The Insider Threat (38 page)

J
acob rode in the front seat of the cab, with Devon and Carl in the back, sitting stiffly. Paralleling the Tiber River, the driver kept pulling him away from his thoughts, aggravating Jacob with his broken English.

“You are going to the canonization ceremony, yes?”

“We are. We can’t wait.”

“It is a glorious day for it! Who would have thought the Holy Father would bestow sainthood on an Arab? Strange times.”

Arab? An Arab Catholic?

Jacob had painstakingly learned the entire laborious process for beautification and canonization by the papal authorities, but had never bothered to discover whom today’s ceremony was for.

The cabby continued, “I’ve driven more Arabs this week than I have in my entire life. I never even knew they had Christianity. It was strange.”

They made the turn onto Via Paolo VI, and Saint Peter’s Square came into view, thousands of people milling about, waiting on the ceremony. Jacob was taken aback at its size. He’d studied it and the basilica relentlessly with Google Earth, virtual tours, and plain old tourist brochures, but none did the site justice. It was breathtaking.

How will we find Father Brimm?
There appeared to be over five thousand people in the square, with more spilling in every second.

The driver said, “Here? Is this good? I can’t get any closer because of the ceremony.”

Jacob got his bearings, seeing the left colonnade on the other side of the square, where Father Brimm was supposedly located, and the facade of Saint Peter’s Basilica in the distance, the dome rising into the blue sky.

He said, “This is fine.”

They exited, Jacob paying the fare with the Fulbright credit card, the last time he would do so. He held the back door open, his two friends walking stiffly up to the barricade on the square. Jacob waited until the cab left before saying, “You two are acting like you have a fucking bomb strapped to you. Loosen up.”

Carlos grinned and said, “Sorry. I’m afraid of setting it off.”

“You couldn’t cause it to explode with a hammer right now. It’s not even primed. Come on. Let’s find the first aid station.”

They pushed their way past the crowds, going to the first of two security checkpoints. Jacob showed his ticket, then walked through a metal detector exactly like at an airport. The Vatican policeman waved him on. He stood on the other side and held his breath. Carlos showed his ticket, handed his cell phone to a policeman, and came to the far side. The machine did not beep. Jacob let out a breath as Devon followed. Jacob said, “Thank God for small miracles. Looks like we’re going to make it.”

Now inside the square, he turned to find the aid station, flabbergasted that so many people would show up for a ceremony involving someone who’d died centuries ago. The square looked like someone had cracked open a rock concert and dropped it into Vatican City.

Jacob kept his eyes open, scanning for undercover security, but only seeing a large, overt police presence. He saw a sign for the first aid station, and a priest with a clipboard in front of it, checking his watch. He said, “Is that him?”

“Yep. That’s him.”

Jacob walked rapidly up, bumping people out of the way, and the priest turned, recognizing Carlos and Devon. He said, “About time. You guys are almost too late.”

Jacob said, “Father Brimm, I’m sorry. Mr. Fulbright said to be here at this time, way before the ceremony.”

“Way before? Yeah, it’s way before the ceremony, but it’s the time for you to be inside! Not trying to get through security. We’re meeting the pope
before
the ceremony. You were supposed to be here an hour ago.”

Jacob immediately thought about Omar’s diversion. It was supposed to happen before the papal visit, to draw off the police before they conducted their attack, but now he was operating on a different timeline. Father Brimm said, “You have your passports, right?”

All three nodded and the priest took off across the square toward the other colonnade, Jacob struggling to keep up with his bruised hip. Father Brimm turned as he walked and said, “They told you what’s going to happen, right? You missed the rehearsal.”

“Yes, sir. It doesn’t seem that difficult. We’re meeting the Holy Father before the canonization.”

“You stand in line, you kiss his ring, you move on. Once you’re through the receiving line, you leave the basilica to the square and take your seat with everyone else.”

“How many are going through the receiving line?”

“I don’t know about who else is attending, but from the United States I have thirty-two. Thirty-five with you.”

They reached the inner ring of security, the one leading to the entrance of Saint Peter’s Basilica, and it was much, much more formal than the outer one. The men manning the gate wore civilian clothes, suits, ties, and mirrored sunglasses, and each had an earpiece coming from one ear. Father Brimm showed a badge and said, “Sorry we’re so late. These are the last three.”

The first man, working a tablet, said, “Passports, please.” Jacob collected all three and handed them to him, wondering how hard he would check for a forgery. He didn’t at all. He fiddled for a little bit, tapping the tablet, going through various things Jacob couldn’t see, then handed them back with a smile. “Enjoy the ceremony. Not many get to actually meet His Holiness.”

Jacob said, “Have you?”

The man laughed, saying, “Yes, of course. I protect him.”

Jacob smiled back, thinking,
Not today.

J
ennifer saw my face and said, “What’s Retro got? What did he figure out?”

I didn’t even want to voice it, because doing so would make it real. But it
was
real. “The Lost Boys are going to try to kill the pope.”

Aaron said, “What? That’s crazy.”

I said, “Brett, get online and check the Vatican calendar. Jennifer, call Retro, find out what the schedule was for the church group.”

I paced in a circle and Shoshana said, “The phone going away is Omar. Not the Lost Boys.”

I waved my hand and said, “I don’t need the psychic shit now. I need to think.”

I had some tough choices to make, and not a lot of time to make them. The Vatican was hell and gone from the Colosseum, but I had a target phone headed that way. Which to choose?

Shoshana said, “It’s logic, not ‘psychic shit.’ The first phone you were tracking came from Venice. Meaning Lost Boys. The second phone called from here. Both phones ended up in this place. The first one was Jacob. The second—the one on the move—is Omar. He’s going to kill someone too. A dual attack.”

Shit
. She was right, and I’d stepped into the biggest mess I had ever imagined. For the first time, I felt it was out of my control. I could stop one, but not both.

Brett looked up and said, “Canonization ceremony right now. The pope’s there.”

Damn it.
I’d halfway hoped the thing was tomorrow. I said, “Jennifer, what’s up with Retro?”

She pulled the phone from her ear and covered the handset. “Chris Fulbright was leading some boys from a Catholic parish for a personal visit with the pope. Outside of Christine, nobody’s registered them missing.”

Which means “they” were at the ceremony. But how? How on earth could they assume the identities of a complete church group? Didn’t any of them ever call home? Email?

I said, “Tell Retro I need Kurt on the line right fucking now. Call my cell or give me a number to call him secure. Tell him to get ready to mobilize whatever assets we have in Italy. Everyone else, pack your shit. We’re leaving for the Vatican in thirty seconds.”

Shoshana said, “Omar’s getting away. He’s going to kill a great many people. Let me go. I’m no use at the Vatican.”

I looked at her and saw a flicker of the dark angel. Jennifer said, “Kurt’s calling in two minutes. He’s up to speed.”

Shoshana said, “Let. Me. Go.”

I said, “Brett, call Knuckles. See if he still has the phone.”

He got on the radio and I said, “I let you go, you just identify, like last time. You call me and we’ll sort it out.”

She shook her head and said, “No, this isn’t like last time. You won’t be able to respond.”

Brett said, “He’s still got the phone. It’s still moving north. Moving slowly.”

“How far?”

“Off of the island and into Rome proper. Maybe twenty minutes to the Colosseum. Knuckles says that was their last pass. Air traffic control is telling them to get out of Rome’s airspace.”

My phone rang and Kurt was on it. He said, “Please tell me this is just a bad rumor. I’ve got the Council shitting bricks. I told them about a possible assassination attempt of the pope, and now I can’t give them enough information.”

“It’s not a rumor. I believe the Lost Boys have infiltrated a ceremony and are now going to kill the pope. I need massive assistance. I need you to tell them to shut the ceremony down, and I need someone to facilitate my entry.”

I heard him start shouting orders, then he said, “I’m getting the word to them right now, but there’s no way they’ll shut down the ceremony based on a threat. This is like the State of the Union for them. We’d never pull the president because of a threat.”

“Then get me in! The ceremony is locked down, and I can’t get access waving guns. It’s in the heart of Vatican City.”

“We have no assets in Vatican City. We’re going to have to rely on liaison. We’ll get the word to them, but that’s the best we can do. We have the names of the church group, and we know the plan.”

“Bullshit. Get me in. Those mug shots are worthless. We’re the only people that know what the Lost Boys look like, and it’ll take forever to sort through the BS to get an alert to his personal security. You only send a bulletin over the wire, and the pope is dead.”

“Pike, I know the risk, but I can’t magic you inside.”

“Don’t we have an embassy there? The US ambassador for the Vatican will be at that ceremony. Get the president to get his ass on the line. Tell him to meet me at Saint Peter’s Square.”

He said, “Okay, okay, yeah, that might work. I’ll start making calls.” Someone in the background said something and he turned from the phone. When he came back he said, “The damn ceremony’s being live-streamed. The pope’s about to get murdered on global Internet. Get going. I’ll call with the linkup.”

I hung up and said, “Get ready to load up. Jennifer, go get the vehicle.”

Shoshana said, “What about Omar?”

“He’s a secondary consideration. I can’t do both.”

“Yes, you can.”

“We don’t even know if he’s doing something bad. He may just be escaping the city since he’s set his plan in motion.”

Jennifer said, “I’ll go with her. We’ll take Omar; you guys head to the Vatican.”

I paused, and Aaron looked at Shoshana. He said, “Let her go.”

I relented. “Okay. You two identify Omar, then call.” I looked squarely at Shoshana and said, “Track him only.”

The angel flickered in the background. She said, “That’ll depend on him.”

I felt Jennifer waiting on me like last night. Waiting on me to force Shoshana to say the words. To commit to no killing. Shoshana was boring into me like she had in the past. I felt the connection, the same yearning I held to kill the evil in the world, and it was enough.

I nodded. “So be it.”

Jennifer’s mouth fell open, and I saw the darkness blossom in Shoshana until it consumed her. What her country had recognized early in her youth, and what she now abhorred, she was yet again. A perfect killing machine.

She smiled, showing teeth but no joy, and said, “Don’t worry. I’ll wash my hands before our date, Nephilim.”

And she slipped out the door without looking back.

Jennifer looked at me in shock, saying, “You know what she’s going to do, right?”

I said, “Yeah. Go help her.”

A
fter the passport check the Lost Boys went to another metal detector, where another robotic man wearing sunglasses said, “Do you have a cell phone, camera, or digital device? iPod?”

Jacob said no, but Carlos and Devon handed their phones over. He punched the home key of each, then flicked the screen left and right, spending about five seconds with them before putting the phones on the belt of an X-ray machine.

He waved Jacob forward, and they proceeded once again through another metal detector. Jacob struggled to keep his face neutral, feeling the itch to run. He kept his eyes on the man running the X-ray machine, waiting to see if he leaned forward or ran the belt back again. He did not.

Carlos and Devon passed through the detector unscathed. As they waited on the phones, Jacob asked Father Brimm, “Who are those guys?”

“Swiss Guards. They’ve protected the Holy Father for centuries.”

“You mean the guys who wear the old-timey uniforms we saw in the front?”

Father Brimm smiled and said, “Yes, the same organization, but these guys are definitely not a ceremonial function. They’re everywhere in here, along with the Gendarmeria, ever since someone tried to kill His Holiness in the eighties.”

Jacob knew as much as a civilian could on the pope’s protective detail, having studied it for hours on the Internet in Istanbul. He knew the Swiss Guards protected the right of the Holy Father and the Vatican police—the Gendarmeria—his left. He knew the counterterrorist abilities, the explosives expertise, and had studied every single attack a sitting Pope had experienced in the twentieth century. He knew what he was about to face, but he feigned innocence.

“Why would someone try to kill the pope?”

For the first time, Father Brimm said something profound. “Some on this earth care only about destruction. It makes them what they are, and they can elevate themselves only by destroying what others see as good.”

Jacob studied Father Brimm, seeing that he truly believed it. He wondered how naïve the man could be, but remembered the priest had never witnessed the white house. Had never experienced what someone he called “good,” cloaked behind the mantle of a Christian school, could do.

But that didn’t explain the massive crowd of people, all here to celebrate the canonization by the Holy Father. Plenty were Arabic, and they’d suffered mightily because of their religion in the land they lived within, and yet all were peaceful. No slogans of death, no demanding slaughter for the injustice.

No circle of men on their knees.

He realized he’d never seen an Islamic State ceremony that didn’t involve death. He shook the thought from his head. The crowds celebrating here were no better than the ones in the Islamic State. The difference was men like Omar told you up front what was expected, and then delivered the punishment in public. They didn’t hide it under a cloak, lying about why it was your turn to go to the white house. And yet Father Brimm’s words held a power, if only because of his conviction.

The phones came through, Carlos and Devon snatching them up, and, as planned, Devon said, “How long is the ceremony?”

Turning to lead them in, Father Brimm said, “Probably thirty minutes. Not long, because he has to do the entire canonization ceremony on the square.”

“I need to use the bathroom. Really bad.”

Exasperated, Father Brimm said, “You should have gone outside! There’s no bathroom in the basilica.”

Jacob said, “There’s one right over there. Near the bag-check station.”

Father Brimm looked, seeing no sign. He said, “How do you know?”

Jacob said, “Tour book. Let him go. It’ll only take a second.”

Father Brimm shook his head, clearly aggravated, then said, “Hurry up. We’re late as it is. Your Mr. Fulbright is really taking liberties with this.”

Carlos said, “I need to go too.”

Father Brimm threw his hands in the air and said, “What on earth! Go, go.”

They scampered away, and Father Brimm said, “Come on. I’ll go back and get them. I need to get you to your seat before we’re locked out.”

They passed through another phalanx of civilian-clothed protectors, and entered the basilica. Jacob saw the expanse of space and was once again taken aback. It was huge. Well, that didn’t adequately explain the assault on his eyes. It was more than that. A warehouse is huge. This was much greater than an expanse of steel and Plexiglas. It was the most exquisitely crafted thing he had ever entered. Unlike any church he’d ever imagined.

Stretching for multiple football fields in all directions, every inch was handcrafted marble and painted art. He’d seen the space in pictures and virtual tours, planning exactly how they would attack, learning all he could about the papal altar and the seating arrangements from past ceremonies, but the reality was more than he’d imagined.

Father Brimm pulled his sleeve, saying, “Come on, come on. Time later to sightsee.”

In front of the papal altar were about one hundred chairs, all in a row, and all currently occupied. Father Brimm led him down the right side, past monuments and chapels, waving his badge in the air to various security men. They reached a spot midway up, four seats empty in the middle. He pushed Jacob forward, saying, “I’ll bring your friends. If they don’t show, it’s because it’s too late.”

Jacob nodded, squeezing past the other boys, all dressed in suits. All looking at him in disdain. He didn’t care.

He sat, feeling his anxiety grow, waiting on his friends. There was a stirring from the left side of the basilica, and an entrance of prelates, moving in solemn stride. He began to think it was too late, when he saw movement to his right. Carlos and Devon shuffling through the line of people to their seats. Father Brimm stood on the outside, sternly looking on.

They sat next to him, both of their right hands hidden. He merely glanced at them, and they nodded, eyes soulful but their courage resolute.

So they’d managed to do it. Managed to emplace the blasting caps in the sockets and connect the detonators to the tubing running down their sleeves. They were now walking bombs.

He exhaled and a stir began in the audience. The Holy Father came forward, walking with an easy grace and smiling. Far back, almost hidden, Jacob saw the security men. Keeping their distance because of the solemnity of the ceremony, but there nonetheless. Swiss Guards on the right, and Vatican police on the left.

The Holy Father mounted the papal altar, then stood for a moment, surveying the audience. He said a few words, but Jacob was too far back to hear. Everyone bowed their heads and he realized it was a prayer. He copied, hearing the audience murmur a liturgy. They raised their heads, and the Holy Father said a few more words, then came down from the alter, taking a seat in the center chair of a row placed in front of the confessional at the base of the altar. The first line of boys stood, walking up to him one by one, each kissing his ring and moving aside.

Like a snake uncoiling, the line moved forward. Quicker than he’d imagined, their row stood up. Jacob looked at Carlos and Devon.

“It’s time.”