Sign Of The Cross (48 page)

‘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.’

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 & 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 & 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?’

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.