“Eyes front, American!”
I glared at him. He was the type who would feed off signs of pain.
There were footsteps behind me and Joseph Stadler walked into view. He wore a finely tailored suit, shirt and tie, and looked as though he had just come from a cocktail party.
“Mr. Morgan,” he said. “Who have you told about what you know?”
I didn’t respond. I focused on the knot binding my wrists and kept working it loose with the tips of my fingers.
“You and your associates here must die.”
I heard muffled objections from Luna and Antonelli.
“But first I need to know how big a problem I face. Do your colleagues also need attention? Ms. Smith, for example?”
Fury must have shone in my eyes.
“She means something to you. More than the others do,” Stadler said, moving closer. “Well, we can work with that. If you tell me what I need to know, if you give me assurances, I will give you her life.”
I knew no deal with this man would be worth the words wasted on it.
“You killed Brambilla,” I said. “When he arrived at the party, he saw you. He saw that you saw him too, and you both knew why he was there: to tell Matteo what you were doing, using the bank to launder money for criminals. For Milan Verde and Elia Antonelli and other members of your secret group Propaganda Tre. He knew you’d been killing the priests, that you’d killed Filippo Lombardi, and he wanted to do the right thing as a good man, to ease his conscience. He was going to give Matteo the whole story. So, you had to act. That’s why his death was unlike the others. It was spontaneous. You killed him to prevent him talking.”
Stadler smiled. “Well done, Mr. Morgan. I followed them, waited until I was sure no one could see, went into the room and used the pistol I always carry to stun Matteo.”
“And then you shot Father Brambilla,” I remarked. “Did you pretend to use the restroom? Join the crowd as it gathered? Or slip out of the staff entrance and come in through one of the terrace doors?”
“Staff entrance,” Stadler replied. “It really wasn’t difficult. Like this, being here with you. None of this is difficult for me. You know, after I’d listened to Father Brambilla beg for a while, I made him a similar deal to the one I am offering you: the truth for Matteo’s life. Father Brambilla told me he hadn’t shared our secret with anyone else, and he gave me that comfort so Matteo could live.”
“But when I reported to you what Matteo had been investigating, you decided to have him killed in police custody,” I suggested. “Because you realized he wasn’t just some friend Father Brambilla had chosen to confide in, and you were worried Father Brambilla had lied to you and told him everything.”
“Correct,” Stadler confirmed. “Well done, Mr. Morgan. Your deductive powers came good in the end. I was worried your reputation wasn’t justified.”
“And the other priests?” I asked. “Why kill them?”
“Your questions are at an end, Mr. Morgan,” Stadler replied. He turned to Milan Verde. “Kill him. And them.” He pointed at Luna and Antonelli. “Kill them all.”
Chapter 99
Milan stepped forward and drew a Beretta M9 pistol from behind his back. As he raised it toward my temple, I gave a final tug on the bowline loop binding my wrists, worked my right hand free and grabbed the gun.
He was so shocked he took a step back, but I held fast and the gun stayed in my hand.
I spun it quickly and shot him in the knee. As he went down, crying out in agony, I pointed the weapon at Stadler.
“Move and he dies,” I told the five members of the Dark Fates, who were all reaching for their weapons.
I kept the gun steady on Stadler as I undid the cord at my feet and was relieved when I was finally able to stand. Milan was rolling around on the floor, groaning in pain.
“I’ll ask you again,” I said, stepping toward Stadler, brandishing the gun. “Why all the dead priests?”
A shot rang out and I was struck by what felt like a hammer blow to my shoulder. I fell on my back, gasping with shock, and the Beretta clattered across the stone floor.
I raised my head to see who’d shot me and was shocked when Cardinal Vito Peralta emerged from a shadowed alcove beside the heavy wooden door. He wasn’t wearing his customary robe, but was instead in a dark suit and clerical collar.
“The priests were couriers we used to move money around,” he said. “Each of them could have implicated Joseph and me in criminal activities. We gave them their instructions directly. They were the only witnesses to our sins who weren’t criminals or members of Propaganda Tre themselves. They posed a threat to our plans.”
“What plans?”
“Elevation,” Cardinal Peralta said.
“To becoming Pope,” I guessed. “To running the Vatican Bank,” I suggested, looking at Stadler.
My initial shock was wearing off and my shoulder was burning with fiery agony.
“That’s what this was about... Ambition? Power?” I asked, surprised by how weak my voice sounded. I caught Antonelli’s eye and he gave me a knowing look. It was the ancient Roman pursuit he’d spoken of.
“God created man, Mr. Morgan,” Cardinal Peralta replied. “Why would he have given us ambition if we weren’t meant to use it? With eight billion of us on this planet, do we really have to worry about the loss of a handful of priests? They served a cause and fulfilled their heavenly purpose.”
His words were monstrous, a betrayal of our common faith. I wondered how many warning signs had been ignored over the years. How many people had seen the hunger for power in this man’s eyes and been unable to do anything about it. Unchecked evil would only grow, and these two men planned to take control of one of the oldest institutions in the world and use it to further their own warped objectives and the aims of their corrupt group. I couldn’t allow that to happen.
I eyed the fallen pistol. If I could just reach it, I would take my chances with a left-handed shot.
Cardinal Peralta stepped forward.
“You wouldn’t get to it in time. Your destiny was written by God before the first light flashed into existence. You will die here tonight, your reputation forever destroyed after you murdered Elia Antonelli and Luna Colombo because your organization became involved with his criminal enterprises. Your colleagues in Rome, including Ms. Smith, will all join you soon.”
He raised his weapon and I held my breath. I had to move now. I pictured myself lunging for the Beretta, and tensed, ready to pounce.
The unbearable swell of expectation was punctured by the sound of my phone ringing. It was on the floor by the chair I’d been bound to. Stadler looked down at it.
“Justine,” he said.
“Maybe we can convince her to tell us where they are,” Cardinal Peralta said. “Or get her to come here.”
“Don’t!” I said, but Stadler picked up the phone and answered the call.
“Hello?” he said. “Ms. Smith?
“She wants to be on speaker,” he explained shortly afterwards.
“Justine, no!” I said, but Stadler silenced me with a kick, and Cardinal Peralta pressed the barrel of his gun against Luna’s temple and eyed me menacingly.
“I want to talk to Cardinal Peralta,” Justine said. “I want him to hear what I have to say. Check your right lapel, Cardinal.”
Peralta looked down, and as his eyes widened, I realized I’d missed something incredibly important. There, clinging to his lapel, was one of our micro-drones.
“We used Jack’s phone to find him when he didn’t show up for our meeting,” Justine revealed. “We couldn’t get the drone into the cellar until you and Mr. Stadler arrived. We flew it in with you. It has been streaming live footage to the Internet ever since you set foot in that room.”