faded away. Then he snatched the phone from its console.
Santelli answered on the second ring and Conte could tell by his groggy voice that he’d woken the old man.
“We have a real problem down here.”
The cardinal knew what was coming. He cleared his throat. “Have they found out?”
“Just Bersei. And right now he’s on his way out the door with copies of everything on his way to the Carabiniere.”
“Very unfortunate.” A slight pause and a sigh. “You know what you must do.”
48
******
Bersei didn’t say a word until they were safely outside the museum’s confines. He headed straight for his parked Vespa as Charlotte paced quickly to keep up with him.
“I think the Vatican is involved in something bad,” he said to her in a hushed tone. “Something to do with the ossuary.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Too much to explain right now and I don’t even know if I’m right about all this.” Stowing the laptop bag in the scooter’s rear compartment, he put on his helmet.
“Right about what?” He was starting to scare her.
“It’s best that I not tell you. You need to trust me on this. You’ll be safe here, don’t worry.”
“Giovanni, please.”
Mounting the Vespa, he put a key in the ignition and turned the engine on.
She grabbed his arm tightly. “You’re not going anywhere,” she said over the noise of the puttering engine, “until you tell me what you’re talking about.”
Sighing heavily, Bersei looked at her, his gaze filled with concern. “I think that ossuary was stolen. It may be linked to a theft in Jerusalem that left many people dead. There’s someone I need to speak with about what we’ve found.”
For a moment, she said nothing. “Are you sure about this? That seems a bit extreme, don’t you think?”
“No, I’m not sure. That’s why I’m trying to leave you out of this. I know we’ve signed confidentiality agreements. If I’m wrong, this could turn out badly for me. I don’t want you being dragged down too.”
“Is there anything I can do to help?”
Bersei flinched when he thought he saw a face looking out from behind the shadowy glass of the museum door. “Just pretend we didn’t have this conversation. Hopefully I’m wrong about everything.” He looked down at her hand. “Please, let me go.”
She loosened her grip. “Be careful.”
“I will.”
Charlotte watched as Bersei rode off around the corner of the building. ***
As the elevator doors slid apart, Charlotte hesitated before stepping out into the basement corridor. Folding her arms across her chest, she proceeded forward, fighting off a sudden chill.
Surely the Vatican couldn’t be involved in a theft, she tried to convince herself. Then again, why would they consort with a goon like Salvatore Conte? It was quite evident that he was capable of violence and just about any other act of bad behavior. But what if Giovanni was right? Then what?
Halfway down the corridor, she noticed that one of the solid metal doors was slightly ajar. It hadn’t been earlier—she was sure of that. Until now, every door down here had been closed—presumably locked. Was someone else down here with them?
Curious, she stepped up to the door and knocked. “Hello? Anyone in there?”
No answer.
She tried again. Nothing.
With her left hand, she reached out and pushed, swinging the door open smoothly on well-oiled hinges.
What she saw inside was puzzling.
Stepping into the tiny room lined with empty shelves, she stood in front of a very peculiar workstation—a bank of monitors, a computer, a set of headphones. Her eyes followed a bundle of wires that led out from the computer, crept up the wall, and disappeared into a darkened opening in the ceiling where a panel had been removed.
The system was in sleep mode. The screensaver depicted a slide show of naked women in a variety of pornographic poses. Charming.
Sitting in a chair positioned in front of the equipment, she tried to imagine what purpose this all served. Obviously, it had all been done in haste, because this room looked like a closet—not an office.
Finally, she couldn’t help but reach down to press a key on the keyboard.
The monitors flickered and hummed as the screensaver disappeared and the computer woke up.
Seconds later, the software activated what appeared to be the last program that had been in use. It took Charlotte a moment to piece together the familiar collage of camera images that spread out before her. On one of the on-screen viewing panels, there was a chambermaid cleaning a small room. Charlotte’s stomach sank when she saw her own luggage—a red, rectangular carry-on and matching garment bag—beside the bed. The maid moved into the bathroom, which projected real-time on a second panel. A familiar set of toiletries lined the vanity, complete with a hefty bottle of vitamins.
“Conte,” she seethed horrified at what she was seeing. “That fucking pervert.”
