All told the process took several weeks. Benito eschewed attention, so he used unobtrusive equipment and a skeleton crew made up of miners from eastern Europe who couldn’t speak or read Italian. He knew if he used local workers they’d be familiar with the legend of the Catacombs and would figure out what Benito was doing. But the foreigners were clueless. He could keep them quiet without doing any of the digging himself. That is until his miners reached a depth of thirty-five feet. One foot short of history. From there he couldn’t risk their further involvement. So he thanked them for their effort with a big celebration. He put a bullet in each of their brains, then buried them with their own shovels. Just like the great explorers of yesteryear. Men who cared more about fame and fortune than the hired hands who helped them achieve it.
Ruthless. That’s what he slowly became when he found the scrolls at the Vatican. Until that point he was a passionate academician, nothing more, someone who wasn’t afraid to take chances and fight for what he believed in. But when he found the scrolls, his persona started to change. He slowly became wicked. Malicious. Immoral. All of it fueled by what the scrolls stood for: power and unimaginable wealth.
From that point on, Benito didn’t care about his workers. Or the town of Orvieto. Or the sanctity of the Catholic Church. All he cared about was himself and his family’s secret.
It had been dormant for several centuries. He planned to release it like a plague.
Benito had set things in motion once before, a few years ago. He had determined the best way to use the Catacombs and had scheduled a meeting with the Vatican to discuss his discovery.
But a potential windfall appeared. One that forced him to shift his timeline.
A translator working for Benito found a reference in an ancient manuscript that described the home of a Roman hero who lived in the foothills of Vindobona, Illyria. Inside a tomb of marble, he had placed a relic and a first-person account of the crucifixion. It threatened to contain everything that the world and the Church should know about the events in Jerusalem.
Details from before, during, and after the death of Christ.
Benito’s oldest son, Roberto, felt they should meet with the Vatican as planned. He reasoned their organization was ready to strike, and it would hurt their cause if there was a delay. But Benito disagreed. He canceled their meeting, reassuring his son that this discovery would actually increase their bargaining power with the Catholics. Roberto eventually relented.
From that point on, finding the Roman vault became the number-one priority in Benito’s life.
Everything else would be put on hold until the tomb was discovered in the hills of Illyria.
Recently, his goal had been accomplished.
43
Same agenda, different crew. That’s what Dial decided as he studied the haphazard way the blood had been splashed across the Green Monster, the way the message was scrawled as an afterthought instead of a fancy signature claiming responsibility. No way these were the same men who’d killed the priest in Denmark. The original sign had been painted with the skill and precision of a calligrapher, while the latest sign looked more like a kid’s finger painting. Like it was done by someone who didn’t understand what they were being asked to do but did it anyway. Someone who was going through the motions.
Alas, that made the middle case an enigma. The sign in Libya was painted with painstaking precision, yet blood was spread all over the Roman Arch in a spontaneous display of rage.
Dial wondered, why be precise and sloppy at the same crime scene? Could it have been done by a third crew? Or a mixture of the other two? Furthermore, did it even matter? Maybe he should be concentrating more on the message instead of the killers themselves. It was an interesting notion that he wanted to pursue. That is until he was interrupted by a tap on his shoulder. He turned and saw an Asian man standing behind him, just looking at him as though he wasn’t sure what to do next. Dial said, ‘Can I help you?’
Mark Chang nodded and fumbled for his ID. He was a first-year agent at the NCB office in Boston, which meant he was Dial’s main contact while he was in town. The man in charge of the man in charge. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t meet you earlier. I would’ve, had I known.’
Dial looked at the kid and figured he was no more than twenty-two. His hair was a mess, and so were his clothes. They looked like he had found them at the bottom of his hamper. ‘Known what?’
‘Known you were in town. No one told me, I swear. I rushed down here as soon as I heard.’
And he looked like it, too. Like he jumped out of bed and caught the first bus he could find.
‘Don’t worry, Chang. I didn’t know I was coming until the last minute. I grabbed the last flight out of Paris and — ’
‘Wait. Paris,
‘Yeah. Big country on the other side of the Atlantic. It’s listed on most maps.’
‘Yes, sir, I know where it is. It’s just, um, how did you beat me here? I thought maybe you were in town already, but to beat me from France? I mean, they found Pope’s body less than two hours ago, which means your plane had to — ’
‘Whoa, whoa, whoa! Slow down, son. Say that again.’
Chang double-checked his notepad. ‘According to 911, the groundskeeper reported Pope’s murder just after ten. From there, Boston PD notified Interpol, who then notified me an hour ago.’ He checked his watch to be sure. ‘I don’t understand, sir. How’d you get here so fast?’
But Dial ignored the question, turning his back on Chang to replay the past twenty-four hours. He’d started the day in Libya, where he caught a plane to France. That’s when Henri Toulon notified him that another victim had been found, this time in Boston. From there he hopped on another plane and flew to America.
That meant he knew about the victim several hours before his body was actually found.
‘Holy shit! We’ve got ourselves a taunter.’ Dial grabbed Chang’s notepad to be sure of the timeline. ‘I knew about the murder before it happened. The bastards called us ten hours ago.’
‘They what? Why would they do that?’
‘To taunt us, Chang. To taunt us. Hence the name.’
‘Yeah, but — ’
‘They’re letting us know that we can’t stop ’em, not even with a head start. They’re saying we can investigate them all we want, and it won’t make a damn bit of difference. They won’t stop until they’re ready to stop.’
‘And when will that be?’
‘Soon. They’re running out of words.’
‘Yeah, Chang, words. You know, the things in a dictionary? I can’t believe you don’t know what words are. What, is English your second language?’
‘No, sir. I was born right here in — ’
Dial rolled his eyes. Rookies could be so dumb. ‘It was a joke, son. Just a joke.’
‘Oh, but — ’
‘Listen, Chang, I like you, so let me give you a piece of advice that my captain once gave to me. Just shut the fuck up and listen, OK?’
‘OK, sir, I’m listening.’
‘No, Chang. That
Chang nodded, not saying a word.
‘See? You’re learning already… Now, are you ready to go to work?’
Chang nodded again, this time smiling.
‘Good. Then this is what we need to do.’
44
Payne and Jones knew little about the streets of Milan, so there was no way they could outmaneuver a helicopter. Especially in a Fiat. The truth was, they probably could have in the Ferrari, except it was too small for
