‘You’re forgetting something,’ she said. ‘That night in Milan, when you made contact with Roberto, you told him that I was in the Ferrari, right? Hiding with D.J.?’
Payne nodded. That’s what had happened.
‘And how did he respond?’
Oh, shit! Payne thought to himself. How could he have been so dumb? How could he have overlooked
Suddenly Payne had all the proof he needed. Maria and Roberto were not on the same side.
60
Benito Pelati didn’t shout. Or scream. Or lose his cool. He simply leaned back in his chair and smiled. It was a reaction that Cardinal Vercelli and the rest of the Council hadn’t expected.
‘Am I missing something?’ Vercelli asked. ‘Your reputation will be
For years he had kept the secret of the Catacombs to himself. Partially out of respect for his best friend, Cardinal Bandolfo, who would’ve been devastated by the betrayal; partially because he was waiting to uncover the first-person account of the crucifixion from the tomb in Vienna. But now that Bandolfo was gone, the Viennese vault was being unearthed, and his son Roberto had been killed, Benito realized it was time to act.
‘Why are you smiling?’ Vercelli demanded. ‘You have no reason to be smiling.’
‘Actually, it’s
Vercelli remained quiet. There was something about Benito’s tone that was disconcerting. It was cold and assured. Like an assassin who was ready to strike. And everyone in the room sensed it. All eyes followed Benito as he stood from his chair and moved toward Vercelli.
‘The Council asked me to find the person responsible for Father Jansen’s death and for the blackmail scheme, and I have done so. Why shouldn’t I be happy?’
‘You know who’s responsible?’ asked the Brazilian. ‘Then tell us. Who?’
Benito stared him in the eyes. ‘It was me.’
‘You?’ shouted Vercelli. ‘What do you mean,
‘Just as I stated, I’m the man behind his death. In fact, I’m behind all the crucifixions.’
It took a moment for his words to penetrate the fog that clouded the Council’s thoughts. Once it happened, though, outrage filled the room. Unadulterated venom. And Benito reveled in it. He soaked it up like applause, enjoying every last insult that was fired in his direction. Somehow it made him feel better about what he was about to do. Then, when he reached the end of the table, the seat reserved for the Council leader, he leaned toward Vercelli’s ear and whispered softly, ‘You’re sitting in my chair.’
To punctuate his point, Benito put his hand on the cardinal’s head and slammed his face into the hard table. Blood gushed from Vercelli’s nose and mouth, dousing the bright red of his clerical robe with even more red — a color meant to signify that he was willing to die for his faith, if necessary. Yet Benito didn’t get that vibe from Vercelli. His point was proven when Vercelli abandoned the chair without further provocation. Meanwhile, none of the other cardinals dared to move, secretly wondering if Benito was armed and planning to kill them.
But that wasn’t the case at all. He simply planned on killing their religion.
He’d been recruited by the Council to catch a criminal, yet Benito was the mastermind behind everything. His men were killing innocents on the world’s stage to draw global attention. People from every continent. People of different religions. Letting the media debate the crucifixions in order to put more pressure on the Council. Benito needed them to know that he was ruthless and would stop at nothing to get what he wanted.
But that would come later. For now all he longed to see was the expression on Vercelli’s face when he explained the true meaning of the Catacombs. When he told him that underneath the Church’s burial plots there was a hidden chamber, accessed by a staircase that the Vatican never knew existed. And in that room, there was a deadly secret. One that would kill the Church.
Finally, after all these years, Benito and his family would get everything that they deserved.
61
The cargo plane took off from a small airfield that few people knew about. Grass covered the only runway, which was more like a field than anything else. The only air traffic controller was the farmer who moved his livestock whenever he heard the rumble of a distant engine.
The plan came to Tank Harper while he was figuring how to hoist their massive cross over the walls of the Forbidden City. After giving it some thought, he decided it would be much easier to drop the cross from above instead of lifting it from below. Not only would it increase the ease of their escape, but the scene would generate the media attention that they were looking for.
Except Harper knew he’d have to break a number of Manzak’s rules in order to make it work and didn’t want to risk his share of the money. So he called him early in the week, looking for clearance. Manzak was so thrilled with the idea that he told Harper if his crew could pull it off that they would be awarded a bonus of $100,000 on top of their normal share. From that moment on, there was no turning back. They would use the air.
Or as Harper referred to it: Operation Jesus Drop.
Before they took off, Harper and his men were forced to do the same things that the other crews had done to their victims. Scourging him with a leather whip until the skin hung off his back. Nailing him to the cross one spike at a time. Hanging a sign above him. Then, on top of everything else, they made sure the modified cross — a reinforced base, steel hooks on top,
‘Two minutes,’ said the pilot as he scanned the horizon. ‘We can go lower if you want.’
‘Just stick to the plan,’ Harper growled. In his mind this wasn’t the time to improvise. He’d made all the necessary calculations earlier in the week, double-checked his figures after some test runs, and scouted the interior of the Forbidden City for the best place to aim. All they had to do was follow his numbers, and everything would be fine. ‘Move into position.’
The other two crewmen jumped to their feet and slid Adams and the cross to the special hatch that allowed large crates to be dropped behind enemy lines. Above the door was a series of clasps that connected to the cross’s parachute, guaranteeing that the forty-foot canopy would open the moment it hit the air.
‘Thirty seconds,’ the pilot shouted.
Harper looked at his watch. They were right on schedule. All that was left was to administer the final blow before he pushed Adams from the plane. ‘Any final words?’
Adams tried to speak but wasn’t able to because of the gag in his mouth. The entire crew laughed as Harper put his hand behind his ear and leaned forward, pretending to listen.
‘Twenty seconds,’ the pilot warned.
Harper smiled as he positioned the iron-tipped spear. He’d been waiting for this moment all week. ‘Since you have nothing to say, I guess you’re ready to die.’
‘Fifteen seconds.’
The cargo door fell open as Harper rammed the spear into Adams’s side. The roar of the outside wind covered the snapping sound of Adams’s ribs and the wet sucking of his punctured lung. Blood poured from the wound like a cracked bottle of Chianti, its contents gushing down the victim’s skin. Harper wouldn’t risk being identified, so he pushed the spear in deeper until the metal tip actually burst through the other side. Only then was he willing to pull the spear out.
‘Five seconds.’
Harper cut the gag off Adams’s mouth while his crewmen cut the safety cords near the base of the wood. Suddenly the giant canopy sprang to life, pulling the cross from the plane with a mighty whoosh and sending Adams toward the grounds of the Forbidden City.
Catrina Collins had honed her skills at the
