James Acton 03 - Broken Dove (7 page)

What the hell could the Triarii want with the Vatican?

They had never shown any malevolence toward the Church that he could tell, although he had to admit his knowledge of the organization was extremely limited. Acton had told him everything that he and Laura had been told, and it had matched up pretty much with what Chaney had told him. The Church must have something the Triarii wanted, and the only thing he could think of was another crystal skull.
Here we go again!
He didn’t care if he ever saw another one of those monstrosities again, but when the news report broke about rumors of a murder at the Vatican, he knew immediately why Chaney had been brought in. The Pope clearly wanted somebody he could absolutely trust to investigate.
I can just imagine what Giasson thought of that.
He grinned as he pictured the bald man’s vein throbbing over his temple. Then frowned at the thought of why he had gotten to know the man in the first place.

The horror. The evil upon which some men acted.

He shook his head, trying to rid it of the images of that day, but couldn’t. He would never be able to. Not completely. The carnage had been something he had never prepared himself for. It had kept him up at night for weeks, and only recently had he begun to get a full night’s sleep on occasion, many nights still tortured by nightmares leaving him soaked in sweat. Those nights were slowly getting fewer, and he knew he’d get over it eventually, but it would take time.

And now his friend was back in the thick of it, and not answering his phone.

He looked at his watch. Midnight. There was no way Chaney would have ignored his call this late. He picked up the phone and dialed. It rang once and picked up.

“Giasson.”

“Hi, Mario, this is Hugh Reading. How are you?”

Giasson cleared his throat. “I was wondering when I was going to hear from you.”

Reading’s heart rate increased slightly. “Why?”

“Oh, I figured you’d be checking up on your old partner.”

Reading chuckled. “You know me too well.” He lowered his voice slightly. “Listen, I’ve been trying to reach him all day, but he hasn’t answered, and hasn’t returned any of my messages.”

“Really? And he’s in the habit of returning your calls promptly?”

“Absolutely. We’ve known each other for over ten years. Even after leaving the Yard we’ve kept in touch, and he’s never not returned my call within minutes usually, sometimes an hour or two. Never this long.” He paused and took a deep breath. “I’m worried.”

“I will check into it personally and get back to you as soon as I have something.”

“Thank you, mon ami.”

The line went dead and Reading sat back in his chair, resting his head against the high back.
Chaney you tosser, what have you gotten yourself into?

Guest Quarters

Apostolic Palace, The Vatican

Giasson stood in front of the quarters assigned to Detective Inspector Chaney and knocked again, his first attempt having gone unanswered. He had to admit, however, he had knocked quietly. The stone and wood construction of these quarters caused every sound to echo loudly.
Or maybe it’s just your imagination?
He looked at his watch.
00:16.
He put his ear to the door, and heard nothing. He tried the handle, and the door opened, the lock on the inside obviously unused. This wasn’t unusual, it rare for a visiting man of the cloth to lock his room while in the Vatican, most likely the safest place there was in the world. But a police guest? He would have expected the door to be locked every moment he was in the room.

And this could mean only one of two things.

Either he wasn’t in the room, or he had met the same fate as the Father. He pushed the door open and poked his head into the small, dark room. “Detective Chaney?” It was a faint call. He still wanted to try and avoid a ruckus at this hour if possible. He stepped further inside, reaching for the light switch he knew would be on the wall. He flicked it up. The lone bulb in the ceiling immediately flooded the room with a gentle, warm glow, revealing the sparse furnishings, closed drapes, and an unslept-in bed.

This can’t be good.

A quick search of the room confirmed it was empty. If it weren’t for yesterday’s incident, he might not have been as concerned. But even so, this wasn’t a hotel. Guests of the Vatican didn’t simply go out for a night on the town. While here, they behaved themselves, and went to bed at a decent hour.
Something is definitely wrong.

He closed the door and ran back to Security. Rushing through the doors, the sparse night shift all looked up, not accustomed to seeing their boss running and now out of breath. Giasson sucked in a few lungfuls of air, hunched over, making a mental note to hit the gym more often. He stood up and turned to one of his underlings, Paolo D’Onofrio. “Paulo, check the logs, I need to see if Detective Inspector Chaney has left the grounds.” He swept his arm at the room at large. “Check all security footage since our guest arrived. I need to see where he went. Start with entrances to the residential quarters. We need to see if he left there.” He stopped for a moment.
Should I?
He nodded and pointed to the woman sitting at the reception desk. “Call the front gate, have them seal it. Nobody leaves without my permission.”

He strode into his office and closed the door. Grabbing the phone as he rounded his desk, he dropped into his chair and dialed Reading’s number. He answered immediately.

“Reading.”

“Allo, mon ami. This is Giasson.”

“Any news.”

“None good, I’m afraid. It appears his bed has not been slept in. You know him better than I. Would he be out late perhaps, on the town as you might say?”

“Not Chaney. Not when there’s a job to be done.” Giasson heard Reading take a deep breath. “Something’s wrong. I can feel it.”

“I too.”

“What are you doing about it?”

“As of this moment, I have locked down the Vatican, and am treating Mr. Chaney as a missing person. We’re reviewing security logs and camera footage. Once I confirm what I already suspect, that he never left the grounds, I will begin a search.”

“Do you know why he was there?”

Giasson shook his head slightly, recalling his frustration at being left out of the loop. “No, I’m not privy to that information.”

“Then ask.”

Giasson knew what he meant. “Mon ami, one does not wake His Holiness up in the middle of the night, and ask him why he invited a guest.”

“One does when there’s already been a murder. It seems quite obvious to me that Chaney was brought in to investigate for some reason. And if he stumbled onto something quicker than your own investigation, he must have had some sort of inside information, supplied by the Pope. You need to find out what he told Chaney. That could lead you to him.”

Giasson knew Reading was right.
But to wake His Holiness!
He glanced at the clock on the wall.
12:35
. “Of course you are right. I will see to it and call you back when I hear anything more.”

“Do that. I’ll be there in the morning.”

Giasson smiled. “I would be shocked if you weren’t, mon ami. I will see you then.”

He hung up the phone as there was a knock on his door. He motioned to D’Onofrio to come in. The young man opened the door and poked his head in. “Sir, I checked the security logs, and we have no record of Detective Chaney leaving the grounds. I also checked with all three shifts of guards, and none remember him leaving. But he could have ignored procedure, and just mixed in with the tourists, rather than signing out.”

Giasson pursed his lips, thinking. “Okay, find him arriving in the footage, and get facial recognition working on the crowds exiting after he left his meeting with His Holiness.” He waved D’Onofrio away, who closed the door and returned to his desk. Giasson picked up his phone again, dialing the extension for the Pontiff’s office. It was always manned, as, what many people didn’t realize, this was a country, like any other. Though the smallest in the world, it too never slept entirely. Someone was always on staff in case of emergencies around the globe involving the Church, or mankind in general.

The extension was immediately picked up.

“Papal Offices, Father Silvano Benedetti speaking.”

“Good evening, Father. This is Mario Giasson. We have a problem here.”

“Yes? Is there a threat to His Holiness?”

Giasson noted the concern, especially after recent events.

“No, however one of his guests, Detective Inspector Chaney from Scotland Yard, is missing.”

“Are you certain? He is not simply elsewhere?”

Giasson knew what was about to happen, and knew a little “white” lie could prevent it, but he was a security chief, at the most holiest of places. Lying wasn’t an option for him, he himself being deeply religious. “No, we are not certain, but so far, all indications are that he is.”

“And what do you need from us?”

“I would like to speak to His Holiness.”

“At this hour? About a man you aren’t even sure is missing?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t know about that.”

Giasson took a deep breath, trying to remain calm.
God, give me strength.
“You are aware of the murder yesterday?”

“Of course.”

“And now we have another person missing.”

“
Presumed
missing.”

“A personal guest of His Holiness, here at his invitation, specifically in relation to the murder…” His tone left each point dangling as he gave every opportunity for the Father to grasp what he was trying to imply.

There was silence.

He was about to open his mouth to bluntly connect the two events when he heard Benedetti sigh. “You have all the subtlety of a hammer, Monsieur. And you are right. His Holiness would never want to be left sleeping if one of his guests were possibly in trouble. There is one problem however.”

“And what is that?”

“His Holiness left strict instructions that neither he nor Mr. Chaney were to be disturbed for any reason tonight.”

Okay, wasn’t expecting that.
“I assume that is unusual?”

“Very. In fact, in all my years as night watchman, I have never heard such an instruction given.”

Maybe he isn’t missing after all?
Giasson took a deep breath, not sure if he should ask this question. “How certain are we that His Holiness is in his room?”

“Of course he’s in his room! Where else would he be?”

He’s right, where else would he be?
He was right to ask the question, as it was a completely reasonable one. On any other night. With a murder, and now a guest showing no evidence he had stayed in his room for more than a few minutes, and His Holiness giving an order he had never given in the past, it was a question that deserved only one answer.

“Are you willing to take that risk?”

Benedetti immediately grasped the implication. “You don’t think—”

“I don’t know what to think. But can we take the risk?”

Evidently, Benedetti, to his credit, didn’t think so. “I will wake his personal valet immediately.”

“Good. Tell him I will meet him at His Holiness’ chambers.”

He hung up the phone and rose from his desk, swiftly crossing the floor and exiting his office. Leaning on the nightshift’s most senior man’s desk, he lowered his voice. “Alfredo, I need you to pull the procedures for Broken Dove.”

Alfredo Ianuzzi’s eyebrows shot up and his eyes widened in surprise. “Did you say Broken Dove?” he asked in a harsh whisper.

Giasson looked around, making certain no one had overheard. Satisfied, he leaned in even closer. “Yes. Pull the plans, just in case. Don’t let anyone know, but start reviewing them right now.”

Ianuzzi made the sign of the cross and nodded. Giasson walked from the offices, then broke into a trot toward His Holliness’ quarters.

God save us all if something has happened to him.

Outside the Papal Chambers

Apostolic Palace, The Vatican

Giasson waited outside the door, his heart still pounding from his sprint over here.
Where the hell is he?
He looked at his watch. It hadn’t even been ten minutes since his request for His Holiness to be woken.
And where the hell are the guards?
Two should be stationed outside the door at all times, but they weren’t to be found. He put his ear to the door, listening for anything. Heavy breathing, snoring, some sign he was in there. Nothing. But that actually did mean nothing. Many people were quiet sleepers, including himself. His wife though.
Mama mia, could she wake the neighborhood.
She was at her mothers, visiting, which he much preferred. When his mother-in-law visited them instead, it was a nonstop verbal tirade about how he neglected her by working such long hours, and if he loved his wife as much as he seemed to love his job, her daughter would be that much happier.

Funny how she’s always happier after you leave, mama!

He was Swiss. French Swiss, but still Swiss, which meant he spoke Italian and German as well. He knew when he married an Italian girl he was marrying her entire family, whether he liked it or not, but he loved Marie-Claude. Her father was French, hence her French name, but his father-in-law had been absorbed into the Italian side like Giasson was afraid might happen to him. Her mother insisted on calling her Maria, but he always went with the French. They had met almost twenty years ago when he was a young man. He had graduated from the University of Lausanne with a Bachelor of Theology degree. His dream had always been to work at the Vatican. Not as a priest, he knew he wasn’t strong enough for that. He liked women. A lot. And there was going to be no denying that side of him. But to serve the Lord in any other capacity was open. He had applied for, and won, a position in the Pontifical Swiss Guard, and served for several years as an Hauptman, or Captain, then was promoted to Major. When a job came open in Security, he applied, and again won.