Shrouded in Silence (22 page)

"Actually, you are an extremely lucky fellow," the detective said. "Most employers would have written you off. Some would've had me just put a bullet in your head. Not Dr. Stein! I'm amazed that he wants you to come back to work for him after you knocked off a priest and ran. Actually, bumping off that man wasn't too cool."

Klaus kept looking straight ahead.

"Don't worry about getting through passport control. Nobody's connected you to the killing but Dr. Stein."

Klaus took a deep breath.

"I don't think you'll be in the mood to run once we get in the terminal, but remember all I have to do is pick up a phone and report a killer on the loose, give them a description, and you won't make it to the front door."

"I have no intention of running."

"Good. My car is in the parking lot. I'll take you to Stein's apartment. I think the good doctor even has a task ready for you to do immediately."

The pilot signaling the release of the seat belt sent both men to their feet. The detective stepped behind Klaus. "After you, young man," he said. "I'll be behind you all the way."

After a long hour of driving through congested streets, the Mercedes stopped in front of the familiar apartment on Via del Gracchi. Pulling over to the curb, the detective pointed at the building. "Think you can get up there by yourself or do I need to follow you?"

Klaus shook his head. "Don't worry. If I was going to try and make a break for it, I would have done so before now."

The man patted him condescendingly on the hand. "Good boy. Now you go up there and make your ol' Uncle Albert happy. Don't be a wise guy and make me run you down again. Next time it might prove to be truly painful."

Klaus nodded, opened the door, and stepped out.

"Be a nice boy just for me."

Klaus started to tell him where to go but thought better of it. He was already in enough trouble. Walking straight ahead, he entered the apartment building and took the elevator up to the second floor. Klaus had been there so many times that there was no mystery to finding the way. With a hesitant step, he walked to the door and knocked.

"Enter!" Stein shouted.

With intimidation, Klaus turned the knob, walked in, and shut the door behind him. Wearing a maroon robe, Stein was bent over his desk working on something. He glanced at Klaus and went back to whatever he was doing without saying a word. Klaus stood awkwardly waiting for Stein to unleash the fury of hell on him, but Stein said nothing. After a long minute, Stein closed a notebook, stuck his hand in his pocket, and looked at him. Reaching across the table, he picked up a small Walther P5 pistol.

"You're a grotesque little frog," Stein said.

Klaus caught his breath, but stood at attention, saying nothing. He felt his hand start to tremble.

"Why didn't you come back here after you killed that priest at the Santa Maria Church?"

"I panicked," Klaus mumbled. No point in lying. "I didn't mean to kill him. The man crept up on me, and I stabbed him more by reflex than anything else."

Dr. Stein studied him for a moment. "You know, I think you are telling me the truth, Burchel."

"Why would I lie? You've caught me."

Stein nodded. "Fortunately for you, I still need your services, but I don't want you ever to run again. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, sir."

"Next time I won't be so generous." Stein put the gun down on the table and pulled his hand out of the pocket of his robe. "I will be keeping this cassette recorder in a safe place." He held a small tape recorder before him. "The confession you just made is recorded here. You'll want to do your best to keep me alive so no one finds it."

Klaus stiffened. It was not what he had expected.

"Now change into those old clothes hanging behind the door in the bathroom. We have work to do today and tonight."

28

T
he heavyset man sped down Via Appia Nuova in his Fiat until he reached Grande Raccordo Anulare road where he slowed. The
Anulare
formed a ring around Rome, and beyond lay the suburb of Ciampino where a small airport made travel in and out of the area easy. Two men had flown in from America just for this meeting, and he eagerly awaited their report. Parallel to the highway ran Via Appia Antica, the Appian way, the ancient highway entry into Rome proper that all first- century travelers walked down to reach the heart of the city.

Before stopping, he drove past The Catacombs of St. Sebastiene twice. The other four men should already be there. Even though it was 2:00 in the morning, he could not risk anyone seeing him enter or leave. Once satisfied that the area was safe, he slowed and parked across the street where no one would connect his car with the ancient burial site that the first Christians had used two thousand years ago.

Each of the five men had a key to the side door of the church that allowed them to enter and descend into the dark catacombs where tourists visited. Stopping in the black of night, he slipped a stocking-cap face mask over his head before letting himself in. Black gloves not only offered protection against leaving fingerprints but added prevention of his hands being recognized. With cautious steps, he descended to the lowest level where the ancient Romans had once carried their dead. Only then did he switch on his flashlight.

At the bottom of the steps, the leader caught sight of a faint glow down the earthen tunnel to his left. A larger area had once been a little chapel. Inside stood a stone slab altar standing on the dirt wall. All around were the indentations in the walls where bodies had been placed for their eternal sleep. The candles on the altar and around the small room had been lit by the men who arrived first. Dressed in black with hoods over their entire heads, each man sat on a rock stool, waiting anonymously for him to arrive.

The leader walked in and nodded to the group. In turn, they responded.

"Gentlemen," the leader began quietly. "I welcome our two guests from outside the country to this important planning meeting. To date, we have done well. We have exploded two bombs in the city with significant results. A subway tunnel was closed and a train derailed. Most recently, we bombed American scholars and blew their offices to pieces, killing one associate. No one has yet picked up one clue as to who we are."

The group mumbled their appreciation.

"With such success, I believe that the title
general
would be appropriate. From henceforth, you will address me in that manner." He paused and looked across the faces of the four men. "I'm not sure we have yet made our point with the government that American control must stop in Italy and around the world. Perhaps, we must be more specific the next time," the leader said.

No one answered.

"Only two of us know the identify of the rest of this group," the leader continued. "Anonymity provides security. I want you to feel completely free to speak your minds. We must be candid. Understood?"

The group murmured their compliance.

"One of the reasons that we are meeting tonight is to plan our next attack," the general said. "We are now called The Scorpion by the media." He chuckled. "Conveys the message that we leave a powerful sting. I believe an attack in the United States would make an additional important statement. Perhaps, blowing up a school in Los Angeles, or striking an airport in Chicago would get big media attention."

No one spoke.

"Come now, gentlemen. You must have some response."

One of the foreigners held up his hand. "We have studied the situation across America," he began. "Since the 9-11 bombing, our country has become armed to the teeth. While we are not an identified terrorist group and have no connections with radical Muslims, we have those factors in our favor, but that is all. We believe a terrorist strike would be a disaster."

It definitely was not what the general had expected to hear.

"It is the unanimous opinion of both of us that it is not a wise idea," the American said.

"This was not what we agreed upon earlier," the general growled.

"Correct," the other American said. "But at that time we had not fully surveyed all of the possibilities. We have now. It is our conclusion that you are dealing primarily with an Italian problem and it should be kept in Italy."

The compatriot sitting beside him nodded his head solemnly.

The leader rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "What would you suggest?"

"You must be more specific when you attack," the American said. "You have not left the police with enough information to understand why these assaults are happening. The attacks require you to be clearer about your objectives. You are leaving the impression that you are amateurs. Your work must become sharper."

"How dare you criticize us!" the hooded man nearest the altar exploded. "No one even has a hint about who we are. Two successful bombings right under the nose of the police is not a small matter. Do you realize that?"

The American cursed. "Of course, we understand! You are too thin-skinned. We're telling you the way it is. Take it or leave it."

"You are Americans," the general said slowly. "I suppose it was not clear in the beginning that you were also part of the problem. We will leave it at that."

Jerking a gun from his belt, he fired quickly. The first American lunged forward and then tumbled sideways. The second turned to run, but the leader hit him in the back twice, and the man sprawled on the floor.

"We should never have trusted them," the hooded assistant said. "They were a drag from the beginning."

The third man stood immobile and speechless.

The leader stuck the gun back in his belt. "We can't leave them down here. We'll have to carry their bodies out."

"My God!" the third man choked. "You just killed them like they were rats crawling out of a hole."

"They were rats," the general growled. "You don't fiddle around with vermin. You get my meaning?"

The general watched the man's eyes widening. He said nothing, but finally nodded his head obediently.

"Remember that we don't leave one behind who might rat on us," the general said and laughed. "Get it?
Rat
on us."

"Yeah," the second assistant said. "But what are we going to do next? Their resistance has messed up our plans."

"I hate those worthless Americans," the general said. "Can't trust any of them. Now we have to find another follow-up target. These Uncle Sams screwed everything up. We'll have to give more thought to this next attack. I guess we must strike in Rome. You know, we could bomb the American embassy."

"If that Townsend guy doesn't die, we could shoot him," the assistant said. "That's a real option."

"Hmm," the leader mused. "We'll see how he comes out of the coma. Of course, he might die in the hospital." He kicked at the American lying on the floor nearest him. "Let's get these bodies upstairs and haul these guys off. We'll meet again in ten days."

The third man still said nothing.

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