God's Lions: The Secret Chapel (40 page)

The caretakers insisted on feeding their new guests, and after showing Daniel and Sarah their rooms upstairs, they escorted them back down to the rustic kitchen. Throwing a loaf of freshly baked bread onto a cutting board, the man winked as he told the two how romantic the surrounding gardens were and encouraged them to explore the grounds after lunch.

Covering approximately thirty acres, the estate had a gentrified rural ambiance that included a swimming pool surrounded by marble statues and extensive terraced flower beds. The most striking feature of the house was a twelfth-century medieval stone tower that was constructed five hundred years before the house was added. The tower dominated one end of the structure and could be reached by a long hallway that led from the kitchen.

After they were finished with lunch, the two briefly explored the grounds before Daniel went to work, setting up his laptop computer and communications gear in one of the upstairs bedrooms. With nothing for her to do at the moment, Sarah informed Daniel that she was going off to explore the tower.

An hour passed before Daniel was satisfied that all his equipment was functioning properly. He wandered through the house carrying a large duffle bag and climbed the winding stairs of the tower before opening a wooden trap door into the room at the top. Looking around at the thick stone walls, he spotted Sarah gazing at the grounds below through one of the medieval arrow slits. “Hi. I thought you might be getting lonely up here.”

“This place is gorgeous,” Sarah said. “Just look at all the flowers.”

“It’s really beautiful. Makes me wish we were here under different circumstances.”

Sarah turned away from the opening and gave him a sympathetic look. They both stared across the room at each other before Daniel opened the bag, exposing an Israeli-made Uzi submachine gun and a shotgun. “Sarah, do you know how to shoot a gun?”

“I used to shoot skeet with my father at his gun club.”

“Perfect ... you take the shotgun. I have no idea what dangers Leo thinks we might face out here in this beautiful spot, but we have to be prepared. If any of the others have to make a run for it out of Rome, this is where they will come.”

“Do you think anyone else knows about this place?”

“It’s possible. Morelli entertained a lot of people from the Vatican here, so this house is probably common knowledge to the security men there. The question is whether or not anyone who might be after the book will correlate this location with any of us.”

“You used to be some kind of Israeli commando or something, didn’t you?”

“I was in crypto.” He saw the puzzled look on her face. “I was a code breaker. I saw some combat on the Lebanese border when we were fighting Hamas, but I was never a commando. You’re probably thinking of Alon.”

“Oh, the big guy, Nava’s boyfriend.”

“Yeah, that’s him. He can really tell you some stories.”

“I’d rather hear yours.” She crossed the room and stood close, looking up into his eyes. They reached out and held each other tightly, listening to each other’s heartbeats in the stillness of a twelfth-century medieval tower built for defense. It reminded them both that they were locked in a battle with humanity’s oldest enemy in a setting eerily appropriate.

Daniel gazed down at Sarah’s head nestled on his shoulder. “We need to keep a watch over the grounds and the highway leading here. This tower is as good a spot as any. I can stay up here while you get some rest.”

“That’s OK. I couldn’t sleep now if I wanted to. I’ll take the first watch.”

They held each other for a while longer before Daniel kissed her lightly on the cheek. “There’s also a walkie-talkie in that bag. Use it if you need me in a hurry.” With that, Daniel disappeared through the trap door and descended the tower stairs. Sarah picked up the shotgun and made sure the safety was on before returning to her lookout spot at the slit in the ancient tower wall. The contrasting beauty of the gardens below made danger seem very far away.

The air traffic control tower at Leonardo da Vinci Airport was keeping Nava’s helicopter in a holding pattern while a United 747 passed by on final descent for a landing. Next in line, she navigated the small chopper carrying Moshe and Alon to an area designated for private aircraft. Now they would wait.

In the harbor at Maratea, the yacht shuddered as the engines came to life. The Carmela slowly eased away from the dock and passed through the entrance of the harbor, picking up speed as she made her way north along the coast in a part of the Mediterranean known as the Tyrrhenian Sea. They were now destined for Fiumicino, homeport to some of the finest luxury yachts in the world. Fiumicino was a large fishing town on the central Italian coast known for its great seafood restaurants, but more importantly, it was also home to Rome’s main harbor and the busy Leonardo da Vinci Airport. This strategic location would make the port an excellent choice for their new temporary base of operations.

Shortly after noon, the yacht entered one of the most exclusive marinas in the world and was being secured alongside the dock next to the speedboat that had arrived hours earlier. Listening to the radio chatter from the teams in rental cars now heading for the harbor, Lev and Alex drank coffee and gazed out at all the other boats through the windows of the bridge. They knew that, even if the yacht had not been spotted yet, there was no longer any need for secrecy as far as the boat’s location was concerned since the Devil’s Bible was no longer onboard. All the pieces were in place, and it was now up to Leo and John to deliver the book to the chapel under the Vatican. Only the specter of the unseen forces that surrounded them stood in their way.

At the airport, it was time to go. Nava fired up the chopper, while Alon and Moshe piled into a rented minivan and headed for the train station in the center of the city. If traffic wasn’t too heavy, they would arrive at precisely the same time as Leo and John’s train from the south.

Back on the Carmella, Ariella leaned against the railing on the main deck and watched a tiny blue speck in the sky grow larger until the shape of the yacht’s helicopter loomed overhead before touching down on the top deck. Nava jumped out and waved to her before Ariella turned her attention back to the dock.

Inside the bridge, Lev sat idly watching a crewmember wash the salt spray from the windows when he noticed a bright red Ferrari speeding along the dock. It slowed and pulled to a stop next to the yacht. One of the Carmela’s crewmembers, who had supposedly gone ashore to buy supplies, jumped out of the driver’s seat and ran up the gangplank to the yacht’s main deck. Without a word, the crewman tossed the Ferrari’s keys to Ariella and stood aside while she bounded down the ramp with her backpack and jumped into the car.

Lev jumped to his feet and ran out onto the upper deck, followed by Alex. “Ariella! Where are you going?”

She paused long enough to toss her head out the window and throw him a kiss before roaring off alone toward the city.

“Damn that girl. She’s more headstrong than her mother, God rest her soul. What can she possibly be thinking? Where is she going?”

“You know where she’s going,” Alex said.

Lev hung his head and walked slowly back into the bridge. Yes, he knew where she was going.

Focused beams of particle-filled sunlight passed through windows set high above, casting shadows onto the polished marble floor from the statues that lined the hallway in this section of the Vatican. Cardinal Marcus Lundahl was walking quickly, his black and scarlet cassock flowing behind him over the cool, smooth surface of the wide corridor. His assistant followed behind, almost running to keep pace with Lundahl’s long strides.

Arriving in front of a single elevator, the two stepped inside and faced the closing mirror-like doors. Twenty feet away, two Vatican security men dressed in black suits were running toward the elevator and waving for them to wait. Instinctively, Emilio reached his hand out to prevent the sliding doors from closing. Lundahl swatted the priest’s hand aside, never taking his gaze away from the approaching men as the doors came together before the suits arrived. Inside, Emilio cast a sideways glare at the cardinal as the two descended into the bowels of the Vatican in silence.

The elevator stopped at the very bottom level, where the cardinal exited into yet another long hallway that led off to his right. Emilio followed along behind until they reached the thick glass entrance of the security complex, the Vatican’s equivalent of a police command center.

Opening the door, an older man with a short-cropped military-style haircut stood aside for the cardinal. He was the same man Leo had seen with the cardinal the day Morelli died. The man’s name was Francois Leander. Swiss by birth, he was also the chief of security for the Vatican. “Good morning, Cardinal.”

Francois glanced down the long hallway behind the cardinal and saw the two men in suits bolt from a stairway and begin running toward them.

“We’ve had a serious security breach, Francois,” Lundahl said. He turned and watched the men running in their direction. “I want you to seal this facility immediately. Let no one in or out.”

“Yes, sir. Right away.”

Lundahl then shifted his gaze to his assistant. “Emilio, you can go now. I don’t think I’ll be needing you anymore today.”

“But... Your Excellency, I...”

Francois opened the center’s bulletproof glass door and gestured toward the hallway. Emilio looked pleadingly into the eyes of the cardinal. “We have a full schedule today, Eminence, and—”

“Thank you, Emilio, but we don’t have time to argue.” The security chief now had his hand on Emilio’s chest and literally pushed the priest back through the doorway. He slammed the heavy glass door shut just as the two security men reached the enclosure. The look on Emilio’s face changed from quizzical to pure fury. The men in suits banged on the door and shouted, demanding to be admitted. Their features were contorted in rage, knowing their shouts could not be heard behind the thick glass.

Francois smiled at the cardinal before they turned their backs on the scene outside and headed for the communications section of the complex. “I don’t know why you kept that disgusting little spy of a man around you for as long as you did, Cardinal.”

The cardinal stopped and put his hand on the chief’s shoulder. “I’ve always believed in the old saying;
keep your friends close and your enemies closer
.”

The entire staff stood when the cardinal entered and looked around the room. He made the sign of the cross and walked through the complex, stopping to shake each man’s hand in turn. Lundahl then took a seat in front of a console before flipping a switch that illuminated a large screen in the front of the room. The picture from a solitary hidden security camera immediately came into focus. Before them on the screen was the image of the pink-stoned wall of the hidden chapel in the catacombs below.

Drumming his fingers on the console in anticipation, he turned and looked at the man sitting beside him. Father Anthony Morelli smiled back at him. “Soon, Your Excellency, very soon.”

Leo was sweating. The Roman spring was turning into the hot Roman summer as the temperature soared past ninety degrees. Locals kept saying they had never seen it so hot this early in the year. The foyer of Rome’s main train station was packed. Volumes of humanity flowed in and out of the
Stazione Termini
as Leo and John made their way out into the
Piazza del Cinquecento
. Looking like tourists, they were immediately surrounded by unofficial tour guides, taxi drivers, flea-bag hotel representatives, and various other unsavory characters trying to separate them from their money as quickly as possible.

Leo’s imposing figure, along with his knowledge of fluent Italian street slang, soon dissipated this crowd when they realized they were not dealing with a tourist.

Looking around, there was no sign of Moshe and Alon. Leo had hoped they would be waiting for them when they arrived. Knowing Rome like he did, he realized that it was unwise to linger in the area next to this station any longer than necessary.

“Give me the backpack, John.”

“Don’t worry, Father. I’ve managed to bring it this far, and it’s not getting away from me now.”

“Do you see that man over there looking our way?” Leo pointed to a huge Italian man in the center of a group of tough-looking men across the street. “This station is home to some of the best pickpockets and thieves in the world. Alon would have a hard time keeping that backpack if that guy over there wanted it.”

John followed Leo’s gaze to the man who was now looking right at him. He thought for a moment before slowly handing Leo the backpack containing the book while Leo handed him the decoy backpack. The large man had obviously come to some conclusion and was now walking in their direction. He was within twenty feet of Leo when a white minivan skidded to a stop between them. Alon slid the side door open and jumped from the van, allowing the large man approaching to see the nine-millimeter pistol stuck in his waistband. Game over. The large man’s eyes widened as he backed away into the safety of his group and began to once again scan the environment, like a predator on the African savannah looking for new, less dangerous prey.

Moshe gunned the minivan’s engine and lurched away from the curb into the rush of late-afternoon Roman traffic at the height of tourist season. “Where to now, Father?”

“The Hotel Amalfi. It’s where I always stay and it’s right across the street from the Vatican. The owner is a friend of mine and he’s expecting us.”

Moshe used the van’s horn as he wound his way through traffic. “Do you think that’s wise, Father? I mean, if this is a place where you are known to stay, the phone might be tapped. They could even be watching it.”

“I e-mailed the owner. Besides, they probably don’t think I would be bold enough to come back to my regular hotel. It’s probably the safest place in Rome for us to be right now.”

The van weaved its way down the
Via Crescenzio
past the
Castel Sant’Angelo
, the same enormous castle where they had climbed out of the catacombs with Morelli into a basement storeroom. Leo glanced up at the summit of the massive round building and fixed his gaze on the colossal bronze statue of Michael the Archangel with unfolded wings, sheathing his sword with his right hand. Created by the eighteenth-century Flemish sculptor, Peter Anton von Verschaffelt, the statue seemed to speak to Leo, telling him everything would be alright. The priest said a silent prayer as they passed below, praying to the powerful angel to protect them one more time.