The Bone Chamber (21 page)

“His warehouse aside, what have you heard on your end?”

“The same as you,” she said, motioning for him to have a seat on the divan. “The Black Network is active again. We’ve heard it’s centered in Rome and Washington, D.C.” Aptly named, the Black Network was the deadly enforcement arm of a vast and powerful network of criminals, politicians and businessmen, all board members of the Bank of International Commerce Trade and Trust, or BICTT, one of the largest and most profitable—yet illegal—world banks. While BICTT had been shut down after an almost successful run on the U.S. banking industry twenty years ago, a good portion of the money was never recovered and the power brokers who ran it—Adami being one of them—were still in business. They met under the guise of Freemasonry, which gave them a way to conduct their meetings in secret.

“What are they after?” he asked, watching as she took a small kettle of mint tea from a samovar. She poured the steaming liquid into glasses that contained pine nuts. “Besides brokering information and selling weapons, that is.”

“You mean you haven’t heard the rumor of
la terza chiave
,” she said, handing him a glass of the tea.

“Is it possible you mean C3?” She gave him a blank look,
and he added, “Ci-Tre. We heard it the other night at Adami’s villa. Someone mentioned it in conjunction with P-Due.”

“Propaganda Due,” Lisette said. “You think this C3 is a clandestine Masonic lodge in the same vein?”

“After the way Tex’s body was desecrated, there is no doubt in my mind.”

“I do not believe
la terza chiave
, this third key, has anything to do with P-Due, which is, to our knowledge, still running under Adami’s watchful eye. But that Adami mentioned C3, it confirms our suspicions that he is after the third key, perhaps for the very reasons we feared. We have overheard chatter that this third key is a means of unlocking the sources of plagues not seen on earth for two thousand years. Biblical plagues.”

“Isn’t that a little far-fetched?”

“According to the academic studies I have read, the possibility is very real. Does the actual source of these plagues still exist? That I do not know.”

“If it does exist, what is the possibility that these sources could remain viable after that long?”

“If contained under the right conditions, it is a very real threat. And what makes it particularly dangerous is that, if true, these plagues have remained untouched for that many years and have survived, whether dormant and intact in their original form or evolving in a protected environment for so long…The possibility is great that it will devastate a population, since there are no vaccines for something that hasn’t been seen on earth in two thousand years.”

“Is that why Adami kidnapped Dr. Balraj?”

“Undoubtedly. Balraj is probably the world’s foremost expert on the evolution of plagues. If Adami is able to gain his cooperation—and under duress, who is to say Balraj won’t cooperate?—Adami is that much closer in his attempt to create a super-plague.”

“Do you think he has any chance of succeeding?”

“Unfortunately, yes. His past attempts to genetically modify the plagues to better control them have failed. We’re certain that’s why Dr. Zemke was targeted. Her expertise was on genetic engineering.”

“You do not believe she’s dead? Killed like the others?”

“We have yet to find Dr. Zemke’s body, and right now we believe she is worth more to him alive than dead. Her expertise fits with his plan to genetically mutate these plagues and combine his current bioweapons with this new, or rather much older plague, to increase its virulence.”

The news worried Marc. They knew Adami intended to create bioweapons, but this was much worse than any of them had dared imagine. “And if he is successful?”

She stared into the cup of tea before looking up at him, her dark eyes reflecting her worry. “Past attempts to weaponize plagues and viruses have been largely unproductive, due to heat and shock from explosives, never mind simple exposure to sun. And any biomatter that survived and found its target in the population was quickly contained, because the disease did not spread fast enough. But if Adami is able to develop this super-plague—genetically engineer it so that it will survive the heat, retain its virulence, in fact make it hypervirulent—he could wipe out whole cities before the world is able to do a thing. Adami is trying to create a hypervirulent, antibiotic-resistant, airborne plague. Airborne pneumonic plague would spread from person to person, and by the time the first fever appeared, it would be too late. Within days, thousands would be dead and the remaining population would be dying. The only answer would be to isolate the city, restrict travel so that no one could leave—hope no one has left—then let the population die out.”

“And since he is eliminating all the microbiologists one by one, if we uncover what he has done, we can’t control it?”

“That is one of the most frightening aspects about this. By the time the world caught up with what was happening, by the time they even realized the need for massive antibiotics—if such measures even worked with this new super-plague he intends to develop—it would be too late. Even more frightening is this: What if Adami’s scientists can’t control it? If he is effectively eliminating anyone in the free world who has a hope at containing such a threat, and he controls the scientists who have developed this new strain, who will put it back in the bottle once it is released?”

“Then let’s hope this information we’ve gotten about his lab being here in Tunisia is accurate. We can at least eliminate that part of the threat. What is your next step?”

“The warehouse is located near a small private strip at a compound south of here, used by Adami’s Tunisia corporation. Should they suspect that we are on to them, they could possibly move their lab and we are back to square one, so whatever we do, we’ll have to move quickly. We’ve had our eye on this place since you called. They’re very meticulous about who they let in, turning anyone away who is not on their schedule of deliveries. If we can’t figure out a way to get to that schedule and get the proper IDs, we won’t be able to pass the guards into the compound.”

“And what is it you need me to do?”

She sipped her tea, then smiled that smile he knew so well. “Break into their security building and get a copy of the schedule, of course.”

That old saying of not getting in the car with
strangers circled the back of Sydney’s mind as Dumas started his car and drove away from the academy. He hadn’t exactly convinced the professor to hand over the package, but he had given a good argument for the two of them to accompany him to a very public location away from the ambassador’s residence, and they could discuss the matter there. The professor had agreed reluctantly, which meant Sydney had no choice but to remain with them or risk losing sight of the professor’s briefcase that now contained the package Alessandra had mailed to her.

Which is why Sydney sat in the back of the car, the better to watch Dumas.

Then again, if something happened, she needed to know where they were, so it was one eye on Dumas, and the other trying to pay attention to her surroundings. As he sped down the street, then slowed for a turn, she saw the street name set into the side of a corner building reading “Via Giacomo Medici.” As he turned, another sign read “Via Garibaldi,” and then he slowed around a curve, past a massive marble edifice with a magnificent series of baroque arches, where
water gushed from fountains into a pool. A bride and groom stood in front of the fountain, embracing, while a photographer snapped photos. “Where are we going?” Sydney asked.

Dumas replied, “Passegiata del Gianicolo. There are enough people there for safety.” By the time that Dumas drove through the gates of the Passegiata del Gianicolo, she’d relaxed slightly. Had they been driving toward some dark, deserted alleyway, she might have reason to be more concerned, but it seemed Dumas was keeping his promise, to take them to somewhere open and public. This was definitely public. Up the hill she caught sight of a carousel with children riding horses, giraffes, and even a Cinderella’s pumpkin-coach. Just beyond that, a handful of boys and girls were riding in a cart drawn by a quartet of red Shetland ponies. All the trappings of an amusement park, she thought, except for the tall and somber marble busts, who stood like silent sentinels on either side of the street. No one seemed to pay the statues the slightest bit of attention as entire families strolled under the giant plane trees with their dappled trunks, and everywhere one turned there were children, some holding cones of gelato, others clutching the strings of helium balloons.

“What makes this location better than, say, the police station?” Sydney asked, as Dumas circled around a huge statue of a man on horseback. She thought about asking who it memorialized, then caught sight of the cityscape beyond it, one of the most magnificent views of Rome, to rival any postcard she’d ever seen. Too bad she didn’t have time to enjoy it.

“Passegiata del Gianicolo,” Dumas said, glancing at her in the rearview mirror, “is a good place to get lost in the crowd, while we attempt to sort this matter out.”

Professor Santarella looked out the window, focusing on a group of children clustering around the puppet hut. “We could have stayed at the academy and waited for Mr. Griffin there. After all, we do have a guard and electric gates.”

“I told you, Professor. I shall explain all, if you are pa
tient,” Dumas said, pulling neatly into a parking space just vacated by a Ferrari. “We can have a little chat at the wall. It will be my pleasure to buy you a gelato—anything you wish.”

Both women decided on coffee, and Sydney got out of the car, feeling reassured by the presence of so many people milling about, as well as the
carabinieri
mounted on white horses. When she glanced over at the skyline of Rome, visible just over the low stone wall, Father Dumas suggested that Francesca take Sydney to claim a seat there, while he ordered coffee for them from the kiosks.

The two women walked over to the wall, and Sydney was again taken aback by the magnificent view of the city and the Alban Hills beyond. Francesca rested her briefcase on the wall, then directed Sydney’s attention to some of the major points of interest, the cupola of Sant’Andrea della Valle, the rotunda of the Pantheon, and to the right, the white elephantine Vittorio Emanuele monument and the Forum and Palatine beyond.

“And what’s that ugly brick building with the tower just down the hill?”

“That’s the Regina Coeli—the Queen of Heaven Prison,” she said, taking a seat on the wall as Father Dumas walked toward them with their drinks.

On his return, Sydney told Dumas, “I think it’s time to get down to business. Why, exactly, are you involved, and what are the Vatican’s interests in this matter?”

“The Vatican’s interests are to protect that which belongs to the church. My interests are to do what is right.”

“You were at the Smithsonian,” Sydney said, taking a seat on the wall next to the professor. “I saw you.”

“True,” he finally replied. “I was at the Smithsonian. Alessandra was supposed to contact me after she’d been there. The last time I spoke with her, she told me that if we missed each other, it meant she’d had to leave in a hurry and that she’d send the information home.”

“And do you know what happened to her?” Sydney asked.

“I understand she was murdered.”

“Murdered?” the professor said, her face blanching. “Alessandra?”

He looked over at her, his expression filled with compassion. “I am sorry you had to hear it this way, Professor. But it is as I explained, a dangerous situation, and we had no time.”

“Alessandra’s murder is what brought me to Rome,” Sydney added. “That’s why I need to know what it was she sent to you.”

Francesca sat on the low wall and hugged the briefcase to her chest. A few tears coursed down her cheeks. “Alessandra wanted this to go to Mr. Griffin.”

“And I work with him,” Dumas said, handing her his handkerchief.

Sydney looked at him in disbelief. “You? And Griffin?”

“You seem surprised.”

“You don’t exactly fit the image of a government spook.”

“It’s complicated,” he said with a quick glance at Francesca, as though to say that this was not the place to go into the particulars. “I think it’s time we found out what it was that Alessandra died for.”

“I’m sorry,” Francesca said, dabbing at her eyes. “If Alessandra was murdered as you say, and her last wishes were for this to be given to Mr. Griffin, then that is exactly what I intend to do.”

Dumas lowered his voice, said, “I told you she would have mentioned a code in her letter?”

Sydney recalled there being something about a code, and Francesca said, “And once again, I ask how did you know what was in the letter?”

Dumas replied, “Alessandra called me when she couldn’t get in touch with Monsieur Griffin. She said she was at the Smithsonian to meet someone and had discovered something. More importantly, she saw someone at the museum, someone she’d seen at one of her father’s dinner parties, and for this reason she couldn’t send anything to her house. She decided to send whatever it was to her friend. Before she
could give me this person’s identity, she said that she had to go, she was being followed. And that’s the last I heard from her.”

“And do you know who it was she thought she saw at the Smithsonian?” Sydney asked.

“No. But I flew out there earlier in the week in hopes of retracing her steps.” The priest’s words answered Sydney’s question as to why she’d seen him there. “When my search proved fruitless, I returned to Rome and decided to have a talk with one of the embassy maids to see if there had been any word on Alessandra’s whereabouts. The maid is the one who informed me that Alessandra had been murdered, and that the ambassador was flying back to the United States to claim her body. It was the perfect opportunity to learn if Alessandra had any friends here in Rome. Professor Santarella was one the maid named, and I knew that the American Academy being just across the street from the ambassador’s residence, would be the logical place to send whatever it was that Alessandra had found. I also knew that if I could determine the destination of the package so easily, whoever murdered Alessandra could also discover this.”

Francesca lowered the handkerchief and looked at the priest. “Surely you aren’t trying to say that whoever killed Alessandra would come after me?”

To which Sydney said, “I have to agree with Father Dumas. If he figured out your presence so easily, those watching the ambassador’s residence could easily do the same. They already tried to kill Griffin after he made a visit to the ambassador’s home. Which means they could very well have noted Father Dumas’s arrival there, and may have even followed him to the academy.”

“Like it or not,” Dumas said, “your life is in danger, certainly as long as you possess whatever it is that Alessandra sent.”

Francesca looked at each of them, then lowered her briefcase to her lap.