"Hey!" one of the workmen suddenly shouted. "I need help deciphering what we've found.
Guido joined the officers huddling around the man standing with one leg on the broken flooring and the other on the ground. A board had been turned over with wiring running along its length.
"What is this?" the workman ask. "It's got an apparatus of some kind attached to this board. "Looks like the piece was in this conference room somewhere and got torn loose."
The policemen gathered around and stared. "Don't know, but it looks like a transmitter of some kind," one of the men said.
"This house was bugged!" another policeman said. "Don't touch it. We should check it for fingerprints."
Guido stood up. "Whoever planted this device could have set off the explosives."
"Yeah. We've found something important," the workman said.
27
The 11:00 A.M. flight of the Lufthansa Fokker 100 landed smoothly on Rome's Leonardo da Vinci Airport runway, turned around, and headed back to the terminal. A cold wind blew rain across the window and left dampness in the air.
"Now that we are back in Rome," the detective said, "Klaus Baer can once again become Klaus Burchel. You can forget about that frightening grandfather of yours and go back to being just an everyday crook." The man laughed.
Klaus bit his tongue. He'd had enough of Stein's envoy to last six lifetimes. Big and strong, the man was inescapable and was the only one who enjoyed his asinine jokes.
"Actually, you are an extremely lucky fellow," the detective said. "Most employers would have written you off. Some would've had me just put a bullet in your head. Not Dr. Stein! I'm amazed that he wants you to come back to work for him after you knocked off a priest and ran. Actually, bumping off that man wasn't too cool."
Klaus kept looking straight ahead.
"Don't worry about getting through passport control. Nobody's connected you to the killing but Dr. Stein."
Klaus took a deep breath.
"I don't think you'll be in the mood to run once we get in the terminal, but remember all I have to do is pick up a phone and report a killer on the loose, give them a description, and you won't make it to the front door."
"I have no intention of running."
"Good. My car is in the parking lot. I'll take you to Stein's apartment. I think the good doctor even has a task ready for you to do immediately."
The pilot signaling the release of the seat belt sent both men to their feet. The detective stepped behind Klaus. "After you, young man," he said. "I'll be behind you all the way."
After a long hour of driving through congested streets, the Mercedes stopped in front of the familiar apartment on Via del Gracchi. Pulling over to the curb, the detective pointed at the building. "Think you can get up there by yourself or do I need to follow you?"
Klaus shook his head. "Don't worry. If I was going to try and make a break for it, I would have done so before now."
The man patted him condescendingly on the hand. "Good boy. Now you go up there and make your ol' Uncle Albert happy. Don't be a wise guy and make me run you down again. Next time it might prove to be truly painful."
Klaus nodded, opened the door, and stepped out.
"Be a nice boy just for me."
Klaus started to tell him where to go but thought better of it. He was already in enough trouble. Walking straight ahead, he entered the apartment building and took the elevator up to the second floor. Klaus had been there so many times that there was no mystery to finding the way. With a hesitant step, he walked to the door and knocked.
"Enter!" Stein shouted.
With intimidation, Klaus turned the knob, walked in, and shut the door behind him. Wearing a maroon robe, Stein was bent over his desk working on something. He glanced at Klaus and went back to whatever he was doing without saying a word. Klaus stood awkwardly waiting for Stein to unleash the fury of hell on him, but Stein said nothing. After a long minute, Stein closed a notebook, stuck his hand in his pocket, and looked at him. Reaching across the table, he picked up a small Walther P5 pistol.
"You're a grotesque little frog," Stein said.
Klaus caught his breath, but stood at attention, saying nothing. He felt his hand start to tremble.
"Why didn't you come back here after you killed that priest at the Santa Maria Church?"
"I panicked," Klaus mumbled. No point in lying. "I didn't mean to kill him. The man crept up on me, and I stabbed him more by reflex than anything else."
Dr. Stein studied him for a moment. "You know, I think you are telling me the truth, Burchel."
"Why would I lie? You've caught me."
Stein nodded. "Fortunately for you, I still need your services, but I don't want you ever to run again. Do you understand me?"
"Yes, sir."
"Next time I won't be so generous." Stein put the gun down on the table and pulled his hand out of the pocket of his robe. "I will be keeping this cassette recorder in a safe place." He held a small tape recorder before him. "The confession you just made is recorded here. You'll want to do your best to keep me alive so no one finds it."
Klaus stiffened. It was not what he had expected.
"Now change into those old clothes hanging behind the door in the bathroom. We have work to do today and tonight."
28
The heavyset man sped down Via Appia Nuova in his Fiat until he reached Grande Raccordo Anulare road where he slowed. The Anulare formed a ring around Rome, and beyond lay the suburb of Ciampino where a small airport made travel in and out of the area easy. Two men had flown in from America just for this meeting, and he eagerly awaited their report. Parallel to the highway ran Via Appia Antica, the Appian way, the ancient highway entry into Rome proper that all first- century travelers walked down to reach the heart of the city.
Before stopping, he drove past The Catacombs of St. Sebastiene twice. The other four men should already be there. Even though it was 2:00 in the morning, he could not risk anyone seeing him enter or leave. Once satisfied that the area was safe, he slowed and parked across the street where no one would connect his car with the ancient burial site that the first Christians had used two thousand years ago.
Each of the five men had a key to the side door of the church that allowed them to enter and descend into the dark catacombs where tourists visited. Stopping in the black of night, he slipped a stocking-cap face mask over his head before letting himself in. Black gloves not only offered protection against leaving fingerprints but added prevention of his hands being recognized. With cautious steps, he descended to the lowest level where the ancient Romans had once carried their dead. Only then did he switch on his flashlight.
At the bottom of the steps, the leader caught sight of a faint glow down the earthen tunnel to his left. A larger area had once been a little chapel. Inside stood a stone slab altar standing on the dirt wall. All around were the indentations in the walls where bodies had been placed for their eternal sleep. The candles on the altar and around the small room had been lit by the men who arrived first. Dressed in black with hoods over their entire heads, each man sat on a rock stool, waiting anonymously for him to arrive.
The leader walked in and nodded to the group. In turn, they responded.
"Gentlemen," the leader began quietly. "I welcome our two guests from outside the country to this important planning meeting. To date, we have done well. We have exploded two bombs in the city with significant results. A subway tunnel was closed and a train derailed. Most recently, we bombed American scholars and blew their offices to pieces, killing one associate. No one has yet picked up one clue as to who we are."
The group mumbled their appreciation.
"With such success, I believe that the title general would be appropriate. From henceforth, you will address me in that manner." He paused and looked across the faces of the four men. "I'm not sure we have yet made our point with the government that American control must stop in Italy and around the world. Perhaps, we must be more specific the nex
t time," the leader said.
No one answered.
"Only two of us know the identify of the rest of this group," the leader continued. "Anonymity provides security. I want you to feel completely free to speak your minds. We must be candid. Understood?"
The group murmured their compliance.
"One of the reasons that we are meeting tonight is to plan our next attack," the general said. "We are now called The Scorpion by the media." He chuckled. "Conveys the message that we leave a powerful sting. I believe an attack in the United States would make an additional important statement. Perhaps, blowing up a school in Los Angeles, or striking an airport in Chicago would get big media attention."
No one spoke.
"Come now, gentlemen. You must have some response."
One of the foreigners held up his hand. "We have studied the situation across America," he began. "Since the 9-11 bombing, our country has become armed to the teeth. While we are not an identified terrorist group and have no connections with radical Muslims, we have those factors in our favor, but that is all. We believe a terrorist strike would be a disaster."
It definitely was not what the general had expected to hear.
"It is the unanimous opinion of both of us that it is not a wise idea," the American said.
"This was not what we agreed upon earlier," the general growled.
"Correct," the other American said. "But at that time we had not fully surveyed all of the possibilities. We have now. It is our conclusion that you are dealing primarily with an Italian problem and it should be kept in Italy."
The compatriot sitting beside him nodded his head solemnly.
The leader rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "What would you suggest?"
"You must be more specific when you attack," the American said. "You have not left the police with enough information to understand why these assaults are happening. The attacks require you to be clearer about your objectives. You are leaving the impression that you are amateurs. Your work must become sharper."
"How dare you criticize us!" the hooded man nearest the altar exploded. "No one even has a hint about who we are. Two successful bombings right under the nose of the police is not a small matter. Do you realize that?"
The American cursed. "Of course, we understand! You are too thin-skinned. We're telling you the way it is. Take it or leave it."
"You are Americans," the general said slowly. "I suppose it was not clear in the beginning that you were also part of the problem. We will leave it at that."
Jerking a gun from his belt, he fired quickly. The first American lunged forward and then tumbled sideways. The second turned to run, but the leader hit him in the back twice, and the man sprawled on the floor.
"We should never have trusted them," the hooded assistant said. "They were a drag from the beginning."
The third man stood immobile and speechless.
The leader stuck the gun back in his belt. "We can't leave them down here. We'll have to carry their bodies out."
"My God!" the third man choked. "You just killed them like they were rats crawling out of a hole."
"They were rats," the general growled. "You don't fiddle around with vermin. You get my meaning?"
The general watched the man's eyes widening. He said nothing, but finally nodded his head obediently.
"Remember that we don't leave one behind who might rat on us," the general said and laughed. "Get it? Rat on us."
"Yeah," the second assistant said. "But what are we going to do next? Their resistance has messed up our plans."
"I hate those worthless Americans," the general said. "Can't trust any of them. Now we have to find another follow-up target. These Uncle Sams screwed everything up. We'll have to give more thought to this next attack. I guess we must strike in Rome. You know, we could bomb the American embassy."
"If that Townsend guy doesn't die, we could shoot him," the assistant said. "That's a real option."
"Hmm," the leader mused. "We'll see how he comes out of the coma. Of course, he might die in the hospital." He kicked at the American lying on the floor nearest him. "Let's get these bodies upstairs and haul these guys off. We'll meet again in ten days."
The third man still said nothing.
29
Michelle Townsend had dressed early and packed her bags to leave the hospital. After visiting her comatose husband, she came back to the room before checking out. Seeing Jack lying comatose left her drained and feeling woozy. Michelle didn't want to leave him behind, but she knew she had been dismissed and had no choice but to go home. After three days in the hospital, the doctors had released her with a warning that her concussion remained an issue. Michelle had promised she would pay attention. The heavy bandage across the top of her head remained, leaving her looking like a war refugee.
Guido walked in with a nurse pushing a wheelchair. "They tell me that they have to wheel you out of here regardless of how good you feel."
"Afraid so," Michelle said and sat down in the wheelchair.
"How was Jack this morning?" Guido ask
"I'm afraid there's been no change. He's still in a coma and doesn't look good. I keep praying for progress. That's about all I can say."
The nurse started pushing her out of the room and toward the elevator. When the elevator reached the ground floor, Guido pointed toward the entrance. "My car is already parked out front. We'll be out of here in a flash."
The nurse helped Michelle into the front seat, wished her the best, and waved good-bye. Guido pulled away, and they were back on the streets of Rome. The insanity of Roman traffic ran full tilt, and she had little choice but to hang on.
"I want to go back to what was once our offices," Michelle said. "I was unconscious when the ambulance took me away. I must see the wreckage. I just have to see the disaster with my own eyes."
"It's not a pretty sight."
"I'm sure that's true. Anything happen lately?"
"A guy named Dr. Albert Stein showed up and said you were associates. True?"
Michelle bolted forward. "The man has been a source of constant severe problems. Our book An Answer to the Cynics violently upset him. Jack always said Stein would remain our enemy until the clocks quit running."
"I caught him rummaging through the debris and had the police check him out," Guido said. "I thought something was wrong with the guy."
"In the rubble?" Michelle shrieked. "That scoundrel was trying to steal from us! In the past, he has been obsessed with whatever we were doing."
"Exactly what I expected. He hasn't been back."
"This report is alarming," Michelle said. "There's no telling what he's up to."
Guido wound his way skillfully through the traffic and slowed for a stoplight. "We found one other clue," he said softly. "Your offices had been wired. Someone had been eavesdropping on your conversations."
"Stein is capable of such a thing," Michelle said. "I'd put him at the top of the list."
"The police are checking it out. We'll see."
"I trust so." Michelle looked out the window. "Jack's condition has kept my attention focused on him, but Dov Sharon keeps coming back to my mind. The Jewish community has already buried him?"
"Yes," Guido said. "They have."
"He loved working on the Sarajevo Haggadah. I was never sure what he was after, but Dov will always remain in our hearts as a precious person. I know he was thrilled when he came up with this search for The Prologue of James, or the Brown Book, as the backroom boys at the Vatican call it. I must write his parents today and tell them how much we cared about Dov. "Michelle's voice trailed away. "Who would ever have thought such a thing could . . ."
They drove in silence for a considerable distance. Finally, Guido said, "Earlier, Jack said that loud noises affect you negatively."
Michelle took a deep breath. "You might as well know that I have a psychological hangover from a childhood accident, but I can't allow it to control me, Guido. I'm forging ahead regardless of what I feel."
"You are a brave woman."
"I'm not brave," Michelle protested. "I'm simply faced with an inescapable alternative. Jack would want me to make sure that our work continues. While he is hanging on to his life by a thread, I can't let old fears stop the work. I must carry on. I believe that is what God would want me to do as well. So, I must grit my teeth and keep trying to jump through the hoops regardless."
Guido turned slowly and studied her face for a moment before looking back to the road. "I find you and your husband to be two of the most Christian people I've ever met. I am highly impressed. I want to say it again. I will stick with you regardless of how long it takes Jack to recover."
"Thank you," Michelle said softly. "I can't tell you how much I appreciate your steadfastness. We've got an uphill road ahead."
"But together we can climb it."
"Yes," she said. "We can with God's help."
Guido turned into the alley and pulled into the reserved parking space left for the Townsends. Michelle stared out the window at the ruins. All the walls were now gone. Only a pile of broken slats and split 2x4's stood in a heap to one side.
"It's all vanished," she lamented. "Disappeared."
"I went through the wreckage with the workmen and saved many of your books and papers. They have been stored in the church. Of course, much was lost, but your books did surprisingly well all things considered."
Michelle got out of the car and walked toward the ruins. "It's hard for me to imagine who could have done this to us. In five lifetimes, we couldn't have offended anyone this bad, or so I thought. The whole disaster is nothing but craziness."
Guido stood beside her, but said nothing.
"We are not going to stop," Michelle said. "No matter why this happened we won't allow a bombing to terminate our work."
"Why would they do this?" Guido ask.
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