“I see.” Pope Paul VII now sat completely up in his bed. He had a concerned look on his face.
“Is something wrong?”
“Did he say anything else?”
“No. That was it. Just code three.”
Wickham watched as the concerned look turned to one of fear. Obviously the pontiff was worried. And he should be. He tried hard to stifle his excitement. “Is there something you need to tell me about, Paul?”
Pope Paul VII slid back down in his bed. How could this have happened? How could Father Vin be so careless? Code three was bad. Really bad. Never in his term as pope had the guardian been code three. Actually, since the whole “code” system had been in place, no guardian had been code three.
Something was wrong. Code three meant that the protector, Father Vin in this case, was dead. It also meant that the guardian, Anna, was headed to a safe house. Hale, he knew, would see to it that Anna was safe and secure. As soon as she was, the pilot would then return to the Vatican and brief him. Hopefully Hale would get here soon and explain everything.
He knew that since the arrival of the scroll two thousand years ago, people had been trying to get their hands on it. Some got close. Some had even come close to seeing it. But no one had ever caused this much havoc in such a short amount of time. Lately it seemed that everywhere that scroll went, someone got hurt, ended up dead, or both. And now two of his closest friends, Thomas and Vin, were gone. Something was definitely wrong. Whoever was trying to get the scroll this time was serious. They knew too much about too many things. He wasn’t naive. There had to be a leak.
Louis had asked him something. Is there anything you need to tell me, Paul? He studied the cardinal’s face. Louis looked at him expectantly, like a child waiting for his mother to tell him it was okay to go outside and play. Did he know? Surely not. How could he? Then again, how could anyone? But someone did know. Someone close to him, no doubt. Better safe than sorry.
“No, Louis. Everything is fine. Just fine.”
He watched as the cardinal’s look of anticipation faded. Louis showed no sign of betrayal. That was good, though it didn’t prove anything. He would still keep a tight lip on the situation.
Cardinal Wickham stood up and moved to his bedside. He patted him on the shoulder again and said, “Take care, my friend. If there is anything I can do for you, let me know. I’ll be in my office.”
“Louis, there is one thing.”
“Yes?”
“Hand me my tea, please.”
Wickham grabbed the mug from the bedside table and handed it to him. “Here, Your Holiness. I pray you feel better soon.”
He thanked the cardinal and watched him walk out of the room. For the first time he could remember, Louis seemed annoyed with him. He needed to do something. But what? What could he do, lying here in this bed sick? He could only think of one thing. He reached for the cable that was draped over the side of his bed. He pushed the little red button and waited. Seconds later, the door opened up. A pretty, young nurse, the same one who had been at his bedside for the last two days, came in. She had a soothing smile and treated him like a normal patient. She was feisty, telling him to take his medicine—she didn’t care if he was the pope, she was the nurse, and he was going to do what she said—even if he didn’t want to! He definitely liked her. “Yes, Your Holiness?” she asked.
“There is a key over there on my desk.” He pointed. “It unlocks my door over there. Would you get it and unlock that door?” “Certainly.”
He directed her to the cell phone, and she brought it to him. After dismissing her, he punched in the number and waited for the other end to answer.
“Hello?”
“Hello, is this Hale?” He sat up again and tried to clear his throat.
“Yes. Who is this?”
“Hale, this is Pope Paul VII.”
“Your Holiness, this is not a secure line.”
“Yes, yes. I know. Listen. We need to keep this quick. I have become very sick. They say it is the flu. I’m not so sure. I may not have much time.”
“Please, sir, don’t say that. I’m sure you will be—”
“Listen carefully, please. Everything that has happened in the last couple of weeks—it cannot all be coincidental. Something is wrong. I suspect that someone here is helping whoever is trying to get the package. I don’t know who it may be, but if someone here is involved in this, you and your whole team are in even more danger than before. Take the appropriate precautions.”
“I will.”
“Good. I’ll call you if I learn anything else.” “Thank you, Your Holiness.”
“No, thank you, Hale. Thank you for all you do. Get back here and brief me as soon as you can.”
“I will.”
He ended the call and reached for the nurse’s button again. His head was pounding. His vision was blurring. He felt hot. He kicked the blanket off. He reached for his small leather-bound Bible and began fanning himself. He saw the door open, but the whole scene was blurry. He felt light-headed. He heard the nurse shout for the doctor and the rest of the staff just as everything went dark.
CHAPTER 27
Pau, France
Jonathan flipped on his turn signal and pulled the rental car off the main road. Dust and gravel were kicking up behind him. This little side road wasn’t even on the map, and he’d almost missed it. Good thing he hadn’t.
The bullet wound in his leg was seeping blood. He needed to get out of the car and get to the trunk. He always carried an emergency first-aid kit. It wasn’t enough to treat a gunshot, but the kit did have some gauze, antibiotic cream, and pain medicine. It should hold him over until he could get it properly looked at.
He pulled the car to a stop, far enough off the main road that he was sure no one could see him. He slammed the door shut as he limped back to the trunk. The lid popped, and the dust that had settled on the surface from the little back road flew up into his nostrils. He sneezed.
The pain from the gunshot was killing him. He sifted through the bag until he found what he was looking for. He unscrewed the lid to the little bottle and popped three of the little blue pills into his mouth. He had no water, so he swallowed hard, forcing the little pills down. There was an old shirt in his bag as well. He unstrapped his knife and cut it into long strips. He took two of them and twisted one around the other, creating a kind of cloth rope. He propped his leg up on the bumper and tied the rope off a few inches above the bloody hole in his leg. Fortunately, the bullet missed any major artery. Had it not, he would have already bled out. He set his leg down, put the bag back, and returned to the driver’s seat. He started the engine and put the car in gear.
The little back road was just wide enough for him to be able to make a U-turn. He stomped on the gas hard and watched the gravel shoot from the rear of the car. He slammed his fist on the dash just for good measure. He couldn’t remember when he’d been this mad.
His cell phone was sitting on the seat beside him. He grabbed it, flipped it open, and punched in a number.
The voice was scratchy and deep. The German accent was deep and thick. “Hullo? What do you want?”
“Dieter, it’s Jonathan.”
“I know this. What do you want?”
“I need a favor.”
“Imagine that.”
“I’ve had an incident. I need a cutter. I’m in Pau, France.” “Go to the hospital.”
“If I could go to the hospital, do you think I would be calling you?”
“Give me ten minutes. I will call you back.”
He hated having to call him, but this was about staying alive. Surely Dieter would know that and not leave him hanging, even though there was no love lost between them.
At one time he and Dieter were partners. They were the most feared hit man team in all of Europe. Their reputation even found its way across the Atlantic and into the West. They had made it a contest between themselves to see who could end up wanted on more charges in the most countries.
Jonathan was in the lead by eight counts and two countries—it was the way it should be, no offense to Dieter. They had been the closest thing to best friends that hit men could ask for. They’d been inseparable. Until Prague.
It was a simple hit. Two shots from two different angles, scheduled to fire at the same time. Jonathan was on a rooftop on the south side of the street, while Dieter was in an apartment window on the west side. The target, a US diplomat, walked out of the embassy just as scheduled. Both men lined up their shots. Each had his watch synchronized to sound an alarm, a simple three beeps. On the third beep, they would pull the triggers. It was a routine that had been performed many times, each without incident.
Two bullet holes from two different angles was enough to stall even the best security detail. The mere fact that two shots were taken would confuse the security long enough for them to get out before it could be determined what direction the shots came from. That was the plan.
On the third beep, Jonathan squeezed his index finger. Nothing. He squeezed again. Still nothing. The gun was jammed. He looked through his scope to see a half dozen US Secret Service agents sweeping their arms, guns in hand, in circular motions throughout the street. The target was down, lying in a pool of crimson. Jonathan disassembled his rifle as quickly as he could and ran. He later found out that Dieter was captured. Somehow, after two days of interrogation, Dieter escaped. It was reported that six American agents were hospitalized with life-threatening injuries, while two more were found dead. Dieter wasn’t someone you let your guard down with.
Jonathan never tried to contact Dieter after that. Word made its way back to him that Dieter held him responsible. Dieter thought he had sold him out. It took two years for the dust to settle. Jonathan finally tried talking to him. They met in a public place at a time of day when it would be crowded. Safety first. After two hours of cold coffee and stale bread, Jonathan finally convinced Dieter that he hadn’t sold him out. Dieter accepted his explanation but felt it would be better if they just continued to work separately. Jonathan paid the check and left without even a good-bye. That was three years ago. They hadn’t spoken until just now.
The cell phone started ringing. It was Dieter calling him back. He pushed the SEND button and said, “Yeah?”
“There is a Mr. Henri Rhette who can be found on Avenue Saint James. He has been called. He is expecting you. Tell me, Jonathan, for what reason did you call me?”
“Because unless I get this thing taken care of quickly, I’m gonna be taking a dirt nap. You’re the only one I know who could find me a doctor in the middle of nowhere.”
“You owe me.”
“I know.”
Like their last meeting, Jonathan didn’t even say good-bye. He closed the phone and threw it back on the seat beside him. Pau was only a few more kilometers ahead. Hopefully this doctor wasn’t some quack. Guess he’d soon find out.
He made one final call before he reached the city limits. This time it was to one of his people back in Rome. He explained the situation, told his guy what he needed, and hung up.
Now it was just a matter of time. Soon he would know the whereabouts of that pain-in-the-neck girl. Wickham’s nagging voice crept up inside his mind. Get me my scroll! He really was starting to dislike that man. He’d figure out a way to deal with him later. Right now he had to stay focused. The pursuit of Anna Riley had almost cost him his life. The next time they met, he was determined it would cost hers.
Pau Airport France
Jason made Anna wait to get off the train until he stepped outside and looked around. Once he was sure they were alone, he motioned for her to join him.
They hurried out of the terminal and up to the street, where they grabbed a cab back to the hotel. He looked around in the lobby for someone who looked like they didn’t belong. Once he was satisfied, he and Anna jumped on the elevator and headed for her room.
Anna slipped the key into the lock and led the way in. Jason was impressed. It was probably the nicest room the hotel had to offer. At least they would be staying in some pretty swanky places if this was how Anna traveled. He walked around checking the place out while Anna quickly threw her things in her bag. Five minutes later, they were back downstairs and into another cab.
The drive to the airport was a short one. Jason could sense that Anna didn’t feel like talking too much, so he kept the conversation to a minimum. There would be plenty of time for talking on the plane ride. The plane was impressive. He had never been on a Gulfstream jet before, but he had heard about them. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all.
As their cab pulled up on the tarmac of the airport, Anna saw Miles standing at the top of the stairs leading into the plane. Some local crew were milling around outside the aircraft, each one doing something different. A guy in a gray jumpsuit was holding a massive hose up to the wing. Someone else was under the plane inspecting the wheels, probably checking tire pressure and brakes. All in all, they looked like a bunch of ants moving vigorously about.
As they got out of the cab, Miles waved his arm at them, calling her and Jason aboard. The man with the hose flipped a switch and released the giant snake from the wing. He shouted something to Miles and did a mock salute. Anna and Jason nodded to him as they made their way up the stairs.
Miles met them halfway and grabbed Anna’s bag. “Did you have any trouble?”
“Not once we got out of Oloron-Sainte-Marie,” Anna answered in a sort of monotone. “Father Vin was shot.”
Miles sighed heavily. “I know.” He nudged her up the stairs. They would be leaving any minute now.
“Where’s Hale?”
“He told us to get you out of here,” Miles answered. “He said he’d catch up to us in London.”
“No. No way.” Anna shook her head. “This plane doesn’t leave without him. We wait.”
Marie came over and put a hand on her shoulder, a motherly look on her face. “Anna, dear, we have to go. It’s for your own safety. Hale is the boss. He has given us explicit orders to go. We have to.”
Anna blinked rapidly, her eyes wet with unshed tears. “Please, Marie, can’t we wait for just a few minutes? I’m really scared. I want him here. Please?”
Marie’s faced softened. She squeezed her shoulder and said, “I’ll go talk to Miles. Maybe we can wait for a few minutes.”
Anna thanked her.
Marie walked to the front of the plane and stuck her head in the cockpit. Jason watched, from behind as Marie talked to Miles. He saw Marie nod her head. Marie turned around and had a smile on her face. “Miles just got off the phone with Hale. He’s right around the corner. We’re waiting for him. He said he needed to talk to you.”
Jason saw the look of relief on Anna’s face. She needed everyone to be traveling together. He knew she needed to talk to Hale, too. She hadn’t wanted to leave him behind. Especially after what just happened.
The left engine wound down. Marie stepped in front of them and moved to the forward door, where she lifted the hydraulic lever and let the stairs to the main cabin down. Seconds later, Hale appeared in the doorway. Anna flung her arms around his neck. He hugged her back and then let go. He stuck his head in the cockpit, said something to Miles, and then closed the cockpit door. “We’re out of here,” he said.
Anna showed Jason around the inside of the plane. She told him to make himself comfortable. He sat down in the big leather chair, the one Father Vin had sat in over the last couple of days. He didn’t miss the forlorn expression on her face, but she didn’t cry this time. She tossed her jacket onto the couch and plopped down beside it. She looked exhausted.
Jason leaned his head against the back of the seat. So here he was. Off to London. What next?
A funny scene from a Chevy Chase movie ran through his mind. Look kids, Big Ben! Unfortunately, this trip wouldn’t be as humorous as the Griswolds’ had been.
The plane’s engines once again roared to life. Within seconds they were speeding down the runway. The Gulfstream’s nose lif
ted, and the plane climbed into the sky.
CHAPTER 28
Rome
Joseph sat at the table waiting for Cardinal Wickham to arrive. As usual, he was early. He just couldn’t stand being late.
He scanned the room for faces he recognized. Many people from the Vatican, priest and nonclergy alike, ate here frequently. It was a quiet little café located just down the street from St. Peter’s Square. It had an outdoor patio, mostly used by tourists looking to have a nice view with their croissants and coffee.
Joseph hated the patio. Too many pigeons. The little rats with wings would trot around bobbing their heads, pecking on the ground for crumbs. Occasionally, one of the braver ones would flutter its wings and spring up and over the little railing, landing on a table or in the middle of someone’s lunch plate.
Utterly repulsive. He simply refused to eat out there. At this very moment, he could see a woman shooing one off the railing next to her table. The rodent with wings squawked and flapped as it fell off the small railing.
Louis entered the room. Joseph stuck a hand up in the air and waved. Seconds later, Wickham took a seat at the table. “Louis.” Joseph nodded at the other cardinal. “Joseph. Glad you could make it.” “You, too.”
Wickham poured himself a cup of coffee from the carafe sitting in the middle of the table. He took two sugar cubes from a small plate and dropped them into the oversized mug. “I’m sort of pressed for time, so I’ll keep this short and to the point.”
Just then an attractive young woman appeared at the table. She had a bright white button-down shirt tucked inside a long black apron. She was wearing a long black skirt and black pumps with two-inch heels. “Hello, Louis,” she said. “Good to see you today. Will you be having your usual?”
“Yes, thank you.” Louis smiled at her. “He’ll have the same.” He pointed to Joseph without even looking at him. The young woman smiled, squeezed Louis’s shoulder, winked at him, and left without another word.
“Didn’t I see you with her down at Mad Jack’s last week?” Joseph asked with a grin.
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