Shrouded in Silence (32 page)

"Black Audi? Hmm. Well, you got away this time," Blake started walking away. "Keep watching your back."

"Sure thing." Jack took Michelle's hand. "Believe me. We're trying harder to stay out of trouble than either of you two guys believe."

Wearing a black overcoat, leather gloves, and a wide-brimmed hat to protect against the cool wind as well as to conceal his identity, the man hurried across the piazza and crossed the street. Staying close to the walls of San Pietro in Vincoli Church, he looked up and down the street before entering a side door. Staying in the shadows, he looked carefully to make sure no one was nearby. An inside contact had already told him that this one door would not be locked even though the front doors were secured. Certainly, none of the staff would be around at 2:00 in the morning.

For a moment, he paused to stare at the magnificent ceiling decorated with a fresco commemorating the supposed miracle of the chains. San Pietro's claim to fame was their possession of the relic of the chains that held St. Peter. Supposedly one set was used in Jerusalem and another set fashioned when Peter was held in the Mamertine Prison in Rome. The legend proclaimed that when placed side by side, the two sets of chain merged into the one chain and cuffs that the church now exhibited. Overlook the fact that there's no record Peter was chained in Jerusalem before he was captured in Rome.

Forget the medieval nonsense,
he thought.
The ceiling is impressive and let it go at that. I've got business elsewhere.
He hurried toward a side chapel waiting behind closed doors.

Pulling a black face mask from his pocket, he positioned it over his face. His connection with the church had garnered a promise that the chapel door would be unlocked, and he could expect his two comrades to be waiting inside. Inside the chapel only light from the street cast shadows over the chairs. Two men sat in the rear with face masks concealing their heads. He hurried to the back and sat down in from of the men.

"Any problems getting in the church?" the general asked.

Both men shook their heads.

"Unlocked just as you said it would be," the first man said. "Walked in like I owned the works."

The second man only grunted.

"OK," the general said. "Where are we tonight?"

"Nobody's getting our message," the first man said. "They're not finding what we left behind telling what we're about."

"At least, they haven't caught us," his associate replied.

"Not much consolation in that twist of fate," the first man said. "The whole point of these strikes was to warn about American intervention. This last go-round didn't even touch that issue. Lucky I didn't get shot. We fell on our faces again."

"We've got to do better," the general said. "Be more decisive. The newspapers like to call us The Scorpion. We've got to strike like one. Really stick the stinger in deep."

"Forget the American Embassy," the second man said. "I've been casing that bull pen and noticed they've beefed up the police. The only reason to mess with them is if we wanted to commit suicide."

"Here's what I think," the general declared. "Tonight we hit an American airplane parked at Ciampino Airport. There's one out that was flown in this morning. A nice small American Super ATR sitting out there waiting for us to smash it. It shouldn't be any hassle to get in because security at Ciampino is nothing like Leonardo da Vinci airport. We can hit 'em fast, hard, and get out. May have to shoot a couple of guards, but that should be about it."

"Now wait," the second man said. "We haven't even cased the field, and killing our own countrymen is another matter"

"I checked out the scene," the general said defiantly. "And I've got wire cutters in my car to get through the back fence. The fact we do the job tonight will catch everyone off guard. And if we hit an Italian or two, it's regrettable but necessary."

"Yeah, but—"

"This time we're going to spray a big painted message on the tarmac showing them that The Scorpion has struck and the target is American intervention in the world economy," the general said. "No question about our purposes after they read that script. Everything is in my car, and we can leave now."

"Excellent," the first man said. "This will make up for our botched attempt on the Townsends."

"Oh man!" the second man mumbled and cursed. "We could lose our necks on this one."

"What are you grumbling about?" the general hissed. "When we started these strikes you were with us from top to bottom. You turning jelly-belly on us? Getting gutless?"

The man glanced back and forth between the two men and squirmed. "No, no. Nothing like that."

"Then cut the whining and let's get moving."

"Can't we at least give this a day to think about?"

Reaching into his heavy topcoat, the leader pulled out a Beretta 81 handgun. "Do I hear resistance? Maybe I'm hearing wrong."

"OK, OK." the man's voice rose an octave. "I withdraw my question."

The leader kept the Beretta leveled straight in front of him. "I've got night-vision goggles and a personal-size 20-watt fuel cell should we need power for some reason. Explosives are in my trunk. I'm ready to hit the airport."

The first man nodded. "This ought to prove interesting."

The second man said nothing.

43

K
laus Burchel picked up the
Il Messaggero
newspaper and glanced at the headlines. After a second look, he hurried to Dr. Albert Stein's apartment behind the Pantheon. Clamoring up the stairs, he knocked on the door and waited to be summoned.

"Enter," Stein's growl echoed from a distance. "Make it snappy."

Burchel entered quickly, made a slight bow, and extended the paper to his boss.

"So?" Stein glanced at the
Il Messaggero
but didn't take it. "What?"

"Another bombing last night," Burchel said. "The story says that this Scorpion group struck at the Ciampino airport and damaged an American airplane as well as leaving a message sprayed on the concrete. Shot a couple of guards. Those guys really hate Americans."

"Good for them," Stein grumbled.

"Yes, and the police don't have any clues about their identity yet."

"The police are morons," Stein said. "Absolute pack of fools."

"I thought you'd want to know what's happened."

"Let's see." Stein snatched the newspaper. For several moments, he glanced at the article. Finally, he said, "If they hate Americans so much, maybe they'll go after the Townsends."

"I wonder if they have not already struck," Klaus answered. "The explosion at the house might have blown away some message they left behind. Who else would have hit the Townsends' office after I went to the trouble of wiring the whole building for communication?"

"It fits," Stein said. "The police certainly ran me off before I got to take a good look through the wreckage. Yes, it makes good sense even if these Scorpion boys are rank amateurs." He pointed his finger at Klaus. "And that's what they are! Real pros would have blown that American airplane into a million pieces, not just damaged it."

"Agreed."

"You've done better since you returned." Stein leaned back in his chair and eyed his lackey cynically. "Any explanations? Have you learned anything?"

"I was surprised you sent a man to bring me back. Even though the guy frightened me, your allowing my restoration has inspired me to work harder."

Stein snorted. "You've had your problems, Burchel, but you also have promise and that grabs my attention. Of course, I never knew your grandfather, but Richard Baer was a great man who performed an expeditious job in running Auschwitz. I am sure he passed on significant heredity that still resides in you somewhere. You've got to release it! Let it grow! Even though you have wallowed in decadence, I am depending on that hereditary dimension from your past to arise to the occasion. Is that possible?"

"I am doing my best."

"About time." Stein crossed his arms over his large chest. "We will anticipate results."

Klaus shrugged. "I'm trying."

Stein turned back to his desk. "We have learned two important matters from the Townsends so far. They are still searching for the lost ending of Mark's Gospel, which is hidden somewhere in Rome. Along the way, they stumbled on to a second gem. This so-called Brown Book,
The Prologue of James,
could be the jackpot. Since we are the only ones who know the full truth about their two objectives, we are positioned to steal either or both documents before the Townsends make another smash publishing hit with a breakthrough discovery."

"You've heard of this
Prologue of James?"
Klaus asked.

"Never! And I've studied everything in the library. It's either a total fraud or the breakthrough of the century." Stein pulled at his shagging chin. "The Nag Hammadi Library unearthed in Egypt by some local numskull peasant was a collection of twelve leather-bound papyrus books and an individual tractate. At first, everyone thought it was nonsense or a fraud. Quickly, they concluded it was three cherries on a million-dollar slot machine. Takes a while but once the truth is out, the archaeologist discovering the find goes right up to the top of the ladder."

"So, this
Prologue
might be nothing?"

"Wouldn't say nothing, but it might be a dead-end street."

Klaus scratched his head. "What would you bet on, Dr. Stein?"

"With the Roman Catholic Church trying to hide it? I'd bet it's bigger than Piazza San Pietro. We could be talking blowing the lid off the church."

"That would be some accomplishment," Klaus said.

"Absolutely."

"Unfortunately, the Townsends' windows have been shut since it turned cold, and I haven't been able to pick up much of anything with my eavesdropping device. It's hard to say where they are in their search at this point."

"This only means we must keep on their trail with constancy," Stein said. "Townsend's wife has been working more than I expected. So far, we've been able to stay on top of where they're going. Following them through Rome's heavy traffic wasn't easy, but they didn't lose us. That's an important sign that we can keep up with them."

Klaus scowled. "We know for sure they're carrying weapons now. I wouldn't have expected either of them to be shooting back. Of course, this raises the ante. It's going to be much more difficult to stop them when they're running around armed to the teeth."

"And what does that mean to you, Burchel?" Stein asked with more than a touch of cynicism in his voice. "Makes you run for the cellar?"

Burchel shook his head. "I swear I'm going to kill that worthless dog yet."

"OK. Next time
do it."

44

W
ith police stationed outside the Townsends' apartment, their abode felt much safer. Over Michelle's protest, Jack still took his morning subway ride to the Dar Poeta café for the newspaper, a survey of the people walking by, and his favorite artichokes cooked
alla giudia.
With the continuing upheaval in their lives, starting a day with style put tranquility back in the turmoil and seemed to press order into disorder. He needed to think and did that best alone.