The Three Most Wanted (27 page)

Peep.

One happy cardReader.
Oh, Lord shower blessings on that Italian guy!
Bane took the card out and I went back to kissing Jon.

“Bit of a waste of money taking those two in there, isn’t it?” smirked the driver.

I think Bane rolled his eyes.

“Tell me about it.” He took the tickets from the machine. “Thanks. Come on, you two…”

Catching Jon’s arm he towed him down the aisle. Still quite a few free seats this early in the day—he pushed me and Jon into one and sat opposite. Jon and I detached casually and leant forward as though to look at the leaflet. Other people were chattering and the engine would cover any seditious talk.

“Okay, here’s the plan…” Bane broke off and scowled at Jon. “Quit looking so happy, Jon! My temper’s not that good!”

“It’s not good at all.” But Jon considerately assumed an expression suitable for a morgue and Bane managed to bring his mind back to the matter at hand.

“Right. According to the leaflet, the bus cruises halfway round, stops at the base of the basilica steps for five minutes, then cruises back out. While it’s stopped, Jon and I will start arguing. I’ll pull the knife and the driver will come out of that locked cab to break it up. Margo, you’ll be right by the cab admiring the columns and you’ll catch the cab door and stop it closing. I’ll persuade the driver to leave us alone, and we’ll climb out the driver’s door. Okay?”

“What if the driver just leaves us to it?” asked Jon.

“Next question,” said Bane grimly.

“Are you sure we’ll be able to get out the driver’s door?” I asked.

“If he can get out, we can. If he’s actually locked in here with us… next question.”

“What do we do once we’re off the bus?” asked Jon.

“We run as though all the hounds of hell are behind us.”

“Run? You’ll have to leave me...”

Bane and I smacked him on the head pretty much simultaneously.

“Ouch. Okay. Run like hell. Got it.”

The bus doors closed. The locks engaged.
Clunk-click. Clunk-click. Clunk-click
. All safe and secure from the evil Underground. The bus moved forward, travelling across the white line and through the gates.

The colonnades of St. Peter’s Square—actually a circle, of course—appeared around us, curving and graceful. My eyes followed the ancient Roman obelisk towering in the centre, up, up, up… then went to the front windscreen as the basilica drew nearer and nearer.

I was looking at a church. The hair stood up on the back of my neck. Not a church building. A real church. Our Lord was in there, safe in the tabernacle, and people went in there and openly worshipped…

The bus drew to a halt. Further away from the steps than ideal—a line of immense steel bollards set into the ground prevented any tour bus—or EuroGov tank or troop carrier—approaching too close. Up the center of the steps ran a ramp…

“Aim for the ramp,” I murmured to Bane. “It’ll be easier for Jon.”

“Yeah, and the bus will provide a bit of cover in the center, at least for a few moments.”

I moistened my lips, managing not to turn and look at the machine guns over the gates. But everyone turned as a deafening noise penetrated the bulletproof glass.

Screech
…

The ‘in’ gate was closing, slowly and most definitely not silently.

“Well, folks,” said the driver on the intercom, “No more tours today if they’re closing the gates—some sort of security alert, I imagine—you just made it. Five minutes—take your pictures.”

I let out a long breath. Sweat was soaking through my t-shirt. Had Gino told them? No going back now.

“Margo,” said Bane softly. “Go.”
I love you
, said his eyes,
but I might attract a bit of attention if I kissed you after that little show with Jon
…

“Love you,” I mouthed. Getting up, I drifted to the front windscreen. Hopefully no one would notice not one of the three of us had a camera of any kind. I gawped around, trying for ditzy rather than terrified.

“It’s none of your business!” roared Bane, springing from his seat.

Jon leapt up as well. “None of my business?” he bellowed back. “You had your hand on her… I
saw
you!”

Typical. Boys. Well, they’d probably manage to be pretty realistic about it.

“I didn’t see her objecting!”

“That’s not the point!” Feeling his way along the seats with his stick, Jon backed carefully down the aisle as though afraid of Bane. “You’re supposed to be my mate!”

“You don’t own her!”

Jon groped momentarily for some response rather more inflammatory than agreement.

“Knock it off, you two,” said the driver over the intercom.

“She’s mine, you just keep your hands
away from her!”
Jon managed at last.

“Are you telling me what to do?” The knife appeared in Bane’s hand. People gasped and screamed, fleeing to the rear of the bus.

“Hey,” yelled the driver, “put that down!”

“Well, are you?”
Bane advanced on Jon with what certainly appeared to be lethal intent.

I hovered in position, ready to grab Jon and pull him back if he seemed likely to stumble onto the blade. From Bane’s watchful eyes, he was conscious of the danger.

“She’s mine!” said Jon with apparent recklessness. “Mine, get it?”

“Shut up, you stupid boy!” came from the intercom.

“I’m going to gut you, you arrogant…” Bane made a noisy lunge, Jon knocked his arm aside with his stick and the driver came scrambling out of his cab.

“Drop it, lad, or you’ll be in for it, I mean it! There’s cameras on here, y’know. Hey, what are you…”

He turned as I grabbed the door to the cab. Then he sucked in a sudden breath and held it, eyes bulging, as Bane’s knife tickled his throat.

“Please don’t move, I’ve absolutely no wish to hurt you,” said Bane, with rather cold sincerity.

“Fools! You’ll be shot…”

“We’ll take our chances.”

Door wedged open with someone’s bag, I drew Jon after me into the cab, my blood racing. It
was
possible to get out, the driver had as good as said so! I found the handle and turned it. The door opened. I eased it open just far enough to slip out, then talked Jon out.

“…step down, big step…” I hung onto him as he half fell out. “You’re down. Come on, Bane.”

Hearing the name, the driver’s face went white. He spun around, and stared at my forehead. “
Bane
... Oh no, no, no…”

“Oh, uh... Yeah, this is for your own good...” Bane’s arm went back, his grip on the knife shifted and he struck the driver hard on the jaw with the haft.

The man crumpled to the ground—dazed or unconscious, either way the bruise would prove him an unwitting victim of our wiles. Bane sprang over him, scrambled past the driver’s seat, jumped down beside us, and pulled Jon’s other arm over his shoulders. “Drop the stick, Jon, okay? Let’s
go
…”

We ran. We ran as I’d only once run before, racing across a sandy exercise yard towards a small wall gate in the Facility. My chest heaved and my lungs burned. My legs were like lead—I drove them on. It was all Jon could do to keep his legs moving and not be dragged between us.

Uphill. Oh Lord, why does it have to be
uphill?
The basilica towered above us, higher and higher as we tore up the slope. Silence from behind: the guards hadn’t seen us, perhaps intent on closing their gates; my back prickled with horrible anticipation…

Gasping for air, my limbs shaking with exhaustion, the strength was going out of my legs, leaving them jelly-like. A bit further, a bit further—there was the top of the steps, just ahead; the portico beyond, nice strong, wide,
bulletproof
pillars… Closer, closer…

Tat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat
…

A hail of bullets sprayed across the ramp beside us, flying stone struck my face. Closer, closer,
closer
…

We flung ourselves behind the columns, gasping. The machine guns fell silent

After a few moments, a small door in the center of the enormous ones moved, just slightly. A shockingly cheerful voice called, “Ready when you are…”

Bane didn’t hesitate. “Go…” he wheezed, dragging us forwards.

We stumbled out into the open, carried halfway in that first mad rush. It was dark in the portico’s shadow and we were almost there, almost…

Tat-tat-tat-tat-tat
…

The door swung open ahead of us and we tumbled through.
Thud
. It closed behind us, and for a moment there was a
thwang-crack
of bullets hitting ancient bronze.

“
Vandals
,” said the voice. “Right. Through you go…”

We were in a dim internal porch. We picked ourselves up and stepped over a wooden lintel into… An impression of vastness, then my eyes focused on the muzzles of a large number of pistols pointed straight at me. At all three of us. NonLees… the most terrifying weapons of all… but… my stomach twisted. Had the Vatican fallen, all unknown to us?

“Please don’t be frightened.” A small smiling man in a dark gown... a cassock?... stepped through behind us. “We’ve just got to get you ID’d and all that.”

I let out a shuddering breath. Of course. They weren’t going to let people just wander in. I managed to look past the muzzles to the men behind them. Half wore smart orange, red and blue uniform—Swiss Guards?—the other half something equally smart in a much plainer navy. Vatican police? Both figures from many a childhood tale, they hardly seemed real.

My eyes moved beyond, to the building. The largest building I’d been in in my entire life. Beautiful towering walls… and at the far end, underneath a towering metal canopy, a glimmer of red light…

Running footsteps echoed around… a man was racing down the side aisle, tall, slim, black cassock flapping…

“Ah, Father Mark! Is it them?” asked the cheery doorkeeper.

Father Mark just flung his arms around me, hugged me tightly, hugged Bane, hugged Jon…

“Ah, I’ll take that as a yes. Go on, stand down, you fellows.”

The pistols disappeared into holsters—I hardly noticed. Father Mark let go of Jon, and I hugged him again, demanding, “You made it? You all made it?”

“Us? Oh yes… but you three, oh, I really was afraid we’d seen the last of you! Yet they hadn’t
caught
you yet…” He hugged us all a second time. “My goodness, that is not the advised method of entry into this State, you know!”

My eyes had already strayed back to that red dot, wondering. Was it? Could it be…? Father Mark smiled, turned, and genuflected to what must be the distant tabernacle at the other end of the mighty building, presence declared by that little winking light.

“Yes, Margo, He’s here. ‘He who guards this city neither slumbers nor sleeps.’ Pope Cornelius the first had a beautiful Holy Spirit hanging pyx made so that He could hover over the main altar, to welcome all who enter.”

I dropped to one knee, then both knees, my throat closing. Like entering another world… a wonderful, wonderful world of freedom.

“You mean He…?” Jon interpreting silence as easily as words. Or perhaps just sensing the Divine presence.

“Yes.” My voice shook.

Jon sank down on his knees. Bane frowned faintly and did his usual I’m-respecting-Margo’s-feelings-but-don’t-think-it-means-I-believe-any-of-it head bob.

After a moment I pried myself from the little red light and what it meant and got back to my feet. Jon struggled up as well, only to gasp and clutch his side as he straightened.

“Oh no, thought I’d pulled a muscle...” Something in his voice caught my attention. He drew his hand drew away...

Red with blood.

***+***

22

INDEFINITE LEAVE TO REMAIN

Jon’s legs buckled...

“Catch him!” I cracked foreheads with the doorkeeper as I lunged. Bane collided with Father Mark, but they managed to stop Jon’s head hitting the marble floor.

One of the Swiss Guards already had a wristCell to his mouth, talking rapidly in Latin. I heard
doctor
and
stretcher
and managed not to scream for just those things. Father Mark ripped Jon’s clothes aside to bare the wound, using Bane’s proffered t-shirt to stem the bleeding.

“Keep calm,” he said, as I flung myself down next to him, “I don’t think it’s serious.”

“Anything’s serious in his condition!”

“Granted he doesn’t look a picture of health. But Lord willing, we’ll patch him up.”

Some very competent guards were already edging me out. So competent that even Father Mark withdrew and left them to it. Soon more Swiss Guards came jogging up with a stretcher, followed by a layman bent under the weight of a large paramedic’s kit—we clearly weren’t going to get anywhere near Jon for the foreseeable future.

Screeeeeeech...

The deafening sound penetrated the basilica’s thick walls.

“The bus driver’s recovered,” muttered Bane in English, shrugging into the light jacket one of the guards had produced from somewhere.

“I reckon he’s going to be very grateful for the bruise...” I said absently, most of my attention still on Jon.

“Definitely a case of shutting the gate after the fugitives have gone through it, though!”

Four of the Swiss Guards marched smartly up to the internal porch and disappeared inside. Daylight streamed in as the little sally port opened and out they went…

No shots. Gradually I relaxed.

“What are they doing?” Bane marshaled his Latin as his own tension gave way to puzzlement.

A series of clangs from outside...

“Shutting the portico gates,” said the little robed doorkeeper. “We only close them when the EuroGov’s gates are closed, for reasons you will appreciate.”

Portico gates… yes, there’d been huge iron barred gates, standing open between each pillar. If they’d been closed… I shuddered.

“Keeping them open is just a bit of a security risk.” Father Mark had been listening. “But just very occasionally it pays off…” He gestured to us. “So one can’t call it a
pointless
security risk.”

“Don’t they shoot the Swiss Guards?”

“Not usually,” said the doorkeeper dryly.

“The square
is
the territory of a Free State,” pointed out Father Mark, “and they do try to look legal, after all. They’re quite happy to make an exception for people pulling a stunt like yours, though.”

“We’re taking him to surgery.” The doctor was zipping up his bag as the stretcher was trotted away at the same speed at which it’d been brought. “But he’ll be fine and there’s really no point in you hovering.” He galloped off after his patient, still clutching the bag.

“There, what did I tell you?” Father Mark looked me and Bane up and down. “My goodness, look at the state of you. Canteen, first stop?”

“We ate with the Resistance...” My stomach caught up with my tongue as Bane shot me an incredulous look. “What am I saying? I could eat a three-course meal!”

“Follow me, then.”

A pained noise came from a man in grey civilian attire of uniform-level smartness, who’d either been there the whole time or arrived unnoticed. Father Mark hesitated.

“Ah, there is that. If I take you to the canteen first of all, Eduardo may have a nervous breakdown and it’s probably better if the Head of Vatican Security isn’t reduced to tears. Do you mind if he gets you registered and everything first?”

I eyed the man’s impassive face—had he ever been reduced to tears in his
life?

Bane snorted. “Go ahead. Until recently we’ve been waiting
all day
for food, another hour won’t make any difference!”

“Oh, not an hour,” said Eduardo. “Half an hour, at most. This way…”

My legs ached and shook as we trudged after his brisk steps, and I was glad of the arm Bane slipped around me. Eduardo led part way down the side aisle, genuflected and went through a doorway. Father Mark and I genuflected as well; Bane did his head bob, saw me trying to muster the energy to rise, and hauled me back to my feet, angel.

A slight bleep accompanied our passage through the doorway. We all stopped as Eduardo pulled out a handheld networkAccessor and consulted it. His eyes went to the spot where Bane’s knife was hidden, but he pocketed the Accessor again and carried on without comment. A hidden weapon scannerArch? Knives must be allowed, then. Or he appreciated that Bane might not want to give it up just yet.

“So who is this guy again?” Bane asked Father Mark in a low voice, sounding relieved as we headed along a stone passageway.

“Head of the VSS.”

“The Vatican has a Secret Service?” said Bane, while I was still making guesses at the acronym.

“Oh yes. But before your imagination runs away with you, it’s almost entirely
counter
-espionage. Though at the moment, Eduardo deals with anything at all relating to the State’s security. He’s not at all a scary fellow, unless you find being pathologically fearless scary, which admittedly some people do.”

Several echoing passageways and a very fine flight of stairs later, Eduardo ushered us into a small office. Taking his place behind the desk, he gestured for us to sit in the collection of comfortable old chairs ranked in front of it.

“You’ll stand sponsor?” he asked Father Mark, laying out three passport-like wallets on the desk in front of him and drawing out his computer keyboard.

“Of course.”

“Then this should be quick enough.” He turned his attention back to me and Bane. “I need to check your identities and take your details, then I can issue you with visas. If you’ve got your ID cards, we can begin.”

“Uh,” I raised a finger. “I haven’t got mine.”

“Where is it?”

“Either burned up or in the EuroGov’s possession. Or just possibly a SpecialCorps soldier’s souvenir, though I doubt they’d dare. Jon’s is with it.”

Eduardo sighed, but didn’t look desperately concerned. Not that he looked like he was ever desperately anything. He flicked an eye at my scar. “Well, I don’t think there’s any doubt about
your
identity.” He held out a hand for Bane’s card. “Thank you.”

He looked at the photo, at Bane, back at the photo again. “Well, it won’t be possible to prove this is you until you’ve had a shave and several weeks’ meals, but it could be and Father Mark says it is.” He twiddled the card at Bane. “I keep this, you understand? Goes in the card vault. You want to leave, you get it back. Okay?”

Clearly people weren’t encouraged to flit to and fro from Free State to EuroBloc—probably a recipe for espionage. Most people who came here weren’t going to miss their IDs, anyway.

Bane nodded, and placed the Italian guy’s card on the desk as well. “Just in case you want this too, some Italian sold us this not half an hour ago. We probably owe him our lives.”

Eduardo ran it through the scanner on the desk. “Miguel Appiani; twenty; residence—Rome; languages—Italian and Esperanto; clean record. Can’t tell you any more than that.”

“You’ve got access to the EuroGov system?”

“They’re not very good at keeping me out.” Eduardo calmly scanned Bane’s real card. “Blake Marsden, known as Bane… okay, I have to investigate any matters on your record, you understand. Item one,
first degree homicide
, says you knifed a government employee, is this correct?”

Bane glanced sidelong at Father Mark who just smiled encouragingly. “Yes,” said Bane.

“Could you tell me the circumstances in which this occurred?”

“Okay. Man was a dismantler. Man was dismantling Margo. Man raised scalpel to kill Margo. I killed man. D’you need more details?”

“Witnesses?”

“Father Mark and Margo.” Bane nodded to us.

“Was that description accurate in all important or relevant particulars?”

“Yes,” I said. True from Bane’s point of view anyway—I wasn’t sure if Doctor Richard had his sights on me or on Bane, but it didn’t really change anything.

“Yes, from what I witnessed,” said Father Mark scrupulously.

Eduardo typed rapidly for a few moments. “Okay, next item...s. Five charges of
Assault on a EuroGov Employee
, three
causing Actual Grievous Bodily Harm
.”

“None of them were
grievous
,” I objected. “We
know
two of them were just concussions. And what was the
third
one?”

“Well, concussion
is
more serious than people think, but as it happens, I saw the two victims on TV the other night and they looked very well to me. The third charge concerns a knife wound. So, tell me?”

“Two SpecialCorps soldiers were driving Jon and Margo to a Facility to dismantle them,” said Bane. “I persuaded the driver out of the van with a knife to his throat—I’ve done more damage to
myself
shaving, so ‘grievous’ is just nonsense. I shook the soldiers in the back of the van around quite a bit and left them parked on the edge of a cliff but perfectly safe.

“The other two were normal soldiers who were torturing Jon so I made them lie on their faces and bashed them on the nut with a rifle butt. That or blow their heads off, so it seemed a good idea at the time.” Bane shot another look at Father Mark, as though afraid some comment about his temper might be forthcoming—Father Mark just gave a faint, sad smile. “Margo and Jon are witnesses.”

Eduardo raised his eyebrows at me.

“All correct. Bane was feverish at the time,” I added. “And we had to shut them up somehow.”

“Please don’t
imply
things,” said Eduardo. “If you want to make a point, make it: it saves misunderstandings.”

“Oh. Sorry. I just think he actually showed quite good self-control. In the circumstances.”

“Duly noted. This is not a trial, however.” Eduardo looked at Bane again. “Next charge,
Sedition: Category One
—you sprung a Facility full of reAssignees, correct?”

“Yes.”

“Lovely, not illegal here, very much the opposite. Next,
Destruction of Public Property
. What was the property?”

Bane scratched his beard. “Um, y’know, I’m not too sure. ‘Cause the Resistance blew up a helicopter but I tried to stop them.
Idiots.”
Heat leaked into his voice, even after so long. “Margo and the girls were just underneath, you see,” he explained, at Eduardo’s look of inquiry. “They might be trying to pin that on me but it wasn’t. Lots of bullet holes in their Facility, but that wasn’t my finger on the trigger either.

“Oh, Father Mark and I did nick a whole load of bottles of antiseptic fluid, a roll of clingfilm stuff and um… a plastic sheet and a couple of bags. And poured the original contents of the bottles down the sink. That’s all I can think of.”

Eduardo looked at Father Mark who smiled unapologetically and nodded. Eduardo typed quickly again.

“Right, that’s you… Next, Margaret Verrall,” he typed a manual search, “they don’t like you much, do they? There’s a list of charges as long as my arm…”

“Really?” I said. “It was only four the last time I saw it.”

“Well, they’ve come up with a few more, but… not illegal, not illegal, not illegal, Blake’s covered that one… Not illegal… Okay, you’re clear. Jonathan Revan, isn’t it? Ah yes. He’s quite a good boy, it seems.
Personal Practice
,
Unauthorized Departure
and
Escaping from EuroBloc Custody
. Not illegal here. Clear.”

He filled something in on each of the wallet things, then stamped them, signed them and handed two over.

“These are your visas, keep them safe.”

Taking out three blank pass cards, he slid them one at a time into a card programmer-printer, typing a few commands on the computer each time. I opened my visa wallet.
Vatican Free State
, I read,
Indefinite Leave to Remain
. I smiled and muttered the English to Bane, who was spelling out the Latin words. Underneath
Issued by
it was signed
Eduardo
… I couldn’t read his surname. HEAD OF THE VATICAN SECRET SERVICE, it said afterwards, then
on behalf of
and another signature:

Cornelius PP.III

A moment of surrealism. Was it actually possible I was sitting in a Free State holding an indefinite visa signed by the Pope himself? I pointed out the last signature to Bane, and he grinned.

“Here…” Eduardo passed a card to me and another to Bane, placing the last one with the third visa. “These don’t strictly speaking need to be visible, but you’d be advised to display them until the guards recognize you by sight. After that, keep them on you—you’ll need them in the canteen, supermarket, department store—anywhere like that—and please don’t
lose them.”