct their own inquiry, external of the Swiss Guard but also subject to the laws of the Holy See and the Vatican City.
The other major topic of interest was the second diary. After initial attempts by the cardinals to understand its significance failed, Cardinal Marcelos reluctantly agreed that Mike would also become the guardian of the recently discovered manuscript after suggestion from Cardinal Utaka and Commissario Pessotto that Henry Leoni’s knowledge might be of value. Nevertheless, they also firmly ordered that Mike was under no circumstances to pursue any leads it might give without further instruction. The cardinal’s assumption was that the recent ordeal would dampen Gabrielle’s interest, yet Mike quietly wondered whether it would whet her desire further.
The journey north took place in little traffic and passed mostly in silence. For the first time since they had known each other Gabrielle travelled in the front. At just after one-fifteen they stopped at a small café, located discretely off the main road, somewhere between Florence and Bologna. Mike entered first, quietly surveying the location as he walked toward the counter. Gabrielle, meanwhile, took a seat at a booth-enclosed table and looked despondently through the window at the deserted road. The gravel car park outside the café’s entrance was practically empty apart from three relatively modern hatchbacks with Swiss licence plates and a gathering of motorbikes that lined the wall near the outside toilets, two of which belonged to the longhaired, bearded Americans dressed in blue Levis with holes around the knees and tight leather jackets. She hardly approved of the setting but Mike had his own views on seclusion. On this occasion she was in no mood to argue.
Mike returned with two cups of coffee and placed one in front of her. She raised the cup to her lips and sipped it slowly, the flavourless liquid barely registering on her taste buds. It was hardly the stuff she was used to. Her hands shook slightly as the heat resonated uncomfortably from the substandard china, leaving a red imprint on her palms.
But it was not just the heat that affected her. She was shaken, evidently so. Her fingers trembled significantly less than the previous day but it had not stopped altogether. The night that followed was difficult. After a thorough examination by the Vatican’s medical staff she kept to herself, refusing to eat or drink anything but the odd sip of water.
Sleep was also out of the question. Every time she closed her eyes evil visions entered her head, some real some not, almost like a vivid recurring nightmare where the masked Swiss Guard continued to attack her: his masculine fingers still clenched firmly around her neck that was still hurting from the attack. For the first time in years she feared the dark: every time the light faded, she saw him: those eyes of pure malice penetrating down on her. Could she ever trust a Swiss Guard?
Could she afford not to trust one?
Mike returned from the counter for a second time and took a seat opposite her. He removed his sports jacket and placed it down on the red cushioned bench, part of which was punctured and oozing yellow foam rubber.
He slid along the seat and forced a smile. Like Gabrielle he drank coffee, equally weak, and placed a white plate with a ham baguette on the table before her.
‘In case you get hungry,’ he said.
She did not reply; her gaze remained fixed on the barren stretch of road. To Mike it was unclear whether this was an act of vigilance or whether she was simply in a daze. With shaking hands she sipped slowly from her drink, some splashing onto her fingers.
‘You okay?’
She placed the cup on the table and rubbed her hand.
‘Sure,’ she said, without making eye contact. Instead her eyes returned to the road.
Mike nodded. She clearly wasn’t but he let it pass. He took a bite of his own baguette and rubbed his hands together to remove the crumbs. Noticing tears in her eyes, he removed a serviette from the dispenser on the window ledge and passed one to her. She accepted it without eye contact, her gaze remaining on the road.
Mike’s attention, meanwhile, remained focused on her. She was not the woman he had met several weeks earlier. The bruising on her cheek was starting to swell, poorly disguised despite several layers of makeup. For the first time since they met she wore a baseball cap and her hair was done up in a ponytail. Today her head seemed lower than usual. She clearly did not want to be seen.
‘That guy was not one of us. He was an impostor.’
Gabrielle’s attention remained elsewhere. Outside, the roaring of two motorbikes dominated the otherwise quiet location. The bikers parked next to the others and entered through the glass door. They walked towards the counter and ordered coffee.
Mike looked at Gabrielle.
‘It’s okay,’ he said, his focus intense. ‘I’m here.’
She blew on the weak coffee and sipped it slowly. The sickly liquid felt unpleasant on her stomach. The doctor explained that she was in shock and it could remain for days if not weeks. He told her seriously that shock could affect sleep patterns, appetite and taste buds among other things but she was aware that it was not shock that was responsible for the appalling flavour that afflicted her tongue.
She replaced the cup on the table and stuck out her tongue in distaste. Mike smiled.
‘What?’
He shook his head, still smiling. ‘Nothing.’
She continued to gaze at him. For several secon
ds her eyes remained unmoving. Finally, a smile reached her lips and she forced herself to laugh. She knew it was the first genuine laugh she’d had that day.
‘That is one shit cuppa coffee.’
Mike smiled at her. ‘Yeah, well, at least we can get some proper coffee when we get back to St. Gallen.’
‘Yeah. With real beans.’
‘And sugar.’
‘And food,’ she said, looking with disgust at the baguette. She held a smile for several seconds before it faded into a serious frown. She turned around nervously as the newest bikers took a seat at the booth directly behind her and slurped loudly on watery coffee, their senses suggesting indifference to the lack of taste. She glanced over her shoulder at the rugged back of the nearest biker. Little things scared her. The flaming skeleton tattooed into one of the biker’s necks; the half dozen piercings in the larger man’s ears; the ruggedness of their beards, and even the way the larger of the two put down the cup and burped.
‘I’ve made reservations at a hotel about one hundred and seventy miles north,’ Mike informed her. ‘It’s hardly the Hilton but it’s still pretty okay.’
She turned around to face him and muttered the word ‘fine’ without argument. The idea of the great Ms. Leoni, billionaire, philanthropist et cetera, et cetera, staying in a three-star hotel quietly made him laugh but the gravity of the situation called for seclusion. Taking every precaution he booked the room, one room, two beds, under the name Scarlet, his American grandmother’s maiden name and decided he would pay with cash. He never liked to take chances but nerves still got the better of him: whatever it was. With a hawk-like intensity, not obvious to anyone else, he scanned the road for signs of action. Nothing. Just another biker: this place seemed to collect them. Moments later a blue BMW pulled up outside.
The Templar Agenda Page 31