Shrouded In Silence

by Robert L. Wise

  Michelle shook her head. "We have apparently stumbled on to a serious matter with our pursuits of hidden manuscripts like The Prologue of James codex that Jack and Dov were chasing before the explosion. It's hard to believe anyone in the Vatican would destroy our offices because we had such an interest. On the other hand, Albert Stein has been sinister and draconian in the past. This bombing would be extreme, but he is an extreme character. Then, there's a conversation that Father Don Blake had with Jack. I overheard him warning that anti-American sentiment had been behind the bombing of the subway and he was worried that we were vulnerable."

  "You've named enough enemies to start World War III," Guido said. "You'd better rethink what you just said. Sounds to me like you've got everything from religious nutcases to sinister terrorists on your trail. Obviously, Father Blake knew what he was talking about.

  "Blake?" Michelle said. "It's vaguely coming back to me that he was with me at the hospital. Have you seen Father Blake recently?"

  "No," Guido said. "I have no idea where he's gone."

  30

  The fall air felt brisk and snappy, leaving more than a hint of autumn in the air. Leaves had already fallen from the trees along the Virginia highway. A black Ford SUV sailed down the highway with the windows so heavily tinted that no one could see in. A man in the backseat watched the scenery drift by while the almost barren tree branches shook in the wind.

  "I trust you are comfortable," the driver said. "When I pick up our agents at the airport coming in from abroad, I always want them to have the amenities of home."

  "Thank you. I am quite fine."

  The large vehicle slowed at the edge of Langley. Once again beyond the city limits, the driver picked up speed until he came to the Central Intelligence Agency entry gates. The driver flashed his credentials, and the SUV continued through. Only then did the man in the backseat pull the clerical collar from around his neck and unfasten the shirt at the top. Setting aside the image of a priest, Donald Blake reached in his coat pocket for his personal credentials. At the next checkpoint, the driver leaned out the window. "I have Agent Donald Blake returning from Rome. We have an appointment on the third floor."

  The guard flipped through the pages on his clipboard and signaled for them to go on through. The SUV drove away.

  "We've gotten even more strict," the driver said over his shoulder. "Since the 9-11 attack, we dot every 'i' and cross every 't' with no exceptions. You know how it is."

  "Sure," Donald Blake said. "That's the new reality."

  The vehicle pulled into a parking zone and stopped. The two men entered the large gray building and took the elevator to the third floor. Once they had exited, Blake walked toward a door marked PRIVATE, and the driver sat down on a bench along the hallway. "I'll be here when you come out," he said and pointed at the door. "Have a good time in there with the big boys."

  Donald Blake nodded, and went in. Immediately, a man at the head of the table stood up. "Don! Great to see you. I believe you know our special assignment people."

  "Thanks, James." Two men on each side of the table stood up. Blake nodded. "Sure. Sam. Brad." They shook hands. "We've worked together before." The men sat down.

  James started the interview. "Please update us on what is unfolding in Rome."

  Blake leaned back in his chair. "By masquerading as a priest, I've established contacts all over Rome and made inroads at important points. I can cover those areas if you wish."

  No one nodded. James shook his head.

  "Good. I'll leave the descriptive data out for the moment. Following the bombing of the terminal at the Piazza del Cinquecento stop, I began working to discover the source of the attack. As we all know, the Italian police aren't the sharpest in the world and let many details slip. However, my contacts led me to an informant that I have been paying for information. Through him, I was able to penetrate the cell that set off that blast. I now have inside information on what is going on in the terrorist attacks."

  "Excellent!" James added. "Exceptional work."

  "A single man stands behind the blasts and is now supported by two other assistants he acquired for this operation. The media calls these punks The Scorpion and thinks they're a multitude of terrorists lurking behind every street corner. Fortunately, there isn't. One of the lead man's assistants is my informant. The mouthpiece told me that they are not connected with any other groups. The lead man simply hates Americans. Believe it or not, that's the whole point of what these hatchet men are in to, killing Americans and their influence."

  Sam smiled. "Nice work, Don."

  "After I got the big picture of what these hair bags were doing, I noticed that an American scholar got his big story published in Ill Messaggero. His name's Townsend, Dr. Jack Townsend. I warned him that this wasn't a good time for Americans to be getting publicity. Unfortunately, Townsend didn't take me seriously. To make some kind of bizarre point, The Scorpion boys blew up his offices, killed one of his associates, and put Townsend and his wife in the hospital. Bad news."

  "These terrorists are Italians?" James said.

  "Yes," Blake replied. "They can't be extradited to America."

  "Hmm," James said. "That could create a problem."

  "What brought me back today was the most recent information I picked up on these guerrillas. One of the options they are now pondering involves bombing the American Embassy. They apparently want to raise the ante."

  James leaned over the table. "I thought the three of you needed to hear this report as it changes the game we've been playing in Italy. They may be local Boy Scouts playing with dynamite, but when one of our embassies is mentioned, it's no longer little boys picking up merit badges. We have to be highly concerned."

  Brad held up his hand. "When could this occur?"

  "I have no working target date yet," Blake said. "At this point, I felt it was necessary that I be debriefed and you have time to consider options."

  "Good planning," James said. "Obviously, we are deeply concerned when one of our citizens is hit. However, we must immediately start preparations to make sure that our embassy remains secure. Don, I'll have Sam start the debriefing. As soon as we're through, you can return to Rome."

  Blake smiled. "Gentlemen, let's start the show."

  31

  Klaus burchel carried the last box of electronic equipment in and set it on the floor of the new apartment. Albert Stein stood by the window, mumbling to himself. On the street below the humdrum of honking cars and speeding traffic echoed down the block. Via Glustiniani ran behind the Pantheon, an ancient place of worship with a vast domed ceiling, but the neighborhood wasn't shabby. Still, the apartment was a step down from where Stein had been.

  "I don't like this location near as well as the flat on Via del Gracchi," Stein said. "Much closer to Vatican City over there." He shook his head. "But this is an address the police don't have, and I must protect my residence at all cost."

  Klaus nodded. "We got your furniture moved in through the night quickly enough that no one will know you are missing for days. If they don't catch you for something else, you'll be safe."

  Stein glared at him. "They didn't catch me doing anything! I was at Townsend's demolished office and they wanted information. Understand? Information!"

  "Yes, sir."

  "I'm waiting to see if Townsend survives," Stein said. "I'm sure that stupid wife of his will hang in limbo doing nothing until the man's fate is settled. It slows us down as well."

  "I could go up to the hospital and sneak in," Burchel thought out loud.

  "Stupid idea," Stein growled. "The nurses would be all over you in an instant. Give it some time and then we'll consider sending you in."

  Burchel shrugged sheepishly. "Just a suggestion."

  Stein started pacing back and forth. "From our hidden surveillance system, I picked up that they are on to a new chase for a document hidden somewhere in the Vatican. I could start looking for that little gem, but I must be careful not to raise any suspicion."
He kept walking back and forth. "We've still got to hunt for that ending to Mark's Gospel."

  "Now that the worthless Jew is dead," Burchel said. "It makes matters easier. Doesn't it?"

  "Not necessarily," Stein said. "He was the one leading the search in the Vatican Secret Library for this new interest. If he was still around, he'd be the one whose head should be put in the vice."

  "I'd love to do that," Burchel grumbled. "I hate Jews."

  "You're not exactly in love with the Americans either," Stein sneered.

  "I had time to think about it while I was in Munich," Klaus said. "The Americans ruined everything with their victory in World War II. They destroyed the way of life that my family had developed and reduced them to poverty." He pounded his fist into his palm. "These Yanks can't be allowed to do it again. I think we ought to kill the Townsends." His voice raised. "Kill 'em if nothing else just for the sport of it!"

  "My, my, Klaus. You do have a nasty disposition, don't you? Admirable trait."

  Mad Jack's on Via Arenula was an Irish pub with a festive atmosphere, and at night the music was loud while the drinks floated away like the Tiber River. In the afternoon, Mad Jack's usually stayed relatively quiet. Michelle didn't stop there often and always came with her husband. They'd often laughed about Jack's and the pub's names being the same. Sitting and talking on this late fall afternoon seemed somewhat nostalgic and made her feel closer to her husband. She and Guido Valentino talked over coffee.

  "Have you heard anything from the hospital today," Guido asked.

  "Just the usual. Jack's still in a coma, but they hope he will come out soon. Maybe his vital signs have improved some, but there's not much good news."

  Guido nodded his head. "Very difficult. Yes, the situation is not good."

  "I've thought a great deal about what Jack would want me to do," Michelle said. "It wasn't in his nature to slow down or put things on hold. I believe he would want me to continue our work. We still have important projects floating out there. I can't sit still and let them dangle in the air."

  Guido took a sip of his coffee. "You are a courageous woman, Michelle." He held up his hand to keep her from protesting his compliment. "Even with your post-traumatic stress problem you are ready to struggle on with the work. I have some suggestions. Please hear me out."

  Michelle raised her eyebrows. "OK."

  "I told you that I was here to be of help and I meant it. I am willing to assist you in anyway that I can. I am more than serious. You and I can continue the work. We can do it together."

  "Thank you, Guido. I know Jack would profoundly appreciate your availability. I certainly do. I'm just not quite sure where to turn."

  "Let's consider what's before you," Guido said. "Tell me what the next step might be."

  Michelle thought for a moment. "Now that Dov Sharon is gone, his interest in the Sarajevo Haggadah has ended. The book was in Hebrew and that was his expertise."

  "OK," Guido said. "We can take that project off the list."

  Michelle nodded. "It's a shame, but you're right. Did Jack share much with you about the Brown Book, as the Vatican calls it? The Prologue of James?

  "Enough that I am highly intrigued. Finding that material could be revolutionary. I'd be profoundly interested in locating and reading such a manuscript. However, only Jack and Dov really understood where the search was going. I'd be at a loss to know where to turn next."

  "The problem is that I'm a woman and the Vatican isn't hot on women wandering around in their library. They're not known for dishing out good treatment to nuns, feminists, ordained women of other denominations, and scholars like me. I'm afraid I'd almost have to dress like a man and trim my hair down to a crew cut to go researching around in their archives."

  "Afraid so. It's almost like that project awaits Jack's return." He stopped and rubbed his forehead thoughtfully. "Of course, we don't know when that will be and if he'll be able to remember what they did a few weeks ago."

  Michelle looked away, but tears welled up in her eyes. "I'm afraid to think about it."

  "At least, the situation at hand suggests we must wait for Jack's return before we do anything on The Prologue project.

  Michelle nodded, but didn't say anything.

  They sat silently and watched the cars and tourists walk passed. Finally, Michelle spoke.

  "Our pressing work is finding the original ending to Mark's Gospel. That's where this trek began and is Jack's passion. The original interview with Ill Messaggero had been about our search. A reporter named Mario Corsini was intrigued over the possibility of what we might turn up. I think that's the logical project to continue working on."

  "And that is why I first came to you after I read the article in the newspaper. What I didn't tell you was that I did an extraordinary amount of research on both of your backgrounds. I wanted to know everything I could about you before I told you why I volunteered to help."

  "Really?" Michelle squinted. "You're kidding."

  "After the explosion in your offices, I continued to observe you carefully. I had to know that you were genuine Christians and completely trustworthy."

  Michelle grinned. "Come on! Why would you do such a thing?"

  Guido pushed back from the table and looked her straight in the eyes. "There is much that I have not told either of you about myself," he said. "Only after I have shared with you the entire story will you be able to understand."

  "Understand? What don't we know about you?"

  "I can only tell you one piece of the story at a time. I must watch how everything plays out before I'll be able to convey all that I know, but I can assure you that what I have is vital to your work."

  Michelle blinked several times. "Guido, I don't have any idea where you're going with all of this. We checked your resume with Musei Capitolini, and their report back to us was excellent.

  "Of course. I worked at the museum under the name Guido Valentino, but you must understand that is not my true name."

  Michelle gasped. "Not your true name?"

  Guido shook his head. "No. My actual name will blow your mind."

  Part Three

  Midnight Approaches

  32

  The fall afternoon had slowly begun to slip away and the traffic on the street had picked up. After 4:00, all the stores opened again from their two-to-four nap break that many took every day. A few more customers had come in, and Mad Jack's had started the usual upward climb toward its nighttime peak, but Michelle remained unconcerned with the crowd strolling by. She leaned over the table to talk more privately and cupped her hand over her mouth. Other patrons in Mad Jack's Irish Pub walked by without paying much attention to her intense conversation with Guido Valentino.

  "OK, Guido. What's this name you have hidden away that's suppose to scramble my mind? Some magic incantation you dug up from beneath the Roman streets?"

  Her cell phone rang.

  "Just a minute," Michelle said and picked up the phone. "Ciao."

  "This is the hospital," a female voice said. "We need you to come here at once. It is urgent."

  "I'll be there as quickly as I can grab a taxi," Michelle said. "I'm on my way."

  "What's happened?" Guido said.

  "I don't know, but I've got to get to the hospital. I'll catch you later."

  Michelle ran into the street and started hailing a taxi. Within moments she was on her way across the city. "There's an extra ten euros in this trip if you hurry."

  "Presto!" The driver started swerving erratically in and out of the crowded lane. Like a teenage stock-car driver, he maneuvered wildly down the streets.

  Michelle settled back in the seat and worried over what she had not heard. Whatever it was that Guido had to tell her, it couldn't compare with the urgency of making sure Jack hadn't taken a turn for the worse. Within record time, the cab swung in front of the hospital and Michelle jumped out.

  Running down the long halls toward Jack's room, she realized that blood was pounding in her head and r
emembered the doctors had warned her to take it easy. She slowed to a quick gait. As she reached the room, a nurse was coming out.

  "Is Jack OK?" Michelle grabbed the woman's arm.

  "Look and see." The nurse pushed the door open.

  To Michelle's astonishment, Jack was sitting up in bed with his eyes closed, leaning against a pillow propped up behind his head. It was the first time in weeks he had been out of bed.

  "Jack!"

  Jack slowly opened his eyes and looked at her.

  "Jack?"

  He blinked several times as if he was trying to bring her into focus.

  "It's me. Michelle!"

  "Michelle?"

  "I'm your wife."

  "Wife? I'm not sure that . . ."

  The nurse stepped in behind her. "He's having trouble putting things into perspective. After all, he's been unconscious for a long time."

  Michelle pushed the chair up next to the bed. "Jack, I'm your wife. Remember we work together, do research together, do everything together. You've been through a terrible experience. Remember?"

  Jack kept looking at her as if he should know her. "Y-yes," he said slowly. "I do remember you. Remember . . . from . . . somewhere." He leaned back on the pillow and closed his eyes.

  Her heart was pounding. This wasn't what she had expected at all.

  "Jack? Jack, are you with me?"

  "We've had a definite breakthrough today," the nurse said. "The doctor will be excited when he comes tonight. The fact that your husband has regained consciousness is a major step forward."

  "But he doesn't know me," Michelle protested in a pleading voice.

  "Sometimes it takes a while for memory to kick in. Don't worry. He'll be more alert tomorrow. It was important for him to see you today."

  Michelle searched the woman's face. She wanted much more of an answer than she'd heard so far, but the professional distance she saw in the woman's eyes made it clear that the nurse wouldn't tell her more.