“Offering protection could be perceived as taking sides,” the President said.
“No,” Speers insisted. “This is peacekeeping.”
The prime minister spoke for the first time. “Here’s a mad idea. What would happen if we just let this play out?”
“You mean, just let them kill each other?”
“Precisely.”
Speers chuckled, and then pulled it back, suddenly aware of how condescending he sounded. “Let me try to put this into perspective. Hundreds of years after the Crusades, we view the Sunni and Shi’a violence in the Muslim world as something that’s so foreign, so unimaginable to us. That’s just because we have short-term memories. It wasn’t so long ago that Protestants and Catholics in Ireland were killing each other on a regular basis. And that was Europe for hundreds of years, by the way.”
“I see your point.”
“Do you? With all due respect, I’m telling you that this situation is a powder keg. If we’re not proactive, we’re going to experience global sectarian violence like the world has never seen.”
The group sat in silence for several moments. The president looked up at the screen. “Gentlemen, I need just a few minutes alone with my staff, if you don’t mind.”
The screen faded to black before displaying the presidential seal. The President stood and went to the window. “Julian,” she began while looking out at the south lawn, “you said it doesn’t matter what we believe. What if our beliefs are the only thing that really matters?”
Rome
Carver and Seven sat picking at salads and San Pellegrino. The priest was already a half-hour late. They were taking a risk waiting here. Carver’s trust in Callahan had waned considerably in the last two days. Still, his instincts told him that they needed to get to Lang, and that was going to be very difficult without the priest’s help.
“I could down an entire bottle of grappa,” Seven said, gesturing to a cabinet full of the stuff. “Every time I slow down, I see Sam’s body on that staircase.”
Carver nodded solemnly, not knowing what to say. Every comment that popped into his head seemed inane or insensitive. Finally, he said, “Were you two close?”
She thought about the question for a few moments before speaking. “Personally speaking, I didn’t care for him. But he somehow managed to have a family, which is far more than I can say for most of us. There must’ve been something good about him.”
“Right,” Carver managed, even though he didn’t agree. Even Charles Manson had a “family.” That didn’t mean there was anything good about him.
“What about you? Anyone waiting for you at home?”
“Just Marty.”
“Let me guess. A dog?”
“A pipe organ cactus. He’s very understanding about these long trips away from home.”
Carver was relieved when his phone buzzed. His eyebrows arched as he read the text message.
“Callahan?” Seven said hopefully.
“Nico. He’s got something.”
He wasted no time in logging into the mission cloud. Nico had apparently infiltrated the booking systems for at least one of the lab equipment manufacturing companies. Carver began perusing an air waybill from a company called Symplexicon Labs, and a detailed packing list containing virtually every piece of equipment that Dr. Calipari had mentioned. There was an additional set of shipments from 9002 River Road, in Rockville, Maryland. Eden.
Nico had linked the delivery address to a satellite map of Rome, along with a street view photograph. Carver was not surprised when he saw the Renaissance-era mansion near Piazza del Popolo. A man of Wolf’s means was not going to downsize from Eden to a one-bedroom apartment.
A white Peugeot sedan pulled up slowly. It was obviously a rental. As for the driver, Carver would have recognized Callahan’s bulbous head anywhere.
He laid 20 Euros on the table and ran out to the car with Seven. They got into the back seat and buckled themselves in as Callahan stepped on it.
“Where the hell have you been hiding?” the priest said, peering nervously into the rear view mirror. “I’ve been trying to call you.”
“I had to ditch the satphone,” Carver said, deliberately withholding the story about Nico’s abduction. “When you didn’t show for our meeting, I started feeling itchy.”
The priest made a sharp turn into a parking garage, where Carver guessed he intended to leave the car.
“That makes two of us, my friend. My home security alerts went off about an hour before we were supposed to meet. I was finishing up a funeral at the time. Dust to dust, etcetera. You can imagine my shock when I logged into my living room camera feed and saw someone ransacking the place.”
“Anyone you know?”
“Unfortunately, yes. Someone I’ve hired from time to time. And by the looks of the sound suppressor screwed onto his gun, he found a new employer.”
The priest pulled into a parking spot and shut off the motor. A car came careening down the aisle. The priest, Carver and Seven unbuckled their seatbelts and dropped to the floorboards. The car’s radio blasted Italian pop as it passed harmlessly.
“Kids,” the priest sighed with relief. He popped the trunk and got out of the car. “I packed us some goodies.”
The three went to the trunk and looked down upon a treasure trove of weaponry, ammunition, satphones and assorted devices.
“Time for a yard sale,” Carver said. He reached in and plucked out one of many stun grenades that were still in the original factory box. “Could have used a couple of these last night.”
“Was there some trouble?”
“You could say that.”
“You remember Antonio Tesla?” Callahan said. “The detective from the city morgue?”
“Sure.”
“He left several voicemails saying he was looking for you. He wants you to come down to the morgue to look at three more bodies.”
Seven swore and broke away, stomping down the aisle of parked cars.
“What’s with her?” the priest asked.
“One of those cadavers was her partner.”
The priest shook his head. “Bloody shame. This thing’s getting out of control fast.”
Carver opened a rifle case containing a disassembled Heckler amp; Koch assault rifle. He picked up the butt stock and tested it against his shoulder. “It was nice of you to bring toys,” he said, “but I was hoping for information.”
“I did some snooping around, all right. You were right about Lang. I’m afraid he’s gotten himself mixed up with the Black Order.”
Carver nodded, having suspected all along. “I need you to take me to him.”
Callahan laughed. “I’m afraid my access to the Apostolic Palace has been revoked.”
“That won’t be a problem. I found another way in.”
“What in heavens are you talking about?”
“That little Vatican break-in you told me about? The one they spun as art theft? They didn’t come for the Garofalo. And they sure as hell didn’t come through the front door.”
The White House
Washington D.C.
At Eva’s request, Mary brought the rest of the fudge brownies into her private study. After wave upon wave of interns had hit the plate, just nine cut squares had survived.
Mary set the tray down on the table. “Rough day?”
“And about to get rougher,” the president said. “Thanks.”
She waited until Mary had left the room to pick up one of the decadently fudgy brownies. She forced herself to chew slowly. Lunch was usually a blur of quick micro snacks afforded by her caveman diet. A handful of nuts, a few berries, an olive or two.
“Madam President,” Speers asked, “You ever regret declaring war on the vending machines?”
In an effort to boost the overall health of the staff, she had ordered vending machines removed from all White House areas. In their place, she had added refrigerators and shelves stocked with a variety of organic snacks. The move had inspired a variety of anonymous notes decrying the presence of items such as kale chips and unsweetened green tea, and demanding an immediate return of Cheetos and Diet Coke. To stave off complete mutiny, Eva had decided to pay for the new fare with her own money for one year.