“I understand the urgency,” said the voice of a man.
Jenkins disconnected and called Jonathon Carlson. “I’d found them, on a bridge over the Tiber River in Rome. I was bringing them into our custody when they escaped by—”
“By what? An act of God?” Carlson shouted.
“They jumped off the damn bridge! Right in the middle of the river. I had to shoot a cop who was in the vicinity.”
“You had them in your grasp and you lost them? You lost the flash drive? The spear, too? You know what’s next don’t you? Russia will send their own to retrieve what Marcus is carrying. That revelation310 website already has more than fifty million views in one day. Find that bastard and the woman with him. Don’t fail us again, Jenkins.”
Deep in the heart of the Kremlin, in a safe room, the Russian picked up a secure line and punched a phone number to which only he had access. The man who answered the line spoke with an Arabic accent. In Russian, Heydar Kazim said, “Yes?”
“We have another job for you.”
“What is it?”
“You, no doubt, know of the current situation with that revelation310.org website and the Circle of 13. My credibility has been severely compromised, too. The two Americans, Paul Marcus and Alicia Quincy, are believed to be somewhere in Rome. I want them dead. Send visual proof. You must bring me the flash drive Marcus carries, and you must find it before he uploads the other things he implied were there. Also, we think he still is carrying the Spear of Destiny. Stalin almost had his hands on it after the war. The Motherland would be better today had he acquired it. Bring the spear directly to me.”
“What is the bounty?”
“Two hundred million Euro.”
“You will have it within forty-eight hours.” The assassin disconnected. He quickly broke down his Giat rifle. He placed each part into a specially designed carrying case, left his apartment in Venice, and slipped quietly into the cool December evening.
It was dark when the Arabic couple arrived at the train terminal and paid cash for two tickets. The woman wore a veil over her face, just beneath her eyes. She looked as if she was just days from giving birth. The husband, a man with a full beard and walking with stooped shoulders, held his wife by her forearm, approaching the steps leading to the railcar.
The conductor came up to them. “Per favore, mi ha lasciato l’aiuta.” He helped the pregnant woman up the two steps. Her husband nodded to the conductor and said, “Molti ringraziamenti.”
The couple entered the Euro-Italian liner and walked two cars forward toward their assigned seats. They moved down the aisle in the railcar, which was about half filled with commuters and tourists bound for the first stop, Naples.
The man helped his wife sit slowly in her seat and then sat beside her. She opened a Suduko book and began working a puzzle. Her husband unfolded a copy of the La Repubblica, spread it neatly on his lap, and started reading. After they were settled in, when Marcus could feel no one was looking, he whispered to Alicia, “They have a dining car on this train. Maybe we can eat, and I can use a table to work.”
Thunder and lightning cracked and rain began to fall. Alicia looked out the window. She could see one person approaching the ticket booth before rain obscured her view.
Three minutes before the train left the terminal station in Rome, a man bought a ticket. Walking under his umbrella, he boarded the last railcar, and Andrew Jenkins took his seat in the rear of the car as the train pulled out of the station.
ONE-HUNDRED-EIGHT
The tall, thin conductor with a pronounced Adam’s apple came down the aisle taking tickets and checking passports. When he got to Marcus and Alicia, he said, “Lei parla l’italiano?”
“Sì,” said Marcus. “Siamo in grado di parlare inglese troppo.”
The conductor smiled. “Ah, yes. Very good. I speak a little Arabic, too. I don’t know if you and your wife care for an upgrade. We had a few no-shows on the train, and there are some sleeper compartments available. I just thought it might be more comfortable for your wife.”
Alicia smiled. “Thank you. My back is aching.” She turned to Marcus. “Do you mind if we upgrade?”
“Of course not.”
The conductor smiled. “Very good, please follow me.” He led them through two cars until they came to the sleeper cars. The aisle narrowed and numbered compartments were on either side. “You will occupy suite thirteen. We have already turned down the two beds. There is one on the bottom and one on top, plus a small desk and chairs.” He opened the door and ushered Marcus and Alicia inside the suite. “How would you like to take care of the extra charge?”
“How much is it?” Marcus asked.
“Seventy-five Euros.”
Marcus pulled out money and counted the amount. “Thank you.”
“Good evening. Please let me know if there is anything more that you should need. The dining car serves until ten.” He nodded and backed out of the room, ducking his head at the eve of the door.
Marcus opened his laptop and logged online, ready to begin uploading from his flash drive to the website.
Andrew Jenkins left his seat and walked less than a dozen steps to the back of the train. Studying the schematics of the train’s online operating system, he knew a single antenna receiving a KU-band satellite signal fed the Internet server, and that the server was kept under lock and key in an alcove in the rear of the last railcar. Jenkins found the locked panel. He looked back toward the front of the railcar. All the passengers were turned in the opposite direction. The conductor was nowhere to be seen. Within twenty seconds, Jenkins picked the lock and opened the panel.
His idea was to render the server useless without causing smoke or fire damage. He knelt down and used the blade of a knife to cut wires. The lights on the server blinked twice and faded.
Marcus logged on to the site he’d built, revelation310.org. He let out a low whistle.
“What is it?” Alicia asked.
“There are more than one-hundred and twenty million views. Let see what happens when I collate this information. We’ll show the way Carlson and the Kinsley Group killed presidents, prime ministers, and tens of thousands of people in a dozen countries by fueling unjustified wars. All done to fatten their stocks, margins, and bank accounts — accounts that are nothing but money-laundering operations. For good measure, we’ll add the recorded statement made by Merriam Hanover right before she tried to kill us. This is more than enough to hand down at least thirteen indictments for crimes against humanity. ”
“When you add the pictures of Daniel’s scroll from the sealed words along with the history of how we discovered the possible date of earth’s last days, there’ll be a billion views in forty-eight hours.”
The image of the website turned to a black screen. Marcus hit the refresh button. Nothing. “Something’s wrong.”
Alicia leaned closer. “What?”
“We’re offline.”
“Maybe we’re going through a tunnel and lost the satellite signal.”
Marcus stood. “I’ll go look. Stay here. Guard the flash drive with your life.”
Alicia smiled. “I thought that’s what we’ve been doing these last few days.”
“I’ll be back in a minute. The dining car is one car up. Do you want something?”
“Straight vodka would be great.”
“You’re pregnant, remember?” Marcus joked.
“Ha, ha,” Alicia said.