The Secret Chapel

longer than necessary.

“Give me the backpack, John.”

“Don’t worry, Father. I’ve managed to bring it this far, and it’s not getting away from me now.”

“Do you see that man over there looking our way?” Leo pointed to a huge Italian man in the center of a group of tough-looking men across the street. “This station is home to some of the best pickpockets and thieves in the world. Alon would have a hard time keeping that backpack if that guy over there wanted it.”

John followed Leo’s gaze to the man who was now looking right at him. He thought for a moment before slowly handing Leo the backpack containing the book while Leo handed him the decoy backpack. The large man had obviously come to some conclusion and was now walking in their direction. He was within twenty feet of Leo when a white minivan skidded to a stop between them. Alon slid the side door open and jumped from the van, allowing the large man approaching to see the nine-millimeter pistol stuck in his waistband. Game over. The large man’s eyes widened as he backed away into the safety of his group and began to once again scan the environment, like a predator on the African savannah looking for new, less dangerous prey.

Moshe gunned the minivan’s engine and lurched away from the curb into the rush of late-afternoon Roman traffic at the height of tourist season. “Where to now, Father?”

“The Hotel Amalfi. It’s where I always stay and it’s right across the street from the Vatican. The owner is a friend of mine and he’s expecting us.”

Moshe used the van’s horn as he wound his way through traffic. “Do you think that’s wise, Father? I mean, if this is a place where you are known to stay, the phone might be tapped. They could even be watching it.”

“I e-mailed the owner. Besides, they probably don’t think I would be bold enough to come back to my regular hotel. It’s probably the safest place in Rome for us to be right now.”

The van weaved its way down the Via Crescenzio past the Castel Sant’Angelo, the same enormous castle where they had climbed out of the catacombs with Morelli into a basement storeroom. Leo glanced up at the summit of the massive round building and fixed his gaze on the colossal bronze statue of Michael the Archangel with unfolded wings, sheathing his sword with his right hand. Created by the eighteenth-century Flemish sculptor, Peter Anton von Verschaffelt, the statue seemed to speak to Leo, telling him everything would be alright. The priest said a silent prayer as they passed below, praying to the powerful angel to protect them one more time.

They rounded a corner and came to a stop several doors down from the hotel. The men checked the area in an effort to spot anyone looking at them with more than a casual interest. The street was especially quiet for this time of day, but anyone could be the one who might be watching to see if they showed up: the single man in a suit casually strolling by, the old lady with a shopping bag, the young girl with a dog. Security people knew all the tricks.

Moshe opened the driver’s door and stepped out into the street. Alon placed his hand on the gun in his waistband as they sat in the van and waited for something to happen. The young girl with the dog crossed the street while the old lady with the shopping bag disappeared around the corner. The man in the suit slowed his walk as he passed by the van and said hello, smiling to no one in particular before continuing on his way.

It was time to go. The men grabbed their backpacks and exited the van. They stood together on the deserted sidewalk, and after another quick look around, they headed straight toward the hotel and bounded up the steps and through the welcoming Victorian doors.

Arnolfo practically leapt from behind the desk and grabbed Father Leo in a warm bear hug. “Thank God you made it safely, Father. I’ve been sick with worry since I got your e-mail. I’ve been keeping a close watch around the hotel for suspicious persons like you asked me. Did you see the girl with the dog?”

“I knew it,” John said. “She’s the one I figured they would use. It was so obvious.”

“She’s my daughter,” Arnolfo said, trying to keep from laughing and embarrassing John any further. He looked at Leo. “Didn’t you recognize her, Father?”

“It’s been years since I saw her last, Arnolfo. She’s much older now.”

“I know, Santa Maria, tell me about it. She’s been watching the street for you. Please, come with me into the kitchen in back so we can have some private talk.”

“Good idea, sir,” Alon said, glancing back at the front doors.

They were just crossing the lobby heading for the back of the hotel, when the sound of screeching brakes on the street outside literally made the men jump. Alon drew his weapon and stood before the group while Arnolfo grabbed a baseball bat from behind the reception desk and stood beside Leo.

One of the front doors swung open and Ariella stuck her head in. “Hi, guys.”

Alon lowered his gun as the others let loose a collective hiss of the air they had been holding in their lungs for too long.

“Breathe, everyone. It’s just me.”

John rushed around Alon and grabbed her in his arms. “What are you doing here? How did you…?”

“The communications people on the yacht have a GPS fix on you at all times. I just asked them where you were, and bingo, here I am.”

“A GPS fix? I don’t have a-”

“The sensors are embedded in your clothing.”

“Nice. Remind me to never lie to you about where I’m going.”

“Just remember never to lie to me.” Ariella laughed and looked around the room. “Are you guys really getting ready to play baseball?”

Arnolfo adopted a sheepish grin and put the baseball bat back behind the counter.

Leo and Moshe exchanged glances. They felt uncomfortable with the sudden turn of events, but both knew Ariella had a right to be there. She was, after all, one of the chosen and had braved the terrors in the desert, proving herself to be a strong and willing equal to any of the men.

“We need to get going,” Moshe said.

Arnolfo led the way down the narrow back hallway to a small family-sized kitchen. The hotel lacked a restaurant and provided only drinks or late-night sandwiches for the guests. Arnolfo poured some wine while the group gathered around the heavy wooden kitchen table and began discussing their plans for entering the catacombs below the Vatican.

Leo looked around the table. “Does anyone have any idea where we can enter the area where the chapel’s located? We can’t just walk through the Vatican, and I don’t want to go all the way back to the entrance under Mamertine Prison in the Forum.”

John had one arm draped around Ariella’s chair. “How about that tunnel we used the last time? The one under the Castel Sant’Angelo. We could go back down through that manhole the same way we came out.”

Leo thought for a moment. They had almost been discovered by security men when they climbed up into the castle’s basement storeroom with Morelli. He weighed their options, wondering if there was a way in without being seen or stopped by security.

“How about my basement?” Arnolfo asked. His face was a mask of innocence and simplicity.

Leo shot him a glance. “Your basement? Do you mean that wine cellar down below?”

“Yes, Father, that’s it.”

“Thank you, Arnolfo, but the area we need to get into is much deeper than that.”

“There is a tunnel below, Father. My grandfather covered it up because he was afraid the children would find it and get lost down in the catacombs. Also, the smell is not so good.”

The others sat up and pulled away from the kitchen table as if it had suddenly become electrified. Leo stood and began pacing, staring at the floor and running his fingers over his chin. “Let’s go look at it.”

Arnolfo led the way through a plain wooden door in the kitchen down a tight, winding stairway. He pointed to the narrow steps beneath their feet. “Careful, Father. These steps were carved two thousand years ago by the Romans. I think they had smaller feet than us.”

They continued down until they were standing in a chamber hollowed out of solid rock and filled to the curved ceiling with hundreds of bottles of wine.

“I remember you telling me about this wine cellar, Arnolfo,” Leo said. “I had no idea.”