Sign of the Cross

‘OK,’ Jones said as he unfolded Raskin’s e-mail. ‘There’s something we need to discuss.’

Payne sat to Jones’s right, pretending to dry a fully loaded Luger that he kept aimed at Maria. With her legs tucked under her, she sat across from Payne, while Boyd sat beside her on the floor.

Jones said, ‘Right before we were attacked, we received some information from the Pentagon. Data that I was able to print out. It seems that one of you has been keeping some secrets from us. Secrets about your involvement with the men from Milan.’

Boyd looked at Maria, and she looked at him, neither sure who he was talking about. It was a tactic that sometimes revealed secrets from both parties. Maria asked, ‘Can you give us a — ’

‘Just come clean,’ Jones demanded, glancing back and forth. ‘We need to know everything, right here, right now, or we’re turning you over to the authorities. Consequences be damned.’

Boyd and Maria stared at each other. Neither of them talking. Both of them paranoid.

Finally, Boyd said, ‘Enough with the games. I’ve been through enough training to recognize your tactics. It’s obvious that you want one of us to break and provide you with something substantial. However, I can assure you that neither of us has a hidden agenda.’ He pointed to the paper in Jones’s hand. ‘Tell us what’s on the sheet. I’m sure it can be logically explained.’

Jones glanced at Payne, and Payne nodded. It was time to reveal their cards.

‘Back in Milan,’ Jones said, ‘when Maria picked up the rent-a-car, what were you doing?’

Boyd answered, ‘I was waiting at the warehouse.’

‘Maria, did you call anyone at the airport?’

She seemed startled by the question. ‘Who would I call? It was the middle of the night, and I was trying to sneak out of town. Why would I use the phone?’

Jones nodded, still hoping she was innocent. ‘Did either of you recognize the men from the choppers?’

Boyd shook his head. ‘Not I.’

‘And Maria? What about you?’

She looked at Jones, confused. ‘You were with me the entire time. You know damn well that we couldn’t see anyone. It was too dark, and we were too far away.’

‘True,’ he admitted. ‘Very true.’ He paused for a moment, letting them soak in the tension. It was more than enough to frazzle Boyd.

‘That does it. We demand to know what’s going on and demand to know now. We’re on your side, for heaven’s sake. Not theirs.’

‘Is that so?’ Payne asked, entering the conversation. ‘We’d like to believe you, but this information causes us to have doubts. Especially since we know the enemy is Maria’s brother.’

Both Maria and Boyd went pale. Slowly, they looked at each other, searching each other’s eyes for the slightest hint of guilt. Then they turned toward Payne and Jones, speechless.

Jones asked. ‘What’s the deal?’

‘There is no deal. I don’t even know which brother you’re talking about.’

‘Roberto,’ Payne said. ‘We’re talking about Roberto. He was the guy who came to Pamplona and claimed to be Richard Manzak. The same one who showed up in Milan and pulled a gun on us.’

‘The one you killed?’ she gasped.

‘And tortured. And maimed.’ Payne was trying to get her to lose her cool, so he poured it on thick. ‘Did I tell you what I did to him while you were on the chopper? I needed to get his name, but he wouldn’t tell me, so I was forced to improvise.’

Without warning Payne leapt to his feet and grabbed her hand, slamming it down with such force that she gasped in terror. Then he spread her fingers on the dirty floor and used the barrel of his Luger to tap the main knuckle of her index finger. Tapping it over and over, again and again, letting her feel the cold metal, letting her imagine what her brother went through in Milan. And he did this in hopes of getting her to talk. He hated to be so rough with her — especially since she could be on his side — but he was doing it for the safety of others.

He had to know where her allegiance was. It was imperative.

‘The blade went in here. Right through his skin and veins and bone. I sawed his finger in two, then put its tip in my pocket so I could fingerprint it. That’s right, while we were in the chopper, I was carrying your brother’s finger, dripping with your family’s blood.’

Maria’s olive skin turned pale, which Payne assumed was because of his monologue. But when he pushed her further, she pointed out something that they had overlooked, a simple fact that told Payne and Jones a lot about her family and whose side she was fighting for.

‘You’re forgetting something,’ she said. ‘That night in Milan, when you made contact with Roberto, you told him that I was in the Ferrari, right? Hiding with D.J.?’

Payne nodded. That’s what had happened.

‘And how did he respond?’

Oh, shit! Payne thought to himself. How could he have been so dumb? How could he have overlooked that? Roberto had pushed the button on his detonator like he was stepping on an ant. No guilt. No remorse. No indecision. In fact, he seemed to enjoy it. For some reason the thought of killing his baby sister had brought him immense pleasure.

Suddenly Payne had all the proof he needed. Maria and Roberto were not on the same side.

60

Benito Pelati didn’t shout. Or scream. Or lose his cool. He simply leaned back in his chair and smiled. It was a reaction that Cardinal Vercelli and the rest of the Council hadn’t expected.

‘Am I missing something?’ Vercelli asked. ‘Your reputation will be ruined if we allow the blackmailers to tell the world about the Catacombs. You understand that, don’t you?’

For years he had kept the secret of the Catacombs to himself. Partially out of respect for his best friend, Cardinal Bandolfo, who would’ve been devastated by the betrayal; partially because he was waiting to uncover the first-person account of the crucifixion from the tomb in Vienna. But now that Bandolfo was gone, the Viennese vault was being unearthed, and his son Roberto had been killed, Benito realized it was time to act.

‘Why are you smiling?’ Vercelli demanded. ‘You have no reason to be smiling.’

‘Actually, it’s you who has no reason to be smiling.’

Vercelli remained quiet. There was something about Benito’s tone that was disconcerting. It was cold and assured. Like an assassin who was ready to strike. And everyone in the room sensed it. All eyes followed Benito as he stood from his chair and moved toward Vercelli.

‘The Council asked me to find the person responsible for Father Jansen’s death and for the blackmail scheme, and I have done so. Why shouldn’t I be happy?’

‘You know who’s responsible?’ asked the Brazilian. ‘Then tell us. Who?’

Benito stared him in the eyes. ‘It was me.’

‘You?’ shouted Vercelli. ‘What do you mean, you?’

‘Just as I stated, I’m the man behind his death. In fact, I’m behind all the crucifixions.’

It took a moment for his words to penetrate the fog that clouded the Council’s thoughts. Once it happened, though, outrage filled the room. Unadulterated venom. And Benito reveled in it. He soaked it up like applause, enjoying every last insult that was fired in his direction. Somehow it made him feel better about what he was about to do. Then, when he reached the end of the table, the seat reserved for the Council leader, he leaned toward Vercelli’s ear and whispered softly, ‘You’re sitting in my chair.’

To punctuate his point, Benito put his hand on the cardinal’s head and slammed his face into the hard table. Blood gushed from Vercelli’s nose and mouth, dousing the bright red of his clerical robe with even more red — a color meant to signify that he was willing to die for his faith, if necessary. Yet Benito didn’t get that vibe from Vercelli. His point was proven when Vercelli abandoned the chair without further provocation. Meanwhile, none of the other cardinals dared to move, secretly wondering if Benito was armed and planning to kill them.

But that wasn’t the case at all. He simply planned on killing their religion.

He’d been recruited by the Council to catch a criminal, yet Benito was the mastermind behind everything. His men were killing innocents on the world’s stage to draw global attention. People from every continent. People of different religions. Letting the media debate the crucifixions in order to put more pressure on the Council. Benito needed them to know that he was ruthless and would stop at nothing to get what he wanted.

But that would come later. For now all he longed to see was the expression on Vercelli’s face when he explained the true meaning of the Catacombs. When he told him that underneath the Church’s burial plots there was a hidden chamber, accessed by a staircase that the Vatican never knew existed. And in that room, there was a deadly secret. One that would kill the Church.

Finally, after all these years, Benito and his family would get everything that they deserved.

61

Friday, July 14

Daxing, China

(twenty miles south of Beijing)

The cargo plane took off from a small airfield that few people knew about. Grass covered the only runway, which was more like a field than anything else. The only air traffic controller was the farmer who moved his livestock whenever he heard the rumble of a distant engine.

The plan came to Tank Harper while he was figuring how to hoist their massive cross over the walls of the Forbidden City. After giving it some thought, he decided it would be much easier to drop the cross from above instead of lifting it from below. Not only would it increase the ease of their escape, but the scene would generate the media attention that they were looking for.

Except Harper knew he’d have to break a number of Manzak’s rules in order to make it work and didn’t want to risk his share of the money. So he called him early in the week, looking for clearance. Manzak was so thrilled with the idea that he told Harper if his crew could pull it off that they would be awarded a bonus of $100,000 on top of their normal share. From that moment on, there was no turning back. They would use the air.

Or as Harper referred to it: Operation Jesus Drop.

Before they took off, Harper and his men were forced to do the same things that the other crews had done to their victims. Scourging him with a leather whip until the skin hung off his back. Nailing him to the cross one spike at a time. Hanging a sign above him. Then, on top of everything else, they made sure the modified cross — a reinforced base, steel hooks on top, etc. — was going to hold. Otherwise, things would get messy when it hit the ground.

‘Two minutes,’ said the pilot as he scanned the horizon. ‘We can go lower if you want.’

‘Just stick to the plan,’ Harper growled. In his mind this wasn’t the time to improvise. He’d made all the necessary calculations earlier in the week, double-checked his figures after some test runs, and scouted the interior of the Forbidden City for the best place to aim. All they had to do was follow his numbers, and everything would be fine. ‘Move into position.’

The other two crewmen jumped to their feet and slid Adams and the cross to the special hatch that allowed large crates to be dropped behind enemy lines. Above the door was a series of clasps that connected to the cross’s parachute, guaranteeing that the forty-foot canopy would open the moment it hit the air.

‘Thirty seconds,’ the pilot shouted.

Harper looked at his watch. They were right on schedule. All that was left was to administer the final blow before he pushed Adams from the plane. ‘Any final words?’

Adams tried to speak but wasn’t able to because of the gag in his mouth. The entire crew laughed as Harper put his hand behind his ear and leaned forward, pretending to listen.

‘Twenty seconds,’ the pilot warned.

Harper smiled as he positioned the iron-tipped spear. He’d been waiting for this moment all week. ‘Since you have nothing to say, I guess you’re ready to die.’

‘Fifteen seconds.’

The cargo door fell open as Harper rammed the spear into Adams’s side. The roar of the outside wind covered the snapping sound of Adams’s ribs and the wet sucking of his punctured lung. Blood poured from the wound like a cracked bottle of Chianti, its contents gushing down the victim’s skin. Harper wouldn’t risk being identified, so he pushed the spear in deeper until the metal tip actually burst through the other side. Only then was he willing to pull the spear out.

‘Five seconds.’

Harper cut the gag off Adams’s mouth while his crewmen cut the safety cords near the base of the wood. Suddenly the giant canopy sprang to life, pulling the cross from the plane with a mighty whoosh and sending Adams toward the grounds of the Forbidden City.

Catrina Collins had honed her skills at the Washington Post and the New York Times before taking a job at CNN. She was used to living out of her suitcase, flying wherever the news took her. In the past it had always been a week here or there, never three months in one place. Yet that’s what she had to look forward to: a summer in Beijing.

A summer of unbelievable boredom.

Her assignment was to monitor a series of economic summits that were scheduled in the Far East. Ambassadors from all over the world were in China to discuss capitalism and its long-term benefits for Asia. Not exactly earth-shattering news but important enough to cover.

Collins woke up early Friday, dreading the thought of going to work. If she had to listen to one more lecture on free trade, she was going to vomit. Thankfully, a phone call from CNN headquarters gave her a reprieve. Someone had called in an anonymous tip about a demonstration near the Forbidden City. The caller didn’t give many specifics, only that it was going to be violent. And violent was a magic word in the world of television.

Collins was disheartened when she realized several networks had beaten her to the scene. ABC, CBS, NBC, and Fox were already there; so were dozens of reporters from around the world. Yet no one really knew why, only that they had received the same tip as CNN.

‘Cat,’ called Holly Adamson, a reporter for the Chicago Sun-Times who used to cover the same beat as Collins. ‘What are you doing here?’

Collins smiled as she gave Adamson a hug. ‘Economic summit. What about you?’

‘Human interest stuff.’ In the world of journalism, that was a polite way to say, I’m not allowed to tell you. ‘What have you heard about this?’

She shrugged. ‘Not much. What about you?’

‘Even less.’

Collins laughed. ‘You know how most tips turn out. It’s probably just BS.’

‘If this falls through, we should grab a beer or something. It is Friday, after all.’

‘You know what? That doesn’t sound like a bad idea — ’

The sudden clicking of cameras caught the women’s attention. Both of them turned toward the photographers and noticed them pointing their lenses toward the sky. Collins shielded her eyes and tilted her head back, trying to figure out what was falling from the clouds.

‘What the hell is that?’ Adamson asked.

Collins shrugged and turned toward her camera crew. ‘Shawn, you getting this?’

Shawn Farley adjusted his focus. ‘Not sure what it is, but I’m getting it.’

Collins dug through their gear and found a pair of binoculars. The sound of clicking continued up and down press row. ‘What is that? Is that a parachute?’

‘Definitely a parachute. A red one. Not sure what it’s attached to.’

‘I hope it’s not a bomb. That would ruin my day.’

‘Cat,’ he said, serious. ‘I might be seeing things, but I think that’s a guy up there.’

‘Wow. A Chinese skydiver. Stop the press.’

‘And it looks like he’s attached to, um…’ Farley zoomed in closer. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. ‘A cross… I think he’s attached to a cross.’

Collins had followed the crucifixion cases while killing time in her committee meetings, often scouring the Internet for the latest developments. She had gotten her start with the D.C. crime beat, so she was a sucker for a good serial killer. Without delay she called her boss.

‘You aren’t going to believe what I’m looking at.’

‘Let me guess. A naked poster of Yao Ming.’

She ignored the wisecrack. ‘The fourth crucifixion.’

‘Excuse me?’

‘And you won’t believe where the victim came from. I swear to God you won’t.’

‘Where?’ he demanded.

She watched the parachute drop slowly from the sky. ‘Heaven.’

62

Austrian Expressway,

Swiss/Austrian Border

Border crossings could be tricky, especially if the guards had your photo and were promised a large bonus if they spotted your ass. Therefore, Payne felt it would be best if Ulster and Franz dropped everyone off about a mile from the border, allowing them to hike into Austria on their own. Payne figured the sky was dark, the trees were thick, and he and Jones had the survival skills to help Maria and Boyd avoid detection. But Ulster laughed at the suggestion. He promised he knew everyone at the border and said they wouldn’t search his truck due to a prior agreement.

And Ulster was right. Ten minutes later they were on the open road to the capital city of the Republik Österreich. Vienna (or Wien) is located in the northeastern corner of Austria and has over two million citizens. Known for its contribution to classical music (Mozart, Beethoven, and Brahms) and psychotherapy (Sigmund Freud), the city’s most amazing spectacle is the Hofburg, a sprawling hodgepodge of a palace that covers 2.7 million square feet and holds over a million pieces of art. The Hofburg became the official royal residence in 1533 when Ferdinand I of the Hapsburg dynasty moved into the imperial apartments. Since then, the Hofburg has housed five centuries of dignitaries including the rulers of the Holy Roman Empire (1533–1806), the Emperors of Austria (1806–1918), and the current Austrian federal president.

The most interesting aspect of the building wasn’t a list of its former residents but rather what they did to the place while they were there. From 1278 until 1913, every monarch contributed his own addition in the prevailing taste of the day. The resulting mix was a time capsule of interior design, spread throughout eighteen wings and nineteen courtyards in a wild assortment of styles that included Baroque, French and Italian Renaissance, Gothic, and nineteenth-century German.

Yet the only decoration that mattered to them was the laughing man statue that Payne spotted in Ulster’s picture. A statue that was inside the front gates of the Austrian White House. Somehow they needed to find a way to examine the piece without being shot or arrested.

While running scenarios in his head, Payne gazed across the cargo hold and listened to Boyd and Maria discussing the significance of the statue. The rumble of the truck’s engine drowned out half their words, but their passion for the topic made up for the missing syllables. Boyd argued that the laughing man’s presence in Vienna was proof that the Romans succeeded in their plot to fake the crucifixion. Why else would he be honored in such an important building?

But Maria wasn’t as confident. She reminded Boyd that she saw the laughing man on the roof of Il Duomo in Milan, even though no one knew who he was or why he was there. Furthermore, since that statue was made out of Viennese marble, she argued it was probably the work of a local artisan. That meant the Hofburg piece might be nothing more than a replica of the Milanese design. Or vice versa.

Jones was sitting next to Payne, researching the Hofburg in a travel guide that he found in a box. He said, ‘Ever hear of the Vienna Boys’ Choir? They sing Mass at the Hofburg every Sunday. If we wait until then, we could sneak in with the rest of the churchgoers.’

The mention of a weekly Mass in a government building intrigued Payne. Not only because it was a security hiccup that could be exploited but because it highlighted an interesting difference between Austria and the United States. By hosting a Catholic service in the Hofburg, the Austrian government was openly endorsing Catholicism as its official religion.

Payne asked, ‘Haven’t they heard of the separation of church and state?’

Jones pointed to the guidebook. Inside it referred to the relationship between Austria and the Roman Catholic Church as the throne and the altar, two entities that worked hand in hand for the betterment of Catholicism. ‘It says the Vatican has an agreement that guarantees financial support from the Austrian government. Citizens can follow any religion they want. However, one percent of their income goes straight to the Roman Catholic Church.’

‘Really? I’ve never heard anything like that.’

‘Me, neither. Then again, I guess their union makes some sense. Their connection with Rome goes back two thousand years when Vienna was a Roman military post. In fact, you’ll never believe who one of the founding fathers of Vienna was. None other than Tiberius himself. It seems he was the leader of a Roman garrison that occupied the foothills of the Alps. While there, he grasped the importance of the region and ordered his men to take over the Celtic city of Vindobona. Once they did, it became a military stronghold for the next five hundred years.’

Until that moment Payne wasn’t sure if the laughing man statue was worth a ten-hour drive. He figured they might find a clue or two but wasn’t convinced it was worth their exposure time — especially since the Hofburg was a federal facility. Too many things could go wrong, he told them. Too many well-trained guards would be nearby. Yet Boyd and Maria persisted, practically demanding that they go to Vienna.

This latest bit of information helped Payne understand why.

Strangely, the link between Tiberius and the laughing man was irrefutable, yet for some reason their partnership had never been acknowledged in history books. That meant some group went out of its way to hide the alliance between these men. And the instant their secret was threatened, they panicked, sending in a hit squad to take out Boyd and Maria at the Catacombs, then blowing up a bus to silence anyone who might’ve overheard them talking.

But why? And more importantly, who? No one would go through that much trouble unless there was a modern-day consequence to the secret. And if so, then this had to be about Christ and the people who believed in him. There was no other explanation for such desperate behavior.

Payne whispered, ‘What’s your take on the Catholic Church? I mean, do you think they could be behind this?’

‘That’s a difficult question. Most people like to view their church as infallible. But any time you throw humans into the mix, anything is possible.’

Jones pondered his next statement for several seconds. ‘Are you familiar with Pope John VIII? Legend has it that he was an English scribe who signed up for work as a papal notary. Years later, after dedicating his entire life to the Church, he was named pope. Great story, right? Unfortunately, there’s a tragic ending. Shortly into his reign he was overcome by excruciating pain in the middle of a public processional. Before anything could be done to help, the pope died right there on a Roman street in plain sight of everybody… Any idea how he died?’

‘Let me guess. He was poisoned by a priest.’

‘Nope. He died giving birth. You see, it turns out John VIII was actually a pregnant woman.’

‘A woman?’

‘Amazing, isn’t it? The head of the Roman Catholic Church lied to everyone for several years in order to get what she wanted out of life. Her vows didn’t matter. Catholic law didn’t matter. The only thing she cared about was becoming Pope Joan.’

‘Pope Joan? That was her name?’

‘Not her actual name. That’s what fourteenth-century academics named her.’

The legend of Pope Joan goes beyond Christian history. Medieval tarot cards used to honor her with the papess card (la papessa in Italian) before the Catholic Church applied enough pressure to have the card changed to the priestess card, hoping to minimize the scandal.

‘And she isn’t the only one who has broken church laws. From what I’ve read, popes have fathered several hundred kids over the years. Plus many popes obtained the papal throne through illegal means to begin with: bribery, blackmail, extortion. And even worse, many of them committed crimes while they were the pope, everything from theft to assault to murder.’

Payne grew silent as he thought about Jones’s words. Finally, he said, ‘If you worked for the Vatican and you heard rumors about an ancient scroll that threatened everything that you’d dedicated your life to, what would you do to stop it?’

‘Not to be rude, but I think you just asked a flawed question. In my mind a more appropriate question would be: What wouldn’t I do?’

Their truck stopped a quarter mile from the palace. Payne made his way to the driver’s window, anxious to talk to Ulster and Franz about the Hofburg. He knew both of them had been there. What he didn’t know was how knowledgeable they were about the security and the layout of the grounds. He asked, ‘How many times have you been inside the palace?’

Franz answered. ‘That is tough one. I lose count after all the years. Maybe thousand times?’

‘Are you serious?’

‘Ja! Didn’t Petr tell you? Scholars from Vienna have been coming to Archives for years, mostly because of Petr’s grandfather. The Hofburg is a national museum, several large museums all tied together. Their curators have brought many items to the Archives for us to study. Often they were too large or valuable to be moved without help. That is why we have the trucks.’

‘I guess that means you know the security guards, too?’

Franz smiled. ‘Ja, ja! I know them all by name.’

Suddenly, getting inside the Hofburg wouldn’t be as tough as Payne had thought.

Jones stayed in the truck with Ulster and Franz while Payne led the way across the Volksgarten, a colorful stretch of land that decorated the area near the Parliament Building. Maria followed several steps behind, her hair tucked under a ball cap, her face hidden behind a pair of movie-star sunglasses that she had bought from a street vendor.

Further back was Dr Boyd, the person Payne was most concerned for since his picture was on the front page of every newspaper in town. Thankfully, he blended in perfectly with a Scottish tour group that happened to be walking in the same direction. His pale features and bald head were buried under a red sun hat. His nose was slathered in a thick layer of zinc oxide. He objected to it at first, claiming that he’d look like an old man. Payne assured him that was the point. Everyone in Europe was looking for a ruthless killer, not a pasty-faced geezer covered in lotion.

It took several minutes to snake their way to the front edge of the Heldenplatz, the main courtyard in front of the Hofburg. Payne pretended to tie his shoe on the cobblestone sidewalk, allowing Boyd and Maria to catch up. Then, as a group, they crossed in front of a row of Fiakers, horse-drawn carriages that have been used in the Inner City for over three hundred years.

Boyd asked, ‘How are we to do this? May I walk over and examine the statue?’

Payne answered, ‘I don’t see why not… But when the truck arrives, we leave at once.’ He pointed to an equestrian statue near the Outer Gate. ‘I’m gonna hang back there and keep on an eye on you. While I do, please do me a favor and find out why that bastard is laughing.’

The laughing man statue was identical to the one in Milan. The weathering of the marble was different due to Austria’s harsher climate, yet there was no doubt in Maria’s mind that the two were made by the same artist, a fact that confused Boyd. Why would an artist waste his time and chisel two identical statues? Why not vary the positioning of the subject or the look on his face? And why was the laughing man grinning so broadly in every piece of art?

Maria whispered, ‘Is there any way we can trace the sculptor?’

Boyd blinked a few times before her question sank in. ‘It’s funny you should ask, for I was thinking the same thing myself. Alas, any research we conducted would probably result in a bloody cul-de-sac. Although a great number of sculptures and paintings exist from the days of the Empire, the names of very few Roman artists were ever recorded. In their culture, art was created for viewing not for creative recognition.’

‘Not even the masters?’

He shook his head. ‘Tell me, my dear, who designed the Colosseum? Or the Pantheon? We’re talking about two of the most famous buildings in the world, yet no one knows who designed them. That’s simply the way the Romans were. They didn’t value the artist.’

‘Then let’s ignore the artist and focus on the history of the piece instead? If the Romans cared about record keeping as much as you claim, maybe we’ll determine where the statues were created or why they were placed in separate cities. Who knows? Maybe everything we’re looking for is somewhere inside these walls.’

Boyd sighed. ‘I hope so, my dear. Otherwise the truth about Christ may never be learned.’

63

Austrian National Library

(located inside the Hofburg),

Vienna, Austria

Franz pulled their truck into the Josefsplatz, a small square on the eastern side of the Hofburg. Half a century ago, American troops risked their lives smuggling the Lipizzaner stallions out of German hands. Now he was repaying the debt by smuggling Americans into the home of the Lipizzaner stallions, past an armed guard whose father had fought for the Third Reich in World War II.

Irony, delicious irony.

From the security booth, Karl recognized the truck and hit the button that opened the security door. The massive gate, made of iron and topped with a series of decorative spikes, screeched as it inched its way across its mechanical track. Franz pulled into the narrow courtyard, making sure he didn’t pass directly under the security camera.

‘Hello,’ the elderly guard said in German. ‘I was wondering if I’d ever see you again.’

Franz climbed from the truck and greeted him with a warm hug. ‘Why is that, Karl?’

‘I figured one of us would be dead by now.’

Franz laughed as he pointed to the passenger seat. ‘Do you remember my boss, Petr Ulster?’

‘Of course!’ Karl assured him. ‘The Ulster family is revered in these parts.’

Ulster shook the guard’s hand. ‘Nice to see you again.’

The three strolled to the back of the truck, completely comfortable in each other’s presence. Normally Karl was a lot more wary about deliveries, but not when it came to Franz. Their paths had crossed so many times that they had developed a casual friendship.

‘You know you’re lucky I opened the gate for you. I really shouldn’t have.’

A number of things flashed through Franz’s mind. ‘Why’s that?’

‘They’re cleaning this part of the building. It’s closed to all outsiders until Sunday.’

Ulster said, ‘We don’t want to get you into trouble. Would you like us to come back?’

‘No, Mr Ulster, that won’t be necessary. We’re always willing to make an exception for you.’ Karl watched as Franz opened the hatch. ‘Are you picking up or dropping off today?’

Smiling, Ulster answered, ‘Dropping off. Definitely dropping off.’

Common sense told Payne that breaking into a facility with some of the world’s greatest treasures wouldn’t be as easy as Franz claimed it would. But he knew what he was talking about because Karl unloaded one of the crates without inspecting the rest of the cargo hold. So they simply waited there until Karl went inside, then slipped out the back of the truck.

The four of them entered the ground floor of the Hofburg’s eighteenth-century wing, near the entrance to the Austrian National Library, home of one of the most impressive book and scroll collections in the world. The mammoth center section of the library was named the Great Hall and ran the entire length of the Josefsplatz. Measuring 250 feet long, 46 feet wide, and 65 feet high, the long gallery was lined with carved wooden bookshelves, colorful frescoes, Corinthian columns, and several marble statues. The library was closed to the public today, so it was lit only by the sunlight that streamed through the circular windows in the domed ceiling.

Payne was the first to enter the library, strolling across the patterned stone floor without a hint of sound. Head held high, eyes wide open, he traveled more than fifty feet, scanning the balconies that rose above him like an ornate opera house. The only thing that looked out of place was the large wooden crate that sat in the middle of the floor, compliments of Ulster and Franz. They said it was common procedure to place the item in its ultimate destination, where it would be opened by a scholar or facility manager. But in this case, they planned on opening it themselves. As Payne headed back to the group, he whispered, ‘Where should we start?’

Boyd turned in a tight circle, gaping at the rows of shelves that stretched beyond the limits of his eyesight. More than 2.5 million books filled the library, plus 240,000 sheet maps, 280,000 geographical views, 43,000 sixth-century manuscripts, and over 24,000 autographs. ‘We should search for a list of the Hofburg’s sculptures or a log of Austrian artists from the time of Christ. Sadly, there’s a bloody good chance that such documents won’t be in English.’

‘That rules me out,’ Payne admitted. ‘Is there anything else I can help you with?’

‘Actually,’ Boyd said, ‘you have a keen eye for detail. Perhaps you can look for pictures of our laughing friend. Who knows? He’s liable to be lurking in here.’

Payne nodded, glad he could do something that didn’t involve breaking and entering or shooting bad guys. ‘Where will you be?’

‘Most of the older volumes are kept on the second and third floors. With any luck Maria and I shall find documents that date back to the time of Christ.’

‘I’ll go with ’em,’ Jones added. ‘Just in case the upper floors aren’t clear.’

Payne watched them struggle with the crate of books but didn’t offer a hand. He knew he had more important things to worry about than heavy lifting, like searching the ground floor for guards. He’d keep an eye out for the laughing man, too, but until he knew they were alone, his main concern was making sure the library was free of danger.

Safety first, success second. It’s a good creed to live by.

Gun in hand, Payne crept toward the rear of the Great Hall, passing through a fresco-covered arch, supported by a series of treelike columns. Beyond it was the most spectacular feature of the National Library. Over ninety feet in height, the cupola — a dome-shaped roof that allowed natural light to flow inside — rose above him like a crowded theater gallery, yet none of the people that filled the balustrades were real. Instead they had all been painted on the oblique oval space by Daniel Gran in 1730. Payne walked to the center of the Dome Room, his eyes glued above, when he felt his cell phone buzzing on his hip. ‘Hello?’ he whispered.

‘Signor Payne?’ Frankie said. ‘Is that you? I no sure if you gonna answer phone. I be calling every hour since yesterday. Why you no answer phone?’

Payne didn’t have time to explain — they needed to wrap up their conversation in less than a minute or he risked being tracked — so he said, ‘I turned it off to conserve its battery.’

‘Ah! Good thinking. Use only in emergency. That be smart!’

Memories of yesterday’s conversation came rushing back. Not only because Payne hung up on Frankie before he could tell him about the dead soldiers in Orvieto but because they were attacked in Küsendorf less than an hour later. Maybe his cell phone wasn’t safe after all?

So Payne said, ‘Write everything that you want to tell me, and I mean everything. I’ll call you later with a fax number where you can send the report. But don’t send it from your personal fax. Send it from a public one that can’t be traced. Got it?’

‘Yes, but — ’

‘And stop calling this phone. It’s not safe.’ Payne hung up before Frankie could say another word, proud that their conversation lasted only twenty-three seconds.

Alas, it didn’t make any difference. Payne and his crew were discovered shortly thereafter.

Nick Dial didn’t have the time or the paperwork to fly to China. But he called the NCB office in Beijing the moment he figured out the riddle of the pushpins.

At first the cops were skeptical, at least until members of the media were notified of an upcoming demonstration that hinted at violence. That was all the proof the Chinese needed. Within minutes they were reassigning ground troops to protect all the major tourist sites in their city, doing everything in their power to look efficient in the eyes of the press.

Catrina Collins was part of the press corps. She stood there, transfixed, her deep-blue eyes following the giant cross as it floated across the sky. Shutters clicked and journalists scrambled, trying to figure out where the parachute would land. Soldiers with M14s aimed their weapons at the sky, waiting for orders, while their commanding officers figured out the threat level.

Was it a bomb? A terrorist? Or the fourth victim of the crucifix killer?

The news director at CNN shouted into Collins’s earpiece. They were going live in less than a minute. Shawn Farley, her cameraman, was told to follow the action as long as possible while Collins described the scene she saw on a small monitor.

‘Shit, shit, shit!’ she cursed to herself. Her makeup needed to be touched up, and she had no idea what she was going to say. ‘I’m not happy. Not happy at all.’

The director ignored her comments. ‘You’re on in three… two… one.’

The image of the falling cross popped onto television sets around the world. ‘I’m standing outside the Forbidden City in Beijing, where a moment ago a parachute was spotted high above the city… As you can see, it appears that we are looking at the fourth victim in a bizarre string of crucifixions that has captured the world’s eye.’

Graphics detailing the other cases scrolled across the bottom of the CNN broadcast.

‘The victim appears to be a white male in his thirties. He’s been attached to the cross with a series of spikes, similar to the crucifixion of Jesus Christ.’

The director shouted into her earpiece. ‘Goddammit! Don’t make this religious!’

Collins gathered her thoughts. ‘Blood can be seen pouring from the victim’s hands and feet, dripping down the wood like a grisly horror movie.’ Farley zoomed in closer, trying to get the best shot possible. ‘I can see blood pouring out of his side, gushing from his wound in little bursts like… Oh God! Look at his face! He just opened his eyes! Jesus! He isn’t dead!’

‘Fuck!’ shouted the director. ‘Don’t use Jesus in vain! You’ll piss off the Bible Belt.’

Collins tried to stay calm. ‘Soldiers are filling the streets around me, unsure of what to do. I don’t know if they realize the victim is alive, that there might be a chance to save him and find out information about the killer.’ She glanced at her monitor, searching for something to describe. ‘I’m scanning the sky for a plane, but I don’t see or hear one. That only adds to the mystery. Where did it come from? Why did the killer choose China? What is he trying to say?’

The cross continued to fall, drifting slowly toward the inner courtyard of the Forbidden City.

‘We’re about to lose contact with the parachute due to our vantage point. Right now he’s about five hundred feet above the great palace, a place where the media are not allowed to enter. We’ll stay with the victim as he continues to fall. Troops are rushing toward the closest gate, each of them carrying rifles just in case this is an attack… Right now I don’t see any medical personnel. I’m hoping they’re already inside the City’s massive walls, waiting for the parachute to land.’

Farley followed the chute until it fell out of view, then quickly panned back to a shot of Collins standing on the sidewalk. Her blue eyes were staring directly into the camera.

‘I’ve been in the news business for many years, but I’ve never seen anything as bizarre as this… And thanks to the magic of television, you got to see it, too.’

In his Boston hotel room, Nick Dial nodded at her comment. ‘Talk about reality TV.’

He turned down the volume and walked over to his bulletin board. Four red pushpins marked his crime scenes. Four different continents, four different victims. All of them connected on the world map by two straight lines. Lines that formed a giant cross. Lines that intersected in Italy.

But where in Italy? That was the question.

The geographical cross missed Rome and Vatican City by over fifty miles. That surprised Dial, since both places fit the criteria of the other cases. Famous cities and tons of tourists meant plenty of attention. Yet as far as Dial could tell, the center point of the cross was somewhere in the Umbria region, smackdab in the middle of nowhere.

Dial leaned in for a closer view but realized he needed a detailed map of Italy to find the precise town where the longitude and latitude lines met, because something was going to happen there. Something big. He didn’t know what, but he knew the location was the key to everything.

He knew that X marked the spot.

64

Boyd and Maria fanned out on the upper floors of the library, searching for information about the laughing man. This gave Jones the perfect opportunity to spend some alone time with Maria. He found her near the manuscript collection on the second floor. ‘What are you looking for?’

She whispered, ‘A needle in a haystack.’

Jones did a three sixty turn, soaking in all the books and artifacts that surrounded them. ‘Big haystack… What’s your needle look like? Maybe I can help.’

She shrugged. ‘I have no idea… Absolutely none.’

‘Great! That narrows it down for us.’

Maria moved toward him, gently rubbing her fingers over the spine of the books. ‘You have to admit there’s some irony to being here. I mean, of all the places in the world, we’re at the Hofburg looking for proof of Christ’s death. That seems so fitting because of the spear.’

‘Spear? What spear?’

‘The Spear of Destiny. The lance that pierced Christ’s side. It’s here at the Hofburg.’

‘Oh. That spear.’

She nodded. ‘Did you know the first thing Hitler did when he claimed Austria in 1938 was to come here and get the spear? Historians say it was the thing that motivated him to rule the world. He saw it as a young student and had a vision that the spear would make him invincible.’

But Hitler wasn’t the only one who believed in the weapon. According to legend, whoever possessed the lance was granted the power to conquer the world. But it was also said if the owner ever lost the spear, he would die a swift death — a fact that played out when Hitler took his own life a mere eighty minutes after American troops seized the bunker where he was safeguarding the relic. Some attribute this to coincidence while others ascribe it to fate.

The history of the Holy Lance (aka the Spear of Destiny) can be tracked through the centuries, even though no one knows for sure if it was actually used by Longinus, the Roman centurion who supposedly pierced the side of Christ. Some historians believe that the twenty-inch blade was forged several centuries after the death of Christ and is nothing more than a hoax.

Some biblical historians are willing to go one step further. Not only do they feel that the Lance is fictional, but they also claim that Longinus is fictional as well, since no records or texts mentioned his name until the Gospel of Nicodemus appeared in 715. Furthermore, since ‘Longinus’ is a Latinized version of longche, the Greek word for ‘spear,’ they feel the name was created by the Church to attach a name to an otherwise faceless man.

Maria said, ‘The Gospels say the spear proved that Christ had died. Now here we are, where that mythical spear is kept, and we’re looking for proof that Christ didn’t die on the cross. The irony is staggering.’

Jones paused, considering her statement. ‘What if it isn’t irony? What if there’s a reason that the lance and the laughing man are both here? What if Longinus was the laughing man?’

Maria laughed. ‘You’re joking, right?’

‘Not at all,’ he stressed. ‘Longinus was involved in the crucifixion, right? Yet no one can describe what he looked like, and he never appeared in the history books until after the fall of the Empire. That seems pretty strange, considering how anal the Romans were about record keeping. Well, maybe his identity was being protected by Tiberius. Maybe he had it removed from the history books.’

‘What about the P? The statue’s ring had a P on it. That has to stand for something.’

‘Maybe it does. What if Longinus’s name was fictionalized by the Church like some people claim? His real name could’ve been Peter or Paul or whatever. I mean, Longinus was standing right next to the cross during the crucifixion, so he could’ve slipped Christ the mandrake. Plus he told the crowd that Jesus had died, then proved it by stabbing him in the side.’

Maria stood there, silent, comparing Jones’s theory to the knowledge she possessed. Deep down inside she sensed something didn’t fit, that something was missing from the big picture.

She would learn what that was a few hours later.

Nick Dial flipped through his atlas until he came across a map of Italy. He carefully drew two lines across the colorful surface while constantly glancing at the red pushpins on his bulletin board. He knew if he was off as little as a quarter inch, he could miss his target by fifty miles.

As expected, the two lines met in Umbria, a fertile region that was better known for its farmland than its tourist attractions. Intrigued, Dial adjusted his bifocals and focused on the intersection point, searching for the exact spot where the four crosses pointed.

‘Orvieto,’ he whispered. Something about it sounded so familiar. Something recent.

Dial checked the e-mail on his laptop computer. Several messages mentioned the recent bus explosion near Orvieto and the ongoing manhunt for Dr Charles Boyd.

Dial grabbed his cell phone, dialed the local NCB office, and was patched through to Henri Toulon’s desk. He answered on the third ring. ‘Nick, my friend, where are you today?’

‘Boston, but that’s about to change.’

‘Oh? Have you decided to quit your job and leave me in charge? That is awfully sweet of — ’

‘Boyd,’ he interrupted. ‘Dr Charles Boyd. What can you tell me about him?’

‘He is a very popular man right now. All of Europe is looking for him. Why do you ask?’

‘I have a feeling he might be connected to my case. What can you send me?’

‘Whatever you want… But I’m confused. How can he — ’

‘Just playing out a hunch. Can you send me that info ASAP? I need it before my flight.’

‘A flight? But you aren’t done in Boston. I got the info that you wanted on the fax.’

Shit, Dial thought. He had forgotten about the fax. The person who sent it to Interpol knew about Orlando Pope’s death before it even happened. If Dial found him in Boston, he might blow the case wide open. ‘OK, give it to me, quick. I still want to catch my plane.’

‘But Nick, don’t you think — ’

‘Come on, Henri! Can’t you hear the sound of my voice? I’m not in the mood for your bullshit, not today. Just send me what I need. Not later, not after your next cigarette break, but now! Do you got me? Right fuckin’ now!’

Toulon grinned. He loved pissing off his boss, especially since Dial had been promoted ahead of him for the job. ‘Nick, relax! Check your in-box. The info should be waiting for you.’

*

Nick Dial knew the warning fax was important. He knew if he tracked down the sender that he’d be able to establish a direct link to the crime, possibly identifying the killer or one of his associates. Yet in this case he decided he had more important things to worry about, so he called Chang at the local NCB office and told him to look into it.

‘Don’t screw this up,’ Dial said as he hustled through Logan Airport. ‘And once you get the information, I want you to sit tight. Don’t pursue any other leads. Don’t tell anyone else. Just hold onto it. You got me? I’ll give you a call in a few hours from the plane.’

‘Not a problem. I’ll go home and wait for your call… Anything else, sir?’

‘Yeah. Find out as much about Beijing as possible. I’ll want an update when we talk.’

‘Yes, sir.’

Dial glanced at one of the departure monitors, trying to figure out where his gate was. ‘You ever been to China?’

‘No, sir.’

‘What about your parents? Where are they from?’

‘Noank.’

He grimaced. ‘Noank? Never heard of it. Is that close to Beijing?’

‘Not really, sir. It’s in Connecticut.’

Dial felt like an idiot, so he did his best to change the topic. ‘Get me that info, Chang. I’ll give you a call before I hit the ground.’

‘Sir? Out of curiosity, how long’s your flight to China?’

‘China? I’m not going to China. I’m going to Italy.’

‘Wait,’ Chang said, confused. ‘I thought you were investigating today’s murder?’

‘Not at all. I’m flying to Italy to stop the next one.’

Dante Pelati walked into his father’s office and saw him sitting behind his desk, cradling a family picture. His father was a private man, someone who preferred to keep most people at a distance. The biggest exception had been Dante’s older brother. Roberto was Benito’s firstborn son, which made him the crown prince in Benito’s world. The two of them shared a bond that Dante never could. At least not while Roberto was alive.

‘You got my message?’ Benito asked. His eyes were bloodshot, and his cheeks were stained with tears, a scene that Dante had never seen before. It was a sight he actually enjoyed.

‘I came at once,’ he whispered. ‘What can I do for you?’

Benito placed the picture on his desk and faced Dante. He realized he was the key to everything now, everything that the Pelati family had been hiding for centuries. And that forced Benito to do something that made him uncomfortable. He was about to have a personal conversation with his second son. ‘I know I haven’t always been there for you… like a father should have been… I realize that now, and… it is one of the biggest regrets of my life.’

Dante was stunned. He had waited a lifetime to hear those words, always wondering what would have to happen to hear those sentiments from his father’s lips. Now he knew.

‘I could sit here and make excuses… but that would be wrong… You deserve better than that… You deserve the truth.’

Benito sank into his chair, struggling to breathe. He had given this talk once before, a long time ago when Roberto had reached the right age. But this conversation would be different. No longer would Benito be talking about secrets hidden in Orvieto and what he hoped to do with them. Instead, he’d be outlining a plot that was already in motion. One that was near completion.

‘Father,’ Dante asked, ‘the truth about what?’

‘The truth about our family.’

65

A stack of newspapers wrapped in a bright yellow cord sat near the circulation desk. It had been a few days since Payne saw the news, and he wanted to read the latest on Orvieto. He flipped through the stack until he found one written in English. He took it upstairs and found a quiet spot where he could look out for guards and read about the most dangerous man in Europe.

Every story painted Dr Charles Boyd as a coldblooded killer, a man who’d do anything to get what he wanted, although the paper didn’t have any theories on what that might be. In their view he was a dangerous fugitive on the run, leaving a trail of blood and bodies wherever he went. No word about the Catacombs or the helicopter that apparently tried to kill him. Nothing about his thirty years of teaching or all the awards that he won at Dover. Why? Because that kind of stuff would cloud the picture and make him seem human. And as everybody knows, human doesn’t sell. Violence sells. That’s what people want to read. That was the thing that sold papers.

Proving Payne’s point was the article that ran next to Boyd’s. The headline blared ‘Crucifix Killer,’ right above a close-up of someone who had been murdered in Denmark. Normally Payne would’ve ignored the story, just to make a point. Just because the photo and the headline were so sensationalized it drew attention from all the other articles in the paper that were more important than the death of one man, no matter how brutal and violent his death was. Still, there was something about the word crucifix that grabbed Payne’s attention. He quickly skimmed the story, which explained everything that happened in Helsingør and all the events in Libya, too. The piece concluded with an editor’s note that referenced breaking news in the sports section, simply saying: ‘Pope is Third Victim.’

‘Holy shit,’ he muttered, knowing who had died before he even turned the page.

Orlando Pope was one of the most recognizable names in sports, right up there with Tiger Woods and Shaquille O’Neal. If he was dead, his story was going to dwarf every other headline in the world, making Dr Boyd a sudden afterthought. Payne flipped to the sports section but found nothing more than a brief paragraph stating that Pope had been found crucified at Fenway Park and nothing else could be confirmed because of the late hour. No pictures, quotes, or reaction from the team. The biggest sports story of the decade, and he knew nothing about it.

Frustrated, Payne grabbed the newspaper and went to tell Jones the news. Before he could, though, Jones and Maria started talking to Boyd, who had been skimming through a modern text that detailed the history of the Hofburg and the royalty who shaped it. Boyd hoped to learn which ruler built the portion of the building where the laughing man resided.

‘Find anything?’ Maria asked.

Boyd kept reading for several seconds before he turned their way. ‘Hmm? What was that?’

She smiled. Same old Dr Boyd. ‘Did you find anything?’

‘Bits and pieces, my dear. Bits and pieces. If only I had a morsel to guide me, I am certain I could locate the smoking gun.’ He made a sweeping gesture with his hand, indicating the rest of the library. ‘I am confident the answer is in here somewhere.’

‘I agree,’ she said, smiling. ‘D.J. has a theory that I wanted you to hear.’

Boyd glanced at Maria, then back at Jones, trying to decide if they were serious. The look on their faces told him they were. ‘Go on. I’m listening.’

Payne was listening, too. But before Jones could spit out a single word, Payne’s attention was diverted to the commotion he heard on the far side of the library. First the opening of a door, then the muffled sound of footsteps. Multiple footsteps. Many people entering the facility at the exact same time. Maybe it was a cleaning crew or a team of armed guards, Payne couldn’t tell from there. Either way, he knew they were in trouble.

‘Hide them,’ Payne told Jones. And just like that, he knew what to do. They had been together long enough to know each other’s tactics.

Payne pulled the Luger from his belt and dashed quietly across the second floor, slipping between pillars and statues. Thousands of books lined the shelves behind him, protecting him from a rear attack, while a thick wooden railing encircled the balcony to his front. His position was elevated, at least fifteen feet above the first floor. He curled up underneath a rail-side table and glanced between the carved balusters where he was able to see most of the Great Hall.

Two men in dress clothes stood in the shadows of the main entrance while their partner fiddled with something behind a tapestry on the right wall. Payne doubted the library had a safe in a public space, leaving only two choices in his mind: a security system or an electrical panel. He got his answer a couple of clicks later when the roof exploded with light.

Payne kept his focus on the men as they converged near the middle of the floor. They were over a hundred feet away, which prevented Payne from seeing or hearing much. There was a mumble every once in a while, followed by a quick reply, but nothing he could comprehend. Partially because of the distance, partially because of a language barrier. Whatever the case, he had no idea who these men were or why they were here.

His gut told him they weren’t looking for his crew. If they were, they wouldn’t be standing in the middle of the library making so much noise. They’d be scurrying along the walls, pointing weapons in every corner and crevice until they figured out where they were hiding. Payne didn’t see any of that, though, which led him to believe that they were fine, that they had no idea that they were there and they’d be safe as long as they stayed quiet.

Payne’s theory changed an instant later when one of them yelled, ‘Boyd, there’s no sense in hiding. I know you’re in here. Come out and face me like a man.’

Payne had seen a lot of messed-up things in his years of combat, but this was the first time that anyone ever dared one of his troops to show his face. Come-out-come-out-wherever-you-are doesn’t factor into many military situations. Amazingly, the strangeness increased when Dr Boyd emerged from the stacks. With a look of defiance on his face, a look that said he was about to do something stupid like challenging this guy to a duel, Boyd shouted across the Great Hall. ‘Come and get me, you big wanker!’

Well, Payne almost crapped himself right there. Of all the screwed-up, dim-witted things he’d ever seen in his life, why in the world would a CIA-trained operative, someone who was supposed to be a genius, be willing to give up his position and risk everything that they were trying to accomplish? The idiot! What the hell was he thinking?

Boyd was standing twenty feet away, completely unaware that Payne was under one of the tables. For an instant Payne was tempted to shut him up and protect the rest of them. A couple of slugs in his knee and he would’ve flipped over the railing like Damien’s mom when he hit her with his tricycle in The Omen. That thought left his mind, though, when he saw Maria creep up behind Boyd. Just like that, Payne’s whole world flipped upside down. Something was going on, but he didn’t know what. Were there more guards than he could see? Were Boyd and Maria giving up? Or were he and Jones being double-crossed?

Payne received his answer the moment he saw who was down below. It was the grinning face of Petr Ulster, his red cheeks glowing in the lights of the Great Hall. He looked up at Payne and said, ‘Jonathon, my boy! There you are. I hope you don’t mind, but I thought we could use some reinforcements.’

Everyone met downstairs, where formal introductions were made, and Boyd was reunited with an old colleague. Dr Hermann Wanke was wearing a shirt and tie yet had slippers on his feet. He claimed it was to make less noise as he strolled through the Hofburg, but Payne could tell from the twinkle in his eye that he did it for his own amusement. Most people considered Wanke the world’s top expert on Austrian history, so he figured it was his God-given right to be eccentric. Personally, Payne didn’t care what he wore as long he could help their mission. He asked Wanke how he knew Dr Boyd, and he launched into a five-minute soliloquy about their days at Oxford where, according to Wanke, they got along brilliantly despite their diverse backgrounds.

The other man they met was Max Hochwälder, Wanke’s soft-spoken assistant. He was closer to Boyd’s age than Payne’s, although it was tough to gauge since he was reluctant to speak, and his short blond hair concealed any traces of gray. He shook Payne’s hand with a timid grip, then faded back into oblivion, virtually disappearing in the roomful of strong personalities.

Anyhow, after a few minutes of small talk, Payne knew it was time to get back to business. He started with the most obvious question. Why was Wanke at the Hofburg?

‘Research, Herr Payne, research.’ His English was perfect, with little or no accent, although he dropped in a German term every once in a while for his own pleasure. ‘I was arranging to view one of the royal collections when I saw my old pals, Petr and Franz. I could tell they were up to no good and decided to have some fun with them.’ He showed them what he meant by shouting a number of Austrian terms that sounded like they belonged in a stalag, not in a library. ‘When they tossed their hands in the air, I knew they were doing something scandalous. Something that I should be involved in.’

Ulster rubbed his face in embarrassment, a reaction that told Payne his recruitment of Wanke was not so much planned as stumbled onto.

‘From there it was easy,’ Wanke said. ‘I sent Franz outside to occupy the guard while Petr filled me in on the basics. The moment I heard Charles’s name, I knew I had to help. Whether he wanted me to or not.’

‘I hope that’s all right,’ Ulster apologized. ‘I know I should’ve fibbed and kept Hermann out of this, but considering his background, I figured he might be useful. At least I hope so. I’d hate to think I messed this up.’

Boyd gave Payne a what-are-you-going-to-do? shrug that summed up his feelings perfectly. They weren’t about to yell at Ulster or kick him out of the library. He simply invited one of Boyd’s oldest friends, a man who knew more about Austrian history than everyone else combined, to help them with their research. If he had to blab to someone, this wasn’t a bad choice. Thankfully, Ulster hadn’t spilled as many secrets as they had feared — just some basics about the laughing man and nothing about the Catacombs. So Boyd filled Wanke in on some of the facts, and Wanke quickly transformed from a goofy eccentric into a world-class historian.

‘Where to start, where to start?’ he mumbled under his breath. Then, without saying another word, he headed into the bowels of the library, followed by Boyd, Ulster, Maria, and his mimelike assistant. Payne grabbed Jones before he could join them, telling him that he needed a word.

‘What’s up?’ Jones asked.

‘Lately I’ve gotten the feeling that we’re spending so much time worried about Boyd that we’ve lost track of the big picture. Like something bigger than the Catacombs.’

‘Bigger than the Catacombs? You realize we’re on the verge of proving that Christ wasn’t crucified. That seems kind of important to me.’

‘Yeah, I know but… I just get the feeling that something else is going on.’

Jones studied Payne’s face. ‘Ah, man! Don’t tell me your gut is acting up again.’

‘Actually, it moved beyond a gut feeling when I read this.’ Payne handed him the newspaper that he’d been reading. ‘This seems like too much of a coincidence not to be connected.’

‘What does?’

‘The fact that we’re researching the crucifixion, and people are turning up crucified. First it was some priest from the Vatican. Then it was a prince from Nepal. And last night it was someone bigger. They got Orlando Pope.’

‘The Holy Hitter?’

He nodded. ‘They found him at Fenway.’

‘No shit?’ Jones paused in thought. ‘And you think this has something to do with us?’

‘Guess when the crucifixions started. On Monday. The same day Boyd found the Catacombs. The same day the bus exploded. The same day we were brought into play… Call me paranoid, but that can’t be a coincidence.’

‘It could be,’ Jones insisted. ‘Hell, this could be nothing more than — ’

‘What? A fluke? When was the last time you read a news story about a crucifixion? A long time, right? And when was the last time a Vatican priest was murdered? Can you think of a single example in the last twenty years?’

Payne waited for an answer that he knew wasn’t coming.

‘I’m telling you, D.J., this stuff has to be related. I don’t know how or why, but we’re caught up in something that’s bigger than Dr Boyd. And my gut tells me if we don’t figure it out soon, things are going to get a lot worse for everyone.’

66

Tank Harper and his crew reached the Daxing airfield before the body hit the ground. The pilot circled low and wide, meaning radar wouldn’t be a problem. Not with the Chinese. By the time they got their search planes in the air, the entire landing strip would be covered with livestock, and Harper’s plane would be buried in vegetation.

But that’s why Manzak handpicked him for the job. He knew Harper wouldn’t get caught.

What Manzak didn’t know, though, was that Harper had seen through his bullshit from the very beginning. In his line of work, Harper realized the toughest part of a job wasn’t the mission itself but rather collecting compensation. That was the task that had the most danger and the most fun — especially when he was working for a new employer. Someone he didn’t have a track record with. Someone he couldn’t trust. Someone like Richard Manzak.

Manzak had called Harper earlier in the week and told him the money would be divided on Saturday at a villa in Rome. All Harper had to do was get there in time for the payoff. Harper smiled when he heard this, then asked a point-blank question: ‘Will you be there to meet us?’ Manzak assured him he would, giving him his word as a gentleman.

Of course Harper knew that Manzak’s word didn’t mean shit. Not only had he lied about his name — Manzak’s real name was Roberto Pelati — but for some reason his alias was the name of a missing CIA operative. Why would someone do that? Why select a name that had a history?

Harper couldn’t figure that out for the life of him. Still, Pelati’s deception told him all he needed to know: he had no intention of paying him. And to make matters worse, since Pelati wanted to meet Harper and his crew the moment they got to Italy, Harper knew something big was going to happen at the villa. Something bloody. Something violent.

And the truth was, he didn’t have a problem with that.

Harper had been hoping for a million dollars, but he would settle for someone’s scalp.

Harper’s cross landed in the main courtyard of the Forbidden City, where it was swallowed by a masked team of armed soldiers. Representatives of the local NCB office were standing nearby, thanks to the phone call from Dial, who told them to protect the evidence as much as humanly possible, though that term had a different definition in China than it did in America.

Chinese HAZMAT personnel scanned the cross for threats, then radioed their reports to headquarters. Several minutes passed before a decision was made to allow army medics to examine the victim. Doctors determined that Paul Adams had a decent chance to live, but only if they rushed him to the hospital for surgery. The on-site commander thanked them for their efforts and told them he would try to get permission. Nodding, the doctors went back to work on Adams without voicing a single complaint. They knew this was the way it was done in their country, and an argument would only get them and their families into trouble.

An hour later word filtered down from the top: medical evac had been denied.

Adams was forbidden to leave the Forbidden City for any reason. Even if it meant his death.

Payne and Jones caught up with the others in a section of the library that was filled with thousands of copies of the same book. At least that’s how it looked to Payne. Every copy was bound in red, blue, and gold Moroccan leather and embossed with a coat of arms that belonged to Prince Eugene, a member of one of the elite families in Europe during the Middle Ages.

Even though he was born in Paris, Eugene was revered in Austria, where he made his name fighting the Turks for the Holy Roman Empire. In later years he added to his reputation by donating his private library — tens of thousands of books, including some of the rarest manuscripts that Italy and France had to offer — to the Hofburg, where they could be enjoyed by the people of Vienna. Centuries later they were still being used.

Anyhow, Dr Boyd was sitting next to Dr Wanke as he flipped through several books. As soon as he spotted Jones, Boyd called him over to the table.

Boyd said, ‘Maria told me about your theory on Longinus, and I applaud your effort. The group that had the most access to Christ during his ordeal would’ve been the centurions, thereby making one of them a legitimate candidate as a coconspirator… Regrettably, as I am sure you’re aware, many scholars believe that Longinus never existed, that he was simply the figment of a writer’s overactive imagination.’

‘Maybe not for long,’ Wanke claimed. ‘I think I found something.’

Boyd turned. ‘What do you mean by something?’

‘You want information on the statue, right? Well, I found him.’

Wanke held up one of Prince Eugene’s books, revealing a black-and-white sketch of the laughing man that had been drawn by a local artist in 1732. Next to it was a detailed account of the statue, written in Italian and German by a member of Eugene’s staff. Information that covered nearly 2,000 years.

‘According to this text, a man of great importance came to Vindobona in the early years, a man with no name who was guarded by several centurions as if he were royalty. Peacefully, he was given a spot of land on the outskirts of town near a marble quarry. He paid the townsfolk to build him a home, one that was protected by massive walls and the blades of his guards. He took residence there for the next three decades until he succumbed to disease.’

Wanke continued, ‘The nameless man did everything he could to be accepted in the community — giving jobs to the peasants, teaching religion to the children, donating his time and treasures to anyone he deemed worthy. In fact, he was so loved and cherished by the locals that they dubbed him the Saint of Vindobona.’

Boyd asked, ‘Are you familiar with him?’

Wanke nodded, putting the book aside. ‘I am, although the myths I have heard might not match the facts that you are looking for. According to history, the Saint of Vindobona was one of the first believers of Christ. He was an ardent preacher of Christianity.’

‘Christianity?’ everyone said in unison.

Wanke smiled. ‘I warned you it might not fit.’

Stunned, everyone debated this development until Boyd brought their attention back to Wanke. He said, ‘Tell us about the statue. Who built the statue?’

‘Good question, Charles. One that I was just getting to.’ Wanke flipped ahead in Eugene’s book. ‘A few years after the saint’s arrival, Vindobona was visited by a team of Roman artisans sent by Emperor Caligula to honor this man in a series of marble sculptures.’

‘Did you say Caligula? How bloody brilliant! That means we have a date! The sculptors arrived here within four years of Tiberius’s death, some time between 37 and 41 AD.’

Gaius Caesar, better known as Caligula, had a four-year reign that started after the death of his great-uncle, Tiberius, in 37 ad. One of Caligula’s first acts as emperor was to publicly honor Tiberius’s bequests — including the commissioning of several works of art — in order to win favor of the Roman citizenry. However, he did all this while nullifying Tiberius’s will and destroying most of his personal papers to protect the reputation of his family. He was forced to do so because Tiberius spent the last few years of his life acting like a madman.

Ironically, it was Caligula who did more damage to the family name than Tiberius. Caligula’s four years as emperor were stained by tales of insanity and sexual depravity that are still shocking to this day. They included flaunting the incestuous relationship he had with his sisters, torturing and killing prisoners as dinnertime entertainment, delivering political speeches while dressed in drag, seducing the wives of officers and politicians in front of their dismayed spouses, and honoring his favorite horse by making it a Roman senator.

Wanke continued his summary. ‘Following Tiberius’s final wishes, Emperor Caligula ordered several statues to be constructed from local marble. The face on each was to reflect joyful triumph, as if mocking the world with knowledge of an extraordinary secret. Then, upon completion, one was to adorn the saint’s home high atop the white hills of Vindobona. The others would be spread evenly across the lands of snow and sun.’

Maria gasped at the word choice. ‘Snow and sun’ had appeared in the Orvieto scroll as well.

‘In time the saint grew weary of looking at his own face. Citing humility, he had the statue removed and ordered it to be destroyed. But his centurions didn’t have the heart to demolish something so exquisite. Instead they placed the statue on the far edge of town, where it became a shrine for the townspeople, a place to honor the saint’s kindness and charity. And it stayed there for several centuries, until construction of the Hofburg began, at which time it was moved across town and placed in a position of honor on the outer shell.’

Silence filled the library. Time to ponder what they had just learned.

Eventually, Boyd spoke. ‘Is there anything else? Anything about the man’s name or deeds?’

‘No, nothing like that. Later there was mention of the centurions burying the saint’s secrets in the ground of the white hills, but that’s probably just a reference to his gravesite.’

‘Yes, probably.’

Wanke stared at Boyd for several seconds before he spoke again. ‘Charles, forgive me for being so bold, but what exactly are you looking for? It must be something extraordinarily important, or you wouldn’t be showing your face in public.’

Boyd stared right back, refusing to acknowledge anything. Partially to protect Wanke, partially because of greed. To Boyd, this was his discovery and the thought of anyone stealing his glory, especially this late in the chase, made him nauseous. ‘Hermann, do you trust me?’

‘Believe it or not, I don’t make it a habit to assist fugitives.’

‘Then believe me when I tell you this: You don’t want to know what we’re looking for. Dozens of people have died during the past week, innocent people, and all because of this secret.’ Boyd thought about all the victims on the bus and how they screamed in agony. He didn’t want that to happen to one of his friends. ‘Hermann, do yourself a favor and forget you even saw me today. Once this quiets down, I promise I’ll get in touch and explain everything. But until then please keep our meeting to yourself. Your personal welfare depends on it.’

67

They stayed at the Hofburg for a few more hours, until paranoia crept in and thoughts of armed guards bursting into the library fueled their desire to leave.

Besides, at that point most of them needed to use a phone. Petr Ulster needed to call Küsendorf to check on fire damage. Jones wanted to call the Pentagon to get an update on Orlando Pope’s crucifixion and anything else he could track down. And Payne promised to call Frankie with a fax number so he could send his information. The only call-free people were Boyd and Maria, who were so intrigued by the journal that they’d borrowed from Prince Eugene’s collection that they were content sitting in the back of Ulster’s truck discussing it.

The group settled on an Internet café in the middle of Vienna, smack-dab in the center of the Ringstrasse, a two-and-a-half-mile boulevard lined with monuments, parks, schools, and the world-famous State Opera. To the northeast they could see the top of Saint Stephen’s Cathedral, its 450-foot tower thrusting out of the building like a Gothic stalagmite. The café itself was large and bustling, filled with tourists who were getting food and caffeine while checking their e-mail.

Payne got in touch with Frankie at his office and told him to send the fax with all the information that he had discovered. Payne wasn’t willing to tell him the café’s fax number, just in case Frankie’s phone was tapped, but they figured a way around that. The only problem was, Payne had to wait until Frankie drove down the street and accessed a clean line.

Meanwhile, Jones reached Raskin at the Pentagon and learned that a fourth crucifixion had just occurred in Beijing, a case receiving serious airtime around the world. He told Payne to find a TV that was broadcasting CNN while Jones got background info on the other three murders. The television coverage was stunning. A man nailed to a crucifix was floating through the air while blood oozed, in slow motion, from wounds in his hands, feet, and side. An announcer droned on about the recent rash of tragedies, followed by an interview with an ‘expert’ who claimed he had no idea why any of these murders had taken place.

Payne watched for several minutes until he felt a hand on his shoulder. Not a threatening hand, just a tap. He turned and saw Ulster, his skin pale and his cheeks streaked with tears. He had just gotten off the phone with Küsendorf and was obviously shaken by the news. Payne helped him to one of the chairs and sat next to him, not pressing him for details until he was ready to talk. He had comforted enough grieving soldiers to know that was the best approach.

A few minutes passed before Ulster talked about the damage to the Archives. They were more severe than he had anticipated. All the vaults had held, protecting his most valuable collections from fire and water damage. Still, many of the building’s outer walls had been destroyed, making the Archives structurally unsafe. That meant even though his artifacts were fine for the moment, they would be destroyed if the building collapsed.

‘I’ve got to go back,’ he told Payne. ‘I don’t care if I’m risking my life; I have to go.’

Payne agreed with him, even though he knew that Ulster was walking into a death sentence. Soldiers were bound to be waiting there, men who were salivating at the thought of grabbing him and torturing him for information about Boyd, the Catacombs, and everything else. Normally, Payne would’ve offered to go back with him as his personal guard, but not today. Not with all that was going on. Payne’s services were needed in Vienna or wherever they were headed next.

But that didn’t mean he was going to abandon him.

‘Can you wait twelve hours?’ Payne asked.

Ulster blinked a few times then looked at him, confused. ‘Why?’

‘Twelve hours. Can you wait that long before going back?’

‘Jonathon,’ he said, ‘both of us know you can’t accompany — ’

‘You’re right, I can’t go with you. But that doesn’t mean I can’t help. You give me twelve hours, and I promise I can have team of armed guards waiting to protect you. Furthermore, I’ll get you the best engineers that money can buy to save your property. Trust me, they’ll do a better job than any of the local salvage companies.’

Ulster was about to turn Payne down; he could see it in his eyes. He was about to thank Payne for his offer, then politely decline because of the cost, his pride, or a hundred other reasons that he could’ve chosen. Payne knew all this because he would’ve done the exact same thing. That’s why Payne decided to beat him to the punch, reminding him of their earlier agreement.

Payne said, ‘When we met I promised if you gave me full access to the Archives and the use of your services that I would make it worth your time. Well, it’s time for me to pay up.’ He told Ulster to look at his watch. ‘Tell Franz to drive slowly on the way home, because twelve hours from now I’ll have men waiting for you at the Swiss border. You’ll know they’re with me because they’ll know our special password.’

‘Password?’ Ulster asked with tears in his eyes. ‘What password?’

Payne grabbed his hand and shook it. ‘The password is friend.’

Payne made a few calls to his colleagues back home, and they assured him that they knew what to do. From that moment on he knew Petr Ulster and his Archives would both survive.

The vibration on Payne’s cell phone forced his focus back to Vienna. Frankie was calling for the café’s fax number, so Payne answered by saying, ‘Did anyone follow you?’

‘No,’ he assured Payne. ‘I be very careful.’

‘Write this down.’ He gave him the number, then told him to burn it and the confirmation sheet when he was done. He also told him to delete the fax’s memory. ‘Where can I reach you?’

‘My office. I be at my office.’

Payne groaned. That’s the last place he wanted him to be. Why did Frankie think he had him using a public line? ‘Go somewhere else but not your house. That’s too easy to trace.’

‘I can get hotel.’

‘Perfect,’ Payne told him. ‘Pay in cash and use a fake name, something you won’t forget, like… James Bond.’

‘Si!’ he shrieked. Obviously he liked the choice.

Frankie named the closest hotel he could think of, and Payne memorized its name. ‘Go there when you’re done. Your room and room service are on me, OK?’

‘Si,’ he repeated.

‘And don’t use your credit card for anything.’

‘No card. I promise.’

‘Thanks, Frankie. I’ll talk to you soon.’

Thirty-four seconds. Not too bad. Especially if his fax helped Payne figure something out. But he had his doubts. What in the world could Frankie know that Payne didn’t?

A few minutes later he got his answer. That little bastard was a lifesaver.

Boyd and Maria brought Prince Eugene’s journal into the café and took a seat in front of one of the computers. Maria manned the keyboard while Boyd, still wearing that ridiculous suntan lotion on his nose, told her what to type. Curious, Payne wanted to know what they were searching for but couldn’t leave the machines until Frankie’s fax arrived.

Jones joined Payne a moment later, right after finishing a twenty-minute call to Randy Raskin. He said, ‘Man, I love calling the Pentagon collect. Paid for by our tax dollars.’

‘A collect call from Austria? That’s like a thousand bucks.’

‘But worth it.’ He flipped through his notes. ‘So far there’s been four crucifixions, one each in Denmark, Libya, America, and China. All the killings were too similar to be copycat crimes.’

‘In other words, one crew.’

He shook his head. ‘Four different crews.’

‘Four? The murders were on separate days, right?’

‘True, but the abductions overlapped. Throw in the travel and the time zones and everything else, and the cops think there were multiple crews. If not four, at least two.’

Payne considered this for a moment, trying to figure out what anyone could gain by crucifying random people. ‘Any connections between the victims?’

‘Nothing obvious. Different homelands, different occupations, different everything — except for the fact that they were males in their early thirties. Just like Christ when he died.’

‘Jesus,’ Payne gasped.

‘Yep, that’s the guy. Anyway, I told Randy that the crucifixions might have something to do with our case, so I had him check all the phone records for Agent Manzak, i.e., Roberto Pelati. Remarkably, he made calls to Denmark, China, Thailand, America, and Nepal within the last six weeks. Either he’s planning one big-ass vacation, or he’s our man.’

‘Our man for what?’

Jones shrugged. ‘That seems to be the million dollar question.’

A million dollar question. What a joke. That term no longer had the same significance as it used to. Nowadays it seemed everybody had a million dollars. Game show contestants, dot-com geeks, reality show winners, third-string linebackers. Payne really doubted if Roberto Pelati would’ve gone through any of this for a mere million dollars. A billion, maybe. But certainly not a million. That was play money to the modern-day criminal.

Then again, who in the world had a billion dollars to spare? Bill Gates, Ted Turner, and the rest of the Forbes list. Probably a sheik or two. Maybe some royalty. Other than that, it would take a large country to toss around that much coin without having it missed by their citizens.

Unless… wait a second… unless…

Holy shit! Unless it was a country without citizens.

A country that had billions of dollars hidden away that no one knew about.

A country that stood to lose everything if this scandal was ever made public.

Good lord, that was it. This was about money. The Vatican’s money.

Everything that was happening — the Catacombs, the crucifixions, the search for Dr Boyd — was about cash. Pelati’s group wanted it and would do anything to get it.

That had to be it. It had to be.

The beeping of the fax ripped Payne from his thoughts. He had no idea what Frankie was sending, but he prayed it backed his revelation. Otherwise he’d find himself confused again before he even had a chance to tell anyone his theory. Anyway, he grabbed the first page and skimmed it for information. Somehow Frankie had figured out who had died during the chopper crash from Donald Barnes’s photographs, where each soldier had been positioned, and had tracked down their personal histories. Everything in his report was typed except for a handwritten note at the bottom of the page that said pictures and graphs were still to come.

Payne had to laugh at that one. He was kidding, right?

Nope, Frankie wasn’t joking. He included head-shots (pre-and postmortem) of all four victims, then used a line graph to illustrate where the three soldiers had received their training and how many months they had been stationed together before their fatal mission. In a side note, he mentioned that the pilot was an Orvieto cop who didn’t seem to fit with the rest of the crew because he wasn’t a member of the Swiss Guard like the others had been.

The Swiss Guard. That was the smoking gun, the one piece of evidence that couldn’t be denied. If the Guard were involved, then the Vatican had to be, since the Guard’s only job was to protect the pope. Unless, of course, Benito was behind the attack. Maybe he hired ex-members of the Guard to do all of his dirty work?

Payne said to Jones, ‘You know that missing piece of the puzzle? I think we just found it.’

He filled him in on everything: the money, the murders, and his theory on Benito. He knew most of it was conjecture, but that was the beauty of their role in this: They didn’t give a damn about the law. They weren’t cops, nor were they looking for a conviction. They were simply trying to get to the truth, no matter what it was.

Praying that they got the chance to punish the people who brought them into this.

Miraculously, their prayers would be answered less than an hour later.

68

Chang heard the phone and checked his caller ID. He muted the TV coverage of Beijing, then answered. From somewhere over the Atlantic, Nick Dial said, ‘Tell me about the fax.’

Chang flipped open his notes. ‘I went to the station where the fax came from and talked to their station chief. And, um, I think we were given some bad information.’

Dial leaned his forehead against the plane’s wall. ‘What do you mean?’

‘The fax couldn’t have originated from that number because that particular machine can’t make outgoing calls. It’s wired so it can only receive faxes, not send them. Something about too many cops sending personal faxes.’

Dial smirked, impressed. He realized technology was good enough nowadays for someone to alter the number on a caller ID. Maybe this was another red herring to throw off his search while the killer planned something else. ‘Tell me about China.’

Chang filled him in on the latest, including an unconfirmed report that the victim was Paul Adams, a man known around the world as Saint Sydney, due to his missionary work.

‘I’ll be damned,’ Dial mumbled. ‘They got the Spirit.’

In his mind this was the news he was hoping for. It proved his theory about the sign of the cross was accurate. Plus it also meant if the killers continued with their current pattern, they were going to be arriving in Italy about the same time he did.

Ulster and Franz were on their way back to Küsendorf, leaving Payne’s crew with two options: catch a cab or steal a car. They eventually settled on number two, hoping to avoid Jamie Foxx’s situation in the movie Collateral, where a taxi driver got mixed up in a very bad scene.

They roamed the streets until they came across a vehicle that met their needs. It was a double-parked Mercedes G500, an SUV that looked like the offspring of a sedan and a Hummer. The keys were in it, so they didn’t even have to hotwire the ignition to steal it. Nevertheless, Jones fiddled with the electrical system to prevent their vehicle from being tracked by the European equivalent of OnStar. Once inside, they drove down the alley past Vermählungsbrunnen, a giant fountain depicting the union of Mary and Joseph. The irony of its image made everyone slightly uncomfortable. Here they were trying to dispel the myth of the crucifixion and were forced to do so under the gaze of Christ’s earthly parents.

Across from the fountain was Hoher Markt, home of a public gallows until archaeologists realized they were built on top of the original Roman settlement of Vindobona, including the barracks where Roman emperor Marcus Aurelius might’ve died in 180 ad. Apparently there’s a longstanding rift between historians on whether or not he had actually visited. Some claim he came to this area to expand the northeastern boundary of Rome’s territory, while others say he died in Sirmium, found in modern-day Serbia, over 500 miles away. Needless to say, this discrepancy fueled a lot of speculation. And controversy. Boyd theorized the difference between these stories could’ve been due to the mission he was on at the time of his death. What if Aurelius, who had a reputation for persecuting Christians more than any other emperor, was in Vindobona to find out the truth about the laughing man? It would explain why two different accounts were entered into the Roman history books. The real one and the cover story about expanding the Empire.

But the thing Payne didn’t understand was why Marcus Aurelius didn’t know about the laughing man to begin with. If the Empire was going to benefit from Tiberius’s scheme, wouldn’t his secret have to be passed down from emperor to emperor? That was the only way Rome could’ve profited from Christianity, since Tiberius died within five years of Christ’s death.

Boyd corrected Payne’s assumption, noting that Tiberius went mad during the last few years of his reign. His successor, Caligula, destroyed most of Tiberius’s records, knowing full well if they got into the wrong hands that they would bring shame to Rome. Therefore, in Boyd’s mind, there was a very good chance that no emperor after Tiberius would’ve known about his plot or if Christ’s crucifixion had actually been faked.

As they left Vienna on a major highway, their focus shifted to a map of the surrounding area. Boyd said, ‘According to Eugene’s journal, the Saint of Vindobona lived north of the city near a marble quarry of some repute, a mine that gave birth to the laughing man statues and much of the raw material for the early Roman settlement.’

Boyd handed Payne the book. Inside was an artist’s rendering of what this area might have looked like in the first century. But it wasn’t much help now. ‘So how do we find it?’

‘Hermann told us to drive north until we see a white mountain near the edge of the highway. It’s a private stretch of land that has been owned by the same family for generations. According to legend, it used to be a functioning mine until they had a massive cave-in several centuries ago. To this day the whole mountain is fenced off for safety reasons.’

Great, Payne thought to himself. People were trying to kill them and they were about to play Indiana Jones on an unstable mountain. ‘What’s our plan when we get there?’

Smiling, Boyd patted Payne and Jones on the shoulder. ‘I was hoping the two of you could come up with something to get us inside. You know, something illegal.’

The sky was bruised, streaks of black and purple cutting across a sea of gray warning them that a major storm was on the way. Payne stuck his hand out the window and felt the humidity, gauging how long they had before the heavens opened. Maybe thirty minutes, if they were lucky.

Their search for the white mountain had been easier than expected. They had driven less than three miles north when they saw its peak thrusting out of the terrain like an iceberg in the middle of a green forest. Jones found a service road off the main highway that led them to the front gate. The property itself was protected by a fifteen-foot-high steel fence capped with barbed wire and a series of signs that read, Danger: Falling Rocks, in multiple languages.

Jones worked on the front lock while Payne strolled along the perimeter, hoping to find a flaw, just in case they needed to make a quick getaway. Unfortunately, the place was solid. For a property that was supposedly abandoned, someone had put a lot of money into keeping people out. Even the lock was tricky, taking Jones double the time that he would normally need.

Raindrops started to fall as they got in the SUV and weaved their way back and forth through a thick maze of trees. It came down even harder when they eased into a large clearing at the foot of the mountain. A wooden barricade with more danger signs stopped them at the entrance to the quarry. Payne took a moment to study the terrain before he moved the barrier aside. What looked like a mountain from afar turned out to be the shell of one. Workers had gutted the entire peak, carving several paths that zigzagged at forty-five-degree angles from the base to the apex. Chalky residue spilled over the rock face like white blood. Leaning back, Payne tried to examine the summit, hoping to see what was lurking in the fog and mist one thousand feet above the ground, but the falling rain and setting sun prevented it.

Payne slipped back into the car and started gathering supplies. ‘What’s our goal here?’

Boyd looked at the mountain and shrugged. Accounts from Prince Eugene’s journal were over two centuries old, so there was no telling what was up there. Possibly remnants of a house. Or maybe the laughing man’s grave. The sobering part was they were about to risk their lives climbing up a slip-and-slide, and they might find nothing at all.

To aid their cause, Jones rummaged through the trunk and found a heavy-duty flashlight, a tire iron, and some rope he wrapped around his shoulder and waist. ‘You never know.’

Payne nodded, realizing the unexpected should always be expected on a bad-weather mission. Even more so with an inexperienced crew. Common sense told him that they should postpone their climb until tomorrow, but he knew it was only a matter of time before someone spotted them. So he said, ‘OK, ladies, time’s a wastin’. We got us a mountain to conquer.’

Of course if Payne had known that two of them wouldn’t be climbing back down, he wouldn’t have been so glib.

69

If not for the weather, Payne would’ve picked up on the ambush a lot sooner. The paths carved into the side of the mountain were covered with a layer of white powder, similar to coarse talc, which had been there since mining had stopped. As they strode up the path, their footsteps appeared briefly like they were walking along a tropical beach before they were whisked away by the tide. One moment they were there, the next they were gone, thanks to the downpour.

Each droplet that fell on the path splashed onto their legs and shoes, making them look like ghosts from the shins down. It also made the footing treacherous, forcing them to tie the rope around their waists in case someone started to slide. But even if that happened, the farthest anyone would’ve gone was about a hundred feet, because every time the path zigzagged in the opposite direction there was a sturdy stone barrier that acted like a guardrail. On the other hand, if someone slipped sideways off the path, the fall would’ve been a lot messier.

With that in mind, Payne led the charge up the hill, hoping his body weight would serve as an anchor. He was followed by Boyd, Maria, and Jones, who was the last line of defense. They were about halfway to the crest when Payne saw the first sign of trouble. Lightning flashed in the distance, lighting the sky just enough to reveal movement on the peak above. A thin layer of fog hindered his vision even more than the rain, so he dismissed it as an optical illusion.

‘Can we stop at the next turn?’ Boyd shouted through the storm.

Paranoid, Payne yelled back, ‘Why? What’s wrong?’

‘Nothing’s wrong,’ he said through labored breathing. ‘I want to look around.’

Payne got the sense that Boyd needed a break more than anything else and decided it was a good idea to stop, even though they were only two zigzags from the top. Accidents tended to happen when people got tired. And Payne was tired, too. He tested the sturdiness of the rock guardrail before leaning his back against it. Meanwhile Boyd and Maria turned away from Payne, leaning their chests and arms over the precipice while looking for ruins in the landscape below. Jones waited until they were absorbed in their search before he spoke to Payne.

‘I’m not liking this,’ he whispered. ‘These grounds are well-maintained, and this powder seems fresh. Someone’s been digging up here recently. The question is, for what?’

‘Only one way to find out.’ Payne tugged on the rope to get Boyd’s attention. ‘Time to go.’

The last few paths were the toughest to climb, not only because their legs were tired but because tiny rivulets were flowing on the path. All of them lost their balance at least once, covering them with white mud. It got so bad that Payne had to drop to all fours in order to make it up the last gradient. He used his hands and fingers like claws, burning every ounce of energy he had. When he reached the top, he flipped over, braced his feet against a large rock, and pulled on the rope like he was in a giant tug-of-war. Hand over hand, biceps burning, using his legs, back, and butt to finish the job. Boyd got there a minute later, followed by Maria, and finally Jones, who no longer looked black because of the mud.

Payne wanted to tease him, but that required energy, and he had none to spare. So he just lay there in the mud, eyes closed, mouth wide open, trying to drink enough rain to soothe the burning in his throat. Seconds later that pain drifted to his chest and the pit of his stomach because when he opened his eyes, he was staring down the barrel of several guns. They were being held by soldiers in winter camouflage, which blended in perfectly with the chalky terrain.

‘Ah, shit,’ Payne cursed while gasping for air. ‘Hey D.J., you should take a look at this.’

‘At what?’ he bitched. Slowly he lifted himself into a half pushup, using his knees for support. When he locked his elbows, he saw all the soldiers that surrounded them and decided it wasn’t worth getting up for. ‘Tell them to leave,’ he groaned. ‘I’m resting.’

‘Who?’ Maria demanded, her vision blurred by the mud in her eyes.

‘Us,’ answered the only man standing without a gun. He’d been hiding behind the soldiers and used this opportunity to show himself. ‘He’s talking about us.’

Maria flinched, practically jumping to her feet at the sound of his voice. Payne thought it was because she was startled. Moments later he realized there was something else going on, something more significant. ‘What are you doing here?’ she demanded.

‘Father sent me to fetch you.’ The man was wearing a clear plastic poncho over his suit and black mountain boots that went up to his calves. ‘You’ve been a baaaaaad girl.’

Shocked, Boyd looked up and tried to see who was there. ‘Dante? Is that you?’

Things started to make sense to Payne, albeit a little late for his taste. They were staring at Dante Pelati, son of Benito and Maria’s half brother. She’d mentioned Dante in passing when they confronted her about her other brother, Roberto. Later, Boyd gave them further information about Dante, telling them that he was the one who’d given them their digging permit for Orvieto.

‘Charles,’ Dante answered, ‘I’ve wanted to talk to you all week. How have you been?’

Payne had no idea why he was being so friendly, whether he was thankful that they had delivered Maria and Boyd to him in one piece or whether it was just a facade. Payne wanted to find out, so he said, ‘I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced. My name’s Jonathon Payne.’

Payne reached up to shake Dante’s hand. But Dante looked down on him with disdain.

‘You’ll have to excuse me, but shaking your hand would not be in my best interest.’

‘Is it because of the mud?’ Payne wiped his hand on his ass, even though it didn’t make any difference. ‘Is that better?’

‘It’s not the mud, Mr Payne. It’s the fact that I know who you are. I’m guessing if I were to grab your hand, you’d pull me to the ground and have me as your hostage before my men could even shoot. Not an appealing proposition.’

‘It is for me.’

Dante ignored the comment and spoke to his soldiers in Italian, practically grunting his commands. Next thing Payne knew, they were dragging everyone to their feet and marching them in a single-file line to a large clearing at the center of the plateau where the soldiers had recently been digging. The giant pit was surrounded by a series of floodlights, none of which were on at the moment, and covered by a massive tent that kept the site dry.

As they walked toward it, Payne considered overpowering one of the guards and stealing his gun but decided against it since the rope was tied around all their waists. Any quick movement on his part would’ve resulted in a knot that even a boy scout couldn’t untangle. Besides, Payne had a feeling that there’d be a better opportunity to strike in a little while.

The soldiers lowered the tinted visors on their helmets as they entered the tent. Once inside they forced everyone to their knees, then turned on the floodlights. It had been pitch-black outside except for the occasional flash of lightning, so the sudden glare was too much for them to take. Payne shielded his eyes for several seconds, blinking and squirming until he could see shadows, then shapes, and finally enough details to function. Still, due to his vantage point near the ground, he wasn’t able to see what was in the pit, although he could tell it was several feet deep.

Dante said, ‘I must admit I’m surprised you made it this far. My family has taken great pride in protecting our land and the secret it possesses. In fact, I wasn’t even aware of this site until recently. And that probably wouldn’t have happened without Mr Payne’s assistance.’

Jones gave him a look that said, What is he talking about? But Payne shrugged, unsure.

Thankfully, Dante explained. ‘If you hadn’t killed Roberto, my father never would’ve told me anything. That’s how it works, you know. The eldest son keeps the secret alive.’

Secret? What secret? They had stumbled onto this place through a combination of good luck and timing. Nothing more. Yet Dante assumed that they had figured everything out. And Payne wasn’t going to shatter that illusion, not with so many questions running through his mind.

So he said, ‘Man, your brother loved to talk, especially when I was torturing him. He was like, my father this, Orvieto that. Just one secret after another… Isn’t that right, Maria?’

As if on cue, she said, ‘He couldn’t shut up. It was embarrassing.’

Dante studied her face to see if she was lying. ‘You mean, you watched Roberto get tortured and didn’t stop it? How could you? He was your brother.’

‘My brother? He stopped being my brother the moment he tried to kill me… Just like you’ll no longer be my brother after this.’

The comment hurt Dante, Payne could see it in his eyes. A mixture of shock, heartbreak, and betrayal. Payne wanted to tell her to take it back, that she had said the wrong thing, but it was too late. Any chance of playing the family card had just been eliminated.

‘Cut her loose and put her on the chopper.’ Dante practically spat the words as he said them. ‘Same thing with the professor. I need to debrief them before we visit my father.’

One guard cut the rope in two places, while the other guards kept an eye on Payne. The severed end fell against Payne’s leg when the guard yanked Boyd to his feet. The same thing happened to Jones when they got Maria. An engine roared to life outside the tent, and Payne watched as Boyd and Maria were marched through the storm toward the waiting helicopter.

Meanwhile, Dante stood still, staring into the pit, contemplating what he should do next. ‘Wait until the weather clears then load this onto the next chopper. We can’t get this wet.’

Curious, Payne inched forward and tried to see what was down there until one of the guards raised his rifle and aimed it at his head. Payne said, ‘Sorry. Had a cramp.’

Dante smiled, knowing full well Payne was lying. ‘It’s remarkable that this is still intact after all of these years, considering all the digging that has gone on around it. In that regard I guess it is very similar to the Catacombs. Some might say divine intervention protected it, yet I know the truth. It is my family that guarded it, that did everything they could to protect this secret, including turning their backs on me and Maria… But all of that is about to end. It’s time to tell everyone the truth about Christ, whether they’re ready for it or not.’

Payne hoped that meant he was about to show them what was in the pit. Instead, he grabbed a black tarp and covered the hole like a father tucking in a newborn.

‘Keep it dry and safe,’ he told the guards. Then almost as an afterthought, he motioned toward Payne and Jones. ‘And you know what to do with them.’

His men nodded as Dante left the tent and climbed onto the chopper. Seconds later, the noise increased 300 percent as the pilot revved the turbines and prepared for a difficult takeoff. Payne knew the rain coupled with the lightning and the wind was going to make things a bitch, not only for the chopper but for the soldiers on the ground, too. The air would start whipping, and the water was going to start stinging, and before long every man on the mountain was going to be shielding their heads and eyes from the ruckus.

How did Payne know this? Because he’d seen it several times before. Even if you’re wearing a helmet, visor, and earplugs, it’s natural to protect your face in harsh conditions. That’s just human nature. And human nature was something that could be taken advantage of.

‘Jon!’ Jones shouted, although it sounded like a whisper next to the engine. ‘On three?’

Payne hid his hand on his hip, keeping it there until the wind and noise were at their worst. Then, when the moment was right, he counted down on his fingers so only Jones could see.

Three… two… one… go!

In unison they leapt to their feet and ran toward the exit. Jones was a half step quicker and beat Payne to the tent’s edge by less than a yard. Still, Payne lost track of him the moment they stepped outside. His eyes had grown accustomed to the bright lights, and now that they were back in darkness, he couldn’t see a thing. Combine that with the wind and rain and roar of the chopper, and Payne felt like Dorothy in the tornado from The Wizard of Oz.

A flash of lightning proved he was headed in the right direction and Jones was still in front of him. It gave the guards the same advantage, too, so Payne immediately cut several feet to the left in case they opened fire. The chopper was now overhead, preventing him from hearing gunshots or Jones or anything else. Darkness stole his ability to see, while the rain and mud threw off his other senses. All he could rely on were his instincts, and they told him to keep running straight.

A blinding beam of light appeared in the sky and unlike before, it wasn’t a flicker. This time it was the chopper’s spotlight, and it gave Payne a view of the upcoming terrain. A boulder to the left, a crevice to the right, Jones directly in front. For an instant he feared that they were going to track them with the light like urban cops in L.A., but they ignored them, using the beam to get around the surrounding peaks and to slip through the storm unharmed.

As the roar faded, Payne heard footsteps behind him. And shouts. Lots of shouts. Men seemed to be appearing out of nowhere; their camouflage outfits kept them hidden until they were on top of Payne. He dodged one and then another, knocking down a third with a vicious forearm to the face. He was expecting to get shot at any moment, waiting to feel the sudden burn of a bullet tearing through his flesh, but the darkness saved him. No way they could risk shooting a target that they couldn’t see, not with this many soldiers running around.

‘This way,’ yelled Jones from ten feet ahead. Then like magic he disappeared. First his legs, then his chest, and finally his head. One second they were there, the next they were gone, hidden by the edge of the plateau as he hit the ramp running.

Payne wanted to follow his lead but was cut off by a guard with a rifle. He pointed it at Payne and shouted something in a foreign language that Payne couldn’t understand. That left Payne with two choices: he could stop for a quick explanation, or he could lower his shoulder and run over him. Option two seemed wiser, so he planted his head in the guard’s chest and knocked him off the hill. Somehow the guy wrapped his arms around Payne and held on as they hit the ramp hard.

A crack of lightning allowed Payne to stare into his face while he surfed down the hill on the guy’s back. The guard was young and scared — Payne could tell that from one look — but it didn’t bother him. He was the enemy, and Payne needed to get rid of him as soon as possible.

He got his chance as they approached the first turn in the ramp, a turn the guard couldn’t see. Payne knew it was coming well in advance and launched himself backward just before they hit the stone wall. With a sickening crack, the guard smashed into it headfirst, cushioning Payne’s blow like a shock absorber. Five seconds later Payne had his helmet and rifle and was sliding down the next slope, trying to catch up to Jones before anyone caught him from behind.

The scenery whizzed by at a dizzying pace. Payne’s eyes had adjusted to the lack of light, but the rain and wind and splashing mud left him flying blind. He quickly adjusted to the length of the ramps and before long he was anticipating the turns so well that he was practically running across them parallel to the ground. He felt like a swimmer in a dark pool who performed flip turns at the perfect moment even though he couldn’t see the walls. This continued the whole way to the bottom, where he found Jones waiting for him in the Mercedes, the engine running.

‘Need a lift?’ he asked as he pushed the passenger door open. ‘Please keep your feet on the mats. I don’t want to get the interior dirty.’

Payne climbed in, oozing mud and blood yet feeling remarkably refreshed. Escaping death will do that to you. ‘Where to now?’

‘Italy,’ Jones said, tramping on the gas. ‘We’ve got a chopper to catch.’

70

Saturday, July 15

Leonardo da Vinci Airport

(nineteen miles southwest of Rome, Italy)

Nick Dial was greeted by the head of airport security, who walked him through customs and gave him a ride in an oversized golf cart. They screeched to a halt in front of the security office, where Dial was given a quick tour. The first room was equipped with dozens of screens, all of them showing different views of the airport, everything from baggage claim to the parking lots.

Marco Rambaldi, the security chief, placed his ID in front of an electronic eye and waited for the next door to unlock. He was a handsome man with jet-black hair that didn’t quite match his gray eyebrows. Dial guessed him to be in his mid-fifties, probably a former cop with a background in terrorism. Someone brought in to prevent a 9/11 from happening in Italy.

‘We don’t talk about this room much,’ Rambaldi said as the door buzzed open. ‘The less criminals who know about it, the better.’

Dial walked in and saw a computer network that was very similar to security systems he had seen in Las Vegas — a combination of live video feeds, data uplinks, and the latest in ID technology. The instant someone walked into the airport, their picture was taken, broken down into digital data, then compared to terrorist databases from around the world. If they got a hit, the suspect was tracked until the proper authorities were notified.

Rambaldi took a seat at one of the computers. ‘We can focus our attention on departures, arrivals, or anywhere you’d like. Your associate, Agent Chang, told my people that the cross murderers will be arriving in Rome today. Is this so?’

‘We’re under that assumption.’

‘Yet you’re unaware of their names, what they look like, or when they’ll be visiting?’

Dial grimaced. He knew his case sounded flimsy in those terms. ‘You’re going to have to trust me on this one. I’m not the type of cop who overreacts to — ’

Rambaldi signaled him to stop. ‘Who am I to argue with your methods? You’re a division leader at Interpol. You must be doing something right… Tell me, what do you need me to do?’

Dial squeezed his shoulder, appreciative of the respect he’d given him. ‘We’re looking for mercenaries, soldiers for hire. Anyone with a high-end military background.’

‘Why?’ Rambaldi asked as he changed some configurations. Instead of focusing on terrorists, one system was now going to search for mercs. ‘What’s the connection?’

‘The murders were done with precision in foreign locales. We suspect killers with military expertise, people who know their way across borders, people with local connections.’ Dial waited until Rambaldi stopped typing. ‘And since all the victims were young and strong, I’d bet we’re looking for men, probably between the ages of twenty-five and forty.’

‘Great. That helps a lot. The more specific you can be, the easier it is to search. If you think of anything else, just let me know. We can update the search at any time.’

Dial nodded. ‘Tell me, do they have a similar system across town?’ Roma Ciampino was a major airport on the other side of Rome.

‘Yes, very similar. We can send them these search parameters if you’d like.’

‘Sounds good. I’ll let my agents at Ciampino know.’

‘And what about smaller airfields? We have several scattered across the region.’

‘We’re sending men to as many locations as possible, but my guess is these guys will show at a major airport. With all these planes and people, it’ll be easier for them to blend in.’

Payne and Jones had no choice. They had to fly to Italy. That was the only way they could catch up to Boyd and Maria. They calculated how long it would take to get to Rome and figured they could beat them there — since jets fly much faster than helicopters — if they found a direct flight that was leaving immediately. But that was just one of their problems. They were covered in mud, driving a stolen car, unwilling to use a credit card, and had no idea where they were going.

Other than that, things would be a snap.

Anyway, Jones knew they needed some assistance, so he called Randy Raskin to see what he could do for them. If anything.

‘D.J.,’ Raskin said, ‘what a pleasant surprise!’ Jones could detect his sarcasm from halfway around the world. ‘You realize I’m at work, don’t you? And that I don’t work for you?’

Time was precious, so Jones got right to the point. He explained their situation — everything except the religious aspects — and asked for help. Raskin must’ve heard the desperation in Jones’s voice because he stopped giving him a hard time and started pounding away on his keyboard.

A few minutes later, Raskin said, ‘There’s a Marine cargo plane leaving Vienna within the hour. I’m talking military transport. No frills, few seats, fewer questions. They’re headed for Madrid, but I’m sure I could persuade ’em to stop in Rome if you’re interested.’

‘Very,’ Jones assured him.

‘Not a problem… And I’d imagine you’d like some clean clothes waiting for you. Are you two the same size you were with the MANIACs? I can access your files and get a perfect fit. You’ll look like you just came from the friggin’ tailor.’

The hangar was in an isolated part of the airfield far from the public terminal. Raskin called the pilot and told him what Payne and Jones needed, probably making it sound a lot more official than it actually was. When they arrived, he had everything waiting for them, including clean boxers. The plane was still being loaded, so they had time for a hot shower and a quick meal. The weather had delayed everything — takeoffs, departures, cargo, etc. — and they were thankful for that. Planes could get above the clouds, so they handled storms much better than helicopters, meaning inclement weather was to their advantage.

As far as Payne and Jones were concerned, let it rain, let it rain, let it rain.

The flight itself was eighty minutes, which gave them more than enough time to figure out where they were headed. Jones called one of the detectives on his payroll and had her track down some information on Benito Pelati. She found an office address in the middle of Rome, two nearby apartments where he probably kept girlfriends (a common practice for wealthy men in Italy), and a palatial estate on Lake Albano. Dante made it clear that they were going to talk to his father, and Jones assumed that he’d want their conversation to be as private as possible. That ruled out all the city addresses and led him to believe that they were headed to the lake. If Jones was wrong, he figured they could always torture — er, question — Benito’s staff and find out where he was hiding.

Anyway, once their plane was airborne, the pilot called in a fake mechanical problem and asked the Roman Air Authority for clearance on one of their auxiliary runways. Not only did that bump them up in the landing order, but it also allowed the pilot to taxi their plane to one of the service areas where Jones and Payne could slip into the country undetected.

Thankfully, his plan worked without a hitch. Or so they had hoped.

They were in the middle of bribing one of the ground crew to take them to Lake Albano when they heard a beeping noise behind them. A security cart drove out of the sun and into the shadows of the hangar. They did their best to look busy as the security guard listened to instructions on his headset. He mumbled a word or two, then listened some more. Finally, he pulled his cart over to Payne and Jones.

‘Please come with me,’ he said with a thick Italian accent.

‘Why?’ Payne asked, feigning ignorance. ‘We just got here.’

Nodding, the guard pointed to a small camera in the corner of the hangar. ‘We know.’

Within minutes Payne and Jones were herded into an airport security room where they were forced to sit at a metal table that was bolted to the floor. They’d been in enough interrogations to know where this was going. Lots of questions, lots of scare tactics, horrible coffee.

Jones glanced around the room and grimaced. ‘Feels familiar.’

Payne nodded. ‘If Manzak and Buckner walk through that door, I’m gonna shit.’

Well, those two didn’t show up, but Payne almost shit himself anyway because he wasn’t expecting to see the face that came into the room. Or the massive chin. Because that’s the thing Payne always noticed when he talked to Nick Dial. That huge speed bump of a chin.

Dial walked into the room, unsmiling, and whispered something to the guard who’d been watching Payne and Jones. Dial gave the guard a moment to leave, refusing to say a single word until they were alone. The instant the door clicked shut, Dial shook Payne’s hand. ‘How long’s it been? Five, six years?’

‘Maybe more.’

‘Well, you look like hell… And so does your sister.’

Jones laughed at the jab. ‘Look who’s talking, gramps.’

The three of them went way back, back to the days when Payne and Jones were in the MANIACs and Dial was still paying dues at Interpol. American bars are scattered all across Europe, places for homesick tourists or overseas businessmen to get a brief taste of home. Soldiers frequented these joints more than most, hoping to stave off the loneliness that most of them never quite get used to.

One night Payne and Jones were shooting pool at a place called Stars amp; Stripes when they overheard a heated debate about football. One of the guys, Dial, mentioned his dad used to coach at Pitt, and that’s all Payne needed to hear. Before long they were drinking beer, swapping stories, and having a grand old time. The three of them kept in touch over the years, occasionally having dinner when they were in the same town. Unfortunately, due to the secretive nature of the MANIACs, they never got together as much as they would’ve liked.

Anyway, the fact that they bumped into each other like this was kind of surreal. For each of them. Dial had no idea why Payne and Jones were sneaking into Italy. And they had no idea why Dial stopped them.

When they finished exchanging pleasantries, Dial got serious. ‘Guys, we have a slight problem here. Right now we’re flagging everyone at this airport who has any hardcore military experience, and, well, we have film of you two entering this country illegally.’

‘There’s a good reason for that,’ Payne assured him. ‘I know this is going to sound crazy, but two of our friends were just taken at gunpoint in Vienna, and we flew here to get them back.’

‘You’re right. Sounds crazy. Why didn’t you just call the cops?’

‘Couldn’t. Not with these two. Too many questions.’

‘How so?’

‘You’re already looking for them.’

‘Is that so?’ Dial leaned forward, slightly pissed. ‘What are their names?’

‘Nick, I can’t. We can’t.’

‘Jon, if you want them to live, tell me their names. Otherwise, they’re going to die while we’re in this room playing Q amp; A.’

Dial had a point, so Payne and Jones debriefed him for the next several minutes, skipping as much about Christ and the Catacombs as they could but giving Dial all the background information he needed. Payne showed him the notes they had taken on Pelati’s addresses and explained why he thought they were headed to Lake Albano and not to the city.

‘So let me get this straight, the Pelatis are responsible for everything — the murders, the violence, the kidnappings — and Dr Boyd is nothing more than a pawn?’

‘Yeah,’ Payne said. ‘Something like that.’

Dial leaned back in his chair and smiled, a reaction that would’ve been much different if not for their history together. As it was, Payne could see Dial was still having a hard time with what he had told him. ‘OK, guys, here’s my dilemma. I can’t just call the local PD and say one of the most powerful men in Italy is guilty of something this serious. Especially without proof.’

Jones argued, ‘But you do have proof. You have us as witnesses.’

‘Witnesses to what? You didn’t see Benito do anything. Furthermore, since you snuck into this country illegally, you guys aren’t even officially here. You’re persona non grata.’

‘Fine,’ Payne said, disappointed. ‘But please do something. At the very least, can you send some Interpol agents out to the lake? I’m telling you, Maria and Boyd are in danger.’

‘Jon, I just can’t. Right now we’re spread so thin it’s embarrassing.’

The sound of Dial’s phone broke his concentration. He glanced at the number, annoyed, until he realized who was calling. Jumping to his feet, he told Payne and Jones he had to take this call. ‘Dial here.’

‘Nick, this is Cardinal Rose. I’m sorry to call you so late, but you told me to keep you posted on any rumors at the Vatican. And, well, this is a doozy.’

Over the next few minutes, Rose filled him in on Benito Pelati’s actions at the latest Supreme Council meeting — at least everything the American appointee had blabbed to Rose over a series of drinks. Very stiff drinks. Rose laughed and added, ‘I would’ve gotten more, but I ran out of bourbon.’

Dial thanked the cardinal for the information, then returned to the table with a much different vibe. A minute ago he was grumbling about a lack of evidence and how he couldn’t risk moving any of his agents. Now he had a smile on his face and a gleam in his eye.

‘So,’ he asked, ‘have you guys ever been to Lake Albano?’

71

Villa Pelati,

Lago di Albano, Italy

(eleven miles southeast of Rome)

The helicopter roared across the calm waters of Lake Albano and settled in a stone courtyard a hundred yards from the main house. Built in the 1500s, the estate sat on the rim of a prehistoric volcanic crater and offered spectacular views of the lake, forest, and wine country.

Childhood memories came flooding back as Maria stared out the chopper’s window at the place she once called home. Thoughts of her mother and the silly games they used to play filled her with equal parts of nostalgia and nausea.

‘How long has it been?’ Dante asked while opening the hatch. ‘Ten years?’

She ignored him, not in the mood to talk to the person forcing her to walk down memory lane. In her mind he had ruined her life once before and was threatening to do it again.

The ironic thing was that Maria and Dante had been the closest siblings in the Pelati family. Even though they had different mothers and were born twelve years apart, they carried the burden of not being Benito’s firstborn son and were forced to bear all the disappointment that went along with it. Whereas Roberto was treated like royalty, Maria and Dante were treated like second-class citizens, receiving none of the love or attention that their older brother was given. In time Benito softened his stance toward Dante, realizing that his second-born son was a capable child, and allowed him to enter the family business right before Maria was sent away to school. Not surprisingly, she linked the two together and shifted a lot of the anger toward her father and focused it on Dante.

In her mind Dante had turned his back on her in order to win their father’s affection.

It was a sin that she still hadn’t forgotten. Or forgiven.

Maria climbed from the chopper and waited for Boyd to do the same. The two remained quiet during their trip from Vienna, much to Dante’s chagrin. He tried to interrogate them during the first ten minutes of their flight, but when they chose not to talk, he decided not to push it. He knew his options were limited, and he could be much more persuasive on the ground.

Lights in the trees twinkled as they walked through an elaborate garden and onto the stone walkway. Marble columns surrounded the shimmering water of the pool to the left while a series of statues lined the path to the right. A wide set of stairs led them to the open patio and the back entrance to the house.

Dante punched in the security code. ‘Father is at the Vatican until morning. There are things to discuss before his arrival.’

Maria almost gagged at the term father. She had grown up without one and was in no mood to have him reappear in her life. Not now. Not if she was about to be killed for her actions. That would be a cruel way to die, forcing her to see him one last time before she was murdered.

‘Do you remember his den?’ Dante asked. The foyer was over twenty feet high, so his voice echoed as he spoke. ‘I used to read stories to you in there by the fireplace. Your mother used to get so mad at me. I always saved the scariest ones for right before bedtime. I’d frighten you so much that she’d have to stay in your bed for half the night.’

Maria smiled at the memory, although she didn’t want to. That was a different time, a different life, back when she was happy and things were so much simpler.

The den was just as she remembered it. An antique desk sat on the left and faced the fireplace to the right. A leather couch, two chairs, and a glass table filled the space in between. Bookshelves and paintings lined the walls, as did an assortment of relics that were displayed on marble pedestals. A colorful rug covered the floor and made the room feel warm and cozy. Maria considered that ironic, since she knew who the room belonged to.

‘Have a seat,’ Dante said, motioning to the couch. Then he turned his attention to the guards. ‘Gentlemen, I can handle things from here. Please wait in the hall.’

They closed the door, leaving Dante alone with Maria and Boyd for the first time all night.

‘I know the two of you have a lot of questions.’ Dante took off his suit jacket and folded it over one of the chairs. Suddenly his holster and gun were in plain view. The sight doubled the tension in the room. ‘It’s been a hectic week for all of us.’

Maria rolled her eyes. She couldn’t imagine how Dante could lump the three of them together. They were adversaries, not allies.

‘First of all,’ Dante said to Boyd, ‘let me apologize for our recent lack of communication. Once you left Orvieto, I had no way of reaching you.’

Boyd’s face filled with relief. ‘I wanted to call, but the attack frazzled me. I had no way of knowing who was behind it. Whether it was you or someone else.’

‘Once again, I apologize. I didn’t know about their plans until Monday night, after you had left the Catacombs. If I had known what they were planning to do, I would’ve warned you.’

Maria sat there, stunned. Her brother was speaking to Boyd like they were partners. The conversation was so unexpected that it took a moment for things to register. ‘Oh my God, what’s happening here? Professore? You two are talking like friends.’

‘Why shouldn’t we be? He gave us our permits to dig.’

‘Yeah,’ she argued, searching for the right words, ‘but he’s going to kill us.’

‘Kill you?’ Dante scoffed. ‘Why on earth would I do that? I just saved you.’

‘Saved us?’ she screamed. ‘You just dragged us off at gunpoint. That’s not saving us!’

‘It is when you consider how many people want you dead.’

‘Yes, but…’

Boyd patted her shoulder, urging her to calm down. ‘In Maria’s defense, I must admit I was uncertain of your intentions until a moment ago. Your poker face is bloody brilliant.’

Dante laughed. ‘Let me apologize for that as well. You must remember that the guards work for my father, not me. If we’re to succeed, I must continue this charade for as long as possible.’

‘What are you talking about? What charade?’ she demanded.

‘The charade that I’m helping Father.’ There was a bitterness to his tone that wasn’t present before. He practically spat the word. ‘You of all people should know that.’

‘But…’ she stuttered, searching for words.

Boyd held up his hand, signaling her to stop. ‘You can talk about your mutual hate of him later. For now there are more important matters to discuss.’

Dante locked eyes with Maria. He wanted to say so much but realized it wasn’t the time or place. ‘He’s right, you know. Our itinerary is rather full. I have a family secret to tell you about.’

The chauffeur pulled the town car to the main gate of the villa. Benito sat in the backseat, mulling over everything that had happened. The violence at Orvieto, the events at the Vatican, the death of his son. Yet somehow, despite it all, he had a good feeling that luck was right around the corner, that all of his hard work was about to be rewarded.

Of course, he never imagined he’d be rewarded like this.

Boyd and Maria watched Dante as he walked over to the desk. Then, as if the secret he was carrying was too much to bear, he sighed and took a seat in his father’s chair.

Dante said, ‘I’ve known something was going on for years. I’d walk into a room and father would stop talking to Roberto right away. At first I thought they were talking about me. After a while I knew something bigger was going on.’

He picked up a trinket from the desk and stared at it, refusing to make eye contact with his guests. ‘I started looking through their files, double-checking everything they asked me to do, until I found a pattern that centered around Orvieto. Extra guards, extra funds, extra everything. Something was happening there that they weren’t telling me.’

Frustrated, he threw the trinket aside. ‘At one point I became so curious I went to Father and asked him about it, begging him to tell me the truth about the Catacombs and all the money we were spending. But he just scoffed and told me to leave him alone. Can you believe that? He ignored me. Immediately I knew he would never tell me anything.’

He paused for a split second, then glanced at Boyd. ‘That’s when I decided to get a partner.’

‘What do you mean by partner?’ Maria demanded.

‘I know this will upset you, but I’ve been checking up on you for years. Your schooling, your living arrangements, your lack of a social life. You’re my sister, after all. There was no way I was going to forget you, even if you wanted me to.’

Maria didn’t say a word. She just sat there, confused. Trying to absorb everything.

‘That’s how I learned about Dr Boyd,’ he admitted. ‘I was checking up on you and discovered his passion for the Catacombs. At first it seemed like a miracle had brought you two together. Then I realized it wasn’t a fluke. You went to Dover for a reason. You went there to learn about Orvieto. You became his student because you were just as curious as I was.’

Tears fell from Maria’s eyes. She tried to brush them away before anyone noticed, but Dante saw them and smiled. He knew it meant he was on the right track, that he still knew his sister after all these years.

‘A year ago I was sorting through requests for digging permits when I came across Dr Boyd’s. I figured this was a perfect excuse to speak, so I called him about the Catacombs.’

Maria glared at Boyd. ‘You talked to Dante a year ago and didn’t tell me?’

Boyd defended himself. ‘I swear to you, I didn’t know he was your brother. He said his name was Dante and he was your father’s assistant. That’s all he said to me. Ever.’

‘He’s telling the truth,’ Dante assured her. ‘I didn’t want you to know because I knew you’d run in the other direction. I know how stubborn you can be. I’ve known that for years.’

The anger in Maria’s face softened. Slowly she turned back toward Dante.

‘For several months I’ve been exchanging information with Dr Boyd. He’d inform me about things that he’d discovered, and I’d do the same for him, all in hopes of planning a successful dig. I knew I couldn’t join him in Orvieto — there was no way I could hide that — but I figured one of us could be there. That you could be there. And in my mind, that was good enough.’

Her tears started again. ‘That’s what you’ve been hiding? That’s the family secret?’

Dante laughed at her innocence. ‘No, that’s not it at all. Father’s been keeping something from both of us for our entire lives, something we should’ve been told long ago. I swear to you I didn’t know about it until yesterday. When father learned about Roberto’s death, he pulled me aside and told me everything. He told me the truth about the Catacombs, the crucifixion, and our family tree. You see, the Catacombs of Orvieto were built for us. For our family. They were built to honor our relative.’

‘What are you talking about? Who was our relative?’

Instead of speaking, Dante pointed over his shoulder to the painting his father had commissioned shortly after visiting the Catacombs for the first time. The image was similar, albeit smaller than the one that Boyd and Maria had found in the first chamber of the Catacombs. The one Maria knew she had seen before but could never place in her head. Suddenly, she understood the reason why. Her subconscious had been blocking it out.

‘The laughing man,’ she gasped. ‘I’m related to the laughing man?’

Dante frowned. ‘Who’s the laughing man?’

‘Him,’ she said. ‘That’s what we’ve called him, because we never knew his name. His image was everywhere in the Catacombs. On the walls, in the carvings, on a burial box. We’ve been searching for his identity ever since.’

‘Then your search is over, because you already know his name.’

‘I do?’

He nodded knowingly. ‘Because it’s your name, too.’

‘My name? What do you mean? He was a Pelati?’

‘No,’ Dante said. ‘His name was changed to protect us from his sins… He was a Pilate.’

‘A Pilate?’

He nodded. ‘As in Pontius Pilate. He was our ancestor. We are his descendants.’

‘We’re his what?’ She stared at Dante. Then at Boyd. Then back at Dante. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘I mean, our family name isn’t Pelati… It’s Pilate. The name was altered to protect our family from persecution.’

‘Pontius Pilate was the laughing man?’

Dante nodded. ‘And our forefather.’

It took a moment for that to sink in. Once it did, Maria let out a soft whimper that suggested she had been blindsided. She wanted to argue, wanted to fight, but in her heart she knew her brother would never lie about something like this. That meant everything he’d said was true.

They were related to the most infamous murderer of all time.

Slowly, in an act of desperation, she turned toward Dr Boyd, who was now standing by her side. ‘Professore? Is this possible? Is any of this possible?’

Boyd closed his eyes and pondered the history. ‘Yes, my dear, it just might be.’

‘But… how?’

He took a deep breath, trying to find the words. ‘As remarkable as this sounds, very little is known about Pontius Pilate. Most scholars agree that he became procurator of Judea in 26 ad and ended his term ten years later. Yet nothing is known about his birth or death, though theories abound on both.’

Some historians believe that Pilate was executed by the Roman Senate shortly after Tiberius’s death in 37 ad. Others claim that Pilate committed suicide, drowning his sorrows in a lake near Lucerne, Switzerland — a lake that is located on Mount Pilatus. Meanwhile, German folklore insists that Pilate lived a long and happy life in Vienna Allobrogum (Vienne on the Rhone) where a fifty-two-foot monument, called Pontius Pilate’s tomb, still stands today.

‘Despite these uncertainties,’ Boyd stressed, ‘there are several facts about Pilate we are certain of. The most interesting involves his wife, Claudia Procula. Few people realize this, but Pilate’s wife was the granddaughter of Augustus and the adopted daughter of Emperor Tiberius.’

‘What?!’ Maria blinked a few times. ‘Tiberius was Pilate’s father-in-law?’

Boyd nodded. ‘I bet you never heard that in Sunday school, now did you?’

‘No,’ she gasped. Suddenly the thought of Pilate and Tiberius working together seemed like a probability. These men were more than just political allies. They were relatives.

Boyd continued. ‘Did you know the Coptic Church of Egypt and the Abyssinian Church of Ethiopia have always claimed that Pontius and Claudia converted to Christianity after the crucifixion? In fact, they honor them every June 25th as saints!’

Dante interrupted him. ‘Dr Boyd, I think you’re missing the big picture here. None of that is important. We should be concentrating on the crucifixion and nothing else.’

‘Which is my point exactly!’ he said with a dismissive wave. ‘For years now I thought that they were nuts, honoring Pontius Pilate as a hero. Calling him a Christian. Now I know that they were right. Good heavens! He actually started the religion. I feel like such a fool.’

‘You feel like a fool?’ she blurted. ‘How do you think I feel? I just found out that we’ve been running around Europe looking for my relative. That a painting of the laughing man was hanging on my father’s wall!’ She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. ‘How could we have forgotten Pilate? He’s such an obvious candidate. We should’ve considered him.’

Boyd comforted her. ‘Come, come, my dear. You’re not alone in this. All of us ignored Pilate as a suspect. Cheer up! It’s not the end of the world.’

‘Yes, it is,’ said a new voice from the doorway. Stunned, they whirled around and saw Benito Pelati and four armed guards enter the room. ‘For Dante.’

Benito punctuated his statement by firing two quick rounds. Spray erupted from Dante’s chest, staining the painting of Pilate and the entire wall behind him. Then, as if in slow motion, his lifeless body slid out of the leather chair and onto the floor below. The sight of this filled Maria with such a murderous rage she sprang forward and tried to knock the gun out of her father’s hands. But a guard intervened, blocking her path with his body.

Undeterred, she tried to go through him, clawing at his face with a flurry of slaps and punches. The guard briefly took the punishment before ending Maria’s antics with a head-butt to the bridge of her nose. Then he finished her off with a right hook to the chin, a blow that sent her crashing through the glass coffee table behind her.

Impressed with her fighting spirit, Benito stared at Maria. ‘Who would have guessed it? Of all my children, the one with the biggest balls happened to be the girl.’

72

Maria regained consciousness, tied to a chair. Blood trickled from her nose and mouth. Gashes covered her. Shards of glass stuck out of her flesh like porcupine quills. The room was spinning.

She blinked a few times and tried to focus on the blurred figure in front of her. Fog blanketed everything. Her vision. Her memory. Her hearing. The muffled sound of her name filled her head like an echo. Someone was speaking to her. She blinked again, trying to figure out who it was.

‘Maria?’ her father repeated. ‘Can you hear me?’

‘What?’ she slurred. ‘Where am I?’

‘You’re home, Maria. After all these years, you’re finally home… I think that calls for a celebration.’ One of the guards handed a bottle of vodka to Benito, who preceded to dump it over Maria’s head. The fiery liquid seeped into her wounds, causing a thunderbolt of pain to surge through her body. He laughed at her screams of agony. ‘Makes you feel alive, doesn’t it?’

Suddenly the details of her situation hit her like an avalanche. She knew where she was and what was happening. Worst of all, she knew who was taunting her. In an instant her longtime nightmares had become a reality. She was sitting in front of her father.

Benito said, ‘I knew I’d see you again someday. Though I never imagined it’d be like this.’

‘Me, either,’ she spat. ‘I was hoping it was at your deathbed.’

He shook his head. ‘Instead, it’s taking place at yours.’

Maria glanced around the room, searching for hope. A weapon. An escape route. Anything helpful. That’s when she noticed Dr Boyd tied up next to her. His chin was slumped against his chest. His shirt was drenched in blood. His eyes and cheeks were swollen from repeated blows to his face. ‘Oh my God! What did you do to him?’

‘I didn’t do anything. My men did quite a bit, though. They got angry when my questions went unanswered.’ He studied the horror in her dark brown eyes. He had seen the same look many years ago during a similar situation, one that had happened in the same room. ‘Hopefully, you’ll be more cooperative than he was.’

‘Don’t count on it.’

He shrugged. ‘Too bad. Then I guess you’ll suffer the same fate as your mother.’

‘My mother? What do you mean? What are you talking about?’

He smiled. He knew she would take the bait. How could she possibly avoid it? ‘Come now, Maria. You don’t really think that she killed herself, do you?

You knew her better than anyone. Did she seem like the suicidal type?’

The room started spinning again, this time from all the questions that were swirling in her head. She’d always had doubts about her mother’s death. Suddenly everything started rushing to the surface. How did her mother die? What really happened? Was she killed? Was it an accident? There were so many things that she wanted to ask, she was unable to speak at all.

‘I’ll tell you what,’ Benito offered. ‘I’ll trade you for information. You answer one of my questions and I’ll answer one of yours… How does that sound?’

She nodded, accepting the devil’s terms without hesitation.

He pulled up a chair and sat across from her, hoping to read the truth in her eyes. ‘Who knows about the Catacombs?’

‘Half of Europe,’ she groaned, still feeling the burning in her skin. ‘People have been talking about them for years.’

Benito smirked at her insolence. Then he showed how he really felt by pushing a chunk of glass that jutted out of her thigh. Her scream filled the room, turning his smirk into a smile. ‘This doesn’t have to be difficult. All I’m looking for is the truth. If you give that to me, I’ll give you what you’re looking for… But if you lie, you will suffer… Understood?’

She nodded in understanding.

‘Who knows about the Catacombs?’

‘Just us… Boyd and me… We didn’t trust anyone else… so we kept it to ourselves.’

‘And what of the others? Petr Ulster? Payne and Jones? What do they know?’

‘Nothing,’ she insisted, still catching her breath. ‘They know we were looking for them. They didn’t know we found them.’

Benito nodded. Unbeknownst to Maria, Dr Boyd had blurted the same thing during his interrogation, leaving Benito little choice but to believe them. At least for now. Later he’d let his men take a crack at them with slightly more persuasive methods.

‘My turn,’ she grunted. ‘What happened to my mother?’

‘You don’t waste any time, do you? So I won’t either. Your mother was killed.’

‘Killed? By who?’

‘Sorry, Maria. It’s my turn now. You just used your question.’

‘But — ’

‘But nothing!’ He tapped his finger on the shard of glass, just to let her know he was in charge. ‘What did you take from the Catacombs?’

‘A scroll. We took a scroll. Nothing else.’

‘Be more specific,’ he demanded. ‘Tell me about the scroll.’

‘No, that’s another question.’

He shook his head. ‘It’s not a question. It’s an order. Tell me about the scroll.’ He emphasized his point by putting more weight on the shard. ‘Your original answer was incomplete.’

‘Fine,’ she grunted, hating him more by the minute. ‘We found it in a bronze cylinder. In the basement.’

‘In the documents room. Inside a stone chest with his picture on it.’ He pointed to the painting behind the desk. ‘Am I right?’

She nodded, confused. ‘How did you know that?’

‘How? Because that’s where I left it. You don’t actually think that you were the first explorers inside the Catacombs?… That’s amazing. Women can be so naive.’

‘What? Wait a second! You mean you’ve been inside?’

‘Of course I’ve been inside. I discovered them. Or should I say rediscovered them. The Church has known about the Catacombs for years.’

‘But the scroll? If they knew about the scroll, why did they leave it there?’

Benito flashed a patronizing smile. How could she be so dumb? ‘The Church didn’t know about the scroll or the lower level. The Romans sealed the entrance to the staircase two thousand years ago. It stayed closed until I ran tests on the plateau and discovered the basement.’

He grinned at the irony of the scroll’s resting place. Pope Urban VI had selected Orvieto as the perfect spot to protect the Vatican during the Great Schism. Meanwhile an even bigger threat — a document that could shatter Christianity and everything that the Church stood for — sat unnoticed the entire time he used the Catacombs. Benito realized if any of the pope’s men had found the hidden entrance to the staircase, the evidence of Pilate’s plot would’ve been destroyed by the Church in the 1300s. Thankfully, that never happened.

‘My turn,’ Maria said boldly. ‘Why was my mother killed?’

‘Why?… Because of you.’

‘What? What do you mean?’

He raised his finger, telling her to stop. ‘Did you translate the scroll?’

Maria wanted to lie. Yet she knew if he sensed it, he’d stop giving her information about her mother. And that was something she couldn’t risk. To her, the mystery of her mother’s death was more important than the secret of the scroll. ‘Yes. We translated it in Milan.’

He had expected as much. ‘Then you know the truth. The hero of the crucifixion wasn’t Christ. The real hero was Pilate, your ancestor. His con created the biggest religion of all time.’

She shrugged, refusing to give him a reaction. ‘Why was she killed for me?’

‘Didn’t you hear what I said? You’re related to Pontius Pilate. He was your forefather.’

‘So? I’m more concerned with my mother. Why did you kill her?’

He grinned at her audacity. He decided to reward it with the answer. ‘Why? Because she wanted you back. You were her little girl… From the moment you went to school, she became increasingly difficult to handle. She knew I wasn’t going to give in to her, so she decided to apply some outside pressure, hoping to change my mind.’

‘What kind of pressure?’

Benito shook his head. Her turn was over. ‘When Roberto was tortured, what did he reveal?’

‘I don’t know. I wasn’t there.’

‘Maria,’ he said sternly, putting his hand on the glass shard.

‘I’m serious. I wasn’t there. That’s why Payne cut off Roberto’s finger for identification. If I’d been there, I would’ve identified him myself.’

Benito considered this, then nodded.

‘What kind of pressure?’ she repeated.

‘Your mother found information about the Catacombs in my office. She threatened to go public unless I let you return home.’

Finally, everything started to make sense. That’s the reason her mother had called her at school and told her to pack her bags. She figured the info about the Catacombs would be enough to buy Maria a ticket home. Obviously, she was wrong. ‘So you had her killed?’

‘No, I killed her myself. Right here in this room.’ He smiled, thinking back to that day. She was his wife, so he felt his actions were well within his rights. Just like putting the family dog to sleep. ‘No woman was going to tell me what to do. Not in my home.

Not over Orvieto. This was my family’s secret, not hers. She had no business getting involved in this. She deserved to die.’

73

Payne briefed Nick Dial en route to Lake Albano, warning him what type of guards Benito Pelati had on his payroll. Ex-military, ex-Swiss Guard, the type of guys that two ex-MANIACs knew how to handle. Dial realized he’d be screwed without their help, so he said a few words and made them official Interpol deputies. Somehow Payne and Jones didn’t think it was very legal.

Dial called for reinforcements, too, but they managed to beat the local police to the scene. Too bad. They weren’t waiting for anyone. Not with Boyd and Maria in captivity.

An iron gate greeted them at the front of the property, as did an empty guard station. Payne helped Jones and Dial over the wall before he climbed it on his own. The yard was dark and spacious. They dashed through the bushes and trees, keeping an eye out for the security staff. They weren’t even sure that anyone was home until they heard a gunshot. Then another. Two identical sounds coming from somewhere inside the house. It was time to make their move. They didn’t know who was involved or what they were facing, but they didn’t care. Gunshots in a house were never good. So they decided to put a stop to them.

Jones led the charge to the front door, while Dial covered his back. Payne crept along the perimeter, looking in windows, trying to get a feel for the interior. He plotted escape routes, spotted weaknesses, estimated room locations and dimensions. Lives were on the line, and he knew it. The more information he had going in, the more corpses they’d have coming out. The enemy’s corpses, not their own. Payne refused to let his guys get killed during missions.

Payne reached the front porch just as Jones had sprung the lock. Payne briefed them on what he’d seen and volunteered to take the lead. There were no objections. Dial went next, followed by Jones. A sweeping staircase went up both sides of the foyer and met on the second floor. Paintings and statues lined the walls. A chandelier hung from the ceiling, though it gave them no light. They were standing in near darkness, thankful for the faint glow that came from deeper in the house. They decided to follow it.

Noises could be heard as they moved down the hallway. Screams of agony. Sounds of torture. The crack of fist meeting face. The thud of flesh being pounded. There was no doubt in Payne’s mind that it was Dr Boyd. He was being interrogated. By more than one man. The door to the office was closed and locked. A crack of light was shining around the frame. Its glow had led them to this spot like a beacon.

Jones examined the lock and realized that it was a hundred years old. A type he had never seen before. He told Payne he might be able to pick it but wasn’t certain. Furthermore, he didn’t know if he could do it quietly. Payne shook his head to let him know it was too risky. Payne felt the same about kicking in the door. He had no experience breaking down something that old. If it didn’t shatter on his first attempt, the element of surprise would be ruined. And since they didn’t know who was inside and what weapons they had, it wasn’t worth the risk.

Payne turned toward Dial and whispered, ‘We need a mirror. One that’ll fit under the door.’

He nodded in understanding. ‘Give me two minutes.’

Before Payne could argue, Dial scampered deeper into the house. Darkness be damned. Safety be damned. The only thing that mattered to Dial was meeting his objective. Ninety seconds later he returned with a chunk of glass from a broken mirror. Payne wondered how he’d shattered it in silence but didn’t have time to ask. Instead, Payne dropped to the floor and slid the glass under the door. By tilting the edge back and forth, he was able to see everything in the office. Boyd was unconscious, blood dripping from his face. Maria sat next to him, being questioned by an old man Payne didn’t recognize. He immediately assumed it was her father.

Armed guards were positioned throughout the interior. One stood next to Boyd. One stood next to Maria. Another stood behind the old man, watching the interrogation.

Strangely, Payne didn’t see Dante anywhere. He slid the glass in further, hoping to get a better view of the far corner of the room. His boldness almost backfired when he realized he had pushed the glass between the feet of one of the guards. Unbeknownst to Payne there was a fourth guard standing next to the door. He’d been studying the room through his legs the entire time.

With his heart in his throat, Payne pulled out the mirror, then dragged Jones and Dial down the hall where he described the layout. Four armed guards. One boss. Two hostages. A couch and some chairs. A large desk. No windows or side doors. One entrance that was being guarded. Boyd was out cold, and Maria was being questioned. No gunshot wounds on either hostage.

‘What do we do?’ Dial asked.

Jones looked at Payne. ‘Fast and hard?’

Payne nodded. It was their only choice. If they tried to draw the guards out of the office, they might summon additional guards from the lake. Or the fence line. Or somewhere they didn’t know about. And if that happened, they were screwed. On the other hand, if they waited for the local cops to arrive, there was always a chance that one of the hostages could be killed.

No, they needed to attack. Right away. With lethal force.

Payne explained what he had in mind, and Dial looked at him like he was crazy. Meanwhile Jones nodded his head, impressed. Not only with Payne’s idea but with the size of his nuts. Regrettably, Payne wouldn’t know if he was stupid or courageous until he saw the outcome. Payne knew they only had one chance at the element of surprise. That meant they had to get through the door on their first attempt. Simply had to. And picking the lock was out of the question, since a guard was standing next to it. Not only might he hear them, but there was a chance that his ass was actually touching the mechanism that Jones would be working on, meaning the slightest vibration might lead to their deaths.

On the other hand, Payne wasn’t quite sure if he had the strength to kick down the door. It was big and thick and sat on old iron hinges that looked like they were made by Leonardo da Vinci. Therefore, he had no idea what they could withstand. The same thing with the lock. Would it shatter like a modern one or could it withstand the force of a medieval battering ram?

Either way, Payne didn’t want the entire success of this mission to ride on his right foot, so he decided to stack the deck in his favor. Instead of attacking the door alone, he told Jones to fire a round into the lock a split second before Payne’s foot made contact with the wood, hoping the gunshot would weaken the bolt. Of course, if Jones fired too late or the bullet ricocheted back toward Payne, the odds were pretty good that he’d lose some toes.

Oh well, Payne joked, there was always a chance that they would grow back.

Without delay Jones positioned his gun while Payne measured his approach. He had room for three steps before he hit the door. Three strides that would determine everything. Dial stood behind Jones, ready to charge into the room and take out the guard by Boyd. Jones would get the one by Maria. And Payne would take out the one behind Benito. The fourth guard, the one by the door, was the wild card. Payne was hoping he would eliminate him on impact. If not, one of them would have to pull double duty. And the odds were pretty good it would be Payne. Not that he was complaining. Situations like this had always been his specialty.

Anyhow, since Dial was the one with the least to do, Payne put him in charge of counting.

Three. Jones pointed his weapon at the door lock.

Two. Payne anchored his foot against the back wall like it was a starting block.

One. He burst from his stance, ready to strike.

Jones fired his gun a split second before Payne made contact with the door. Metal groaned and wood cracked as the door slammed into the back of the fourth guard, knocking him to the floor. Somehow Payne kept his balance, allowing him to lead the charge into the room. Jones and Dial followed, bursting into the room with their weapons drawn.

Their attack was so precise that they were able to hit the guards before they knew what happened. Payne clubbed his target with an elbow and followed it with a knee to the chin, knocking him on top of the fourth guard who was sprawled unconscious on the floor. Partially because of the impact of the door. Partially because Jones’s gunshot had gone right through the door lock and into the guard’s ass.

Without delay, Payne grabbed both of the guards’ guns, then checked on his team. Jones had eliminated his man with a kick to the throat then had gone after the old man in the chair. Dial, on the other hand, was struggling. He was playing martial arts patty-cake with his target until Payne clubbed the guard with the butt of his gun and threw him face-first against the wall.

Smiling, Dial gave Payne a look that said, My clients are normally dead when I show up.

Payne gave him a look that said, Mine aren’t.

Meanwhile, Jones was all over Benito. He dislodged his weapon before wrapping his arm around Benito’s neck and giving it a tug. One little squeeze, and the old man stopped fighting. No threats. No struggle. No bribes of any kind. In Jones’s mind, it was kind of pathetic. He was expecting so much more from the notorious Benito Pelati.

‘Kill him,’ Maria begged from across the room. She was tied to her chair, staring at her father. The crazed look in her eyes told everyone she was serious.

She wanted Jones to snap Benito’s neck like a wishbone. ‘He killed my mother. He killed my brother. He deserves to die.’

‘You’re probably right, but — ’

‘But what? Don’t you get it? They will never put him in jail. He knows too much about the Church! They won’t press charges against him. No one will press charges! He’ll be freed like you were in Pamplona.’

Payne listened to the two of them as he searched the room, making sure there were no surprises. He found one, though, behind the desk. Dante was lying there in a puddle of blood.

‘Maria,’ Jones argued. ‘I wish I could, but I can’t. I just can’t — ’

‘Then let me do it! Just untie me. We’ll say he died during the rescue. No one will know.’

‘I’ll know,’ Dial said from across the room. ‘And since I’m in charge, I’d have to stop you.’

‘Besides,’ Payne said as he checked Dante’s pulse. ‘You’re wrong about your brother. He’s still alive.’

The police arrived a few minutes later, giving Dial a chance to call the NCB officers at the airport. They informed him that one of the crucifixion crews had been caught and were spilling their guts about the other three teams. Dial figured with a little luck that all of them would be captured by daylight. And the whole crucifixion ordeal would be over.

‘And what about me?’ Boyd demanded. His left eye was swollen shut. Gauze covered the gash in his forehead. ‘When will I get my reputation back?’

Dial grimaced. ‘That one might take a little longer. I’m working on it, though.’

‘I should bloody well hope so,’ Boyd said, only half kidding. ‘So what are you waiting for? Go work on it. I’ve got things to do and people to meet. I’m a busy man, Mr Dial.’

Laughing, Dial gave him a mock salute and headed for the dining room.

‘Good guy,’ Payne said to Jones, who nodded in full agreement. ‘Thank God he’s gone.’

Payne still didn’t know what had happened during the last few hours and was dying to be debriefed, not only about the laughing man but about the Pelati family. The last time they’d seen Dante he was loading Boyd and Maria onto a chopper. Now she was begging a doctor to save her brother’s life as they loaded him into an ambulance.

Obviously, they’d missed something important.

The house was abuzz with activity, so they went out by the pool where Dr Boyd filled them in on everything from the shooting to Dante’s hatred of his father. He also told them about his prior chat with Dante, which pissed Payne and Jones off until they realized that it occurred way before the events at Orvieto and had little bearing on their safety. In Boyd’s mind he didn’t know whose side Dante was on until they’d reached the house, so he kept that information to himself.

‘Wait a second!’ Jones blurted. ‘You’re telling me we weren’t in danger at the quarry? Come on, I don’t buy that for a second. His guards did not want us to leave that mountain.’

Payne agreed. ‘He’s right, Doc. I’ve got bruises all over my body to prove it.’

Boyd frowned, not wanting to talk about injuries, not with his face looking like that. ‘The guards worked for Benito, not for Dante. That forced him to keep up his ruse.’

Jones scratched his head. ‘If that’s the case, why did Dante bring you two here? For safety’s sake, you’d think this is the last place he’d want to bring you.’

‘If he survives, you can ask him yourself. In the meantime, there are more important things to worry about.’ Payne turned toward Boyd. ‘What did you find out about the laughing man?’

‘The who?’ Boyd chuckled at his little joke. ‘Ah yes, the mysterious laughing man. It seems that his identity wasn’t so mysterious after all.’

74

Nick Dial was tempted to leave the crime scene and drive back to the airport. It pained him to think that one of his suspects was being interrogated by someone other than himself. After all, he was the one who cracked the geographic relevance to the crucifixions, so he wanted to be present for the fireworks. Nothing gave him greater satisfaction than getting a criminal to talk.

With that in mind, he knew the opportunity to speak with Benito Pelati was one he couldn’t miss. No attorneys were present, and the local cops were too concerned with collecting evidence to be worried about a simple interview. In their minds Dial had made the bust, so he should get the first crack at Pelati. In fact, they even offered to watch the door as he did.

Pelati looked like royalty as he entered the back room. His clothes were flawless, and his stride was unrushed. His chin was high in the air as though he was about to address the peasants from the palace balcony. His hands were cuffed yet hidden by the fabric of his jacket, so they did little to shatter the illusion that Pelati strived to maintain. He was a national icon and expected to be treated as such.

The moment Dial saw him enter the room he knew their conversation was going to be pointless. In his mind he knew there was no way he was going to get anything from Pelati. He tried anyway, asking question after question about Pelati’s family, the crucifixions, and anything else he could think of. But Pelati didn’t flinch. He just sat there, unimpressed, like he was half disappointed that Dial was the best cop that Interpol could scrounge up.

Thankfully, a knock on the door changed everything. Dial was tempted to ignore it until he heard the door squeak open behind him. ‘What is it?’ he growled. ‘I’m busy here.’

‘Sir,’ a cop whispered, ‘there’s a Cardinal Rose to see you. He says it’s urgent.’

Dial smiled, realizing he’d get to thank the cardinal in person for warning him about the blackmail attempt on the Church. He also knew that Rose might have additional information that he could use when he questioned Pelati. ‘Yeah, that’s fine. Send him back.’

Though they had never met, Rose wasn’t difficult to spot. Not only was he dressed like a cardinal, wearing a scarlet robe and a red biretta on his head, but his gait was all Texas. He strolled down the hall like a sheriff heading to a gunfight. If the circumstances had been different, Dial would’ve lifted the cardinal’s garb to see if he was wearing spurs.

‘Joe, I’m Nick Dial. It’s a pleasure to meet you.’ The two shook hands just around the corner from the interrogation room. ‘So what’s up? I was told you had something urgent to discuss.’

Rose nodded. ‘I was given another update on Benito Pelati that I thought would help. But if now’s a bad time, I can always come back.’

‘Nonsense. I wouldn’t think of sending you away. Besides, I’m talking to Benito right now, and he keeps bringing up something that puzzles me. The guy will barely say a word to me, but when he does, he keeps alluding to some secret. I’ve pressed him, but nothing gives.’

‘This secret, has he given you any hints?’

‘I wish. It’d make my job a helluva lot easier… Oops. Sorry about that.’

Rose ignored the profanity. Most Texans swore, too. ‘Have you asked his family? Maybe they know something. I’ve never met the man, so I’m not sure what I can tell you.’

‘Actually, I think his son knew. That’s the reason Benito put two in his chest. To keep him from telling anyone else.’

Rose made the sign of the cross for Dante. ‘Did he?’

‘Did he, what?’

‘Tell anyone else. One of the cops told me there were several witnesses to the shooting.’

Dial nodded. ‘His bodyguards were nearby, but none of them spoke English. I get the feeling that was one of the requirements for his staff. It allowed him to conduct his business in private.’

‘Smart man. That’s the best way to do it. No fear of listening ears.’

‘Speaking of smart, why do I get the feeling that you’re aware of the secret? That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?’

Rose shrugged. ‘Perhaps. God works in mysterious ways.’

Glory hallelujah! Dial thought to himself. ‘Tell me, is it something about the Church? Is that what the blackmail was about? He learned something about the Church and decided to make a few bucks for himself.’

‘Nick, listen, my hands are tied on this one. I can’t talk about it. I really can’t.’

Dial couldn’t keep from smiling. ‘But…’

Rose laughed. ‘But I figure if I get him to talk about it without actually mentioning it…’

‘Then I’ll get everything I need, and you’ll have a clean conscience.’

He nodded. ‘Yeah, something like that.’

Dial looked at his watch and knew that he was running out of time. Pelati’s lawyers would arrive any minute. ‘Fine. But we’ve got to make this quick.’

Rose put his right hand in the air. ‘Don’t worry, I will be.’

Still smiling, Dial went in first, followed by Rose, who closed the door behind them. Rose had seen Pelati at the Vatican several times but had never spoken to him, mostly because the two had nothing in common. Rose was willing to give everything he had to the Church without expecting anything in return, whereas Pelati was the complete opposite. This mansion was proof of that. Rose was a giver. Pelati was a taker. It would stay that way until the end.

Pelati watched the duo enter the room and seemed to come to life. His eyes focused on the man in red who was staring at him. ‘Tell me, Mr Dial, who’s your friend?’

‘This is Cardinal Joseph Rose from the Vatican. He came to talk to me about your case, and I decided to let him join us.’

‘Oh? Why is that? Wasn’t I good enough company for you?’

‘Actually, you have it backward. I didn’t think I was good enough company for you. You see, you kept talking about something that I knew nothing about, so I decided to bring in an expert, someone who could help me understand.’

Pelati grinned at the thought. ‘This man is an expert? On what? Christ?’

‘No,’ Rose interrupted. ‘I’m an expert on secrets.’

‘Secrets?’ He gasped with mock fear. ‘Any secret in particular? Mine, perhaps?’

Rose nodded, taking a step closer.

‘Oh good! Then this shall be fun. Please pull up a seat, Your Eminence. I’d love to hear what you know about me and my secret.’

Rose shook his head. ‘The chair won’t be necessary. I promised Nick that I’d be brief, and I intend to keep my word.’

‘Suit yourself, Your Eminence… I admire a man who can keep his word.’

Rose moved closer. ‘Actually, that’s the thing about secrets that has always bothered me. People never keep their word, meaning a secret is never a secret for very long.’

Pelati nodded, all too familiar with the subject. ‘Cardinal Rose, if I may be so bold, why are you telling me this? Are you trying to convince me that you know my family’s secret? Is that what you’re trying to do?’

‘On the contrary, I wanted you to know that the exact opposite is true. You are alone in this. No one knows your entire secret but you. Do you hear me? Not a single soul.’

Pelati frowned. It wasn’t what he was expecting. ‘And you came here to tell me that?’

Rose smiled in the face of evil. He’d been sent here by the Supreme Council to protect the Church, and he intended to finish the job. ‘No, I came here because I wanted to see the look in your eyes when I told you this…’ Pulling a pistol from the folds of his robe, he said, ‘Your secret dies today.’

Before Dial could react, Rose shoved the gun against Pelati’s head and fired. A thunderous roar filled the room, followed by the splash of blood and brains against the wall.

Instinctively, Dial lunged for Rose’s weapon, but the Cardinal was too quick to be stopped. Backing away to the far corner of the room, Rose pushed the hot barrel against his own temple and ordered Dial to stay put.

‘Don’t do it!’ Dial screamed. ‘Please don’t!’

‘I have to, Nick. It has to end this way.’

‘Why?’ he demanded as a wave of cops burst through the door. ‘Tell me why!’

Rose smiled knowingly and tightened his grip on the trigger. ‘Because Christ is my savior.’

75

Payne and Jones never heard the gunshots. They were out by the pool, discussing the week’s events when Cardinal Rose opened fire. The sound was drowned out by a hovering chopper and all the police sirens that were migrating to the area.

Later, when they found out what happened, Payne was disappointed that he didn’t get to see Benito’s execution. That might sound morbid, but when you’ve seen as many good men die as he had, sometimes it helps to see the death of a devil. Somehow that helps balance the equation. At least for a little while.

Then again, Payne realized if he’d been inside for all the fireworks, he would’ve missed the biggest surprise of all. Something so unexpected that he still didn’t know what to think of it.

Sitting between Jones and Dr Boyd, Payne was staring at the twinkling blue water, thinking about religion. He had learned more about Christianity during the past few days than he had during the rest of his years combined. Yet he was thirsting for more. For every question that had been answered, ten new ones had popped into his head. And each of them was more complicated than the last. Payne mentioned this to Dr Boyd, who claimed that was the paradox of religion. Boyd said, the more you learn, the less you know.

Joking, Payne said, ‘Damn! Then I guess you don’t know shit compared to me.’

Surprisingly, Boyd laughed louder than anyone.

Payne turned toward Jones, expecting a smile on his face, too. Instead he noticed a dazed look in his eyes that said he was still trying to piece everything together. The Catacombs, the scroll, the Pelati family secret. To him, they were pieces in a jigsaw puzzle that still didn’t fit.

‘You all right?’ Payne asked.

He nodded, even though Payne knew he wasn’t. Something was bothering him. Something big. Finally, Jones said, ‘Doc, out of curiosity, what do you think happened to him?’

Boyd grimaced. ‘Him? Who do you mean?’

‘Jesus,’ he answered. ‘If Jesus didn’t die on the cross, what happened to him?’

‘Ahhh.’ The sound suggested that Boyd had been expecting that question all week. ‘I guess that depends on who you ask. Different experts have different opinions, though some of them are a little daft. The most popular theory is that Christ was a married man who shipped his family to Marseilles right after his trial in Judea. I’ve read many French manuscripts that refer to Christ’s royal blood still living in France today.’

They had heard that theory, too. Payne knew some experts believed that Christ’s wife was Mary Magdalene. Of course he had no idea if that was true or a brilliant piece of fiction. ‘So you think Christ went to France?’

Boyd shrugged. ‘That’s what some believe. Others feel the risk would’ve been too great. The truth is, if Christ had been discovered, his whole family would’ve been slaughtered on the spot.’

Jones winced. ‘Then where did he go?’

‘According to Islamic traditions, he headed east, where he eventually died several decades later in the Indian city of Kashmir. Others believe that he went to Alexandria in Egypt, where he helped convert that city to Christianity. I even read one account that claimed he was killed at Masada in 74 AD when the Jewish fortress fell to the Romans.’

But none of those theories sat well with Jones. Frustrated, he tossed a stone into the deep end of the pool. The splash sent ripples in every direction. ‘In other words, no one really knows.’

Boyd shook his head. ‘I guess not.’

‘So all of this,’ Jones made an exaggerated hand movement that suggested everything they had done, ‘and we still don’t know for sure.’

‘Not conclusively, no… And the truth is, we probably never will.’

Dr Boyd excused himself and headed to the house. His face was swollen and misshapen, and his sterile gauze was no longer doing the trick. It was time for a bag of ice and a bottle of Tylenol.

Payne and Jones watched him go inside before their focus shifted to the helicopter that was hovering above. At first they thought it was a police chopper assigned to protect the grounds. Then they figured it was the media, possibly the paparazzi trying to get a picture of the murder scene. They continued to believe this until Jones pointed something out. The chopper was running dark. No searchlights. No taillights. No lights of any kind. For some reason it was trying to blend in with the dark sky above. Trying not to be seen. ‘You don’t think that’s…’

Jones nodded. He knew what Payne had in mind. ‘The second chopper from Vienna.’

Before Dante left the marble mine, he had given orders to his men to wait until the weather had cleared before they loaded his discovery from Vienna onto the next chopper. After that, they were supposed to fly to the villa where he was planning to meet his father.

Suddenly it dawned on them that the chopper had never arrived. Or, at the very least, had never landed. If their theory was correct, the pilot was still hovering above them, wondering what to do next. Jones grinned. ‘Let’s see if he’s willing to join us.’

Payne bowed in his direction. ‘After you, my devious friend.’

Dante’s personal chopper was still sitting on the helipad at the back of the estate. There was plenty of room to land a second chopper in the yard. It was just a matter of convincing the pilot that it was the right thing to do. Payne suggested using a light to flash him Morse code, but Jones thought of something better. He climbed into Dante’s chopper and slipped on the headset. A couple of buttons later, he was barking orders.

‘What are you waiting for?’ Jones screamed in Italian. ‘Set her down now!’

Thirty seconds passed before the pilot responded. ‘What about the police?’

‘They’re not here for you. There was a shooting at the house. Dante’s taking care of it.’

The pilot considered this for a moment before he flipped on his running lights. A few minutes later he was landing in the middle of the backyard. ‘Now what?’ the pilot asked.

‘Unload the merchandise, then get out of here. We’ll call you when we need you.’

Like magic, a team of six soldiers hoisted the relic out of the chopper and eased it onto the grass. Payne and Jones couldn’t risk being seen, so they stayed hidden inside the first chopper, although that probably wasn’t necessary. The men were too spooked by the cops to even look their way. A minute later, they were airborne again. Off to Rome. Or Vienna. Or wherever they were going next. Payne watched the entire scene in disbelief.

‘That went well,’ Jones said, laughing. ‘I hope it isn’t a bomb.’

The two of them walked across the lawn, unsure of what they were getting into. The sky was dark, and the moon was partially hidden behind a bank of clouds. There were few lights in this part of the yard, and they weren’t about to turn any on. Not even a flashlight. But Payne almost changed his mind when he saw the sarcophagus. It was made out of white marble and was decorated with a series of carvings that reminded him of the ones on Maria’s tape. With one glance Payne knew that they told a story — he could tell that from their layout — but their meaning was impossible to interpret in the darkness.

For an instant Payne wondered if this was the reason that Dante brought Boyd and Maria here. To help explain what this thing was. Maybe to help him figure out what he should do next. Those thoughts disappeared quickly, though. And his mind went back to the stone artifact.

Strangely, Payne felt like a blind man reading Braille, running his fingers over the ancient designs, trying to understand the narrative. Just then the moon peeked out from behind the clouds, and he could see Christ on the cross and the laughing man standing nearby. A team of centurions was carrying a body to a cave. Then he saw a man walking out. Meanwhile, Jones was on the other side of the box, calling out images as he deciphered them.

He saw soldiers. A large boat. A series of mountains. The tip of a sword.

Neither of them knew exactly what the stone was saying. And they realized they wouldn’t unless they fetched Boyd or Maria for help. But where was the fun in that?

Instead they decided to examine the contents on their own. They figured, how much damage could the two of them do? They were only going to take a short peek inside, not even for a minute. They would push the lid aside, take a look, and then push the sucker back. No one would ever know. It would be their little secret.

They studied the box’s construction and decided they should push it from Payne’s side. Smiling, they counted to three, then heaved with all their might. The stone lid groaned and trembled, then slid five inches to the right. A wisp of ancient air filled their nostrils but they didn’t care. Not one bit.

They were too intoxicated by what they found within.

76

Monday, July 31

Küsendorf, Switzerland

Their helicopter hovered above the Archives for several seconds, just enough time for Payne and Jones to view the reconstruction from the air. It had been less than three weeks since the fire, but the work zone was buzzing. Bulldozers were plowing. Trucks were hauling. Workers were cutting boards and pounding nails. Things were looking great, at least to novices like them.

Sadly, they couldn’t say the same thing about Christianity.

Payne and Jones had spent two weeks researching the topic, more to appease their curiosity than anything else. They read books. They talked to experts. They did everything in their power to answer the questions that were bothering them. And some of the answers left them perplexed.

For instance, they never knew that the Koran, the Islamic bible, asserts that Christ’s crucifixion was faked. Yes, faked. Muslims view Christ as a prophet, someone who should be revered in the same terms as Abraham, Moses, and Muhammad, so it stunned Payne and Jones that the Koran questioned Christ’s integrity. Yet it comes right out and says that he wasn’t crucified. The line reads:

[4:157] And their saying: Surely we have killed the Messiah, Jesus son of Mary, the apostle of Allah; and they did not kill him nor did they crucify him, but it appeared to them so…

Amazingly, this verse wasn’t stashed away on a hidden scroll or locked in the Vatican’s basement. It is known by a billion Muslims around the world. Still, neither Payne nor Jones had ever heard about a fake crucifixion until they met up with Boyd and Pelati.

How is that possible?

How could something so important be ignored by the Western world?

Whether it’s accurate or not wasn’t the point. Payne couldn’t understand why this line was never discussed in a public forum. Why no one was curious enough to investigate it. Payne joked it was too bad Oliver Stone didn’t direct The Passion of the Christ. Because he would’ve come up with a much different ending to the film — something with a conspiratorial twist.

Oh well, maybe Mel Gibson is planning a sequel?

Changing subjects, they also found several interesting facts about Pontius Pilate. The most surprising was Pilate’s close friendship with Joseph of Arimathea, who played a major role in the crucifixion and Christ’s final resting place. All four Gospels claim that Christ’s body was sealed in a tomb on Joseph’s personal property, even though Roman law forbade crucifixion victims from being buried. During this era, victims would be left on the cross for days where they would eventually be eaten by birds. Furthermore, the Romans were so adamant about this law that they actually posted guards to make sure that the victim’s friends or relatives didn’t touch the corpses.

Yet Pilate was willing to go against this code and gave Jesus’s body to Joseph of Arimathea, even though he had no rightful claim to remove it. Unless, of course, something was going on behind the scenes, and Pilate and Joseph were coconspirators in the deception.

Stranger still is the wording that was used in Mark’s Gospel. In the original Greek version, when Joseph asked Pilate for Christ’s body, he used the word soma, a word that refers to ‘a living body,’ not ptoma, a word that means ‘a corpse.’ In other words, Joseph asked Pilate for someone who was still alive. This line was eventually changed in Latin and English translations of the Bible because translators used nonspecific words that failed to explain whether Christ was living or dead when he was removed from the cross. However, in the original version, even Mark says that Christ was alive when he was turned over to Joseph.

Payne and Jones came up with dozens of facts like these, tidbits that weren’t talked about in most churches, even though they’d been verified by experts. Payne wasn’t sure why that was — conspiracy? ignorance? something else? — but they intended to keep digging until they were satisfied. In fact, that was one of the reasons that they came back to the Archives.

To get the answers that they were looking for.

As soon as Payne and Jones landed, Petr Ulster greeted them with a hug. The stress that had been evident in Vienna was no longer there, replaced with a twinkle in his eye and a warm smile. All in all, he looked even happier than he did when they’d first met. And that was saying a lot, because Ulster was one of the happiest people Payne had ever come across.

‘Jonathon! D.J.! It’s so wonderfully great to see you! I’m so glad you could return.’

‘Wouldn’t have missed it for the world,’ Jones replied.

Payne nodded in agreement. ‘Looks like you’ve been busy.’

‘Very!’ Ulster said. ‘But it’s been wonderful. I’ve always been tempted to expand the Archives, and this gave me the perfect excuse. If the donations keep pouring in, we’ll be able to double in size.’

Payne whistled, impressed. ‘And what about the artifacts? Did you lose anything in the fire?’

‘Nothing invaluable. There were some personal items, things with sentimental value that we couldn’t salvage. Like my grandfather’s photo collection.’

Payne groaned at the loss. ‘You mean the ones in the hallway? Man, I loved those.’

‘Me, too. But thanks to you, I still have one of the pictures.’

‘Really?’

He nodded. ‘The one with the Lipizzaner stallions. Remember, you took it off the wall to show us the laughing man? Because of that, the picture survived.’

‘Just like an American,’ said a gruff voice from behind. ‘Saving our horses again!’

Payne turned and saw Franz. ‘Ja! Ja! It’s true. You soldiers are always showing off.’

Payne smiled and greeted him with a handshake. ‘How have you been, Franz? Still resting up from our little adventure?’

‘Adventure? That was nothing! My recent trip to Amsterdam, now that was an adventure.’

The thought of a naked Franz made Payne and Jones slightly nauseous.

‘So, why are you here?’ he asked. ‘Are you here to help? We could use some more hands.’

‘Franz!’ Ulster scolded, laughing. ‘These are our guests. They should be treated as such.’