Sign of the Cross

After the rocks and debris subsided, Maria said a short prayer of thanks, then turned to check on Boyd. His face was more pale than usual, but a smirk was etched on his lips. ‘Are you OK?’

He took a deep breath. ‘Brilliant. And you?’

‘I’m fine.’ Maria showed him the camera that she clasped in her hand. ‘So is the video.’

‘Oh, dear Lord! The cylinder!’ Boyd frantically moved his fanny pack, hoping that the artifact had stayed in the pocket of his shorts during all the chaos. When he felt metal, he smiled, knowing they had lucked out. ‘Well, my dear, it appears that things aren’t a total loss.’

‘No, but pretty close.’ Maria pointed toward the Catacombs. Their entrance was now covered in debris. ‘I don’t think anyone will be using that door in the near future.’

Boyd grinned as he inspected the rubble. ‘Good! In the meantime we can take our video to the authorities and use it as proof of our discovery. Then we can come back with proper protection and stake our official claim to this site!’

‘Yeah,’ she sighed, ‘if there’s anything left to claim.’

‘Don’t worry. I’m sure we won’t leave Italy empty-handed.’

And Boyd knew that was true, for even if the Catacombs had been completely destroyed, he realized that he already possessed the object that he had come to Orvieto for.

The bronze cylinder.

13

Several hours passed before they came back for Payne. By then his legs were dead asleep, two lifeless limbs barely able to move. Still in handcuffs, he was dragged upstairs and shoved into a metal conference room where Jones, handcuffed as well, was sitting at the end of a long table. A large stranger in a dark suit sat on Jones’s left. A second man, speaking on a cell phone, stood in the far corner of the room, watching everything with steely resolve.

Jones smiled when he saw Payne. It was the first time they had seen each other since they had been arrested. ‘Hey Jon, you’re looking well. How ya been sleeping?’

‘Like a baby. Every morning I wake up wet.’

He nodded knowingly. ‘Fuckin’ hose.’

Payne took the seat across from Jones and studied the man to his side. He was roughly the same height as Payne but outweighed him by a hundred pounds. Muscle, not flab. Payne stared at him for five seconds, sizing him up, and in all that time he couldn’t find his neck. Finally, to break the silence, Payne introduced himself. ‘I’m Jonathon Payne. And you are?’

The yeti stared back at Payne but didn’t say a word. He just let out a soft growl.

Jones, who was black and had the physique of a defensive back, laughed. ‘Thank God he hates you, too. When he didn’t talk to me, I thought he was a racist… Maybe he’s just deaf.’

‘Any idea what this is about?’

‘Nope. And you?’

Payne shook his head. ‘I was promised a phone call for today but never got to make it. Maybe these guys are from the embassy.’

‘No,’ blurted the man on the cell phone. ‘We aren’t from the embassy.’

‘Oooooh!’ Jones teased. ‘They can talk!’

‘Yes, Mr Jones, we can talk. But I promise this will be a short conversation if you continue to make comments at our expense. I will not tolerate lip from a prisoner.’

The guy was six foot one, in his mid-forties, and a total prick. They could tell that immediately. There was something about his demeanor that said, If you fuck with me, I’ll shit in your corn flakes. Maybe it was his hair, which was high and tight, or his eyes, which were cold and reptilian. Whatever it was, he made it work because there was no doubt he was running things. ‘So, should I leave right now, or will you shut up long enough to listen?’

Payne hadn’t followed orders since he was in the military but got the sense that they had no choice. Either they listened to this guy, or they went back to their cells for a very long time. ‘Sure, silence can be arranged. But only if you give us the courtesy of your name and rank. I feel that’s the least we deserve.’

‘No, Mr Payne, you don’t deserve a thing. Not with the charges you’re facing.’

The man took a seat at the far end of the table and removed a folder from his leather briefcase. Then he sat there for a minute, studying its contents. Refusing to say a word. The only sound in the room was the occasional rustle of paperwork. When he spoke again, the harshness in his voice was softer than before. Like he had reconsidered how to handle things. ‘However, due to the circumstances of my proposal, I think it would be best if I remained civil.’

‘Your proposal?’ Payne asked.

‘Before I get to that, let me honor your request. My name is Richard Manzak, and I’m with the Central Intelligence Agency.’ He whipped out his identification and handed it to Payne. Manzak’s partner followed his lead. ‘This here is Sam Buckner. He’s been teamed with me for this particular, um, situation.’

Payne studied both IDs, then passed them over to Jones. ‘I don’t understand. What do we have to do with the CIA? Shouldn’t this be an embassy matter?’

Manzak grabbed his badge, then ordered Buckner to stand guard across the room. Payne found that kind of strange, since they were in the middle of a secure facility. Nevertheless, the big guy lumbered over there and leaned his ass against the door like a tired moose.

‘This is well past an embassy matter,’ Manzak assured him. ‘The embassy tends to avoid crimes of this nature.’

‘Crimes? What are you talking about? We didn’t do anything. We came here as tourists.’

‘Come now, Mr Payne. Both of us know the type of missions you used to run. I’m sure if you thought about it you could come up with a long list of activities that the Spanish government might disapprove of.’ Manzak leaned forward, lowering his voice to a whisper. ‘For now I think it would be best if we refrain from any specifics. You never know who might be listening.’

Payne thought back to his time with the MANIACs and realized they had passed through Spain on hundreds of occasions. Moron Air Base, located near Seville, was midway between the U.S. and southwest Asia, making it a prime spot to gather supplies and jump-start missions. Same with Naval Station (NAVSTA) Rota, positioned on the Atlantic coast near the Strait of Gibraltar. It gave them access to the Mediterranean Sea and assistance on amphibious assaults. Throw in Torrejon Air Base and all the other U.S. facilities scattered around Spain, and Payne shuddered at everything they might have on him and Jones.

Hell, every time they carried weapons off the base was a breach of regulations. So was crossing the border with nonmilitary personnel. Or flying through restricted airspace. In fact, just about everything the MANIACs did in Spain — even though it was always in the line of duty — bordered on a punishable offense. Not the type of violation that was ever pursued or prosecuted. The symbiotic relationship between the U.S. and Spain would not survive if the Spanish government started cracking down on active personnel in sanctioned U.S. missions. Still, the thing that worried Payne was the classified nature of his operations. How could he defend himself if he wasn’t allowed to talk about anything he did?

Payne said, ‘You know, you’re right. This isn’t an embassy matter. It’s way beyond their scope. This is something the Pentagon will have to handle themselves.’

Manzak shook his head. ‘Sorry, gentlemen, it’s not going to happen. The Pentagon was notified by the Spanish government as soon as you were arrested. Sadly, in their eyes they have nothing to gain by getting involved. Can you imagine the public relations nightmare they’d face if they admitted to the missions you were involved in? Things might be different if you were still on active duty. Unfortunately, their desire to help is usually related to your current usefulness. And since you’re currently retired, they view your usefulness as next to nothing.’

Manzak smiled crookedly. ‘It’s a cruel world. Isn’t it, Mr Payne?’

Payne wanted to jump across the table and show Manzak how cruel the world could be. Just to shut him up. But he knew he couldn’t do that. Not until he found out why he was there, why the CIA was interested in his situation. For all he knew, Manzak could be his only ally. ‘And what about you? Does your organization view us as useful?’