The Three Most Wanted (30 page)

“Well, we shall hear all about it. Forgive me for not greeting you earlier. I wished to give you a chance to settle in.”

“That’s very kind of you, your Holiness.”

He smiled, then turned to Bane and offered him his hand. Bane gave a slight bow and shook it.

“Bane,” said the Pope in English, “would you prefer English? I do not get to speak my earthly native tongue much.”

“Actually, sir, I think I’d better practice my Latin,” said Bane, in that language.

“Ah. True. Well, we are very glad you brought yourself and your friend and your beautiful wordsmith to this roost. And at least forty-four others owe you their lives.”

Bane bit his lip and went faintly pink himself. “I just did it for Margo, sir. And it was entirely a joint effort.”

“Well, it was well done, both of you,” said Pope Cornelius III. “Shall we begin?”

Someone stepped forward and began directing people to seats. His Holiness sat in the front row. Bane, Father Mark and myself, as I’d feared, were on the little stage with a touch-typist and a sister who was apparently going to help keep the narration on track. Beside the stage sat a laywoman at a bank of recording equipment. Clearly no one wanted us to have to repeat the whole thing over and over. Jon could tell his version when he was better.

Everyone else had taken their places. A brief silence. Bane and I exchanged looks. Were we just supposed to start?
Where?

“Introductions? Then shall we start right at the beginning?” suggested the sister. “Margaret failing her Sorting?”

I glanced at Bane again. “Yes, that’d probably be the beginning…”

The door opened and Eduardo slid into the room like a shadow. He put a piece of paper in the Holy Father’s hand; whispered in his ear. The old man let out a long sigh and bowed his head for a moment. His expression, when he stood and mounted the steps, was sober.

“I fear we will have to postpone this meeting. The Vatican Free State has just received an ultimatum from the EuroGov. If by six o’clock this evening we do not hand over the three fugitives who early this morning crossed our borders, the EuroArmy will immediately occupy this State and make it part of the EuroBloc.”

My ears rang. I struggled to comprehend what I’d just heard. Ultimatum. EuroGov. Three fugitives.
Occupy
…

“Can they do that?” My voice sounded strange, high and thin.

Eduardo raised his eyebrows. “Legally or practically? Legally, no. Practically? If we send every able-bodied adult to the walls with every nonLee, pike and halberd we possess, we might keep them out for an hour, no more.”

“But… why haven’t they done this before!”

“Dear me, girl,” said a very elderly cardinal, who’d been seated on the Pope’s right—Cardinal Hans, had they said? “Governments can’t go around seizing other states without the international community tut-tutting at them and the EuroGov do so
love
being all legal. So they’ve simply blockaded us and made our existence as difficult as they possibly can. But we’ve always known if ever we had something they wanted enough, they’d take us over in a heartbeat and to hell with the tut-tutting. Well, we have something they want now.”

He raised a hand and pointed at me.

Any remaining blood left my cheeks.

“We have only three choices,” said Pope Cornelius. “Hand over the three most wanted, evacuate, or be occupied—and dismantled.”

Bane’s arm was suddenly around me; his other hand disappeared inside his jacket.

“The first,” went on the Holy Father, “is quite out of the question. The third is unattractive in the extreme, which only leaves the second.”

I felt cold and sick; my head swam. The most ancient Free State in the world was about to fall, because of…
me?

“I’m sorry... I’m
so sorry
… I was trying to help…” Was I about to faint? Both Bane’s arms were around me, now.

Pope Cornelius’s hand came to rest on my bowed head. “Calm yourself, child. The fault is not yours. Things have reached such a pass, it wanted only a straw to break the camel’s back. All non-essential personnel have been evacuated now for several months. We will let the EuroGov bear the expense of looking after our beautiful buildings for a while, and some day, if the Lord wills it, we will come back, re-consecrate and enjoy them again. But for now, our lives are more important—so we evacuate.”

“If we can,” muttered Eduardo.

Deo Volente—
Cardinal Hans mouthed the words.

God willing.

***+***

24

GIFT WRAPPING

A buzz of conversation threatened to consume the room and the Holy Father held up his hands for silence.

“Everybody, please put the evacuation plan into motion. Pack up what you can and await more detailed instructions. A few of you, please, stay here… Eduardo?”

Eduardo reeled off a string of names—everyone else got up and trooped from the room, leaving a small group of less than twenty people, including Father Mark and Kyle. Nobody told me and Bane to leave, so we hovered uncertainly until everyone began dragging chairs into a circle around a table and the Holy Father beckoned us to join them.

Eduardo was spreading out a map of the state.

“Evacuation plan,
marvelous
,” snorted Cardinal Hans. “How
are
we actually going to
leave?”

Kyle looked puzzled.

“Anyone who wasn’t in the second half of the meeting at lunchtime should know,” said Eduardo briskly, “the Rome Resistance are working with the EuroGov and cannot be trusted.”

Kyle paled. “Since when?”

“Since they tried to trade in your sister this morning.”

“Bastards!” said Kyle, then shot a guilty look at the Holy Father.

“That’s just what
he
said.” Cardinal Hans smiled like a fox.

“I don’t believe it!” said someone else. “Resistance and EuroGov?”

“Nonetheless, it’s been confirmed. The tunnels are compromised.”

“So how?” said the Pope quietly.

“Only two options. The railway, or the helicopter.”

“Both of which are sitting targets,” said Cardinal Hans helpfully.

“Both of which are sitting targets,” affirmed Eduardo. “Nonetheless, they are the only options.”

“Helicopter’s out of the question,” said Pope Cornelius. “Carries too few people in one go. It must be very old, anyway. It was bought when the EuroGov stopped the Holy See chartering planes from them, which was what, forty years ago?”

“And it hasn’t been off the ground for almost twenty years, more to the point,” said Eduardo. “Has to be the train.”

“So the only thing remaining to decide,” said Cardinal Hans, “is what sort of gift wrap to wrap ourselves in?”

“We’re short of time, Hans,” said the Holy Father, with just a hint of sternness. “Serious suggestions only, please.”

Cardinal Hans snorted once more and let his forehead rest on the table.

“Smokescreen?” suggested someone.

“What,
all the way
to a port?” said someone else. “Trains aren’t hard to track, you know! Because of the tracks!”

“All they’ve got to do is break the tracks somewhere ahead and we’d derail. Or block the tracks and force us to stop. Or blow us off the tracks with a fighter plane. It’s not going to work.”

“We need some way to make them stay their hand,” said Father Mark.

“What on earth would make them stay their hand? Now they’ve finally decided to remove us from the map?”

Father Mark shot a look at me. “Something worth more to them than Margaret, I suppose.”

“Nothing’s worth more than Margo,” declared Bane.

Several people smiled.

“I won’t argue with you, but the EuroGov might,” said Father Mark. “There’s an awful lot of things they value more than human life.”

“How much cash have you got handy, then?” asked Bane.

“Not very much, I’m afraid,” said Pope Cornelius. “It’s mostly tied up in the form of assets which may be worth a mint, but cost a fortune in daily upkeep. Once upon a time we covered the costs by charging admission for some things but it’s been over forty years since the last visitor set foot in the Vatican Museums. And they’re going to get most of those assets at six this evening, so I can’t even imagine how much it would take to buy them off.”

“And the instant they had the money, they’d annex us anyway,” said Eduardo.

“What about a decoy?” someone suggested. “Set the train running empty while we get out through the tunnels? Or vice versa?”

“Rome’ll be sealed tighter than a bung in a beer barrel. I don’t think many of us would get through.”

“And if vice versa, we’re back to being trapped on tracks again…”

Everyone carried on talking but Cardinal Hans raised his forehead from the table and sat very still. After a moment he creaked up from his seat and, lowering himself stiffly to his knees on the hard stone floor, spread his hands heavenwards in fervent prayer. No one seemed to find this an inappropriate response—crazier and crazier ideas were being batted back and forth.

I certainly felt like joining the old man on the floor. Except I’d a strange feeling he wasn’t praying for ideas. He’d already had one, and it wasn’t one he liked very much. He looked like a man praying for strength. Knew
that
feeling.
I
ought to be down on the floor praying for the strength to hand myself over and save the state, but no doubt no one would let me do that. Bane’s grip on me tightened almost as though he could sense my thoughts.

Or perhaps he was just getting frustrated by the increasingly heated—and useless—discussion. Someone had just suggested floating down the Tiber on a raft, for pity’s sake.

Cardinal Hans lowered his arms at last and turned his attention back to us. “One of you young whippersnappers help me up, would you?”

Kyle and one of the younger priests hauled him to his feet and he tottered back up to the table and fell into a chair.

“Your Holiness, with all due respect, you’d do us the most good just now on your knees in front of the high altar in St. Peter’s. You may as well leave us to hammer out the details of our gift wrapping.”

Pope Cornelius threw up his hands. He’d not been saying much. “Oh, you’re probably right. I have no ideas at all. I’ll go and pray.”

He headed briskly from the room and as soon as the door closed the old cardinal sat up straight in his chair, his lined face intent. “Right, those buggers are going to damn well let us go, or they might get Margaret, but that’s all they’ll get. Here’s what we’ve got to do…”

He told us.

“But do we
have
any explosives?” asked Sister Eunice.

Eduardo tapped some commands into his networkAccessor, then read out a long list of—presumably—explosive materials and devices—I’d never heard of half of them.

“…And about five kilograms of Semtex.”

“How on earth did we get all that stuff!”

Eduardo shrugged. “People bring it with them. I confiscate it. It stacks up.”

“Is there enough?” asked Cardinal Hans.

“If we place it carefully. Right. No time to lose. Who here can handle explosives?”

A long silence.

“I can,” said Father Mark tonelessly, as a couple of other people sheepishly lifted their hands.

Eduardo waved a finger in an “already counted you lot, anyone else?” gesture.

“Well… I won’t blow my hand off,” said Bane.

Eduardo nodded. “Good. You go with Father Mark, then. Sister Krayj, Brother Wiesbeck, Claudia, you come with me. Father Mark—Sistine Chapel—select what you think you need, I’ll take the rest and see to St. Peter’s. The rest of you, get everyone onto that train, with everything that will fit. Sister Eunice, you’re in charge. Do a complete roll call, everyone accounted for. Jack, get a team ready to load the Anti-Aircraft Lattices. It’ll have to be left until the last minute, but if they get left behind, you
will
see me weep.”

“Make sure you tell him they’ve been left behind,” said Cardinal Hans out of the corner of his mouth. “Have a camera ready.”

A young man dressed like Eduardo in neat civilian clothes grinned as everyone chuckled—except Sister Eunice, whose pen was already racing over a clipboard, planning. “Pets?” she asked.

Eduardo hesitated. “Try your best. See how the space is going.”

“Don’t forget Jon,” said Bane.

Sister Eunice rolled her eyes. “Emptying the hospital? Of course I wasn’t going to bother with
that.”

She strode out of the room, tutting to herself.

Bane looked embarrassed. “Just saying.”

“Come on, Bane,” said Father Mark lightly, “Let’s go play with fireworks.”

“Right. Margo’s coming too.” Bane hadn’t let go of me since Eduardo dropped the EuroGov’s bombshell.

“Fine, fine, come on, let’s look over what we need...” They both bent their heads over Eduardo’s handheld.

Everyone else scattered as well. Cardinal Hans retreated to a far corner of the large room for a brief but emphatic conversation with Eduardo, after which Eduardo strode off, grim-faced, and the old cardinal sat at the table, head in his hands, praying again. Why
had
he wanted the Holy Father out of the room? Even my brief half-hour acquaintance with the pontiff left me certain he wouldn’t oppose the plan—not the part we’d all heard...

“Come on…” Bane was pulling me after him.

We followed Father Mark along more passages and courtyards, coming at last to a comparatively isolated, freestanding shed. The double doors stood open and some Swiss Guards were already stacking boxes outside.

“We need this little lot.” Father Mark handed the senior guard a handwritten list.

After getting Father Mark’s signature, the guards loaded us up with a large box each. We soon reached very old passages and staircases, and found ourselves in a familiar high-roofed chapel. Familiar from photos, anyway. Even the EuroGov didn’t try to deny this was quite possibly
the
supreme achievement of European art. They’d be longing to get their hands on it.

There was no red light burning over the altar, so Father Mark started unpacking the boxes at once, giving Bane a lot of instructions I didn’t really understand. In light of what they were handling—well, I’d just leave it to them. The Swiss Guards arrived with a pair of immensely long fire ladders and an equally tall freestanding scaffolding tower—which the guardsmen erected in minutes—and soon I was passing things up to them—or more accurately, climbing up to them with things.

“Don’t stint with the glue,” called Father Mark from way up atop the tower. “It’s water based: it’ll come off without damaging anything and we don’t want the charges dropping off. They’ll have experts examining the CCTV footage about ten minutes after they get it; we’ve got to get it right.”

“Oh, I’m not stinting.” Bane pressed another block of something deceptively innocent-looking to the center of the priceless panel portraying the Last Judgment. He poked something into it and dropped a long wire down to ground level.

Temporarily unoccupied, I gazed at the marvelous paintings, trying not to see the spiders’ web of blocks and wires creeping slowly across them. Tilting my head back, I stared at the roof. I couldn’t tell the actually recessed bits from the painted bits—it was that extraordinarily well done.

Bane finished first, gathering all the wires into the center of the room and placing them carefully in a heap. He watched Father Mark stretching up to position the last charge in the space just below the outstretched hands of God and Adam.

“Y’know, I hope we don’t have to push that button. It really is a rather good painting.”

I couldn’t contain a snort of laughter. “You think?”

“Okay, okay, stating the obvious.”

Father Mark climbed all the way back down and frowned at his handiwork. Feeling the guilt of one who appreciates art or just calculating yet again whether it’d all be destroyed?

“Right, out you two go while I connect this all up.” He tapped some sort of electronic unit, clearly a remote controlled detonator or something like that.

“Watch what you’re doing,” said Bane.

“It’s not switched on.” Father Mark waved us in the direction of the door nonetheless.

Bane towed me out as I tried to admire the frescos one last time and we almost collided with a very elderly priest in the passage outside. He had a dove cradled in each hand.

“We’re supposed to be boarding the train!” he told us.

“It’s okay, we’re coming,” said Bane.

“Um, hadn’t you better put those in a cage, Father?” We weren’t in quite that much of a rush, surely!

“I haven’t got a cage!” The old man looked quite upset. “I feed them at my window. I can’t leave them! I keep imagining some beastly EuroGov official in my room and the poor things coming to the window ledge, so innocently… What if…?” He broke off, clutching the doves tighter.

How long had he lived here, poor man? His world was turning upside down.

“Well, we’ve got some cardboard boxes, haven’t we, Bane? I’ll get one…”

Bane beat me to it, darting back into the Sistine Chapel and re-emerging with one of the smaller boxes. He held it open while the old priest settled the doves inside. They bobbed their heads, cooing inquiringly but watching him with trusting black eyes. Thank goodness! I didn’t want to chase them around these high-ceilinged corridors.