Sign Of The Cross (28 page)

It had been dormant for several centuries. He planned to release it like a plague.

Benito had set things in motion once before, a few years ago. He had determined the best way to use the Catacombs and had scheduled a meeting with the Vatican to discuss his discovery.

But a potential windfall appeared. One that forced him to shift his timeline.

A translator working for Benito found a reference in an ancient manuscript that described the home of a Roman hero who lived in the foothills of Vindobona, Illyria. Inside a tomb of marble, he had placed a relic and a first-person account of the crucifixion. It threatened to contain everything that the world and the Church should know about the events in Jerusalem.

Details from before, during, and after the death of Christ.

Benito’s oldest son, Roberto, felt they should meet with the Vatican as planned. He reasoned their organization was ready to strike, and it would hurt their cause if there was a delay. But Benito disagreed. He canceled their meeting, reassuring his son that this discovery would actually increase their bargaining power with the Catholics. Roberto eventually relented.

From that point on, finding the Roman vault became the number-one priority in Benito’s life.

Everything else would be put on hold until the tomb was discovered in the hills of Illyria.

Recently, his goal had been accomplished.

Same agenda, different crew. That’s what Dial decided as he studied the haphazard way the blood had been splashed across the Green Monster, the way the message was scrawled as an afterthought instead of a fancy signature claiming responsibility. No way these were the same men who’d killed the priest in Denmark. The original sign had been painted with the skill and precision of a calligrapher, while the latest sign looked more like a kid’s finger painting. Like it was done by someone who didn’t understand what they were being asked to do but did it anyway. Someone who was going through the motions.

Alas, that made the middle case an enigma. The sign in Libya was painted with painstaking precision, yet blood was spread all over the Roman Arch in a spontaneous display of rage.

Dial wondered, why be precise and sloppy at the same crime scene? Could it have been done by a third crew? Or a mixture of the other two? Furthermore, did it even matter? Maybe he should be concentrating more on the message instead of the killers themselves. It was an interesting notion that he wanted to pursue. That is until he was interrupted by a tap on his shoulder. He turned and saw an Asian man standing behind him, just looking at him as though he wasn’t sure what to do next. Dial said, ‘Can I help you?’

Mark Chang nodded and fumbled for his ID. He was a first-year agent at the
NCB
office in Boston, which meant he was Dial’s main contact while he was in town. The man in charge of the man in charge. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t meet you earlier. I would’ve, had I known.’

Dial looked at the kid and figured he was no more than twenty-two. His hair was a mess, and so were his clothes. They looked like he had found them at the bottom of his hamper. ‘Known what?’

‘Known you were in town. No one told me, I swear. I rushed down here as soon as I heard.’

And he looked like it, too. Like he jumped out of bed and caught the first bus he could find.

‘Don’t worry, Chang. I didn’t know I was coming until the last minute. I grabbed the last flight out of Paris and -‘

‘Wait. Paris,
France
?’

‘Yeah. Big country on the other side of the Atlantic. It’s listed on most maps.’

‘Yes, sir, I know where it is. It’s just, um, how did you beat me here? I thought maybe you were in town already, but to beat me from France? I mean, they found Pope’s body less than two hours ago, which means your plane had to -‘

‘Whoa, whoa, whoa! Slow down, son. Say that again.’

Chang double-checked his notepad. ‘According to 911, the groundskeeper reported Pope’s murder just after ten. From there, Boston PD notified Interpol, who then notified me an hour ago.’ He checked his watch to be sure. ‘I don’t understand, sir. How’d you get here so fast?’

But Dial ignored the question, turning his back on Chang to replay the past twenty-four hours. He’d started the day in Libya, where he caught a plane to France. That’s when Henri Toulon notified him that another victim had been found, this time in Boston. From there he hopped on another plane and flew to America.

That meant he knew about the victim several hours before his body was actually found.

‘Holy shit! We’ve got ourselves a taunter.’ Dial grabbed Chang’s notepad to be sure of the timeline. ‘I knew about the murder before it happened. The bastards called us ten hours ago.’

‘They what? Why would they do that?’

‘To taunt us, Chang. To taunt us. Hence the name.’

‘Yeah, but -‘

‘They’re letting us know that we can’t stop ’em, not even with a head start. They’re saying we can investigate them all we want, and it won’t make a damn bit of difference. They won’t stop until they’re ready to stop.’

‘And when will that be?’

‘Soon. They’re running out of words.’

‘Words?’

‘Yeah, Chang, words. You know, the things in a dictionary? I can’t believe you don’t know what words are. What, is English your second language?’

‘No, sir. I was born right here in -‘

Dial rolled his eyes. Rookies could be so dumb. ‘It was a joke, son. Just a joke.’

‘Oh, but -‘

‘Listen, Chang, I like you, so let me give you a piece of advice that my captain once gave to me. Just shut the fuck up and listen, OK?’

‘OK, sir, I’m listening.’

‘No, Chang. That
was
the advice.
Just shut the fuck up and listen.
Understand? There’s no need to repeat everything I say, and there’s no need to question everything I do. Your main job as a rookie is to observe. Learn the basic techniques, do the simple tasks that I give to you, and remember everything I say. Don’t question what I say, just remember it, write it down if you have to. Got that? There’s a big difference between listening and speaking.’

Chang nodded, not saying a word.

‘See? You’re learning already… Now, are you ready to go to work?’

Chang nodded again, this time smiling.

‘Good. Then this is what we need to do.’

Payne and Jones knew little about the streets of Milan, so there was no way they could outmaneuver a helicopter. Especially in a Fiat. The truth was, they probably could have in the Ferrari, except it was too small for four people, and they didn’t want to split up. That left only two options: hide in the warehouse or turn themselves in.

And guess what? All of them voted for number two.

Of course, that’s misleading. The truth was, they weren’t actually going to surrender. Payne felt if he offered Boyd as a sacrificial lamb, then he could buy Jones enough time to pull off a miracle. At least Payne hoped he could. If not, he knew he’d regret the decision for the rest of his very short life.

After finalizing their plans, Payne dragged Boyd into the middle of the darkened street where they stood, looking skyward, as two Bell helicopters settled in a neighboring lot. The insurgence of rotors kicked up enough wind and dust to rival a cyclone. But it didn’t stop Payne from seeing, thanks to his custom-fit sunglasses. Not only did they shield his eyes from the elements, but they concealed his true emotions, which would be even more important if his ruse was going to work.

‘It’s time to begin,’ Payne shouted over the tumult. ‘Don’t take this personally.’

He put his hand on Boyd’s back and shoved him to the ground, knowing that they were being watched by Manzak and his friends. He continued his charade, dropping to one knee and double-checking the cord around Boyd’s wrists. Boyd played along by squirming and making girly noises that sounded like they belonged at a sorority pillow fight. Payne let him know he was overdoing it by slapping him in the back of the head. ‘Knock it off, Suzie, and start acting like a criminal.’

The hatch on the front chopper swung open, and Manzak climbed out. Not smiling. Not waving. Not giving Payne a thumbs-up or any signs of approval. In other words, he was the same stoic bastard that had shown up in Pamplona. Part killer. Part robot. All asshole. Unfortunately, the biggest problem for Payne was he didn’t know if Manzak was going to honor their original deal. Sure, Payne knew he wasn’t the real Manzak, but the truth was, he still could’ve been with the
CIA
since he had enough clout to pull Payne out of prison. For all he knew, maybe Manzak was a name the
CIA
gave out to several undercover operatives just to confuse people.

If that was the case, it was definitely working because Payne was confused. He didn’t know if Manzak was going to take Boyd back to
CIA
headquarters and milk him for information, or if he was going to shoot him in the back of the head the moment they left Payne’s side. The truth was, he didn’t know who or what to believe, and neither did Jones. They didn’t know if Boyd had done any of the things that they had been told – the forgeries, the smuggling, the exploding bus – or if he was the victim of an elaborate setup. Simply put, Payne and Jones didn’t know shit.

Anyway, Manzak shouted, ‘Nice work, Payne! I’m impressed by your efficiency.’

‘And I’m impressed by your clairvoyance. How’d you know we had him?’

‘We have our ways. And they’re rarely wrong.’

‘I’m glad you’re on my side,’ Payne said without smiling. ‘So what’s the next step?’

Manzak moved closer. ‘I need to debrief you before you’re officially done.’

Payne wondered if he meant that literally. ‘Then what are we waiting for? Which one of those choppers is mine?’

‘You’ll be in the first one with me.’ He took another step forward. ‘But first I’ll need to check you for weapons.’

‘Excuse me?’

‘Listen, Jon, I know how you must feel. But I can’t let a nonagent on board without searching him. It’s departmental policy.’

Payne stared at Manzak for several seconds, tempted to make a nasty scene, even though he realized it would hurt his plan in the long run. So instead of doing anything foolish, he placed his hands on top of his head and reluctantly agreed to the search. ‘Try not to touch my ass, OK? I don’t want to make Buckner jealous… Speaking of which, where is the big lug? I miss our conversations. He’s quite the intellectual.’

‘He’s shutting down the chopper. He’ll be out to greet you shortly.’

‘Oh, I thought maybe he was at home, making you dinner.’

Manzak forced a laugh. ‘You know, I find your humor ironic, especially since
you’re
the one with a boyfriend. Where is Jones, anyway? Getting his nails done?’

‘Well, I’ll be damned! You made a joke! Not a funny one, but still a joke. Wait until I tell D.J. He won’t believe me.’

‘You still haven’t answered my question. Where’s your partner?’

‘He’s around the corner in our Ferrari. One signal from me, and he’ll pull forward with the girl. That is, if you even know about her.’

‘Of course we know about Maria – and your Ferrari. Although for safety’s sake, it might be best if they stayed where they are.’

‘Oh yeah? Why’s that?’

Instead of answering, Manzak pulled a Hantek detonator from his coat pocket and pushed the button. A second later, the Ferrari erupted in a massive explosion, one that shot flames and debris high above the warehouse roof, literally propelling the frame of the car more than twenty feet in the air. But that was just the beginning. The fallout pelted the surrounding terrain like meteors, igniting the adjacent buildings and shaking the ground beneath their feet like a California quake.

Normally, Payne would’ve flinched. Or grabbed Boyd and made a mad dash for cover.

But not tonight. Not when the flames in the sky paled next to the fire in his eyes.

He’d been set up, and he finally had the proof that he was looking for.

Without saying a word, he took a step toward Manzak, looking forward to the popping sound his neck would make when he twisted it 360 degrees like that bitch from
The Exorcist
. Unfortunately, Payne’s assault was interrupted by the swarm of bullets that buzzed over his head. Warning shots that had come from Buckner’s gun as he emerged from the chopper.

‘You vill stay still,’ he growled in a thick European accent. ‘I be seein’ to zat.’

Manzak grinned at his arrival. ‘Now you know why he didn’t talk in Pamplona. Otto’s still working on his English, but you can’t beat him as a bodyguard.’

His bodyguard? Who the hell were these guys? Payne knew they weren’t
CIA
the moment they blew up the Ferrari. Instead, he assumed they were part of the Italian crew that had covered up the two accidents. But now that he’d heard Otto’s accent, that didn’t seem likely. Otto/Buckner
wasn’t
Italian. German maybe, but definitely not Italian.

Shit, Payne thought, how many countries were involved in this mess?

‘Pick up ze doctor an’ bring him to me!’

Payne was tempted to flip him off, but one look at the Russian assault rifle in Otto’s hands changed his mind. If he’d felt like it, he could’ve ravaged Payne with multiple 5.56 mm rounds with the touch of a finger. Which put a whole new spin on the term
Otto
-matic weapon.

No, he decided, it would probably be best if he picked up ze doctor an’ kept his mouth shut.

At least for the time being.

Less than twelve hours before, Jones had been staring at Maria’s picture and dreaming of the romantic possibilities. Now he was lying next to her in the darkness, unsure if either of them were going to survive.

Jones said, ‘Since we’re risking our lives together, I figure we might as well introduce ourselves. My name’s David Jones. D.J. for short.’

She shook his hand. ‘Maria Magdalena Pelati. Kind of rolls off the tongue, doesn’t it?’

‘Pelati?’ He considered her name for a few seconds but figured it had to be some kind of a coincidence – especially since she spoke with a faint English accent. ‘Is that Italian?’

She nodded. ‘I’ve lived in England for most of my life, so I don’t really consider myself Italian. Or English for that matter. Hell, I don’t know
what
to consider myself.’