Counterplay

tie him up with phone cords and duct tape his mouth shut before going back to the lobby, shooting the guard, and leaving.

Stavros’s story would be that he’d been forced to cooperate with Kane or face death for himself and Amarie, who was already home and tied up on the bed. The whole murder case would be portrayed as a setup to blackmail him with a taped confession of Dante Coletta admitting to the murder. Poor Coletta, who thought he would be escaping the country with Kane, didn’t know that the plan was for Kane’s terrorist friends to shoot him and make it look like a suicide with the tape on the bed next to him.

Better him than me, Stavros thought as he’d waited for Kane’s call.

He hadn’t meant to kill Teresa that night. But when she refused to help him with his gambing debts, something clicked and the next thing he knew, his hands were around her throat and he’d choked her into unconsciousness. His first thought had been to call an ambulance. But then Coletta had appeared out of nowhere.

If you call an ambulance, the chauffeur said, they’ll call the cops. It will at least be attempted murder, and if she dies, you’ll go away for life…if they don’t give you the death penalty.

What do I do? he’d pleaded.

Let me make a call, Coletta said. Then when he returned he said, You’re going to have to finish this. Shoot her and then we’ll bury her and make it look like she got tired of you fucking around on her and left.

I couldn’t, he’d stammered.

It’s that or the electric chair. The chauffeur had shrugged.

Then the gun was in his hand, and he was leaning over with the muzzle a foot from his wife’s head. Closer, Emil, the chauffeur had whispered. Put it right on her fucking skull and pull the trigger. You don’t want to miss.

Stavros had looked at his wife and was struck by how beautiful she was; there was a moment’s regret, a thought of returning to the first option of calling for an ambulance. But then there was Coletta whispering again, Shoot her, Emil. Or your life is over.

He didn’t remember pulling the trigger, or whether he shot once or a dozen times. The next thing he knew, he was on his knees throwing up with Coletta patting him sympathetically on the back. “You did what you had to do, Emil,” he said.

They’d pulled up the rosebushes and buried her. After replacing the plants, Coletta had told him to sit tight for a couple of days and then report his wife as missing. Everything will be taken care of, the chauffeur said. Just remember, you are indebted to Mr. Andrew Kane from this day on.

Fourteen years later, Stavros had been angry when he learned that Kane had set him up in order to force him to cooperate with his plan. But there was nothing he could do-Kane had the gun with his fingerprints locked away in a safe deposit box.

The plan to absolve him of the murder should work, Stavros thought. Plus, Karp will be dead, and there will be a mistrial. If I’m worried about it, I’ll leave the country. I’ll have plenty of money from my share of this.

No, what really frightened him-as a Catholic who on occasion gave some thought to the hereafter-was Kane’s plans for the Pope. The first time he heard about the plan, he’d been staggered by its audacity. You’re insane, he’d said.

The blow from Kane, who’d been standing in front of him, had knocked him from the chair on which he’d sat. You ever call me insane again, and I’ll really show you what happens when I’m feeling a little crazy, you little motherfucker, Kane snarled.

Stavros had never questioned him again. Nor did he now when Kane asked if he was ready. “Yes, Andy.”

There was a moment when Stavros wondered if he’d lost the connection. Then Kane said quietly, coldly, “Emil, if you don’t want me to rip your tongue out and feed it to a dog the next time I see you, don’t ever call me Andy, again.”

“Yes, sir, Mr. Kane. Sorry. Yes, everything is ready.”

“Good. Now just sit tight and wait for the transfer. You know what to do after that.”

Kane laughed as he closed the cell phone. What an idiot, he thought. He thinks he’s going to live? But he did love hearing fear in men’s voices when he spoke to them. It made him feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

A voice suddenly spoke in the radio receiver in his ear. “Yes,” he said.

“This is Gregor at the back of the cathedral. We have three priests and a nun who say they are with the Pope’s medical team.”

“You check them over with a wand?”

“ Da, they’re clean. No guns.”

“Then let them in. We don’t want to do anything that might cause a fuss.”

At the back of the cathedral where it joined with the building that held the archbishop’s living quarters, as well as some of the archdiocese’s offices, the Chechen terrorist posing as a Homeland Security agent allowed the four late arrivals to pass.

He hardly glanced at the men: an older priest he’d seen in the cathedral directing other priests and nuns to their places for the ceremony; and two men he’d not seen before. One of them was a short, middle-aged Asian, the other a tall, rugged priest with a patch over one eye and a scarred face. However, as the nun went past, he got a good look at her face and thought, What a waste of a fine woman to make her a nun. Too bad there is no time for rape, or I would choose this one. But who cares? After tonight, I will be in paradise with my every need fulfilled by virgins.

33

As Marlene surveyed the cathedral from her place among a crowd of nuns who’d assembled behind the altar near the Stations of the Cross sculptures, she wondered if she’d been mistaken. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. She’d spotted the security detail-four back near her and others scattered throughout the cathedral-who she assumed to be a mix of the pontiff’s private force and federal agents. But they seemed to be relaxed, calmly chatting as they watched the last of the spectators hurrying in to take their seats.

While still in the loft, she’d called Dugan. I need you to help me and two friends get into the cathedral without anybody knowing I’m there, she told him, explaining her reasons.

Dugan was alarmed. If you think there’s a danger to the Pope, I should tell the authorities.

Well, I don’t know if there is a danger to the Pope, she’d replied. This is all guesswork. And to be honest, I’m not sure which authorities you can trust. Definitely not the feds, unless you see Espey Jaxon. I just want to be able to watch for any danger to my daughter, and I might be able to spot trouble and give a warning to the security teams without alarming anyone.

Although still not happy with the plan, Dugan agreed to meet the threesome at St. Malachy’s; he knew Marlene well enough to trust her instincts. Before leaving the cathedral to pick up the Pope’s medical team, as he told the police captain at the security checkpoint, he’d asked two trusted priests and a nun to borrow their security clearance cards, which they’d given with arched eyebrows but no questions.

At St. Malachy’s he’d found enough extra clothing for Marlene, Tran, and Yvgeny to pass as a nun and two priests, though the Russian’s pants rode up three inches above his ankles. I don’t think you’re going to get past the metal detectors with any weapons, he’d said.

Thanks, Father Mike, Marlene said. We’ll have to deal with that if and when the time comes.

Back at the police checkpoint, the three had presented their passes while Dugan explained. Father Karchovski, he said, nodding to Yvgeny, is a Jesuit and a physician. The smaller priest, Father Tran, a visitor from Vietnam, treats the Pope with acupuncture for his arthritis. The