Part 46 (2/2)

Vatican Radio was his spire. Self-chosen. The place from which to command the defenses of the kingdom. The place from which to broadcast to the world the greatness of the Holy See. A Holy See more exalted than ever-one that controlled the appointment of bishops, rules for the behavior of priests, the sacraments, including marriage, the establishment of new churches, seminaries, universities. One that over the next century would be joined, little by little-hamlet to town to city-by a new flock representing one-quarter of the world's population, making Rome again the centerpiece of the most powerful religious denomination on earth. To say nothing of the enormous financial leverage to be garnered through control of that country's water and power, which in turn would govern when and where and what could be built or grown, and by whom. In a very short time a once-powerful saying would become the new and lasting one-and all because Palestrina had had the keenness to foresee and create it. Roma locuta est; causa finita est Roma locuta est; causa finita est. ”Rome has spoken,” it translated; ”the matter is settled.”

Except that it was not. The Vaticano Vaticano was under siege, part of it burning. The Holy Father had seen the darkness. The Eagle of the Borghese had given him nothing. He had been right about Father Daniel and his brother the first time. They was under siege, part of it burning. The Holy Father had seen the darkness. The Eagle of the Borghese had given him nothing. He had been right about Father Daniel and his brother the first time. They had had been sent by the spirits of the netherworld; the smoke they had created was filled with darkness and disease, the same that had killed Alexander before. So it was Palestrina and not the Holy Father who was mistaken: the thing perched on his shoulder was not the emotional and spiritual infirmities of an old and fearful man but indeed the shadow of death. been sent by the spirits of the netherworld; the smoke they had created was filled with darkness and disease, the same that had killed Alexander before. So it was Palestrina and not the Holy Father who was mistaken: the thing perched on his shoulder was not the emotional and spiritual infirmities of an old and fearful man but indeed the shadow of death.

Suddenly Palestrina raised his head. He'd thought he was alone. He was not. There was no need to turn. He knew who it was.

”Pray with me, Eminence,” he said softly.

Marsciano stood behind him.

”Pray for what?”

Slowly Palestrina rose up and turned. Looking at Marsciano, he smiled gently. ”Salvation.”

Marsciano stared.

”G.o.d has intervened. The poisoner has been caught and killed. There will be no third lake.”

”I know.”

Palestrina smiled once more and then slowly turned back to kneel again in front of the altar and make the sign of the cross. ”Now that you know, pray with me.”

Palestrina felt Marsciano step behind him. Suddenly he grunted. And there was a piercing light brighter than any he had ever seen. He could feel the blade pierce the center of his neck. Between his shoulder blades. Feel the strength and rage in Marsciano's hands as he pressed it down.

”There is is no third lake,” Palestrina cried. His chest heaved, his ma.s.sive hands and arms clawing, flailing behind him to reach Marsciano. But unable to. no third lake,” Palestrina cried. His chest heaved, his ma.s.sive hands and arms clawing, flailing behind him to reach Marsciano. But unable to.

”If not today, tomorrow. Tomorrow you would find a way to create another horror. And after that, another. And then another.” In his mind Marsciano saw only the anguish of a face seen in close-up on his television screen only moments before Harry Addison had come. It had been that of his friend Yan Yeh as the Chinese banker was led to a waiting car in the Beijing compound after having been informed of the deaths of his wife and son, poisoned by the water in Wuxi.

Staring blindly at the altar cross, over the white blaze of Palestrina's hair in front of him, Marsciano felt the ornate letter opener in his hands as he pushed down, twisting slowly and with all his might as he did, driving it deeper into the neck and body that roiled and writhed like some monstrous serpent trying to escape.

Then he heard Palestrina cry out and felt his body shudder once against the blade, and then he was still. A huge breath escaped Marsciano and, letting go, he stumbled back. Bloodied hands before him. His heart pounding. Horrified at what he had done.

”Holy Mary, Mother of G.o.d”-his voice was a whisper-”pray for us sinners, now and at the moment of our death...”

Suddenly, he felt a presence and looked around.

Farel stood in the doorway behind him.

”You were right, Eminence,” he said softly, and closed the door behind him. ”Tomorrow he would have found another lake...” Farel's eyes went to Palestrina and he stared for a long moment before he looked back to Marsciano.

”What you did had to be done. I had not the courage.... He was, as he said, a street urchin, a scugnizzo scugnizzo... nothing more.”

”No,” Marsciano said. ”He was a man and a cardinal of the Church.”

159.

10:58 A.M A.M.

EATON STOOD NEAR THE BACK CORNER OF the railroad station, breathless and sweating, trying to stifle a coughing fit from the inhaling of smoke. The scant breeze that had come helped some but not enough, except that it had cleared the air just a little, enough for him to see what he saw now-Harry Addison coming down the gra.s.sy slope to his right, carrying the dwarf he'd left the apartment on Via Nicol V with in his arms. He was half walking, half running, using a stand of trees that lined the roadway to the rail station for cover.

Fifty feet in front of him, Eaton saw the green engine inch toward an old and rusting freight car, which, he was certain, had to be the escape wagon. Glancing back he saw the rusty tracks leading out through the open gates in the Vatican wall. Now he looked back, searching for Father Daniel. If he could find him, that opening was the way he would take him, one way or another, even if he had to carry him.

Crossing behind the station, Eaton came onto the tracks with his back to the open gate. In front of him he saw the white-haired, white-s.h.i.+rted stationmaster standing on the platform watching the work engine near the freight car. The man was a problem, as was the two-man crew he'd seen on the engine. But none of them were half the problem he saw now. Adrianna, suddenly, and from nowhere, was crossing the gra.s.sy hill toward Harry Addison and the dwarf.

He saw Harry stop when he saw her. Then heard him yell something, as if to tell her to go away. But it made no difference. She kept coming, and now she reached them and was moving alongside, looking at the dwarf in Harry's arms then back to Harry himself. Whatever she said or was saying, Harry Addison kept going, heading downhill, toward the tracks.

”Dammit,” Eaton swore under his breath, his eyes moving off again, searching for Father Daniel.

”ADRIANNA, GET OUT OF HERE! You don't know what the f.u.c.k you're doing!” Harry yelled, half stumbling with Hercules in his arms.

”I'm going with you, that's what the f.u.c.k I'm doing.”

They were almost at the bottom of the hill. Almost to the tracks. Harry could see the green work engine nose to nose with the freight car, its engineer and brakeman with their backs to them working at the couplings. Saw the white-haired stationmaster turn and go back inside.

”Your brother's in the freight car, isn't he? The trainmen don't know it, but that's where he is.”

Harry ignored her. Kept walking, praying the trainmen wouldn't look up and see them. Hercules grunted and Harry looked down at him. The dwarf smiled feebly.

”The Gypsies are going to meet the train when it stops.... Don't let the police have me, Mr. Harry.... The Gypsies will bury me...”

”n.o.body's going to bury you.”

Suddenly the trainmen were walking away from the coupling, moving toward the engine.

”They're getting ready to leave!” Immediately Harry was pulling Hercules tight to his chest. Starting to run the short distance to the tracks. Adrianna stayed right with him.

Ten seconds later they were there. Crossing the tracks behind the freight car, running alongside it, out of sight of the trainmen.

Harry's eyes watered, his lungs on fire from the smoke and exertion of carrying Hercules. Where the h.e.l.l were Danny and Elena? What had happened to Roscani? Then they were at the freight car door and he stopped. It was open.

”Danny. Elena-”

No reply.

Suddenly the train whistle sounded. They heard the engine's diesel rev up. A puff of brown-black exhaust rising from its smokestack.

”Danny-,” Harry called again. Nothing.

Again the train whistle. Harry glanced at his watch.

11:00 A.M A.M. exactly.

No time, they had to get into the car and do it now.

”Get in.” Harry looked quickly to Adrianna. ”I'll hand him up.”

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