“If the staff saw me eating like this, they’d hate me.”
“I think you should have left just one machine,” Speers said. “Chocolate only, with the prices jacked up so high that the staff would only use it in times of serious emotional crises.”
“Like the one I’m having right now?”
“You don’t seem emotional.”
“The fact is, I have something difficult to share with you, and I wanted something sweet to kill the bad taste in my mouth.”
The two intelligence directors set their treats down and braced themselves for bad news. Speers dabbed a napkin at the corner of his mouth.
“Given the misdirection tactics we employed in our public information efforts around the deaths of Senator Preston and Sir Gish,” she said, “I asked you to give me clear options, but also to keep me ignorant from the details. It seems now that my directive wasn’t so smart.”
Speers folded his arms across his chest. “How so?”
“Today was the first time you’ve mentioned the name Sebastian Wolf in my presence,” she said. “I have to disclose to you that Sebastian Wolf is an acquaintance of mine.”
Speers swore, and then apologized for his language. His stomach felt as if he were freefalling. How could this happen? He knew the president was an Episcopalian. Was she also in the Fellowship?
Fordham slumped back in his chair, as if he had been slugged. “And how is it that you two know each other?”
Eva leaned back in her chair, looking up at the ceiling. “We were introduced by Senator Preston at the Council on Faith luncheon. He invited me to Eden for dinner. I began with my standard line about having someone look into my schedule, which means it’ll never happen. Then the Senator told me that Wolf had helped create NASA, and that he was a major source of funding for genetic research, and that every president since LBJ had been a guest at his home at least once.”
“Did Preston also tell you that he was a former Nazi?” Speers said.
“Julian, please shut up and let me finish.”
“I’m sorry, Madam President.”
“I suppose I felt unduly obligated. So I asked my scheduler to make it happen.”
Speers was awestruck. “And?”
“And I enjoyed his company. After that, I invited him to the White House on two occasions.”
Speers felt that his head would explode. The president of the United States had ties with a cult leader that had made himself the archenemy of the Catholic Church. And Senator Preston had facilitated the introduction.
“What was the nature of your conversations?” Speers asked.
“Truth be told, I found him to be an excellent sounding board on spiritual matters.”
“Did you two discuss the Fellowship?” Fordham said. “Did you discuss anything related to these weird science projects he was funding?”
“No. Our conversations were very personal in nature. There was no business involved whatsoever. And he never mentioned this ossuary business. That is a complete shock to me, I swear to you.”
Speers sighed. “We’re going to need to ask you to fully document every conversation between the two of you.”
Eva sipped her coffee slowly, and then set it down on the table. “No. That’s not going to happen.”
“Come again?”
“This will go no further than this room. I’m telling you this in complete confidence so that we can pivot our tactical situation as needed. I have no intention of having these details unearthed in a declassified document decades from now.”
The two intelligence chiefs eyed each other. “Madam President,” Speers said, “This has the potential to compromise our strategy.”
“As I understand the situation,” Eva said, “The outcome of the war between these two secret societies could adversely impact more than just national security. That’s why I’m asking you to solve the situation in the shadows, without the need for us to retract our public statements or otherwise undermine our authority.”
Speers leaned forward, lowering his voice. “I don’t mean to be insensitive, Madam President, but the solution may require eliminating Mr. Wolf.”
“Then I need to remind you that he’s an American citizen who is permitted to practice freedom of religion.”
“Yes ma’am. But — ”
“Has Mr. Wolf been formally accused of a crime?”
“Not formally, Madam President. But we strongly suspect — ”
“My understanding is that the Black Order, not the Fellowship, has been responsible for the violent aggression, as well as the crimes against Americans.”
Speers wanted to tell her about the Nathan Drucker murder, but it was purely speculation at this point. They still had no leads on who had operated the nanobot that had killed him just blocks from the West Wing.
“That’s largely true,” Speers consented, “but there are dead on both sides of this. I can’t tell you more without getting into a lot of detail.”
Eva stood, signaling that the meeting was over. “Gentlemen, I want this matter brought to a quiet close. I want the satisfaction of knowing that those who killed Americans and our allies are avenged. I also want your assurances that the civil liberties of our citizens will be upheld, no matter how far away they may be.”
The security chiefs thanked Eva for her time and exited through the dining room en route to the hallway. Speers removed his pocket square and dabbed the sweat from his face as they passed the cabinet room.
“Civil liberties upheld?” Fordham said, scratching his head. “What the hell was that all about?”
“It means she’s not going to authorize lethal force against Wolf or the Fellowship.”
“So where does that leave us?”
“In the same position we were an hour ago. Balance must be restored. And this is why you have a guy like Blake Carver. His status is deniable.”
Castel Sant’Angelo
Carver, Seven Mansfield and Father Callahan stood at the south end of Ponte Sant’Angelo, the bridge connecting the Vatican district with old Rome. The bridge was studded with enormous white marble angels holding instruments of the Crucifixion. Whips. Nails. A lance. A cross. A crown of thorns. On the opposite side of the Tiber River, Castel Sant’Angelo, the Vatican’s ancient fortress, seemed to bristle against the late afternoon skyline.
They stood on the sidewalk, all three wearing clerical robes, virtually indistinguishable from many of the other religious tourists along the river. A cold wind blew, threatening to blow back the hood Seven had pulled over her scalp.
“Don’t make eye contact,” Callahan warned her. Even without makeup, what showed of her face was unmistakably feminine. “God help me, if I survive this, I will flog myself mightily for giving you those costumes.”
A hunch told Carver that Castel Sant’Angelo — which was rumored to have light security — was the entry point that the Fellowship had used to breach the wider Vatican complex. It was linked to the Apostolic Palace by the passato borgo, the 800-meter elevated walkway. It was the same route, in reverse, that popes over the centuries had used to flee danger. During the sack of Rome in 1526, Pope Clement VII had fled from the Vatican Palace to Castel Sant’Angelo while 147 Swiss Guard were said to have perished on the steps of St. Peter’s Basilica.
Callahan had divulged an even more secretive way in, which made use of the underground tunnels linking Castel Sant’Angelo with the Apostolic Palace. Carver hoped he was right. Their lives depended on it.
Like so many truth-seeking pilgrims before them, they began their trek toward the Vatican by crossing the Ponte Sant’Angelo. Much like the marble angels Bernini had sculpted, bearing the instruments of death, the bridge had been, for centuries, one of the Vatican’s favorite execution sites. Enemies of the state had been hanged, burned, bludgeoned, beheaded and even quartered by the hundreds. If they failed to reach Lang tonight, a new wave of bloodshed would wash over Europe, and for that matter, the world.