orders knew something. ‘I don’t know,’ he repeated.
‘Tarcisio is going to meet with the black pope today. Maybe he should bring this up,’ Jacopo suggested.
‘There’s only one pope,’ Rafael objected, showing some irritation. ‘There is no black pope. He never existed.’
Jacopo had referred to the popular designation for the superior general of the Society of Jesus. The head of the Jesuits, in other words. ‘Black’ referred to the color the members of the society wore and also to a certain dark power of the order. It was said that the black pope has more power than the pope himself, and whoever occupied the Apostolic Palace of the Vatican had to swear allegiance to the Curia Generalizia on Via Penitenzieri, a few feet away from the palace, if the pope wanted to have a peaceful reign. But these were legends and myths that lacked legitimacy.
‘Call him the superior general if you want, but what’s certain at the moment is he seems to know more than the pope.’
Rafael didn’t want to admit that Jacopo was right. Something dark was happening in the society. Gunter, Maurice, Zafer, Sigfried, and Aragones were the proof of that. Ben Isaac was the answer to the whole puzzle, at least Rafael hoped so.
He thought about William’s final words when he had called Rafael with new instructions. Your friend Sarah is now with them. He hadn’t expected that development. The journalist always seemed to be in his face. Without wanting to, certainly, but always on his trail. Maybe this meant something.
He had taken the opportunity to inform the cardinal of the tragedy that had occurred in the Church of Saint- Paul-Saint-Louis. The prelate said nothing. He absorbed the information and didn’t want to know any more details. Follow the instructions I gave you. Without mistakes. And don’t let anyone kill anyone else or commit suicide this time were his final words, without even a good-bye.
Later, already on the road, David had called. He was in Rome and wanted to meet him for dinner. Accustomed to analyzing situations in fractions of a second, he’d agreed to meet him that evening. He had to do everything to make this happen. At least he had to land in Rome at the end of the day. He didn’t understand David’s call. He was a friend from another life, a life that was over. He thought about not accepting the invitation, but the American could be useful in the game that was unfolding.
His thoughts were interrupted by a female voice coming over the public-address system.
‘Passengers, in a few moments we’ll arrive at St. Pancras International Station. Please check to make sure you have your personal belongings with you. We hope you have enjoyed the trip, and it will be a pleasure to welcome you aboard Eurostar next time.’
‘Finally,’ Jacopo complained. He shut his laptop and put it in the case.
Rafael’s cell phone rang just as the train slowed to come to the platform. He answered and listened for a few seconds. He ended the call without saying a word.
‘Everything okay?’ Jacopo asked, visibly tired.
Rafael nodded his head yes. Before the train came to a stop, a line was already forming by the door. Passengers crowded to leave — their business more important than anyone else’s. Rafael remained seated, along with Jacopo, more out of deference to the priest than his own wishes.
As everyone started to leave for the platform, Rafael looked at Jacopo with a serious expression.
‘As soon as we step outside the train, we’re going to do things my way.’
Jacopo swallowed dryly and agreed.
31
‘Total concentration. Don’t take your eyes off of them,’ David Barry said, looking at a large monitor that showed several images of the interior of St. Pancras International Station and some even inside the train.
There was no better city than London for this kind of surveillance. The thousands of cameras spread over the city offered a vast view of everything and everyone in practically all public places, and with the proliferation of video cameras and cell phones, there was no place that couldn’t be watched. And, of course, there was the cherry on top: the high-definition spy satellites that surveyed the earth, four hundred miles in space, and could capture the glow of a cigarette with greater detail than a conventional camera a few feet away.
Barry resembled the commander of the Enterprise in full battle with the Klingons. He was in the center of the room, alert to every movement, ready to give orders as thing developed.
‘I want to see and hear, folks.’
‘The train stopped. It’s showtime,’ Staughton alerted them, moving the joystick that controlled the high- definition cameras of the satellite.
‘Anything from Sugar Grove?’ Barry asked.
‘We’ve intercepted two communications from the French police,’ Aris reported. ‘We’ve got the names of the victims now. There are four. Three in Paris and one in Marseille.’ He handed some papers to Barry, who looked at the names.
‘Okay, I want to know who these people are. All their strengths and weaknesses, who they associated with, the life they led, secrets, lies, heroic actions, even the size of their shoes.’
‘I’m on it,’ Samantha replied, taking the papers from Barry’s hand.
‘Sooner than later,’ Barry said, half-joking and half-serious.
The images showed people leaving the Eurostar from several angles, in a hurry, absorbed in their own lives, oblivious to the invasion of privacy in the name of the law.
‘They’re on the platform,’ Staughton informed them.
‘Okay. Pay attention. We can’t lose them. Who has the camera in the station?’
‘Davis,’ replied a technician with the same name.
‘Keep a sharp eye out, Davis.’
‘They’re not going anywhere without taking me along,’ he said confidently.
In the image Rafael appeared, followed by another man, walking toward the exit.
‘Who’s that with him?’ Barry asked. ‘I want to know who he is, folks. His name, Social Security number, and who he voted for,’ he ordered in a firm voice.
‘The agents in the main terminal are in position,’ Aris reported.
Barry looked at him seriously. ‘What agents?’
‘We have a team on the ground.’
Barry pointed at the monitor. ‘We have cameras. They’re our agents in the field. Get rid of the people on the ground before Rafael notices them,’ he demanded irritably.
‘But…’ Aris was going to object.
‘But nothing. It’s an order. You don’t know Rafael. He’ll notice them in a second,’ he turned from Aris and spoke slowly. ‘Take the team away immediately.’
‘Stand by, Travis,’ Aris spoke into a headphone, visibly unhappy.
Travis said something over the static.
‘Abort the operation. Repeat. Abort the operation.’
‘Roger. Operation aborted,’ Travis said.
Several cameras continued to follow a serious-looking Rafael. A handful of technicians controlled various areas to let nothing escape. The two men were in a customs line to show their identification in order to step on British soil.
‘Who has the cameras for the exterior of the station?’ Barry asked, always a step ahead of what was happening.
‘Davis,’ the same technician replied again.
‘Where can they go out?’
‘The station has five exits. One by metro, two for St. Pancras Road, and two for Midland Road. In the street they can take a bus, taxi, or rental car. Or walk,’ Staughton informed them.
‘Or take another train to another destination,’ Aris pointed out.
Barry shook his head no. ‘Whatever they’ve come to do will be in London,’ he said, raising his voice. ‘Pay
