James Acton 04 - The Templar's Relic (27 page)

“I don’t understand,” said Vitale.

“I was one of those who urged my followers here today, to demand that the scroll be returned to its rightful owners.”

“I see,” said Vitale.

“But I never intended”—the man paused, then let go Vitale’s hand and opened his arms at the spectacle before him—“
this!
I don’t think any of us expected
this
. A protest? Yes, absolutely, as is our right in a democratic society. But not a riot. Not wanton destruction. Not the occupation of a church, not worldwide violence.”

Tears streamed down the man’s cheeks, and Vitale felt his cold heart thaw a little. This was one of the men responsible for so many deaths, because he had let his hatred and dogma lead him to wield the weapon he controlled, those under his spiritual guidance. He may now regret his actions, but he had to bear some of the responsibility.

But that was for another day.

Today, if he could help quell the crowd inside, and to help bring the protest to a peaceful conclusion, then Vitale could see no reason not to let him speak. He led him to one of the vehicles with the audio setup, and a technician handed the man a microphone.

“Just press this button when you want to speak. Don’t be shocked, it’ll be loud.”

Imam Farouk nodded, and stepped out from behind the truck, microphone in hand. He raised it to his lips when Vitale heard screams from the crowd. Gunfire tore holes in the cobblestone, each shot coming closer and closer to the Imam and the screens. Vitale watched in horror as the scene played out in slow motion before him. Each cobblestone hit turned into a powder, mini explosions seeming to erupt from the surface impossibly slow.

He felt himself move, the instinct to react kicking in his old bones, as he began to push forward, to do his duty. To his left the audio technician was turning, his body in the beginnings of a dive. The officer that had brought the Imam over had reacted slightly quicker, and was inches ahead of Vitale, as both shoved their feet against the stone surface, propelling their bodies forward, and into the danger that others were turning to flee from.

The Imam hadn’t yet reacted, and in fact Vitale heard the distinct click as the button was pushed, and the intake of breath as it echoed across the stonework toward the crowd almost frozen in time.

Another shot tore a hole in the cobblestone at the Imam’s feet. He began to spin, suddenly aware of what was happening. The microphone, still gripped in his hand, fell away as the man’s arm dropped to his side, then extended out as he looked to jump away from the oncoming shots.

Vitale jumped. It was the only way he could think to reach the man in time, to do what he had been trained to do. To protect the innocent. Even if it meant sacrificing himself. Behind him he could hear the yells as his men began to react, but it wouldn’t be in time, not if the path of these bullets were any indication.

His feet left the ground, he was now airborne, committed, with no way to adjust his direction. He saw the next bullet hit the Imam in the stomach, a bright crimson hole torn through his crisp white robes as the precious life giving fluid spilled forth.

He hit the ground hard, falling just short of the Imam, but the young officer, who had been ahead of him, squarely tackled the Imam, pushing him to the ground, the officer’s back, replete with body armor, facing the enemy, shielding the Imam from the next shot.

Which did come.

It tore into the body armor, and from the look of shock on the young man’s face, Vitale knew it had penetrated, the direct hit from a high powered weapon making quick work of the body armor never designed for such an impact.

Vitale scrambled toward the two, throwing his body over both of them as more shots rang out. The screens, mere cloth, were torn apart above his head, and the speakers were hit, the screeching sounds of the microphone hitting concrete, then rolling away, the button jammed in place, were cut off as the audio system was destroyed.

Vitale felt a fierce pain in his calf. He had been hit, he was sure of it. He raised his radio to his lips, huddling his body around that of the young officer and the Imam, neither of whom were moving at the moment.

“Do whatever it takes, but take out those shooters!” he yelled.

Gunfire from his men’s positions replied, and he turned his head enough toward the gate to see what was happening. Dozens of bullets were now tearing at the ground, driving the crowd back, leaving two men exposed who continued to fire. The loud report of sniper rifles sliced through the din, and the two men dropped, causing the crowds to rush further back. Two more men rushed from the crowd, screaming a final prayer as they whipped their weapons back and forth, bullets spraying in all directions before they too were removed from the equation.

Then there was silence.

And pain.

Stairwell

Apostolic Palace, Vatican City

Acton gripped the case tightly in one hand, his weapon in the other, held out in front of him as he scanned the stairs ahead and behind them. Laura was on his six, covering him from behind, exactly like they had been trained. Two of the Bravo team were ahead of them, two were behind, with Reading and Chaney carrying Giasson.

They couldn’t risk going up the steps too fast, otherwise they might run directly into a group of hostiles, but going too slow could leave them exposed from behind.

He exchanged a glance with Laura, who he could tell was thinking the same thing.

Let’s move!

He heard two muffled shots from ahead, then a whispered, “Clear.”

They continued slowly up the stairs, and Acton stepped around the bodies of two hostiles huddled against the railing, who had apparently hoped to surprise whoever was coming.

The Bravo team was quicker on the draw.

Another flight and they were at the floor with the passageway. They moved quicker now, the going easier with the stretcher, and they turned the corner toward the room at the end of the hall with the wardrobe that in this case would lead them to freedom rather than Narnia.

Something moved out of the corner of his eye.

Acton whipped around, raising his weapon, but before he could fire, he heard a shot from just behind him. The target dropped in a heap, and Acton looked to see Laura’s weapon raised and smoking. He breathed a sigh of relief, but Red slapped him on the back.

“Let’s go, that’s going to attract more of them.”

Acton realized at that moment that Laura’s shot, though probably lifesaving, wasn’t silenced, or more accurately, muffled. And now anyone in the building would know they were there. They rushed down the hall, and Acton opened the door. He heard more muffled shots, along with other shots at full volume in reply. He yanked Laura into the room and Chaney and Reading turned through the doorway carrying Giasson.

Stucco and Casey entered, followed by Red and Spock, who continued to duck in and out of the room, exchanging fire with whoever was down the hall.

“We won’t be able to hold this position for long,” said Red.

Acton looked at Reading and Chaney. “You remember how it works?”

Both nodded.

Acton opened the doors. “Okay, get inside.”

Reading and Chaney stepped inside, then Stucco and Acton lifted Giasson’s limp form into the closet, followed by the stretcher. Acton slammed the door shut, hammering twice on the outside.

He heard the click of the hook, then some grunting, then the click again. “We’re clear!” yelled a muffled voice.

Acton pointed at the window. “Laura, open the window, maybe they’ll think we went out that way!” She nodded, rushing over to the window and throwing it open. Red stepped back into the room and pointed at Stucco and Casey. “Push that bed over here!”

The two men shouldered their weapons and grabbed hold of the bed, pushing it across the hardwood floor toward the door. Red and Spock stepped inside, shoving the door closed, then helped push the bed into position.

“That won’t hold them long,” said Laura.

“We just need a few seconds,” said Red. He pointed at the closet.

“Next three.”

Acton opened it, helping Laura inside, then pointed at Stucco and Casey. “You two next, she knows how it works and where to go. I’ll go out with them,” he said, pointing at Red and Spock.

Thankfully the two men didn’t argue, and both were in the closet with Laura within seconds. He closed the doors, and moments later heard the all clear.

He opened the doors. “Let’s go, gentlemen.” He climbed inside, with Spock and Red following. Acton closed the wardrobe doors just as they heard pounding on the door outside. He reached up, counting the hooks, then pushed the second hook from the left. The click sounded, and he pushed on the wall. He stepped through, followed by the others, just as the sound of the door outside splintering echoed through the stone passage. He pushed on the secret panel, closing it with a click, as he heard someone rattling on the handles of the wardrobe.

Everyone remained silent. They could hear the sounds of the doors releasing as the inner panel shut, then shouting in Italian and Arabic.

He heard Red whisper in his ear. “One of them just said they went out the window.”

Acton didn’t reply, already terrified that the hammering of his heart might give away their position. There was more shouting, some gunfire, then the sound of feet pounding on wood, then nothing.

“We’re clear,” said Red, still whispering.

Acton breathed a sigh of relief.

Flashlights flicked on, and Red slapped Acton on the back.

“Professor, you lead the way.”

Acton recalled the last time he had led the way here, and wasn’t too eager to comply.

But what are the chances they’ll be here again?

Thinking back on his recent experiences, he wasn’t sure he wanted to take that bet.

Main Floor

Apostolic Palace, Vatican City

Dawson looked up the staircase, resisting every fiber of his being from turning and assisting the rest of his team.

“What do we do?” asked Niner.

“We stay on mission.”

Dawson activated his comm. “Bravo Two, Bravo One. Sit rep.”

“Reached the room, beginning evac now, over.”

“Do you need backup?”

“Negative. We’re almost out, but a diversion from your end in sixty seconds will keep them from searching this room a little too closely, over.”

“Confirmed. Diversion in sixty seconds. Out.”

Dawson turned to Jimmy and pointed at the staircase. “Trip wire one flight up, then about six steps from the bottom.”

Jimmy nodded, and rushed up the steps with Atlas. Dawson turned to one of the Swiss Guards. “Captain Denzler, wasn’t it?” The man nodded. “Captain, what’s the best way to get to the entrance to this Necropolis?”

“Out the way we came, then around the Sistine Chapel. That will lead us straight to the entrance. But we don’t know how many of the rioters are there.”

Jimmy and Atlas tore down the stairs, then set the second trip wire as Dawson led the team to the foot of the stairs. Jimmy rose, nodding.

“We’re ready.”

Dawson leaned into the stairs.

“Lieutenant, I think they went up the stairs!” he yelled, looking at Niner, pointing to the stairs winding below.

Niner grinned. “Negative, Sergeant, I think they went downstairs.” He paused. “Follow me!”

Dawson then leaned in and sprayed a burst of gunfire at the wall, the least expensive thing he could find. Yelling from upstairs that began to get louder told him their diversion had worked. English voices, military, and gunfire.
Of course it was going to work.
Dawson then slapped the Captain on the back.

“Lead the way, Captain.”

“Yes, sir.”

Captain Denzler ran toward the exit they had just come through, followed by the rest of the team, and they soon found themselves traversing the same courtyard they had minutes before. This time, however, it was quiet.

An explosion from behind them caused them to all turn momentarily, then continue forward.

“Niner, just how big of a charge did you use?”

“Just half of what I had left.”

“And the other half?”

There was another roaring explosion.

“Never mind.” Dawson wondered how much damage had just been done to the ancient building.
Probably far less than the rioters have done.
They continued out of the courtyard, and were hugging a building to the left, which Dawson assumed was the Sistine Chapel. They rounded the building slowly, Niner and Jimmy now taking point, just in case they ran into any unwanted company.

Niner stopped, raising a fist. Dawson crept forward.

“Report.”

“Six hostiles, at the end of this courtyard, I’m assuming standing at the entrance we need to get through.”

Dawson motioned for Captain Denzler to join them.

“Are they in front of where we need to go?”

The Captain leaned forward.

“Yes.”

Dawson frowned, and flipped down his night vision goggles. He took another look. “At least one of them is armed.”
Damn.
He looked around. He’d prefer to have no witnesses to their entering the grottoes leading to the Necropolis below, but he couldn’t see any way around it. Without killing them all.

Yells from behind them caused him to turn, looking at Atlas who was covering their six.

With hand signals, he indicated at least half a dozen hostiles were coming from the rear.

Shit!

He turned to the Captain. “Tell them to open the door in ten seconds.”

The man nodded, raising his radio and relaying the order in a whisper.

Dawson charged forward, silently, his weapon raised, waiting for the first of those guarding the door to notice him. He could hear Niner and Jimmy on his flanks, only feet behind, the rest now running with him. He saw one of their jaws drop, and a finger point.

He squeezed the trigger, as did Niner and Jimmy, and within seconds all six were lifeless heaps. As they approached, Dawson heard gunfire from behind, but kept charging forward. The heavy security door protecting the entrance was slowly rising.