"I'd suggest the back," Guido said. "It's closer to my car."
"Whatever you say." Michelle picked up her briefcase. "Let's go."
Without saying anything more, they walked down the corridors Jack had always followed in his many excursions through the church ambling around like a fascinated tourist. Candlelight had now illuminated most of the building with the high altar bathed in a soft glow. Stepping outside, Michelle could see the moon had not yet come up, but the ruins of the house looked like a jumbled mess of splintered boards still sticking up at strange angles, looking like an abstract painting in black and white.
A figure emerged out of the alleyway, and Guido grabbed her arm, jerking it toward him.
"Watch out!" he whispered.
The man leaped forward and raised his arm.
"He's wearing a black hood over his face!" Guido pushed her toward the door they had just existed. "Run!"
The pinging sound from a pistol with a silencer sliced through the quiet, and a bullet ricocheted off of the back of the church. Michelle ran like she never had before in her life.
Guido swung the door open and they rushed in. He grabbed for the latch, but the defective lock didn't catch.
"Keep running!" he shouted again.
Dashing through the halls they'd just come down, they headed for their office. Michelle grabbed her keys and unlocked the door. The sound of racing footsteps wasn't far behind them. Once inside, they locked the door and darted behind the desks. Fumbling with the briefcase, she pulled out the Walther PPK Father Blake had given her. Barely able to hold it steady in her shaking hand, she made sure a bullet was in the chamber. The running noise increased.
"Do you think he knows we're in here?" Michelle whispered.
Guido groaned pessimistically.
Footsteps increased, and it was obvious that the assailant had come out in the narthex.
"What's going on out there?" Some man's voice echoed down the hall. "This is a church. What . . . what are you wearing . . . on your face?"
The gun cracked again and the man's voice stopped.
Guido crawled across the floor and grabbed the irons on the fireplace. A creaking noise sounded and the panel behind the grating slid open. "Let's get out of here."
Michelle could hear the assailant coming closer to their door. She started creeping backward toward the fireplace. "Get in there," she said. "I've got the gun and will be the last one in."
Guido darted inside as Michelle kept inching toward the opening.
Suddenly the man in the hall threw his weight at their door. The old portal made a cracking sound, but didn't come open. Michelle fired two shots at the door before dashing into the fireplace and hurrying down the ancient stone steps behind Guido.
"I've got five bullets left," she said.
"Hang on to them. We've got to get down into the crypt to escape."
The noise of the door breaking open and slamming into the wall above them echoed down the hidden stairway. Two more shots rang out.
Michelle and Guido ran down the dark passageway filled with the bones of dead monks. When they came to the first corner, she stopped. "I've got to see if he comes down those hidden steps," she said. "That's everything!"
Guido cowered against the wall and held his breath.
At the other end where they'd come out, Michelle saw movement and fired three shots. The assailant fired back.
"Get out of here!" she gasped. "I've only got two bullets left."
Michelle ran down the corridor until it ended, and they turned to the right. Fifty feet away they realized they had come to a dead-end wall. Standing in total darkness, Michelle knew they were trapped.
"Get down," she whispered. "Flatten out on the floor and don't make a sound."
The smell of dirt filled her nose, and she remembered that soil from the Holy Land had been sprinkled on the floors and was never swept up. Sticking the pistol straight in front of her and resting the butt of the gun on the floor, she tried to stop shaking and aimed into the darkness.
Only then did the fierce thumping of her heart signal that an emotional rumble was beginning. Like a runaway gasoline truck careening down the road straight at her, she felt the tearing pain of raw emotion exploding within her. Her eyes started to blur, and a roaring noise filled her ears. Her mouth turned dry and her hands shook fiercely. She couldn't close her eyes, fearing the attacker would come running straight at them. All she could do was gulp in the sour, soiled air arising from the dirt on the floor.
No sounds echoed down the corridors. For five minutes, she and Guido lay side by side staring into the darkness. No other noise filled the tombs of the dead.
"Police!" a man yelled from somewhere far away. "We're the police. Put your weapons down."
"It could be him," Guido whispered. "Don't be deceived."
Michelle nodded.
"We're the police," the man shouted.
"We're with them," a different voice yelled. "We're the carabinieri, the military police. We're behind them."
"Thank God," Michelle said. "I think we're rescued."
"Oh, I hope so." Guido stood up slowly. "Let me get some light. I've got a cigarette lighter in my pocket."
"Back here!" Michelle shouted. "We're being chased by a gunman." Her voice echoed down the long tunnel with a hallow sound.
Guido flipped on the light. Crunched up in a small space carved in the wall, a skeleton sat wrapped in a deteriorating brown robe. Six inches from his face, a skull stared at him through empty eye sockets. Breathless, Guido sputtered, trying to catch his breath.
"You down there?" Detective Alfredo Pino's voice echoed through the crypt.
"Barely," Michelle answered.
Long after the detective and the police had gone, Michelle sat in the small office alone, looking at the pistol laying on her desk. Her father had kept a gun hidden in the large chest in their bedroom, but she always feared the weapon. When Father Blake brought the guns to their apartment, she would never in her wildest dreams have imagined firing the Walther PPK at someone. In truth, she would have completely rejected the idea of keeping the weapons if Jack hadn't accepted them. Michelle had always hated violence in any form. And yet she had fired at the person pursuing them.
It was a hard thought to accept, but she could see that the saying was absolutely true. Violence begets violence until the world is filled with the uproar of a volcano of fury. Right here inside this church with its gospel of peace, lives had been taken. Father Raffello had fallen as well as the man killed just outside their door. Jack had nearly been destroyed and Dov Sharon murdered. And all they had been interested in was completing their work on Holy Scripture. With only the best intentions in mind, they had marched into a battle with evil that had nearly taken her life that very afternoon.
What a strange world, Michelle thought. The absolute best can bring the total worst. Never would I have expected such a possibility. I suppose I have no choice, but to keep this weapon close at hand. Even holding this loaded pistol violates my deepest and most heartfelt intentions. Then again, I have no other choice. The battle is joined to the final blow and I cannot acquiesce lest the other side win.
Michelle put the gun back in her briefcase, locked the door behind her, and headed home.
38
Father Donald Blake strolled up Via di San Cosimato at a leisurely pace, keeping his eyes fixed on the Da Vittorio café across the street. At a table on the sidewalk, Tony Mattei sat hunched over a plate of food he appeared to be devouring in record time. Periodically, he stopped and took a big gulp of wine from the large glass sitting on the table in front of him. Thick, black hair hung down over his eyes as his heavy cheeks rolled with each inordinately large bite. Even from across the street, Blake could see that Mattei wore his usual three massive diamond rings, flashing in the bright sunlight with the sparkle of elegance.
Breaking through the traffic, Blake continued his casual stroll across the street and walked up behind Mattei. "Buonasera."
/> Mattei jumped. "What?"
"It's your old friend." Father Blake sat down across from him.
For a moment Mattei glared and then burst into his usual jubilant expression. "Ah! God has blessed me with a visit from heaven! I am being graced by his Excellency, Father Blake."
Blake smiled pleasantly. "Tony, you are an old-fashioned sack of . . . sayings."
"Of course. Of course. What else can I be when I stand before the radiance of the sun shining down on me with the light of eternity."
"You ever think of running for political office?"
"Yes, as a matter of fact I have. The time has come for someone to straighten out the economic mess this country is in. I think I could be just such a man."
"Indeed." Blake kept smiling.
"Someone must shoulder the responsibility that the import situation has placed on small merchants like myself. We need relief."
Blake looked at Mattei's diamond rings. "I wasn't aware that you were having a hard time. You look prosperous to me."
"I must maintain appearances." Mattei raised his shoulders as a sign of resignation. "It is only appropriate for business."
The waiter stepped to the table. "You wish?"
"A cup of coffee will be fine," Blake said.
The waiter hurried away.
"I suppose you've already heard about the shooting at the church last night," Blake said.
"Terrible! Who could imagine such a thing?" Mattei kept eating.
"Did you know that one of the parishioners got shot out in the narthex trying to stop the attacker?" Blake folded his arms over his chest and leaned back in the chair.
"That is what they told me. Sad situation."
"Apparently, the gunman ran Michelle Townsend and her assistant around the church before the police appeared."
"That is the rumor," Mattei said.
"Why do you think anyone would want to hurt such lovely people as my friends the Townsends?"
Mattei's eyes narrowed and he looked pointedly at Blake. "Now, you've become the questioner?"
"Just asking," Blake said.
"I didn't know we were in an examination," Mattei answered.
Blake laughed. "How quickly matters can change in Rome."
"You should try the Neapolitan pizzas they have here. The oil-drenched crust is called pizza bianca. Magnifico!" Tony shook his fingers in the air. "Excellent! Da Vittorio restaurant not only sprinkles mozzarella cheese across the top, but they create a sauce with a festive bouquet of arugula and cherry tomatoes on the top. This is a wonderful café."
The waiter set a cup of coffee in front of Blake. "For you, padre. On the house." The man moved on to the next table.
"Thank you," Blake said.
"My father brought me here when I was a boy," Mattei continued. "So many good memories associated with this little nook."
"Let's get back to the shooting in the church last night." Blake stirred his coffee slowly.
"Yes," Mattei said. "Why do you think anyone is attacking Americans?"
"Americans?" Blake rubbed his chin. "You are among the first to use the term Americans in speaking of these attacks."
"What else would you call the Townsends? Are they not your countrymen?"
"Yes," Blake said. "I didn't think of their nationality as being distinctive in these attacks."
Mattei shrugged. "Seems evident to me. Someone doesn't like Americans."
"Hmm. Appears their old offices were wired for surveillance before the bombing. I wonder if their new office inside the church has the same problem."
"Anybody find evidence of it?" Mattei asked.
"Wouldn't know," Blake said.
"I can only hope for the best for my friends," Mattei said and took another large bite of the pizza. "If you find any inside information, please let me know."
"And what would you do with such information?" Blake asked.
"Why, I'd go straight to the police!" Tony clapped his hands. "Yes, I'd want to report the same immediately."
"Interesting. Well, I'm sure you'd be among the first to know."
Tony Mattei smiled. "What more can a humble jewelry salesman do but keep his ear to the ground?"
Blake finished his coffee. "We shall see what the day brings." He nodded and started back down the street.
39
Rome still buzzed with disquieting rumblings in the streets. Bombings and shootings hadn't ever been the order of the day and the locals worried about what might happen next. In his day, Benito Mussolini had once strutted around town, but no one fired at him. Pickpockets and petty adolescents pulling off heists on tourists were run-of-the-mill, but that was about it except for an occasional crime of passion. These expectations changed with the explosion and persistent assaults on the Townsends that had given them a near celebrity status with the tabloids. Newspapers picked up from somewhere photos of Jack in bed in the hospital with Michelle at his bedside and splashed the scene across the front pages. Paparazzi hovered around their apartment, making it increasingly difficult to complete their work in private. The attacks had turned into a circus with onlookers hovering nearby for a peek at whatever went by when the parade came marching through.
Guido had started entering the Townsends' apartment through the alley, which kept him out of the line of view of the gawkers and allowed him to enter their flat unobserved. A freshly grown beard had changed his appearance enough that he wasn't immediately recognizable.
On this morning, Michelle opened the back door to the apartment and let Guido in. "I see you've escaped the procession rolling down the street this morning."
"How could something so conventional as scholarly research in a library have turned into such a freak show?"
"Bizarre," Michelle said. "Come in and take a look at what's waiting in the living room."
Guido flinched. "I'm almost afraid to ask what's in there."
"I think you'll like this one," she said.
Jack Townsend sat on the couch with his feet propped on a small stool. The plaster cast had vanished, and his arm hung leisurely in a cloth sling. "Well, our ol' exploration buddy is here."
"Good heavens!" Guido said. "You've escaped the jail."
"Getting out of immobilization in plaster was a gift from heaven. I can get around like a normal human being again."
"You have to keep the arm in a sling?"
"For probably another week," Jack said. "But I'm back on my feet and ready to work. Still got a few blind spots, but most of my memory is working again. Unfortunately, I don't remember a thing about what happened the day of the explosion and much of what Dov and I discussed. Outside of those important areas, I think that I'm back in the saddle. We'll have to see."
"Excellent," Guido said. "Do you feel safe talking this morning?"
"I thought we might push the small kitchen table onto the balcony and let the sunlight shine on us," Michelle said. "Traffic noise in the street ought to cover us even if some eavesdropping device is around here, but the police checked every room. We're covered."
"I'll help pull the table over to the open area," Guido said. "Then we can get down to business."
Michelle and Guido carried the table toward the small balcony. She placed steaming coffee mugs before them and the threesome let the morning sun settle over them.
"Feels so good to sit in the sun," Jack said. "I had a hard time getting adjusted to the hospital. Not an easy place to like. For the last month, I've been inside for such long hours that this morning feels like a stroll down the beach."
"The police almost drove me crazy questioning me over and over about the shooting in the crypt," Michelle said. "They hinted that we might be in some nefarious activity we weren't admitting. It was hard for them to believe we were only scholars trying to go about our business without bothering anyone. Then, these maniacs with cameras started popping up." She pointed to two men standing next to a light pole in front of the apartment building. "Those guys are part of the shutterbug club that now meets on our doorste
p."
"Rome has an inordinate taste for the sensational," Guido said. "I'm afraid they won't go away until this struggle subsides."
"What does that mean for our search?" Jack said.
"I've given that considerable thought," Guido said. "On one hand, we could stop everything that we are doing and let the ruckus fade away. The option of retreating into solitude sounds highly inviting. On the other hand, I don't believe your enemies will stop trying to assault you. Whether it's the Vatican or terrorists with dynamite, I think they'll be after you until this project is finished. Moreover, this Scorpion group doesn't seem to be in a mood to retrieve their stinger either. So, who are the bad boys?"
Jack rubbed his chin and stared down into the street. "It's simply beyond me to figure out who these scumbags actually are. I don't know how to answer your question."
"Me either," Michelle said.
Guido took a long sip of coffee. "Therefore, I must answer my own query. We don't know who the culprits are. Therefore, I believe we must act at once to protect you as well as the fragment ending to the Gospel of Mark."
"Excellent! If nothing else, I'm in better shape to be of some value in a hunt than I was a week ago." Jack shook the sling. "Let's go get 'em."
"Before we start down the trail, let me tell you more about the Laterani family history," Guido said. "The period of the Crusades that began in 1067 came in the midst of a time of economic peril. Between 970 and 1040, there were forty-eight years of famine. From l085 to 1095, the problem became even worse. These troubled times produced a deepening of religious feeling. It was a combination of economic struggle with the adventurous call to purify the Holy Land that started the Crusades."
"Agreed," Michelle said. "We've studied the popes from Hildebrand through the Latin Patriarch of Constantinople. We know a considerable amount about the battle with the Muslims during those times of struggle. Jack and I studied this period in history."
"What few people know was that the Laterani family was a major force during the Crusades. Much like the Templars, they were entrusted as depositors of treasure captured during these holy wars. We kept the treasures here in Rome, and much of it was stored around the Church of San Giovanni in Laterano. Because these treasures amounted to a vast amount of wealth, it was important that their security be ensured. During this period, my family changed their name to De Lateran as a protection against attack."
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