James Acton 04 - The Templar's Relic (13 page)

“I will say this once in English, since most of you understand English. Translate for your neighbor if they don’t as there is no time for additional languages.

“For obvious reasons, everybody must stay as quiet as possible during this entire exercise. If anybody talks, shouts, cries out, screams, we could all be discovered. This is our last chance at escape.”

Gunfire erupted from the direction they had just come, several sustained bursts interrupting Giasson’s instructions. When they stopped, the entire crowd turned back to Giasson, giving Acton the impression of a tennis match.

“Now, in less than five minutes we will be opening the gates”—he pointed at a set of large doors embedded in the mighty southern wall—“and you will all file out in an
orderly
fashion, and onto buses that will be waiting for us. Follow the instructions of the Polizia outside, get on the bus they tell you to, get on and take a seat, and
keep quiet!
If we all cooperate, we’ll be out of here safely, inside of fifteen minutes.”

Giasson jerked a thumb over his shoulder and Acton looked, his eyebrows shooting up at what he hadn’t noticed sitting there.

A train.

He knew the Vatican had a train station. It had been started by Pope Pius XI in 1929, was completed in 1933, and had the shortest track of any country in the world, only 900 feet, and only one station, which they were standing at.

But beyond that gate, it tied into the Italian railroad system, and once there, they could plow through any crowd. And if Acton remembered his geography—

His thoughts were interrupted by heavy gunfire, and Giasson reaching for his phone. He flipped it open and listened for a moment, then nodded. “Hold as long as you can, then fall back toward us if possible, if not, get into the Governatorate Palace.” He hung up the phone and clapped his hands together once.

“We have no time so listen up! Those closest to the platform will get on the train, now, in an
orderly
fashion! The rest of you, line up at the gate in four lines.”

The crowd didn’t move.

“Now!” he yelled, and the crowd began to move, those closest the platform clamoring for position. “Calmly!” yelled Giasson. “And quietly!”

Acton, Laura, Giasson and several of the guards began to help people across the tracks as the crowd surged forward. Giasson grabbed several men and delegated them to help the others, and within minutes the platform was filled with people now boarding the small, two car train.

“That’s getting full pretty quickly!” said Laura to Giasson.

He glanced over his shoulder and nodded, standing up. He raised his hands, waving them at the crowd. “The train is full. Everyone else get in the lines.”

There were some cries and a few angry shouts, but Giasson turned on the crowd, pointing his finger at no one in particular. “Calm yourselves! Do you want to be responsible for getting us all killed?”

Silence swept the crowd, those who had been making noise stopping, shamed by the comment thought directed at them alone. Those who had been trying to get on the platform stopped, and shuffled toward what Acton was surprised to see were four distinct, fairly orderly, lines, just as Giasson had instructed. They urged the rest on the train, and those who couldn’t fit, jumped off the platform and joined one of the lines.

Giasson motioned to Acton and Laura. “Get in line.”

“What about you?” asked Acton.

“I need to open the gates.” He pointed at the lines. “Don’t worry about me. Get in line and get out while you can!”

More gunfire. This time very close.

“Now!” He pointed at the case. “And get that thing to His Holiness!”

Acton shook Giasson’s hand, then he and Laura crossed the tracks and joined the back of one of the lines. Giasson entered the station, his phone held to his ear.

And that’s when something dawned on Acton and his jaw dropped.

“What is it?” asked Laura, her hand grabbing his arm.

“Something just occurred to me.”

“What?”

“Who’s going to close the gates when everyone is out?”

Vatican Railroad Viaduct, Rome, Italy

Sovrintendente Marcelo Primo looked at his watch as his heart pounded in his chest.

This is crazy!

Crowds were already gathering below the viaduct the small Vatican rail line travelled before joining the main line, and he could see dozens if not hundreds of cellphones held to ears as the call went out for reinforcements. They knew something was going on. It was obvious. There were over a dozen city buses lined up on the walkway alongside the tracks, their drivers, all volunteers, having backed them in for several kilometers, there no room to turn them around. Hundreds of police manned hastily erected barricades in an attempt to prevent people from climbing up to the viaduct.

His phone rang and he tapped the display to accept the call.

“Primo.”

“Opening the gates now!”

“Confirmed. We’re ready. But make it quick, I don’t know how much longer I can hold the crowd back!”

“We’ll go as fast as we can.”

The call ended, and the mighty gates of the south wall began to open, the massive metal doors parting at the center. He heard the train engine begin to move, it a small miracle they had been able to get it here in time, the engineer, his head hanging out the window, anxious to get in and out as quickly as possible. Police were positioned at several points along the massive engine’s length, armed with instructions to shoot anyone who might impede its progress. This train alone would save several hundred if they could just get it into the tunnel several kilometers away.

As the gates opened the crowd roared in anger as their suspicions were confirmed, and they began to push against the metal barricades erected only minutes before, leaving little time to properly secure them together.

They won’t hold.

The brakeman on the back of the engine, a volunteer from the train company, waved slowly to the engineer, and the train continued to inch toward the gates, now half way open, providing his first glance inside. He could see hundreds of people from his vantage point, less than thirty feet away. About a dozen of his men were at the gate, telling them to wait for the gates to open completely so they could exit at the same time the engine passed on the tracks.

A dozen bus engines roared to life around him as the city bus drivers started their vehicles, the doors opening. Lines of police stood along the way, ready to direct each line of refugees to the appropriate bus. And they were refugees. These were citizens and guests of a country, under attack, fleeing for their lives.

Primo sighed. If it went smoothly, they might just get everyone out before things fell apart. But things never went smoothly. Not with a mob this size determined to prevent it from happening.

Glass shattered behind him. He spun and saw the back window of one of the city buses in pieces, the long line of parked buses a prime target for anyone with the presence of mind to pry loose a cobblestone.

He looked back at the gates and saw the lines begin to rush forward as the gates finished opening. The engine was already picking up a little speed as the brakeman urged the engineer forward. His men and women, using only their hands and their voices, directed the four lines toward their designated groups of three buses, and for a moment, Primo thought this might just work.

Someone screamed.

His head pivoted toward the sound and he saw a body on the ground, a cobblestone beside it. Several people helped the person up, and continued toward the buses as blood streamed down the victim’s face.

They’ll get medical attention at the other end.

The four lines were almost clear of the gates, and the first bus already began to pull away, as the other buses continued to load. A cobblestone hit near his feet, bouncing directly at him. He ducked and it went over his shoulder, hitting the man behind him in the stomach.

“Are you okay?”

The man nodded, doubled over. “I will be.”

“Get on one of our buses.”

“I’ll be okay.”

“Now!”

The man nodded and stumbled toward one of the three buses reserved for their evacuation.

Bravery will get someone killed today.

He looked down at the rioters. They had to number in the thousands now, and the barricades weren’t going to hold. The sound from the locomotive changed, and he prayed that meant they were hooking up to the cars inside.

Another bus pulled away.

He watched the last of the first line board, and the bus pull away, freeing up the first two from the second line. Three more buses were clear.

That’s five.

He looked back at the gate, walking toward the rails, and peered inside. It was eerie. The setting sun cast long shadows across the immaculate lawns inside, the green space of the Vatican a marked contrast to the dense urban environment of a three thousand year old Rome.

But there was no one in sight.

Just the engineer, leaning out his window.

Then he saw a hand wave, and the engineer turned, pushing something, hard. He heard the distinct screeching of metal on metal, and saw the massive wheels spin, then grip, and the train lurched forward, slowly gaining speed.

He heard several more buses roar away behind him, but his eyes were on the train. Something moved behind it; several men, running. He peered into the dusk and saw others chasing the first few.

Oh shit!

He looked at the crowds then the buses. The last bus of evacuees pulled away as a Molotov cocktail was thrown. Primo watched in horror as it arced through the air, then hit the front of the bus, exploding in a fireball. The bus slammed to a halt as those inside screamed in terror.

That’s when the line broke.

The bus jolted to a halt as screams and smoke began to fill the interior. Those who were in seats jumped to their feet, as everyone desperately tried to flee the now burning bus. Acton held his hand up to shield himself from the heat, he and Laura the last on, therefore closest to the front.

Except for the bus driver.

He sat frozen, paralyzed with fear, then suddenly began to desperately undo his lap belt, without success, his adrenaline, panic fueled attempts failing. Acton pushed Laura back and pulled his pocket knife, stepping over to the driver and kneeling at his side.

“Stop!” he yelled as the driver’s hands continued to get in the way. The man snapped out of his panic for a moment and stared at Acton. Acton reached forward and rather than bother with the clasp, cut the belt in one stroke, then pulled the driver out of his seat, and away from the fire engulfing the front windshield and surrounding rubber.

“How do we open the doors?” asked Acton, yelling into the driver’s ear, the screams of the passengers drowning out most sounds.

The man pointed at the smoking control panel he had been behind moments before.

“The lever, pull the lever all the way!”

Acton reached over and touched the lever, gasping at the heat, withdrawing his hand immediately. He looked around for something and felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned to find Laura with her hand extended, offering her scarf. He smiled and took it, quickly spinning it around his hand. He reached over again and this time grabbed the lever and twisted it all the way.

The front door hissed open, as did the rear. He grabbed Laura and pulled her out the front doors, and to what was supposed to be safety. But as they ran from the bus, they were met with the sight of dozens of rioters battling with the police; dozens more pouring up a set of stairs. To his right he could see the train just now coming through the gates, at what seemed like a crawl.

Several police rushed over and directed the passengers of the now burning bus to another one idling nearby. Acton took Laura by the hand and they began toward it when the distinctive pops of gunfire drew his attention to the gates, and what was happening inside. He turned to Laura.

“Get on the bus; I’ll just be a minute.”

“Where are you going?”

“I just need to make sure Mario’s okay.”

He gave her a quick kiss on the cheek and turned, running toward the gates. As he cleared the mighty wall and reentered the tiny city state, the platform suddenly snapped into focus. Three guards had taken a knee and were firing on a group that numbered in the dozens, with some of them armed, returning fire. One of the guards fell. Then another. The third jumped to his feet to fall back but was hit from behind.

Acton spotted Giasson step out and squeeze off several rounds at the crowd that now rushed forward, unopposed.

He doesn’t stand a chance.

And that’s when Acton made a decision. He sprinted forward, drawing his weapon, and took up position behind a small bush. Taking aim, he squeezed off three rounds at those carrying the weapons and leading the pack.

Two fell.

And the crowd slowed, uncertain where the shots had come from. Giasson stepped out from the control room again, and fired several more shots, and Acton advanced to a large tree. He fired another shot, taking out one of the invaders as they stooped to pick up the weapon of a fallen comrade.

Someone must have seen the muzzle flash, because an arm pointed in his direction, and some of the crowd turned toward him. Bullets ripped up the ground around him as he pressed his back into the tree trunk that he was suddenly finding far too narrow for his liking.

Muzzle flashes and the report of several shots snapped through the air from the bush he had just been behind. He peered through the darkness and his heart sank.

It was Laura.

What the hell is she doing here?

But he knew.

Saving my ass.

Acton spun and emptied his clip into the crowd as he raced toward the edge of the platform, freeing up the tree for Laura, as the bush would provide no protection. He glanced behind and saw her advance to the additional cover as she fired two more shots.

Acton looked at the crowd. There were at least a dozen bodies strewn across the approach to the platform, and the crowd was now stopped.