Chapter IV

It was a hot, rather moist day in Rio De Janeiro. At the Americana Hotel it was even hotter.

THE SECURITY TEAM, comprised of a mixture of Swiss Guards and some Rio City Policia, had done an excellent job of keeping to Pope away from anyone and everyone. The Pope was resting. Soon, very soon, he would awaken and begin to prepare for the last speech that he was to give while in Brazil. If everything went without incident they would all be heading back to the Vatican City in less than six hours.

A lot can happen in six hours.

Dimitri and Peter had conferred since the recent killing of the priest in Sao Paulo. While it seemed too great a coincidence to ignore, they were fairly certain that the Pope was not yet the killer’s primary target. For, if he were, there would have certainly been an attempt. That being said,

Peter reminded Dimitri that murderers, by nature, do not follow a rational line of thinking. Anything could happen, and nothing could be discounted. The only thing that they knew for sure was that somebody was still killing Catholics . . . and that in itself was enough to cause alarm.

Peter walked with Dimitri to meet Andrew on the seventh floor, near the bank of elevators. There were guards on the sixth, seventh, and eighth floors, securing every possible access to the seventh floor. Nobody was allowed to use the stairwell to gain access to the seventh floor, and one of the Policia was permanently stationed on each elevator.

Peter nodded to the Policia guarding the elevator that he and Dimitri were approaching. They both presented their identifications, not that the policia didn’t already recognize them. The guard nodded, “Allo.”

Dimitri and Peter nodded. “Seventh floor, please,” Dimitri said in Portuguese.

The guard nodded. Dimitri turned to Peter, “Six hours . . . not too long.”

Peter leaned his head back, studying the elevator. It was cramped, far too tight for many more than a few skinny people, but the clever use of dark tinted mirrors made it seem larger.

“I’m not sure I share your optimism.”

“Look, if there was going to be an attempt on the Pope, why wait until the last minute?”

“Why not wait?” Peter posed. “Really, they might have been testing our security procedures the entire time. Just a push here and a shove there. They could be getting know our security patterns.”

Drmitri squinted and then rubbed his eyes. His close-cropped hair was dirty blond, his skin bordering on sun burnt. He looked like a warhorse. The kind of guy you could count on when the lead starts to fly.

“It’s possible,” Dimitri agreed, “but then I would probably lean in a different direction.”

“Oh?”

“Let’s consider that possibility that they want to take the Pope alive. Use him for a hostage, or . . . I don’t know . . . political leverage, make a martyr out of him, something?” Dimitri turned I his head a bit and lowered his voice, “Maybe this is some kind of Al Qaeda thing, or Islamic Jihad. A Sunni faction or a Shiite . . . they all hate the Vatican and what it stands for.”

Peter thought about that for a moment. “I had considered something like that, at first, but I don’t think so. I mean, sure, there could be a group that is trying to kidnap the Pope, but I don’t think it is a fanatic group. I don’t think so. Not the Muslims. Not like this.”

“Who then?”

“Do you find it strange that nobody has taken responsibility for any for any of the killings? Not one word. Nobody claimed anything. Usually you will have at least a couple of nut-jobs calling up to say they did this or that. Just for the publicity, even. But . . .” Peter paused.

“But what?” Dimitri prodded.

Peter cocked his head to the side, like he was locked in a near trance, as if he was seeing the answers far off in the reflected universe beyond the mirrors. Maybe the reflected image of Peter knew exactly what they were looking for. And the idea kind of worked its way into his head.

Peter started turning his head from side to side. He sighed as the elevator door slid open.

Andrew was waiting with two other Swiss guards. “Good early morning, gentlemen.”

“Andrew, everything nice and quiet?” Dimitri said flatly. Andrew nodded.

Andrew backed away from the elevator, creating space for Dimitri and Peter to exit. “Peter,” he said as the three of them started to walk slowly down the quiet hotel corridor. The carpet muffled their steps, and the soft white lights dampened their shadows.

The Hotel Americana is both cozy and elegant, in an old 70s kind of way. So the name is most fitting. Other country’s recreations of different cultures is always a bit skewed. Like a Japanese cowboy bar. Sure, there’s an electric bull and T-bone steaks . . . but it all kind of fails the reality test. Like being in an alternate universe. This hotel was like that.

Perhaps it was their somber moods skewing their judgment, though.

They walked a few races down the hall and Dimitri stopped. He turned to Peter. “I need to know what you were thinking back there.”

Peter though for a moment. “Well . . . I was considering another angle to all of this.”

“Care to indulge us?” Dimitri added.

“Andrew,” Peter said as he turned toward the younger guard, “when was the last time you spoke with anyone at the Vatican?”

Mavet—still possessing Andrew’s body—thought for aa moment, “Well, it’s been at least two days, hasn’t it.”

“And what was the general mood around there?” Peter asked as he placed a hand on his chin.

“Hard to tell, really. Paranoid, I suppose. I don’t know. We didn’t discuss any of this madness. I just asked about the weather, the kids, the usual pleasantries.”

Peter had the hint of a grin on his face. “Why,” Dimitri asked, rather suspiciously. “What does that have to do with the price of tea in China?”

Mavet looked at Peter, trying to see exactly what he was alluding to.

Was he on to him? Certainly he couldn’t be. Had Mavet said the wrong thing, not followed protocol in some aspect? Doubtful. In his many hours inside Andrew he had picked the inferior soul’s brain for any important job specific details. As it turned out, Andrew’s mind was more than cooperative. No. Peter was going somewhere else with all of this.

“What if the killings are being handled by some splinter faction . . . closer to us than we thought?”

“Other Christians?” Mavet tried.

“No,” Dimitri said, as he shared Peter’s slightly knowing grin. “Not just Christians . . . Catholics.” He locked eyes with Peter. “That’s what you are driving at, isn’t it?”

Peter remembered looking at his darker reflected image in the elevator’s mirror. Peter’s idea wasn’t only that there might be other Catholics behind all of this. No . . . it was much darker than that. Peter decided to keep these thoughts to himself until he got a chance to debrief with Ritti and his investigation team. Surely they all have been working on this for some time. Besides, maybe Peter was a victim of his own creativity.

Maybe.

“Do you think there is a possibility that somebody has made it close enough to get the Pope, but just hadn’t done it yet?” Andrew asked.

Peter shrugged. Dimitri looked up and down the dim lit hallway. A mixture of dark blue and emerald green carpet made the corridor look longer than it probably was. “Why not take him if you could?”

“We’re starting a which hunt, aren’t we?” Peter said with a shoulder slumping sigh. “We’re going insane.”

“I think it something in the water,” Dimitri said with a frustrated smile.

“Well,” Mavet said, “there will always be somebody who wishes that the Pope was dead. Like that would change the world or something. And at some point, no matter what we do, there will be some cunning bastard that works his way right underneath our vigilant noses, so to speak. So I don’t think we should rule anything out. Nothing at all.”

Peter raised his arm and looked at his watch. “It’s about time to do a sentry check. “Dimitri, I assume you will stay with John Paul until his sermon . . .”

“That’s right.”

“Andrew,” Peter continued, “you’ll be with Dimitri, heading the Site Team. I’m going to be floating. Lets do com checks every fifteen mics.”

They all nodded to each other and then went in their separate directions.

Peter headed back to the elevator. He needed some alone time to consider this idea of his . . . that the Vatican might be killing Catholics. Was it heresy to think such things?

Yes.

But at this point it was also prudent. Peter didn’t consider himself a religious advocate. Nope. He was a well-trained and honed security analyst. And he could put himself in the shoes of the bad guys.

Mavet walked with Dimitri. “What do you think?”

“Six hours.”

Mavet smiled, “That’s right . . . six hours and counting.”