God's Lions: The Secret Chapel (13 page)

Several computers were in use by the usual student-looking types along with several elderly Italians surfing the Internet. The woman showed him to a small computer kiosk before taking her towel and returning to her station at the main desk.

Looking over his shoulder, Leo inserted the flash drive into the computer. Scrolling through Morelli’s simple menu, he quickly retrieved the bank account number and password. He looked over his shoulder once more and scanned the room for anyone watching him with more than a casual interest before logging off.

The dark-haired woman behind the counter stared in disbelief as Leo raced across the lobby and back into the storm outside. Black birds in the trees called out to the black-suited figure of the priest as he ran through the park in the downpour, as if they had spotted a kindred spirit looking for shelter. He grabbed the door handle and squeezed into the car as the rain drummed against the canvas top over his head.

The windshield wipers barely kept up with the cascading water as John turned on the headlights in an effort to see his way through the dark flooding streets. He turned onto the
Viale Aventino
, and after several blocks, Leo spotted a branch of the Bank of Rome.

Money services were not always quick in Rome. Transactions involved lots of paperwork and lots of waiting around. Leo wanted to withdraw enough cash to buy airline tickets, new clothing, food, and any incidentals they might need on their trip to the Holy Land. John had advised him against using an ATM since those transactions could be immediately traced. Withdrawing the cash from a teller in a bank was much more secure, despite the long lines and endless paperwork. This tedious process actually worked to their advantage, since it would be days until anyone knew they had been in this bank.

With cash finally in hand, they located a large clothing store in the Aventine section of Rome. They purchased some jeans and loose-fitting Hawaiian-print shirts, along with baseball caps and two pairs of running shoes. Leo also picked out a backpack similar to John’s to use as carry-on luggage. They were not about to risk losing the ancient stone brick and had decided to carry everything onboard the aircraft with them.

After changing clothes in the back of the store, they drove around the neighborhood until they found a fenced parking lot. Leo paid the attendant for a month in advance, keeping the spare set of keys John had given him earlier. He would mail these to the Hotel Amalfi after they arrived in Israel. Leo knew Arnolfo would pick up the car and keep it safe for him.

The pouring rain had almost stopped as they made their way on foot toward a lighted orange sign marking the underground entrance to the
Circo Massimo
metro station, so named for its proximity to the
Circus Maximus
, ancient Rome’s largest stadium once used for chariot races. The two men were now in a race of their own.

In Rome, the subway system was known to locals as the
Metropolitana.
The stations were clean but surprisingly drab and utilitarian compared with other European metros. Father Leo loved taking the graffiti-covered trains around town. Compared to driving, the metro was a quicker way of getting in and out of Rome, especially at this hour of the day. Leo had hoped this plan of using the metro would help them reach the airport in time to catch the overnight flight to Israel, but dark clouds had turned the early evening sky into night and the homeward-bound crush of people was filling the trains.

Descending the wet stairs, John and Leo entered the subway. John shook the water from his hair and inhaled the musty scent of the tunnel. “We seem to be spending a lot of time underground lately, Father.” John’s remark made Leo smile for the first time all day.

Leo looked around the station at the wet commuters milling about. “We can buy our train tickets using cash at that machine over there.” He nudged John and pointed to an orange self-service ticket machine next to the entrance. “This metro line connects with the
Ostiense
railway station. From there, we can take a train directly to the airport.”

After obtaining their tickets, John paced about the platform, suspicious of everyone, while Leo grabbed a train schedule from a rack on the tiled wall. The crowd along the platform grew until a roar filled the station announcing the arrival of their train. With a loud hiss of air, the doors slid open and the subway cars emptied and filled. Taking their seats, the two rode in silence as they rumbled under the city toward Rome’s
Stazione Roma Ostiense
.

After a short fifteen minute ride, the train came to a stop in the station. Leo paused before leaving his seat to peer through the window at the people on the platform. “They might be watching this station, John. This is the main terminal for trains heading south. According to this schedule, the train to the airport leaves in thirty-five minutes, seven thirty exactly.”

“Where should we wait?”

“I doubt they’re looking very closely at the airport trains,” Leo said. He looked around and thought for a moment. “Maybe we should head over to the terminal bar and just wait it out.”

“Don’t you think they’ll be watching the bar?”

“At this point, anything’s possible, but with the flooded streets we’ll never make it to the airport in time if we try to take a cab, so the train is still our best option.”

The two proceeded through the terminal to a wood-paneled Victorian-looking establishment that seemed out of place in a modern railway station. They entered and headed straight for the seats at the end of the bar where they could watch the door.

“Vino?” the burly man behind the bar asked.

“Water, please,” Leo said. He knew they had to remain sharp for this last dash out of Rome.

The man grunted and handed them two bottles of water that cost more than wine. Everyone who entered drew their attention, even the women. It was rumored that the fabled Swiss Guard were assigning female security agents to the Vatican after finally starting to admit women into their ranks.

At seven twenty-five, the train to the airport was announced overhead. John began to rise from his stool when Leo grabbed him by the arm and nodded toward two stern-looking men in dark suits who were walking through the entrance. The men looked up and down the length of the bar and began scanning the faces at every table. Two women at the farthest booth from the door shouted out a greeting and began waving. The men smiled and returned the waves before hurrying over to join them

“Let’s go,” Leo said.

Pulling their caps down low over their eyes, they slung their backpacks over their shoulders and walked out of the bar toward their train. There were twelve railway platforms in the station, and at this hour, all the platforms were full as people hurried back and forth while trains arrived and departed from all directions.

Weaving their way through the rush hour crowd to their train, Leo and John passed two striking young women who turned and giggled at the men’s gaudy shirts.

John pulled his hat farther down over his face. “I feel ridiculous.”

Leo grinned. “That’s the point. Dressed like this, I doubt any security people will recognize us.”

It seemed like most of the passengers were well dressed. Dressing well in Italy, especially in Milan and Rome, was a national pastime. There was a sense of pride in the way one dressed in this country. An Italian’s clothing was a statement to friends and strangers alike that they were to be respected and that they respected others enough to dress well for them also.

The main offenders in this daily fashion drama were the tourists. You could spot them instantly. This was the look Leo and John had adopted in an effort to throw off anyone who was looking for them. Stepping into the train, the two were ignored by the locals. They were seen only as ingredients of a pervasive vacationer milieu. It was exactly what Leo wanted.

They watched through the windows while the train began to creep away from the station, gathering momentum until it was speeding toward their final stop over the glistening wet tracks that ran parallel to the highway.

John was becoming more nervous by the minute. “I hope the red-eye flight to Israel hasn’t sold out yet.” He ran his fingers through his hair and looked down at the floor while the streetlights flashed by outside their windows.

“Stay calm, John. It is what it is. If they’re sold out, we’ll find a place in the terminal to lay low until the next flight.”

At last, the train entered the island of light that surrounded the airport before diving beneath the terminal. The platform at the airport station seemed almost deserted as the two men exited the train and walked up the wide marble stairs to the main departure terminal. They scanned the area for security men but saw only a few sleepy-looking passengers pulling wheeled luggage. Leo inhaled a deep breath before he motioned to John and headed directly to the El Al ticket counter.

The Israeli ticket agent looked up as Leo approached. “Good evening, sir.”

Leo gave the woman his biggest smile. “We’d like to buy two tickets to Jerusalem please.”

“Tonight, sir?” Her tone was formal, and she didn’t smile.

Leo’s hopes began to fade. “Yes. We need to go tonight.”

“We have one flight leaving this evening, but the only seats we have left are in first class, sir. Would you like those?”

Leo breathed a little easier. “Yes, that will be fine. Thank you.”

“How will you be paying for those tonight, sir?”

“Cash.” He avoided her eyes and tried to look as nonchalant as possible.

Leo was aware that, since they were paying in cash, plus heading for a country high on the terror hit list, they would be scrutinized by Israeli security and Interpol even more closely.

The ticket agent locked eyes with Leo and picked up the phone on the counter. She spoke in hushed tones to an unseen person on the other end. Within seconds, a man in a dark blue suit appeared behind the agent. He studied the two men briefly before speaking in a flat bureaucratic voice. “May I have your passports please?”

John and Leo exchanged glances before surrendering their only means of leaving the country to the obvious airport security man. Taking their passports, he compared them to their pictures, then turned and disappeared into an office area behind the counter. After enduring a long wait watching the joyless agent typing on her keyboard in front of them, the man finally returned with their passports and handed them over to the ticket agent.

With her endless typing finally at an end, the agent stuffed two tickets into paper folders and placed them on the counter with their passports. “Concourse B, to your left. Your plane is on time tonight, gentlemen. Have a nice flight.”

Leo and John exhaled slowly.
Almost to the finish line
.

The two men grabbed their tickets and headed across the immense lobby toward the security checkpoint. They were within feet of the metal detector when John suddenly stopped and looked at Leo. “What about the brick with the painting on it in my backpack?”

The look on Leo’s face told John that he had completely forgotten about the stone brick from the chapel. “Damn. It’s an archaeological artifact, which means it belongs to the Italian government. Actually, it belongs to the Vatican, but we can’t say that. They’ll never let us leave the country with it. It’s a crime to take an archaeological relic out of Italy.”

The two men were stopped in their tracks. If they went forward, they would be arrested at the checkpoint. If they turned around and left, they would be stuck in Rome another day, another day running from the unknown and trying to figure out how they would get to Israel.

Leo looked up toward the ceiling as if pleading with God for an answer.

“They won’t know it’s an archaeological artifact,” John said.

“It’s almost two thousand years old.”

“Yes, but it has a painting of a jet plane hitting a modern skyscraper. I don’t think the guards at the checkpoint will think someone two thousand years ago painted it. I’m having a hard time believing it myself.”

“You’re right. It’s too obvious. Good thinking, John. It might raise eyebrows, but it shouldn’t get us arrested. Let’s go for it.”

The two very nervous men made their way toward the tables in front of the x-ray scanner, where they emptied their pockets, took off their shoes, and placed the backpacks on the conveyer belt. The security officer watching the x-ray machine immediately saw the solid rectangular shape and ordered the backpack searched.

“What’s this?” The man was holding the ancient stone brick in his hand.

“A heavy souvenir,” John replied, trying to keep his voice from shaking. “I wish I hadn’t bought it, but it was just so weird I had to have it.”

“It’s weird alright,” the officer said. “It looks old.”

“Well, the stone is as old as the earth itself,” Leo said. “But the painting can’t be any older than 2001.”

“That’s true,” a second security officer said. “I wouldn’t want something like that in my house.”

“That’s what I told him,” Leo said, nodding his head in John’s direction. “You should see some of the weird art in his apartment.”

“OK,” the man said, returning the brick to the backpack. “Have a nice trip.”

The security men exchanged amused glances and went back to the tedious process of screening the next passenger. Leo and John grabbed their backpacks and walked away from the checkpoint toward their gate, trying to look as if they didn’t have a care in the world.

“I really need a drink now,” John said, sweat beginning to drip from under his hairline.

Leo’s pulse was still pounding. “Me too.”

They headed straight for a darkened airport lounge that smelled of cigarette smoke and stale beer. Taking seats at the bar, the two watched their reflections in a mirrored wall and sipped from their glasses of red wine until their flight to Israel was finally announced.

“That’s us,” Leo said, picking up his backpack.

John followed along through the departure gate and cast one final glance back over his shoulder. No one appeared to be taking any undue notice of them as they walked through the Jetway and stepped into the plane.