Pope's Assassin (34 page)

    He looked through the door to the high altar. Only the table in the center could shield him from a threat. He ran and rolled over as quickly as possible until he was behind the table, and stayed there a few moments. From there he moved to a corner, from which he could see the nave.

    An acolyte behind the confessional, another by a column in the back. He didn't see anyone else, but with so many hiding places it wasn't going to be easy. He risked looking to see if some believer had come to pray at the wrong time in the wrong place. A woman was in the second pew, kneeling, head lowered over her hands, praying for mercy, a girl by her side, seated on the pew playing a video game. The kid probably prayed every night before bed that her mother would spend some money and buy her a new PlayStation. A few rows back was a homeless man in ragged clothes.

    "Santini," he heard a voice call from somewhere in the nave.

    "Robin," Rafael replied. "What a talent for escaping from locked offi ces."

    The faithful looked around. How disrespectful. Shouting like that in a place of silence and devotion.

    
"Shhh . . ."
said the woman in front.

    "Come out, Santini. I want to see you," Robin ordered, moving to the center of the nave.

    "No, I'm okay. I know when I'm not welcome," Rafael replied mockingly. "You guys don't wish me well."

    
"Shhh . . ."
the woman repeated. It was too much. Not just a lack of respect for a sacred place but for common civility as well.

    "Don't be afraid," Robin protested, approaching the first row of pews, next to the altar in the transept. He made an apologetic gesture to the woman, along with a forced smile. Then he took the Glock out of his cassock and held it against the head of the mother, who could not believe it. "Do you want this pretty girl to become an orphan?"

    The little one raised her eyes from the game and noticed what was happening. Instantly her tears began to flow. This wasn't a game for points.

    Rafael got up from behind the altar table, hands in the air, and kicked his Beretta away. The acolyte behind the confessional aimed a gun at him with an angry look.

    "I knew you'd end up surrendering," Robin said.

    "You're an excellent negotiator," Rafael said in mock praise.

    "You think you can come to
my
church and do what you want?" Robin continued. "You're so naive. Throw down the other gun, please."

    Rafael took the Glock out from the back of his slacks, put it on the floor, and gave it a kick away from him. "Let her go now."

    The mother and little girl were terrified. A priest aiming a gun at her head. Two armed acolytes. What a horrible scene. The beggar in the back had disappeared. Life, even without shelter, is priceless.

    "Shut up," Robin ordered, visibly angry. "I'm going to deal with you, you son of a bitch." He looked at the woman and turned the gun away from her head. "Get out of here fast. Forget what you saw here, or I won't forget you."

    It took less than five seconds for the woman and child to cross the nave and leave the church, completely traumatized.

    "You're real brave, Robin," Rafael sneered.

    "Put a bullet in this guy's head," Robin shouted at the acolyte aim ing at Rafael.

    The young man cocked the gun without hesitating, but before he could squeeze the trigger, he was hurled against the confessional, breaking one of the doors and falling inside. A bullet in the head had taken his life.

    Instinctively, Robin fired at the column from which the shot came. Nobody had counted on that.

    "Only a bastard like you could drag me to this den of fags," some one was heard to grumble. The ragged beggar strode pungently into the center of the nave.

    "I'm glad to see you, Donald," Rafael greeted him sincerely.

    "Fuck you, Santini. You're as much of a fag as they are," Donald insulted him in his usual affectionate way. Then he dropped the gun and sat down on the floor in pain. Robin's random shot had hit him in the stomach.

    Rafael smiled sadly. Donald was always bad tempered, but always there at the right time. Long ago, he'd been an agent like Rafael. His aim was still perfect.

    "What do you want, you smelly bum?" Robin said.

"Don't talk, asshole."

    The other young acolyte looked at Robin in confusion, as if asking for instructions.

    "Kill him," Robin said without a trace of feeling.

    "I'd think twice before you do that, cocksuckers," Donald warned. He pointed at the dead acolyte. "Your friend is now sucking cocks in hell."

    "You're going to die slowly, Donald," Robin said disdainfully. He aimed his own gun at Donald's head.

    "Cut the shit, Robin." Rafael came forward, leaving the altar and approaching him. "No one else but me has to die." He struck his chest. "This is my fault. Do what you need to do, you bastard. Aim at me and get it over with." He came on with firm, quick steps. "Shoot me and let him go. He doesn't know what I do."

    Robin watched Rafael come nearer. "Stop, Santini. That's enough."

    Rafael obeyed. "Do what you have to do. Shoot. Get it over with."

    Robin observed the scene as if he were hovering over it.

    Rafael continued to stare hard at Robin. "Shoot."

    Robin smiled disdainfully. "As you wish."

    A sharp, echoing shot followed. "Amen."

    Rafael's head should have exploded, but instead it was Robin who spit mouthfuls of blood before falling on the cold floor of the sacred temple that had seen so many sins over the last few minutes.

    "It seems like today's the day for priests to die in church," Gavache spoke out, gun in hand, his shot taken. Amen.

    "Police. Drop the gun," he ordered the acolyte, who immediately threw it down, as if it were red-hot. "Get on the floor. Hands behind your back."

    Gavache looked at the corpse of the acolyte in the confessional and shook his head. "This world is going to hell.

    "Is everything okay, Inspector?" Paul came into the church to see what was going on, gun ready, and kneeled over the other acolyte to handcuff him.

"Look at this, Paul. Does it look like everything is okay?"

    "This is my last hour," Donald said to Rafael, trying to grab the pew to get up. "Give my regards to William and tell him to fuck himself. All he ever does is put me in tight spots. He never gives me a break."

    Rafael ran to help him. "Don't try to get up, Don." He looked at Gavache. "Can you call an ambulance?"

    Gavache bent over Robin to take his pulse. "Call an ambulance for this one, too," he told Paul.

    "How did you know I was here?" Rafael asked Gavache.

    "Reinforcements are on the way," Paul informed them.

    "Okay, let them clean up this shit." Gavache straightened up and walked toward the door. "Come along, Rafael."

    Rafael looked around the church one last time. His head was fi lled with confusion. Much needed to be explained. He bent down over Donald.

    "Thanks, Don."

    "This shit didn't come out so well," Donald excused himself.

    "It could have been worse."

    Gavache interrupted them. "Boys, leave your conversation for later." He looked at Rafael. "Let's go. It's time."

    "An ambulance is on the way. I'll see you later," Rafael said to Donald.

    "Fuck you. Who said I want to see you? Get out of my sight."

    Rafael smiled and followed in Gavache's footsteps. "Where are we going?"

    "We have a plane waiting for us."

    "Why do I feel like I don't know what's going on?"

    "Because you don't."

N
o office in the world could compare in size and sumptuousness to Tarcisio's, with the exception of the pontifi cal apartments. Not even the Oval Office was in the same league.

    Tarcisio occupied a chair that resembled a throne behind his solid, antique desk.

    Adolph sat down on the other side in a smaller, less luxurious, but equally comfortable chair. The difference in size was not accidental. It served to show whoever sat in it the superiority in rank and power of the person on the other side of the desk. The secretary of state was the most powerful man in the world, except for the pope. He was respon sible for an empire of incalculable value, influential throughout the civilized world and in parts less civilized according to the standards set by the civilized. All his power was exercised without weapons or an army, and this was extraordinary in a world in which order was imposed by military might. Tarcisio never tired of telling how Pope Pacelli, during World War II, ordered his Swiss Guard to go unarmed, so that no accidental shot would create an international crisis with the Germans. History testifies that Hitler in all his power, capable of the most execrable massacres, master of the world, or at least pretending to be, with all his military might, never permitted a single German sol dier to cross the defenseless Vatican border into Saint Peter's Square. It wouldn't have taken half an hour to capture the Supreme Pontiff and to occupy the Vatican state, but as Pius XII said, M
y army is not of this
world.
Hitler never had the courage to test this assertion.

    Adolph smiled cynically. He adjusted his glasses and waited for Tarcisio to begin their meeting as usual. Outside, rain continued to fall in a constant torrent, the sky blackened with heavy clouds, and the wind keened in the windows. Adolph and his cynical smile.

    "I wonder if you have anything to say to me before we begin," Tarcisio began in a serious tone, his duty in the best interests of the church.

    Adolph felt superior to Tarcisio, as if the secretary of state did not deserve the distinctions he received. "Not that I know of."

    Tarcisio took off his glasses and began to clean the lenses with a velvet cloth. "Cut the bullshit. We know everything."

    "About what, Your Eminence?" Adolph said, showing no surprise.

    "Ernesto Aragones, Yaman Zafer, Sigfried Hamal, Ursino. Who's next? Joseph Ratzinger?" The secretary showed his anger.

    "Should I know those names, Your Eminence?" Adolph asked with the same smile on his lips.

    "If you want to continue lying, that's up to you, Adolph. I'll only say the following, we know everything."

    Tarcisio finished cleaning his glasses and put them back on.

    Neither one said anything for a few moments. Seconds, minutes, a tense silence.

    "We were always the right arm of the church," the superior general finally said bitterly. "Our methods were never questioned."

    "Well, when you interfere in matters of the church and kill inno cent people and dedicated servants within our own walls, we have to begin to question, don't you think?" Tarcisio argued.

    "Not when we're dealing with traitors." He raised his voice and dropped his cool attitude, revealing the true Adolph under the cynicism.

    "I'm ordering you to stop what you're doing immediately," Tarcisio demanded. He received a harsh laugh in reply.

    "We're the guardians of the church," Adolph asserted, half laugh ing. "Don't give us orders."

    Tarcisio got up suddenly, leaning on the desk. "Don't defy me, Adolph. Guardians of what? Of some bones that could belong to any one and some documents that, with all due respect, could have been forged by Loyola?"

    "I disagree," Adolph warned. "Everything was analyzed scientifi cally. Everything is proved."

    "It that right? Then you have until tomorrow to show me those results."

    "I told you not to give me orders," Adolph repeated.

    "Do you want to know what I think?" Tarcisio didn't wait for his reply. "I think everything was a fraud. I don't believe that Loyola brought back the bones of Christ."

    "But you believe in the Gospel of Jesus," Adolph argued.

    "Because it in fact exists and was proved genuine. Scientifi cally dated, and I can show you the results. Whether it is the Gospel of Jesus or not, we'll never know. As far as I'm concerned, He died on the cross, and everything else is fi ction."

    "In any case, there's nothing you can do. This operation can't be stopped. Tonight the gospel will be in our power," Adolph informed him again, cynically.

    "You're deceived."

    "You might be in the larger chair, but that doesn't give you superior insight. Tonight the documents will be in the possession of the Society of Jesus, and then I shall communicate our demands to you," Adolph said sarcastically.

    "Why later and not now?" the secretary asked.

"Haven't you understood me?" Adolph was angry.

    "On the contrary. I understand you. But we're going to do things differently."

    He pressed the button of the telephone on top of his desk, and in less time than it takes to say
God
, the doors of the office opened to admit Cardinal William, talking on a phone with two Swiss Guards at the ready.

    "What does this mean?" Adolph asked in astonishment.

    "Yes, yes," William responded to the person on the other end of the line. "Just a minute. I'm going to transfer you."

    The prefect pressed a button on the phone and handed it to Tarcisio.

    "Is it on speakerphone?" the secretary asked.

    William nodded yes.

    "Good afternoon," Tarcisio said.

    "Good afternoon, Your Eminence," Jacopo's voice replied.

    "Do you have any news for me?"

    "Everything went as planned. The church is in possession of Ben Isaac's documents."

    "Would you mind repeating that? I have someone here who didn't quite hear," Tarcisio said, looking an incredulous Adolph in the eye.