James Acton 03 - Broken Dove (8 page)

And he had never looked back. It was celebrating his new job with some of his former guardsmen that had him run into Marie-Claude, literally. He had burst from the bar they were celebrating in, and bowled her over. He immediately picked her up, apologizing profusely, then pursued her down the street, his mid-twenties testosterone fueled ego determined to get the name of the lovely creature he had just encountered.

She had refused, climbed in her car parked down the street, and left.

His buddies didn’t let him live that down for the rest of the night.

It was almost six months later that he saw her again, or rather her car. It was a rather distinctive orange Citroën, and he had remembered the plates, an ability he had always had, turning numbers and letters into patterns he could recall later. So he set up surveillance on her at a local café with a clear view of the car, and waited. And waited. It had been hours before she finally appeared, several shopping bags and what appeared to be a freshly coifed head of hair the explanation.

He smiled as he remembered her reaction when he approached her.

“Do you remember me?”

She had looked at him, puzzled at first, then her mouth opened slightly. With a frown. “You’re the drunk who knocked me over, and wouldn’t take no for an answer. What do
you
want?”

He had blushed, and his face must have revealed his disappointment at her reaction. He had stood there tongue tied for several moments, then mumbled an apology and began to walk away when she cleared her throat. He had spun around, new hope written all over his face, and she had smiled awkwardly. “Can you help me open my car, my hands are full.”

Six months later they were married.

Tears filled his eyes as he pictured her walking down the aisle, looking more beautiful than he had ever imagined possible, her tanned skin contrasting sharply with the white of her gown, the veil doing little to hide the beaming smile behind it.

Footfalls echoed through the hallway and he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, dabbing his eyes dry. Father Jenner, the temporary replacement to the now dead Father Granger, rushed up. “Monsieur Giasson. Are you sure you want to do this?”

“Do we have any choice?”

The man frowned, clearly not pleased by having his question answered with another. “Very well. I pray we are about to make fools of ourselves.”

“Informing His Holiness that one of his personal guests is missing I think will be greeted with concern, and gratefulness at us bringing him this information promptly. I too pray that Mr. Chaney is found shortly, and all of this proves to be of no use.” He detected a slight wavering of the Father’s resolve. “However,” he said, raising his voice slightly, “at this point in time, Mr. Chaney
is
missing, and His Holiness, I am certain, would want to know, and may even be able to help us.”

Father Jenner looked at him for a moment, then nodded. “Very well.” He knocked lightly on the door. “Your Holiness, it is I, Father Jenner. I have important information.”

They both listened, but heard nothing. Father Jenner knocked harder, repeating his appeal. Again nothing.

“Open the door,” ordered Giasson.

Father Jenner looked at Giasson, then nodded. He opened the unlocked door, a practice all Pope’s had followed since Giasson had been here, despite his pleas. But after all, this was the Vatican, what possible harm could come to His Holiness here, in his own bedchambers? His thoughts flashed to Father Granger, and his badly beaten body.
Perhaps it is time to revisit the unlocked door policy.

They both stepped tentatively into the room. “Your Holiness!” Father Jenner’s whisper was harsh, and received no response. Giasson listened but heard no sounds of sleep in the small room. He reached around Father Jenner and flicked the light switch.

They both gasped.

The bed was empty.

It had definitely been slept in, at least occupied, for some time, the sheets and covers messed with use. Giasson rushed over and placed his hand on the sheets, feeling for any warmth from residual body heat, but found none. He checked the bathroom, and found it empty. A whirlwind search of the rest of the room left him standing in the middle, staring at the shocked Father, who hadn’t left the entrance the entire time.

“He’s gone!”

Giasson nodded, reaching for his phone. He dialed Ianuzzi’s extension.

“Ianuzzi here.”

“Broken Dove.”

Corpo della Gendarmeria Office

Palazzo del Governatorato, Vatican City

Ianuzzi couldn’t believe the two words he had just heard.
Broken Dove.
His heart slammed against his chest, bile began to form in his mouth as he flashed back to recent events, and the death of the last Pope. “Are you sure?”

“He’s not in his chambers. His bed has been slept in, but he isn’t here
now
!”

“Should I begin—”

“Yes.”

“You realize—”

“Yes.”

“Okay, you’ll have backup in a few minutes.”

He hung up the phone and stood up, clearing his throat. “Attention, please!” The room stopped, the entire night shift turning to face him. “We have a Broken Dove situation.” Gasps filled the room, and at least one person screamed. He himself fought to keep control of his emotions as he looked down at the procedure manual in front of him, tears welling in his eyes.
We can’t lose a second Pope, not this soon, not in this way again
. “I need the following things done immediately.” He began reading, pointing to a different member of the staff as he read each point. “One, lockdown the city. Two, recall all staff. Three, send a contingent of the guard to His Holiness’ quarters. Four, notify the Polizia Municipale.” He paused, looking to where his finger was pointing. “Discretely.” The man nodded, turning to his phone. “Five, wake all of His Holiness’ personal staff and determine when he was last seen. Six, review the threat file. Seven, contact all of His Holiness’ visitors for the past week and interview them to determine if anything unusual occurred. Eight, review the latest Papal correspondence for anything unusual. Nine, begin a systematic search, radiating outward from His Holiness’ last known location. Ten, pray for his safe deliverance from whatever evil may have befallen His Holiness.” He looked at who he was pointing at and frowned. “I guess we’ll all do that one.”

He dropped into his chair, staring at the page he had just read from. His hands gripped the arms, his knuckles white, his forehead beaded with sweat. What many didn’t realize was that a job at the Vatican wasn’t just a job. It was a calling. And he, like everyone in the room, was deeply religious, and to say they loved their Pope would be an understatement. That he would lay down his life to save a man he barely knew should never be doubted. It wasn’t the man, it was what he represented. The Lord’s voice on Earth. A direct conduit to all that was holy, all that was pure.

And it was missing.

He took a deep breath and released his grip, stretching the fingers out for a moment. He surveyed the bustle of activity about him as everyone did their jobs like the professionals they were. Emotions streaked their faces, but they continued to work, despite a part of their core having been cleaved from them.

Francesco Greco, sitting next to Iannuzzi, hung up his phone and spun in his chair. “Sir, all gates are sealed. All entry and exit logs are being brought here. Also, no one has reported anything out of the ordinary, and they are all contacting their earlier shifts to confirm.”

“Very good. Review the logs when they come in for anything unusual, and match them against the security footage. I want to know if anyone entered or left without signing, and if the names match the faces.”

Greco nodded, turning back to his desk and hammered away at his keyboard.

Adriana Esposito, the fully qualified security professional working the front desk tonight, waved her hand from her desk, her pale face suggesting she may be too shaken to make the walk over. He nodded.

“Polizia Municipale have been notified.” She looked down at a notepad, apparently not wanting to miss anything. “They are sending a contingent of unmarked cars to help in the search, along with dogs. They also will be reviewing all footage, tickets and reports from outside the walls to see if anything unusual was reported or can be spotted, and a point man, sorry, woman, Yvonne Peori will be here any minute.”

“Excellent. Tell the front gate to let them in when they arrive, and to notify us so we can coordinate the effort from here.”

She nodded and grabbed her phone.

“Sir, look at this.” Iannuzzi looked up at the young Swiss Guardsmen who held out a sheet of paper, his face covered in sweat from the run he had apparently just undertaken.

“What is it?”

“It was found taped to the northern wall.”

Iannuzzi flattened the page on his desk and stared at it. “What does it mean?”

“I have no idea. I’ve never seen that symbol before.”

Iannuzzi examined the page, running his hand over what appeared to be ancient parchment, but felt new, not hard and dry as he would expect something truly old to feel. A large red X covered the page from corner to corner, almost as if applied with a heavy brush. But it was the symbol that puzzled him the most. Two straight lines, with a third, heavier line, curved slightly upward, underneath them.

What could it mean? And is it connected to His Holiness?

Via della Conciliazione, Vatican City

Reading flashed his badge for the umpteenth time, making his way through the cordon of security blocking all of the entrances to the holy city. He had asked a few of the officers what was going on, and all had shrugged their shoulders or waved him on without answering. He had the distinct impression that no one knew. Crowds of the faithful, along with curious onlookers and pissed off tourists, had already gathered by the time he arrived. And so had the media.

This is turning into a carnival.

He finally made it to the security station at the main gate and flashed his badge. “Agent Reading, Interpol. Monsieur Giasson is expecting me.”

The man scanned a list, nodded, and picked up a phone, requesting an escort. “Please wait over there for your escort to arrive.” He pointed to a cordoned off area, devoid of people except for two of the Pontifical Swiss Guard in their clown outfits.
If the bobbies had to wear those, we’d never get anyone to join the force.
He nodded to the two guards who ignored him, standing at attention, their eyes staring straight ahead.
Disciplined.
He always got a kick out of the tourists trying to annoy the Queen’s Guards at their posts as if they were mascots at Disney World.
Don’t you nutters know these are highly trained soldiers?
He smiled at the memory of one tourist nearly soiling their drawers when the soldier had suddenly moved for the changing of the guard.

He glanced through the fence and into St. Peter’s Square. The sight wiped the smile off his face. There were dozens of officers, Swiss Guard, K-9 units, and priests, sweeping the area, obviously searching for something or someone.
Would they risk this much publicity for Chaney?
He hoped so. If Chaney were indeed missing, he would hope they would spare no effort, and risk any negative press, to find him.

But that means Chaney is missing.

His thoughts turned to his longtime partner and friend. And the dead Father. He looked up at the heavens and said a silent prayer as a young man in a suit ran across the cobblestone of St. Peters Square and came to a stop on the other side of the fence. “Let Agent Reading in, please,” he said to the guards manning the gate. One opened the iron gate and Reading stepped through, shaking the man’s hand. “I’m Francesco Greco, sir, I don’t know if you remember me from when you were last here—”

“Of course I do.” He glanced quickly at the balcony then at the surrounding area. There was no evidence of what had happened here just a few short months ago. “What’s going on?”

“I think it’s best Monsieur Giasson tells you that, sir.”

He quickly began to walk back across the square, and Reading had to trot to keep up with the clearly agitated man. “Is Detective Inspector Chaney okay?”

“I really cannot answer any questions. Not here. Not now.” He glanced over his shoulder at the main gate. “Too many cameras, too many tricks.”

Reading was really curious now. What could possibly have this young man, so full of confidence the last time he had met him, so nervous now, to the point he didn’t want to risk his lips being read by someone behind a high-powered camera? As they crossed into the main administration building, it suddenly hit him like a ton of bricks.
This has nothing to do with Chaney.

He grabbed Greco by the shoulder, spinning him around. “Hey, mate, what’s going on?”

“Hugh!”

They both turned as Giasson walked up to them, arms extended. Hugh hid his grimace as Giasson leaned in, planting a kiss on both cheeks. It was a habit he had never become accustomed too, and refused to return, instead shaking Giasson’s hand on the rebound and slapping his shoulder.

“Good to see you, mon ami.” Giasson lowered his voice. “Come with me, and I’ll bring you up to date on everything that has happened.” He nodded to Greco, dismissing him, and took Reading by the arm, leading him deeper into the complex.

“What the bloody hell is going on? Is Chaney alright?”

Giasson raised his finger, silencing him. “Wait just a minute, mon ami.”

It was more than a minute before they reached Giasson’s office. He motioned to a seat and closed the door. Reading sat, now ready to explode, the sheer volume of people running around, searching, moving things, sweeping things, too much for this old cop to handle without knowing the purpose.

Giasson dropped in his chair and leaned back, sighing. “Mon ami, you would not believe what is going on.”

“Try me.”

Giasson smiled, as if he knew exactly how Reading felt. He leaned forward, lowering his voice. “When we could not find your friend last night, we initiated a search, and around half past midnight I decided to wake His Holiness to make him aware of the situation, and to gain any insight into why DI Chaney was here, as it may provide a clue as to where he went.” Giasson paused, looking up at the ceiling, then down at his desk, almost as if searching for words he himself could believe.