Chapter IV

In the tunnels underneath the Vatican it was a cool 66°.

THERE WAS AN UNUSUAL DRAFT lightly churning the stagnant air throughout the tunnel network. The corridors were dark and quiet, and the only sign of life was coming from Thomas’s office where a tiny finger of warm light crept out into the darkness from the doorway. The door, slightly open, vibrated every now and then when the pockets of air would whisk through the tunnels.

Thomas leaned back in his firm but comfortable leather chair. His eyes glanced back and forth from one symbol to the other. There were still things that he hadn’t been able to transcribe. Three or four symbols were still eluding him. One of them had a few different possible definitions, and he hadn’t yet decided what fit better. The problem was that he had to put himself in the mind of the writer, the original prophet . . . Jesus. That was no easy task.

Thomas had studied everything the man had ever written, or had allegedly said to other disciples and religious figures. There were so many conflicting stories that it was difficult to get a feel for the guy. He had read a book, early on in his studies, called, JESUS: God, Prophet, or Madman. For Thomas, the jury was still out on which was the better description.

“Three more of you,” he said to himself as he pursed his lips. This particular symbol was something to do with a shadow.

In a shadow, or about a shadow, or a kind of shadow.

He wasn’t sure. There was a rather large section in the Prophecies that used this symbol quite frequently. And the frustrating thing was that the Aramaic used was similar to the symbols in the books he had, but with some extra markings around the word.

Something to do with shadows.

Maybe it would come to him in his sleep. Maybe never? He just couldn’t hear the music on this one.

The next symbol, crudely sketched next to the first mysterious one, was another close match. It was a mixture of the symbol for ‘Angel’ and the symbol that represented ‘Demon’, or ‘Dark Angel.’ Well, clearly there was something amiss there because though related in a way, those two definitions are diametrically opposite. He shifted his glasses and stood up. He yawned as he stretched his arms so far to his sides he thought they might just pop off.

“So,” he said as he walked back and forth across the room, “we have shadows that aren’t shadows,” his eyes scanned across the floor as if the answer might be carved out for him in the carpet. No luck.

“There are Angels who seem to be mixed with Dark Angels.” He approached the large counter that ran along two walls in the room. “And what about you, my little friend?” He ran his fingers over another symbol that was sitting near a projector. He flipped a small switch and the piece of sketch paper was illuminated as if the sun itself was underneath. This symbol had something to do with a melting of something into another. Maybe a mixture, or something like that.

His face lowered to study the design. He carried that image in his mind as he approached the computer on his right. As he typed in some notes and backed away a little hour-glass slowly rolled over while his computer made billions of calculations. His eyes wandered around the room as he waited.

A printer waiting to work.

A large flatbed scanner.

Tons of books, and disks, and folders.

A coffee mug with lukewarm tea from a couple of hours ago.

A small cellular phone that only dialed one number—the Swiss Guard Investigator, Donnie, who had told him that people might be after his work, and maybe even him.

The idea that he was in danger was almost a welcomed emotion. He had spent so many years in the safe seclusion of his protected life that a little adventure was like a breath of fresh air. Of course, nobody was actually going to try and hurt him. He knew that things like that didn’t happen in his little world. Sure, a few years back there had been an incident. But that was topside, and was in no way related to him. All the politics of the Vatican never dribbled their way down into Thomas’s little world. At least, not that he would see.

So he walked, considering the different possibilities. “Melting, mending, mixing, boiling, mashing together . . .” his eyes were closed when he heard the light knock at the door. He blinked several times and turned.

“Thomas,” the familiar voice said softly. “We need to talk.”

“Come in Pablo,” Thomas said as he turned around to face the door, his arm carefully reaching for the small phone. “How may I be of assistance?”

“We, uh . . .” Pablo glanced around, making sure nobody else was in the room.

His voice was low and his gestures were almost paranoid as he entered, shutting the door delicately behind him. “There are people who are very interested in your work.”

“Well, of course they are,” Thomas said with a smile. “This is the Prophecy of Jesus Christ. Who wouldn’t be interested to know the mind of this man?”

“No, Thomas,” Pablo said as he glanced at the door. “These people aren’t interested in anything that you and I are. These people only care about power and money. Greed.”

Pablo’s hand reached down to his side, where he slowly drew his pistol.

Thomas pressed the send button on the small phone as his whole body began to sweat. “I never wanted to be in this position, my old friend,” Pablo said strangely.

“I don’t understand, Pablo. I . . . am I in danger?”

Their eyes met, and Pablo swallowed hard, “Yes, Thomas. You are too dangerous, now. They want you dealt with.”

Thomas’s heart rate was now faster than it had ever been in his entire life. He felt his body start to quiver as he tried to maintain control. He felt a tingly sensation flush throughout his entire body and his head felt like it was going to explode at any second — one way or another.

His mind wanted to say Oh, God! but his throat was too dry for anything other than a gasp.

“Quickly,” Marco instructed the taxi driver. “We have little time now!” Diego, Pena, and Marco slid around, huddled in the back of a Mercedes taxi that had left Leonardo DaVinci Airport a half hour earlier.

“Once we get there,” Diego told them, “I’ll know where to go. We don’t

have to get inside, but they’ll still be looking for us. They have roving security patrols outside the Vatican. We may have a small window.”

“And the other arrangements?” Pena asked.

“That has been taken care of,” Marco explained, “and we will be taken care of. We have to get our friend and the rest will be easy.”

“And he’s just going to appear?” Pena said skeptically.

Diego lifted his hands, spreading his fingers in front of his chest, “Right out of thin air, as if he was a ghost himself.”

Pena laughed tiredly, “Well, then. Really isn’t much in the way of worrying that we should do, eh? Seems like you guys have it all taken care of.”

“You’ll see, Mr. Pena. You’ll see soon enough,” Marco said as he studied a small map. He leaned forward and mumbled something in Italian to the driver

and the Mercedes seemed to find an even faster gear as they felt the acceleration

once more.

“Not long now,” Marco said under his breath. He grabbed his cell phone and pressed the ‘send’ button. Holding the phone between his head and shoulder he pointed out a location on the map to Diego.

Diego squinted to study the map, “I think that’s right.”

“You think,” Pena said with more than a bit of worry on his voice. “Eighty-five percent certain,” Diego said as he brought the map closer to his face.

“Mierda,” Pena said.

Shit.

“This place is really much nicer than the postcards say,” Abbot said as Ritti walked him into St. Peter’s Basilica. “Wow.” Abbot looked like a small child as he took in the different images that he was being bombarded with. “Everything in here looks really expensive.”

“Priceless, all of it,” Ritti added. “I bet there are all kinds of ghosts walking around these halls and structures. Late at night, sometimes, when we are working around here you can almost feel the presence of something.”

“Maybe it’s God coming to make sure you guys file your tax returns correctly,” Abbot joked.

“Taxes,” Ritti laughed, “God wouldn’t dare concern himself with taxes. That’s the Devil’s business.” They walked quietly as the shadows bent around them.

“Can I see the Sistine Chapel?”

Ritti smiled, “I wondered if you would ever ask.”

Donnie studied the black and white surveillance video as it came in to his small, makeshift office. He watched Thomas back against the counter, carefully concealing his actions with the phone he had been given. As he watched he felt his phone start to vibrate in his pocket. He couldn’t see that face of the other man in the room, but he didn’t need to. He had been watching him make his cautious way through the tunnels towards Thomas’s research office.

“Keep him talking,” he said to himself as the door behind him opened. He turned to see Peter, his partner, enter the cramped former mop closet.

“What does it look like?” Peter said as he shut the door.

Donnie held up a worried finger as he put the phone to his ear. He glanced over at the screen and then back to Peter, and whispered, “They might try to deal with him ahead of schedule. I’ve got to get down there . . . now!”

Peter removed his pistol from his holster and handed it to Donnie. “Take this.”

“I’ve got mine,” Donnie said nodding down to his pistol.

“Two is three times better than one,” Peter said as he released the gun into Donnie’s hand. He then started making all sorts of adjustments to the surveillance equipment so that they would have a good record of everything that went down.

“Good point,” Donnie said. He slid the pistol into the other side of his belt, near the back, and took a deep breath. “This could be a mess. Make sure you get it all on tape.” And with that they traded a quick glance and Donnie left. Peter sat down in front of the screen wondering if they were overreacting.

“Better safe than sorry on this one,” Peter said under his breath.

“Pedro,” Thomas said, hoping that somebody on the other end of his phone call was listening, “you don’t look so good.”

“I haven’t gotten much sleep lately, my friend. Had a lot on my mind.” Pablo’s movements were nervous and jerky, as if he hadn’t slept in days and had propped himself up on speed to stay alert. His body was reckless and unsteady.

“Who want’s me dealt with? I mean, who . . . who is angry with me?” Thomas said, the words stumbling out.

“This thing is way above me, Thomas. I don’t have a say in the matter.”

Pablo looked around the room, and there was something in particular that he wanted. “Where are the sketches?”

Thomas’s eyes were wide and dilated, “What are you talking about?”

“The sketches!” Pablo barked. “Goddamnit, Thomas you know what they want. I need the originals and any copies you have.” The pistol wasn’t pointed directly at Thomas, but the signal was still very clear.

Thomas leaned even further back on the counter, hoping that at any moment Donnie would come bursting in. “There are several, all around,” he said as he waved his free hand at the various drawings that were haphazardly taped around the room.

Lifting the pistol towards one of the sketches, Pablo seemed to regain his composure a bit, “Thomas, the ones that I need are the three that you haven’t been able to decipher. I need the last three, and I need them quickly.”

Thomas could hardly breathe now. His entire world was crumbling around him. He was a dead man, for sure. He didn’t see any way out. All he could do was try and buy enough time for a miracle.

Donnie ran quickly through the tunnel, staying a foot off of the right-hand wall. Bullets follow walls he thought to himself as he reverted back to his earlier training. If things got ugly, he would need to make every shot count.

He wished that Peter was at his side, but knew that somebody needed to be able to document all of this. People would need to know how it all went down. People would deserve the truth, but probably they would never get it. This would all be hidden within the secrets and mysteries that echo silently throughout the Vatican.

As he approached the office he noticed the door was closed. He made sure to keep his body on the opposite side of the door handle-the most likely place for a crazed gunman to shoot if he thinks people are coming in on him. He could hear Thomas talking to Pablo though their words were faint. He then disconnected the call and immediately called Peter.

“You ready for this?” Peter said as he answered the call on the first beep.

Donnie stretched his neck to the side and rolled his shoulders back. “Just let me know when and where. I’m going in blind.”

“Right now he is about six feet in front of you, just off to your left about a foot if you’re oriented with the center of the door. His side is to you, but he’s looking at some drawings.”

“And the gun?” Donnie asked as he readied himself to enter the room. “Loosely in his right hand, almost pointing at Thomas,” Peter said, pausing for a second. “Hey, Donnie . . . I think he’s out of it. The guy looks like he hopped-up on something. I know that you’re not supposed to shoot co-workers, but I think we have a really dangerous situation in there. I don’t have any audio, but I think it’s going to get nasty.”

“Roger that,” Donnie said as he checked both pistols. Two clicks later the pistols were ready to work their magic. Again, he placed one of the guns behind his back, on his left side. In his right hand was the second pistol. His hope was to do this without any bloodshed. He wanted to believe that this was all some grand misunderstanding. “I’m ready to make my entry. Let me know when.”

“Stand-by, stand-by . . .”

“This place looks so different in the dark,” Ritti said. “Tomorrow we will come back when it is brighter. It really is magnificent.”

Abbot walked slowly through the Sistine Chapel, his eyes taking in the images: God and Angels and clouds. He was looking at ’The Creation of Adam.′

“That was created by Michelangelo from fifteen-oh-eight to fifteen-twelve,” Ritti said as they both admired the work. Cracks and dust, the fingers of time, had worked their way over the naked bodies of God and Adam. “Over here,” Ritti said, pointing to another fresco, “this is Sibyl, also painted around fifteen-twelve.”

Abbot walked closer, leaning forward to study to woman who was holding a scroll of some sort over her right shoulder. “She looks like she’s hiding something.”

“Everybody’s hiding something, Mr. Abbot,” Ritti said as his phone started to vibrate in his jacket pocket. He lifted the phone to his ear, “Si?”

Abbot walked to another fresco and a small plaque informed him in several different languages that this was ‘Jeremiah’ also finished in 1512. It was a large, hulk of a man seemingly cowered by something. The large man was lost in thought and behind him were a man and a woman that looked even less happy than Jeremiah. “The things you three have seen,” Abbot said to himself. And then he noticed Ritti was no longer standing beside him. He turned and looked across the Chapel.

Ritti put his hand over the phone, “We may have a problem.”

Abbot approached, “I’ll pay the visitor’s fee if that would help.”

“No, no,” Ritti said, his tone very serious. “We may have a situation.”

Thomas gathered the various sketches that he had been working on and layed them on the counter in front of Pablo. He had left the phone across the room, near the computer, not wanting to alarm Pablo. “These are the three that I haven’t been able to make sense of. Eventually I think—”

“This is all of it?” Pablo snapped between nervous glances around.

Thomas saw the look in Pablo’s eyes, the glint of his gun, and the urgency in his actions. “Yes Pablo, that is everything.”

Pablo looked up at Thomas. “I’m sorry, Thomas. I never wanted to hurt you in any way.”

“Please kill me quickly,” Thomas said as he squinted.

“Kill you,” Pablo said, confused. “For Pete’s sake, Thomas . . . I’m not here to kill you.”

“What?” Thomas stuttered, “But I thought that you wanted me ‘dealt’ with.” “Look,” Pablo said nervously, “we don’t have much time. I have to get you out of here. You are going to leave the Vatican . . . through the tunnels. There’s an escape point less than a kilometer from here—”

“But I don’t know how—” Thomas interjected.

“We don’t have any room for mistakes here, so just listen. I have friends on the outside who are going to get you out of Rome. There is secret door that you will use,” Pablo said as he pulled out a small map that was roughly drawn on a piece fabric that looked like a handkerchief. Follow this, you know the tunnels better than anyone.” Pablo pointed the gun towards the wall as he explained the directions.

“What will you do when I run?”

“I have to keep them off of you, Thomas, you’re too important. You must go quickly. Don’t look back. Don’t answer anyone. Your only friends now lay outside these tunnels.”

“I am not prepared for this,” Thomas said as his voice was laden with fear. “I don’t know what to—”

“Thomas!” Pablo barked. “You’re a genius. Start acting like one. You can do this. You have to do this. They will kill you if you do not leave now. Do you understand me?”

Thomas nodded slowly, his eyes almost glazed over. “How long can you hold your breath?”

“Why?” Thomas answered, suddenly separated from his earlier concern.

On the tiny grey screen things looked volatile. “He’s waving the gun around, now. Thomas is moving towards the door. First one out will be Thomas. Get some space so you can get off a clean shot if you need to.”

“Roger that,” Donnie whispered as he backed several meters away from the door. Though the tunnels were relatively dark, there was nowhere to hide.

“The door’s about to open . . .”

Donnie steadied the pistol in his right hand, his left providing extra support, trying to offset the adrenaline. This was all very real now. Donnie had never had to fire on anyone during his career in the Swiss Guard.

“They’re coming out,” Peter said into Donnie’s ear piece.

As the door quietly moved from the threshold, a pistol was the first thing to exit the room. Behind it was Pablo, his eyes moving quickly back and forth looking for anything in his way. Donnie lowered his body to a crouch so that any surprised fire from Pablo might miss him high. People have a tendency to shoot high in the dark, and jerk upwards and to the right when startled.

At any moment they would discover each other, and he had to be careful not to hurt Thomas in any crossfire. Follow your training and experience:

Breathing,

front sight,

trigger pull!

Think.

“Thomas is right behind him, hold your fire . . . hold your fire!”

Pablo wasn’t a foot out of the threshold when he saw the investigator.

He quickly jerked backwards, using his body to shove Thomas back into the room. “Put your weapon down!” he yelled.

Donnie’s finger hovered over the trigger. “I can’t do that, Pablo. You know that.” In a calm tone he continued, “I need you to release Thomas to me, and I need you to lay your weapon down. We can sort all of this out, I’m sure it’s just one big miscommunication.”

“Put your weapon down and turn towards the wall,” Pablo said, his body now hidden almost completely behind the thick door. He had the better angle; the better shot. And they both knew it. To play chicken now was an idiot’s game.

“I’ll lay my weapon down on the floor,” Donnie said making a slow gesture with his right hand as his left reached back for the second pistol.

Pop, pop!

The two shots folded Donnie over to the cold concrete floor.

“Go Thomas,” Pablo shouted as he sprang from behind the door. “Go now!”

Thomas didn’t have time to stop and think as Pablo pushed him in the right direction. “They’re coming for you, my friend. Run!”

Thomas sprinted past the fallen investigator, hoping that the blood was just a movie prop. Wanting to believe, as he ran, that all of this was some elaborate joke.

Thomas disappeared into the darkness of the tunnels.

Pablo slowly approached Donnie, kicking the pistol out of reach. “I’m sorry, Donnie. You left me no choice. Thomas will not be another of your ‘casualties. ’“

Donnie coughed up some blood as he slowly tried to prop himself up on the tunnel wall. He saw the gun pointed at his head and knew that he’d never be able to draw Peter’s gun in time. He felt cold and clammy, as if ice was passing through his blood stream. And slowly but surely the sickness started to overcome him. He was slowly approaching the darkness. Shock would set in soon. “They’re going to come, you know,” he said between spits of blood.

“I know they are,” Pablo said slowly. “I was one of them. They wanted me to kill him.”

Donnie closed his eyes and sat back fighting his body’s desire to give up, “I was trying to protect him from you. I thought . . .”

“I know what you thought. And you were right.” Pablo lowered his gun.

“I was supposed to kill Thomas. They wanted it to look like an escape attempt. We would struggle for the gun and accidentally he would be killed. Something like that.”

Donnie fought for the strength to stay conscious, “Why didn’t you?”

Pablo shrugged, “I believe in God. And my belief in God is stronger than my faith to the church.”

Donnie didn’t know how to make sense out of this. His mind was churning while his body fought to stay alive. “Who gave the order?”

“He . . .” Pablo said and then a grim smile appeared on his face. He shook his head from side to side. Slowly he backed himself to the wall on the other side of the tunnel and slid down the wall until he was sitting on the floor. “He wanted me to kill my only friend. What kind of monster would ask you to do that?” Pablo glanced at the pistol hanging loosely in his hand. “What have we become for the sake of this place?” He took a quick glance around the dark tunnel . . . at the tomb it had become. “Sorry, Donnie,” he said as he lifted the pistol to his mouth.

Donnie couldn’t do anything but watch between gulps of blood and gasps for life.

Pablo pointed the index finger of his left hand strait up in a strange gesture and then,

Pop!

Donnie didn’t understand why, but he started to cry. Flashlights and footsteps were approaching from his left. There was a dull ache in his side. It was either bullets, shock, or sadness . . . he wasn’t sure which.