But a thought occurred to him: Do you truly believe that, Bonasero?
The pope labored to his feet and went to the balcony that overlooked the City. People were there about by the thousands.
And then that thought flashed through his mind once again, adamant for a response: Do you truly believe that?
Bonasero, however, could not bring himself to answer.
Sayyid prayed with the laptop beside him. The death of Shareed mattered little. He still had his team intact. But that didn’t detract from the situation that his mission had been made more difficult. Obviously the Italian authorities had been directed to provide security and intel prior to their arrival, which was to be expected. What wasn’t expected was to be placed in a position of compromise, for which they now found themselves in.
“Nothing has changed,” he said out loud and to no one in particular.
Sayyid stood over the rim of a bathtub, the laptop on the toilet seat beside him as he shaved in preparation for Paradise. His team would follow by shaving, and then cleanse themselves with rose water, a form of purification.
Their beards would be gone, their faces different. And by wearing Polizia Municipale uniforms recently purchased through the underground, they had allowed themselves the advantage of hiding in plain sight to those looking for insurgents in plain dress, rather than those wearing official attire.
What was more advantageous was that he wouldn’t have to enter Vatican City, as long as he was able to situate himself somewhere along the fringe of the city’s border and keep the Basilica within sight. Frequencies, after all, traveled through space. But the laptop’s range was limited.
After Shareed’s dying plunge, Sayyid and his team did some recon, finding the rooftop of a hotel across from the Vatican Museum a suitable observation post to initiate the nano program. Although the hotel was located within 400 meters of the Basilica, it was still beyond the city’s border and beyond Vatican jurisdiction. But with such a clear view of the heart of the Catholic Church, there was no doubt in Sayyid’s mind that snipers would be posted there. But his team was adept at killing. And with little or no contest they would take them out quickly, quietly, and with flawless execution.
Yes, he thought, Shareed’s death posed no threat to the mission at all. His death proving insignificant in the scheme of things since there was, after all, a solution to everything.
Tomorrow he would enter Paradise along with his teammates. And Vatican City all but destroyed.
Beneath the soft glow of a single light bulb, Sayyid continued to bathe and purify himself with the laptop by his side.
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
The day was a glorious one with scarce cloud cover and a bright, hot sun. Throngs of people filled St. Peter’s Square, a sea of heads bobbing and weaving to get a better look at the doors leading into the Basilica, which were closed.
Wading through the masses looking for suspicious activity wearing plain clothes was the Vatican Security Team, who maintained constant contact with the SIV, who in turn were in contact with Kimball Hayden. The Polizia Municipale maintained the lines at the city’s borders. And Italy’s elite police squads and sniper units held positional vantage points on rooftops and elevated posts that overlooked the Square.
All teams fell under the same umbrella of communiqué with the SIV Command Post, which was manned by Farther Auciello and his team of Jesuits. Should a team fail to forward their rendezvous code by radio every five minutes, Auciello would then communicate to Kimball of team failure, requiring possible backup from the Vatican Knights.
Before the papal alter inside the Basilica, dignitaries from all over the world — political and religious — ranging from presidents to vice presidents to prime ministers, most notably Vice President John Phippen of the United States and Prime Minister Cameron from Great Britain, along with world leaders from Europe and South America, religious icons ranging from Imam Qusim Abul to the elite rabbi faction of Israel, who sat with the Catholic representative of the pontiff, Pope Pius XIV, with each man each lending a hand of friendship to the other, biases and prejudices forgotten.
Sitting before the altar covered with a scarlet fabric with scalloped hemline draped over it, sat the crate containing the Ark of the Covenant.
Voices rose in anticipation.
And Bonasero Vessucci couldn’t have been more pleased. Not so much with the unveiling of the Ark, but of the congregation of people from all walks of life with different beliefs and agendas who came together under the banner of friendship and peace. The smiles, the acceptances and tolerances of one another, were completely genuine.
The pope excused himself and went to the rear of the Basilica where Kimball and his team manned the monitors form the Baldacchino, out of sight. They were in full gear, however, wearing the clerics’ shirts, Roman Catholic collar, military boots and pants.
“The unveiling is going to happen in fifteen minutes,” the pope told him. “Are there any issues thus far?”
Kimball nodded. “Everything appears copasetic,” he told him. “All teams are communicating. Other than a few skirmishes breaking out in the square from people jockeying for position to get a better view of the Basilica, everything looks fine.”
“That’s what I want to hear.”
Kimball shot him a thumbs-up. “Everything’s going to be OK, Bonasero. Everything’s going to be just fine.”
Sayyid and his two brothers of Jihad stood in front of the Vatican Museum wearing Polizia Municipale uniforms. Across the Viale Vaticano was the hotel of their choice to set up shop. From where they stood they could see a sniper and his teammate, which wasn’t surprising since the observation post gave a direct view of the Basilica.
Since they were on the city’s border and the masses were inside the square hoping to catch a glimpse of the holy relic, the street was marginally deserted. Yet Sayyid and his team lay low and close to the shadows. More so, they had shaved. And by wearing the uniforms of the Italian police, they appeared less like their photos from the Watch List.
Sayyid turned to his teammates, the laptop in his hand but within a soft case, and said, “You know what to do,” he told them. “Make it happen.”
The two men walked across the street and entered the hotel.
The two Arabs entered the hotel’s lobby and were greeted by the clerk, who raised his hands in gesticulation informing them that the upper levels of the hotel were off limits until after the Ark’s unveiling, even to the Polizia Municipale.
One of the Arab’s closed in and leaned against the desk. “Is that so?” he said in fluent Italian.
“I’m afraid the upper levels are cordoned off by Special Forces.”
“Special Forces? How many?”
“Four.”
Four. It was more than they had anticipated.
“Thank you,” he said. And then he removed a pistol with a suppressor from under his jacket and shot the clerk in the head, a hole magically appearing between the man’s eyes as he fell dead behind the counter.
The two men then began to climb the steps.
Two officers of Italy’s elite NAS police team stood post at the top of the stairwell that led to the roof. As one of Sayyid’s teammate took the steps, he was halted by one of the officers who raised a hand to stop the Arab from taking another step.
“Stop right there,” he ordered. “I’m afraid the upper levels are off limits for another hour or two.”