“Of course.”
“Then we have protection not only on the Vatican front, but on Rome’s as well. I have faith that the good Lord will intervene, should the intel prove true. But as leader of the holiest seat in the land, I will not vacate my throne until I have positive proof that such a plan is in motion. I know the value of Vatican Intelligence and its ability to locate people across the globe with the use of the best available technology and communications system. If these men exist, the Bangladeshi and—who’s the other?”
“The Man from Munich.”
“And the Man from Munich will be found. Use every possible resource available. If they do exist, then Vatican Intelligence, along with the aid of the Polizia di Stato and its Nucleo Operativo Centrale di Sicurezza group, should be able to defuse the situation long before it gets its footing, yes?”
“Your Holiness, and with all due respect, what if the Bangladeshi has already infiltrated the city’s borders?” Father Auciello asked him. “Certainly, your faith would surely be weakened by the possibility of this happening already.”
“Which is why I set forth the order to have Vatican Security comb the area until every stone is lifted and turned. Until then, secure the borders.”
After a moment of hesitation, Father Auciello said, “Yes, Your Holiness.”
“You have the technological capabilities, or so I’m told, to see that Vatican City is adequately protected. Make sure you use them wisely.”
Both priests bowed their head in respect and got to their feet. That was when the pontiff offered his hand for them to take, which they did with Father Auciello first accepting the hand, and then kissing the Fisherman’s Ring in reverence. Father Essex followed up with the same routine of accepting the hand and kissing the ring. Once the priests were gone, the pontiff was left alone inside his chamber with his own considerations. Tenting his hands, he then bounced his fingertips against his chin in deep thought, a habit of his whenever he became anxious.
At the moment, his city was under siege, or so it was believed, by a madman who possessed a weapon of mass destruction. But he believed in divine intervention, too. Would God allow such a person to render the city as a blackened hole upon the landscape? Would He allow His greatest devotee of the pope to die within its ruins? But I have so much to do. So much to achieve. And because he believed himself to be too important to be in harm’s way, the pontiff genuinely believed that God would intervene by way of divine magic and interference. In some way, he knew he would be spared, especially when he was doing God’s work, with Kimball Hayden a big part of his agenda.
All he needed was time.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Rome, Italy
Following Morning
The Bangladeshi had gone without sleep for two days, even as fatigue weighed him down. As he lay in bed with his eyes staring ceilingward, sleep would not come to him as his mind continued to race with stark images. He envisioned plumes of mushroom clouds igniting blackened hearts across the Middle East, with the Unholy Trinity serving as the catalyst to unite hundreds of thousands against a common foe. The success of the mission would also catapult him to the top of the arms dealers’ echelon. Now with a half billion dollars in untraceable funds hidden in his virtual wallet; he now had the capital to start his own arms company. His market, of course, would be the Middle East where the Taliban, the Islamic State and al-Qaeda would be climbing over one another to purchase his wares. The way the Bangladeshi envisioned his future, he saw it as a win-win situation. His half-billion account in bitcoins would immediately triple and grow from there.
Sighing in frustration over his inability to fall asleep, the Bangladeshi turned to the suitcase which sat alongside the bed. Reaching out his hand, he traced his fingertips over the image emblazoned in red upon the aluminum shell—that of the angel with demonic wings, the False Prophet. Then he considered the surrealness of the moment and quickly realized that this was going to happen, that the weapon was going to detonate. Until recently, everything was a raw plan that had been spelled out on paper, a mission in the making. But as he remained holed up inside a hostel in Rome with the target less than two miles away, it seemed all too real.
As he continued to caress the image with the points of his fingertips, the alarm of his watch went off. He had set it under the belief that he would sleep, and that the alarm would awaken him. As he hit the alarm-kill switch on his watch, the Bangladeshi swept his legs out from under the sheets and planted his feet on the floor. While sitting motionless along the edge of the bed, his eyes shifted and came to rest on the burner cellphone that was lying on the nightstand. Grabbing it, he knew that the next stage of the operation needed to commence. So, after dialing a registered number with a single tap of a button, the Bangladeshi placed the phone to his ear.
After the phone rang a dozen times without an answer, he hung up and tried again. And like before no one had answered, which went against communications protocol. The burners were to be active at all times with the cellphone clinging to the operator as though it was an appendage. Then after the third attempt, the Bangladeshi realized that the Man from Paris had either gone rogue, or his position had been compromised. He thought the latter, which automatically had put him at odds with Jaziri. If the Mossad had run interference to corral the Man from Paris, then that action had most likely been reported
