They sat down at a small table outside the trattoria. Benedetto poured two glasses of grappa and handed one to Cloutard. “Salute,” said the old man, sipping from his glass. Then he leaned back slowly and folded his hands over his impressive belly.
“I am being blackmailed by someone who works for an organization called AF,” said Cloutard said, his expression solemn. “Benedetto, who is behind this?”
The old man’s face darkened. On his already deeply wrinkled face more furrows appeared. He reached for a small bell that stood on the table and jangled it three times. Cloutard knew what that meant. Benedetto wanted his consigliere to be present at the meeting. In the families, certain topics were only discussed in the presence of the consigliere, the adviser. Apparently, Cloutard had touched on a subject of great importance. A few moments later, an astonishingly young man appeared. He bowed deeply to Cloutard, pulled up a chair and sat down on Benedetto’s right. He remained silent and awaited the old man’s words.
“Shortly after the end of World War II, a meeting of businessmen and politicians who wanted to prevent another global escalation of that kind took place,” the old man began, his tone almost casual. “Now, this is not one of those secret societies that the media keeps blaming for every stupid new conspiracy theory. At the time, there were just a few informal meetings. These were people who saw the world as it really is—who saw that there is no good or evil, but simply different truths and value systems. For that same reason, we also took part in those meetings. The whole thing had no name or form, and it was certainly not meant to be a world government or anything like that. The meetings petered out in the eighties, and I forgot all about it.”
“But it did not peter out entirely, did it?” said Cloutard.
“Certo. We were simply no longer invited. The participants changed, and by the time I learned by chance a few years later that the meetings had in fact continued, it had transformed into an organization whose sole aim was the manipulation and control of the masses. We are talking here about manipulation at an economic, political and social level. They called themselves “Absolute Freedom” but they had exactly the opposite in mind.”
“But this sounds exactly like the conspiracy theory nonsense served up by the tabloids and those harebrained bloggers, someone behind the scenes pulling the strings of the entire world.” Cloutard shook his head in disbelief. “It cannot be possible for something like that to have escaped the attention of the intelligence services, the national governments or the Church for decades.”
Cloutard began to doubt whether it had been wise to come to the aging godfather for advice after all. Benedetto seemed to have grown old, very old. And apparently very confused. Because he kept on talking, and what he said became more and more absurd.
“Absolute Freedom has power and influence that the families, the secret services, the community of nations, and even the Vatican can only dream of. There is nothing they have not gotten their claws into. But they are astute enough to proceed with subtlety. Often, the cogs they turn are only small, but they are in very effective places. They think exclusively in the long term.” Benedetto’s eyes were wide, and Cloutard thought he saw something even a little crazy in the old man’s gaze.
“Take all that has been happening in recent weeks with the holy relics, for example,” the old man continued. “Their aim is to stir up fear and undermine the political and social climate in Europe more than it already is. At the same time, they want to incite hatred. And if you ask me, they seem to be succeeding. Holy relics are disappearing all over Europe. People are being kidnapped and killed, bombs are exploding, churches are being burned down. The people are growing more and more insecure. AF has different departments for terrorist attacks, extortion, media manipulation, election fraud, and much more. You think the Russians set up Trump for the presidency? No. They’re everywhere.”
Benedetto had looked around nervously as he whispered his last sentences. Cloutard had heard enough. It hurt his heart to see a man like Benedetto—a man who had spent decades as a hard-bitten criminal, true, but who had also dispensed a great deal of wisdom and justice in his life—now evidently so utterly off his rocker. He smiled at the old man and they drank another grappa. Then Cloutard stood up and said goodbye. “You have helped me very much, Benedetto,” he said sadly.
Cloutard embraced the old man warmly and left the small trattoria bewildered.
At the small car park, Cloutard heard the consigliere calling after him.
“Signore, I must have a word with you,” the young man said, approaching him. “The padrone is no longer the man he once was. He has been spouting this nonsense for some years now. He won’t let anyone examine him, of course, but doctors among his friends agree. His mind is . . . muddled. He tells anyone who will listen about this Absolute Freedom fantasy, whatever the issue brought to him. Absolute Freedom is to blame for everything. But we all know that Absolute Freedom exists only in the mind of the padrone. Lately, his confused phases have been occurring more and more frequently, and have become more severe. Sometimes he cannot leave his bed. He probably will not be with us much longer. I am sorry you came all this way for nothing.”
“That is quite all right, Consigliere. Benedetto is an old man. Even if he was unable to help me, at least I have gotten to see him once more before God calls his name.”
Cloutard said goodbye to the young man. As they shook hands, Cloutard noted a conspicuous tattoo on the young man’s arm, but made nothing of it.
A strange cloud hovered over Cloutard as he drove down the narrow mountain road.
76
A small café not far from St. Peter’s Basilica, Rome
Noah shook his head. “Impossible.”
“So I also thought,” said Cloutard. “But the signs converged when I learned of Benedetto’s sudden murder. I realized that something big was being planned. I had no idea they were planning to blow up half of Barcelona, but I knew I had to get out of the situation I was in, and fast.”
Tom nodded. Noah, still wearing his skeptical face, also listened patiently.
“I could not simply go to the police, of course. Instead, I put all the information I could gather onto a cell phone, and I put the phone into the hands of the two dumbest guys in my organization and hired them to hijack a plane. After all the other hijackings, my hope was that the information would find its way into the right hands. I knew they would mess up the hijacking.”
Tom smiled bitterly. “And I screwed up that plan when I took the phone . . . and let someone take it away from me.”
“Yes,” Cloutard said with a nod. “Thank God those idiots were stupid enough to say my name out loud and you were able to pick up the trail again.”
Noah raised his glass. “Here’s to the idiot criminals.” He looked over at Cloutard and smiled mischievously. Cloutard reached into his coat pocket, took out a flask, and joined Noah’s toast.
“Let me guess,” Tom said. “Louis XIII?”
“Quoi d’autre?” Cloutard replied. He took a swig from the flask. “You know, it bothers me that Joan of Arc’s shield has now gone to Blue Shield. I was going to hang it over my fireplace. Unfortunately, after the auction, Guerra made it abundantly clear to me that I had to actually deliver it. And since brute force is not in my nature, I dropped it off in Como as requested.”
“Where you saw Hellen. And the rest is history,” Tom added.
Hellen, who had been sitting silently the whole time, evidently lost in thought, looked up when she heard her name mentioned. Tom gently touched her arm.
“Shall we go outside for a minute?” he asked her quietly.
Hellen nodded and stood up. The tables on the sidewalk in front of the café were all occupied. Tourists and, surprisingly, a number of Roman locals sat beneath the white parasols, enjoying the magnificent view of St. Peter’s. The spring sun was already fairly warm, but Hellen shivered with every little breath of wind. She looked sadly at Tom.
“We’ve become very close agai
n these last few days, Tom,” she said. “I’ve seen many sides to you that I didn’t know about before. But as wonderful as you are, I can also see that it just won’t work between us. Though I . . .”, she faltered, tried to go on, but then sighed and left the sentence half-spoken.
Tom tried to say something, but Hellen raised her hand.
“Please, let me finish. Yes, I have changed how I think about you, and about us, too. And I am forever grateful to you for what you’ve done. But you and me, we’re just not right for each other.”
Tom nodded stoically. “You’re right, I know. It just wouldn’t work out.”
Hellen knew it was crazy, but when he confirmed her own words like that, it only hurt more. She was confused. She wanted him, yet at the same time, she knew they had no future. And she knew he felt the same way. They stood there, abashed and uncertain, and it felt like an eternity before one of them spoke again.
“So what’s next?” asked Hellen. “Will you go back to Cobra?”
Tom shook his head. “No, I’m done with that. I have no idea what I’m going to do, not yet. My uncle’s invited me to his place in San Diego. I think I’m going to accept his invitation, try and get a little distance.”
He looked into Hellen’s eyes, already suspecting what she was planning for herself.
“What about you? Blue Shield’s not really an option, is it?”
Hellen shook her head. “No. Not now. So many questions about my family history have come up in the last few days. There’s so much that’s unresolved. I think I’d like to take some time for that and see if I can find some answers.”
She fell silent, and Tom realized how hard all this was for her.
“Tom, you know I’m no good with goodbyes. Give my best to those two inside for me. I have to go now.”
Hellen took Tom in a fleeting embrace and did not wait for him to say anything. Then she turned away and, a few moments later, disappeared around the corner into Via Rusticucci. Tom felt a sudden, unfamiliar emptiness. His right hand reached into his jacket pocket, where he had put his ticket to San Diego. He took out the envelope, and from the envelope he took out the second ticket, the one he had bought for Hellen. He tore it in half, then rejoined Noah and Cloutard in the café.
77
Count Palffy’s villa in a suburb of The Hague, Netherlands
Ossana had parked her car two blocks away. She could have passed for a resident of the neighborhood, going for a brisk evening stroll. The streets were silent, with no traffic in the villa area and nobody out on the street, just a few houses with a light on inside. Ossana glided like a cat over the walls of the estate and walked the three hundred yards of the tree-lined, cobblestoned avenue, illuminated by old London street lamps, as if she did so every day. She fished her lock-pick set out of her jacket pocket, and in a few seconds had opened the front door. She tiptoed into the dimly lit study.
Count Nikolaus Palffy III was standing with his back to her, hurriedly removing several documents from his safe, itself hidden behind a Kandinsky on the wall above the fireplace.
“In a hurry, Nikolaus?” Ossana said in her most nonchalant tone.
Palffy spun around and stared at her in horror. He opened his mouth but could get no word out.
“Your plan did not work,” Ossana added.
Palffy took a breath and recovered his self-possession. He squared his shoulders and spoke in a composed, authoritative voice. Those who did not know him well might have thought he had the situation under control. His gaze darted across his desk, where one of the drawers was open. Inside it was a loaded Walther PPK.
“I already have a new plan, one that will draw even more media attention. More importantly, it will bring more votes in the next elections. I’m here for some important Blue Shield papers. I need to prepare the details.”
Ossana smiled. “You seem quite optimistic about the fiasco you and your protégé Guerra were responsible for in Barcelona.”
“That was a setback, yes, I admit it. We lost that battle. But it was not a complete waste. We achieved our goal of fanning the flames of insecurity amongst the Europeans.”
Ossana looked at Palffy calmly. Palffy approached the desk.
“Nikolaus, you failed. We put a great deal of money into your project. It was your idea. You planned it, you implemented it. But along comes a guy from Vienna with a crew of amateurs and scuttles your ship before it can even set sail. The best you managed was to switch your getaway car before you blew up with it.”
Ossana strolled to the window and gazed out into the garden. In the pale light from the swimming pool, the garden had a bluish glow. Palffy edged closer to his Walther PPK.
“We made it clear to you from the very start how crucial the success of your plan was, and that we could not afford any mistakes. We are not some band of outlaws sticking up stagecoaches in the Wild West.”
Palffy snatched the Walther PPK and pointed it at Ossana, who still had her back to him.
“Our concern is that you will switch sides, just to save your own miserable hide. You know about us. You know about AF. We cannot afford a security risk like that.”
She turned swiftly, her Heckler & Koch trained on him. She fired once, twice, three times. Two of the bullets struck close to his heart, the third between his eyes. Nikolaus Palffy III was dead before he hit the floor.
“Amateur,” Ossana muttered as she flipped through the documents Palffy had taken from the safe. They were emblazoned with UNESCO and Blue Shield logos. On a cover sheet, she read: “Rejected Blue Shield Projects.” Ossana began to look through the files more closely, skimming the headings. At each one, she raised her eyebrows a little more.
“Babylon and Semiramis”
“Nostradamus and the Philosophers’ Stone”
“El Dorado”
“The Golden Fleece”
“The Ark of the Covenant”
“The Tomb of Alexander the Great”
“Atlantis”
“Noah’s Ark”
“The Confederate Treasury”
That was just the start. The files contained far more. Ossana had no idea what information the documents could give them, but it could not hurt to take them with her. She packed everything from Palffy’s safe into her black backpack—including the amulet with the Maltese Cross, in a small plastic bag next to the documents.
When she had everything stowed in her pack, she pressed a speed dial button on her phone, establishing an encrypted connection. It rang once at the other end, and someone answered.
“The job’s done, Papa,” she said, turning out the light.
Ossana left the house and walked back to her car, not noticing the figure that slipped from the shadow of a tree to follow her.
— THE END —
OF „THE SACRED WEAPON“
Tom Wagner will return in:
„THE LIBRARY OF THE KINGS“
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A long-lost treasure leads to the dark history of the Habsburgs.
A breathless hunt across Europe with a shocking conclusion: the thriller “The Stone of Destiny“ plunges our hero into the dark history of the Habsburg Empire and leads him to a treasure lost for centuries. A conspiracy with its roots in the final days of World War I and reaching into the present: fact merges with fiction – as always, with lots of action, surprising twists and a healthy dose of humor.
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The Tom Wagner Series
THE STONE OF DESTINY
(Tom Wagner Prequel)
A dark secret of the Habsburg Empire. A treasure believed to be lost long time ago. A breathless hunt into the past.
The thriller "The Stone of Destiny" leads Tom Wagner and Hel
len de Mey into the dark past of the Habsburgs and to a treasure that seems to have been lost for a long time.
The breathless hunt goes through half of Europe and the surprise at the end is not missing: A conspiracy that began in the last days of the First World War reaches up to the present day!
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THE SACRED WEAPON
(A Tom Wagner Adventure 1)
A demonic plan. A mysterious power. An extraordinary team.
The Notre Dame fire, the theft of the Shroud of Turin and a terrorist attack on the legendary Meteora monasteries are just the beginning. Fear has gripped Europe.
Stolen relics, a mysterious power with a demonic plan and allies with questionable allegiances: Tom Wagner is in a race against time, trying to prevent a disaster that could tear Europe down to its foundations. And there’s no one he can trust…
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THE LIBRARY OF THE KINGS
(A Tom Wagner Adventure 2)
Hidden wisdom. A relic of unbelievable power. A race against time.
Ancient legends, devilish plans, startling plot twists, breathtaking action and a dash of humor: Library of the Kings is gripping entertainment – a Hollywood blockbuster in book form.
When clues to the long-lost Library of Alexandria surface, ex-Cobra officer Tom Wagner and archaeologist Hellen de Mey aren’t the only ones on the hunt for its vanished secrets. A sinister power is plotting in the background, and nothing is as it seems. And the dark secret hidden in the Library threatens all of humanity.
The Sacred Weapon (A Tom Wagner Adventure Book 1) Page 27