If he wasn’t dead, surely he was bleeding out. The noise had probably just been the man writhing in a pool of blood. Seconds later, a clank came from the same location. It was an odd sound. What’s going on? Petr looked around the edge of the counter. Suddenly, a square-shaped object hurtled toward them out of the darkness. It landed about ten feet away then slid to within a few feet of where Petr was hidden. He saw it and smelled it. It was a metal can, and he knew what was in it.
Suddenly, Petr understood what was happening. “Get out!”
Without waiting for a response, he rose from behind the counter. At most, he had a second or two to make it through the back door, so he sprinted. A gunshot carried from the far end of the room, and Petr knew the target was the can.
Out of options, he did the only thing he could do — he braced for the explosion.
After the canister of gasoline slid to a stop, one of the men shouted a warning. Zane already had his pistol in the air. Throwing the can accurately had been the toughest part of the two-step plan. Shooting it would be easy.
Someone rose and moved for the exit. He’d probably figured out what was going on and was trying to escape. It wouldn’t matter. Zane took aim and fired twice, hitting the can. A fireball erupted to the ceiling. The explosion had been even more powerful than he’d expected. No one within ten feet would survive.
As he rose and stepped from behind the cabinet, a boat motor started outside. The relic. Zane sprinted toward the exit. As he neared the counter, something moved to the left. One of the gunmen rose awkwardly and lifted his weapon. He was badly burned but still alive. One of them was about to die, and it wasn’t going to be Zane. He shot him twice in the chest. The man’s body thrashed, his rifle spraying bullets harmlessly into the ceiling. He teetered for a moment then fell forward.
There was no time to waste. Zane rolled the man over and retrieved his rifle. He might need the extra cartridges. The boat motor whined outside. The others were leaving, and they were taking the relic with them.
Zane pushed through the door and onto the dock. The boat was moving off to the right, trying to angle around another building downriver. He lifted his rifle and saw muzzle flashes at the rear of the craft. Rounds struck the water close by, arcing toward him. Zane squeezed off a couple of shots of his own then ran to the right to avoid being hit.
Once out of range, he lifted his rifle again, but the boat had already disappeared.
The relic was gone.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Zane and Jonas Stegmann followed the priest up the dark stairwell. The cleric clutched a brass candleholder in his right hand. Its flames cast gargoyle-like shadows against the wall.
“This way,” the priest said when they reached the third floor. “We’re almost there.”
He led them down the dimly lit corridor, eventually stopping at an oak wood door on the left. He used his free hand to fish a skeleton key from the folds of his cassock. It looked as though it had been forged in the Middle Ages. He inserted it into the cast iron lock and turned it sharply. The door surrendered with a loud groan.
Stepping aside, he motioned them into a simple reading room with two large windows overlooking the Belvedere Courtyard. The musty air was filled with the scent of books. The simple furnishings consisted of a table and four chairs on the left and a bookshelf on the right.
They had come to meet with Father Silvio Fiori, the assistant curator of the Secret Archives. Zane figured Stegmann had chosen the secluded room in order to get away from the chaos below. There were important matters to discuss, and he didn’t want to be constantly interrupted by his investigative team.
Stegmann looked at the priest. “I believe you said Father Fiori is on his way?”
“Yes, sir.” The priest lit two candles on the table with the one he was holding. After he finished, he looked at the commander. “Can I bring you anything?”
Stegmann shook his head. “That won’t be necessary. Thank you.”
He bowed slightly and stepped out of the room, closing the door behind him.
Zane crossed to one of the windows and looked down. The courtyard was still a hive of activity. Priests, students, and Swiss Guards moved in and out of the building. Paramedics attended to people on the sidewalk while firefighters placed giant fans at the entrance.
A sharp buzz drew Zane’s attention back to the room. Stegmann retrieved his phone and stared at the screen. He shook his head and stuffed it back in his pocket.
“Do you need to take that?” Zane asked.
“Not yet.” He settled into one of the seats at the table. “It’s the polizia.”
“The Rome police?” Zane abandoned the window and sat down across from the commander, surprised Stegmann hadn’t taken the call.
“They spoke to one of my captains earlier. It seems they’re a bit upset about me setting you loose on the streets of Rome.”
Zane frowned. “Did you tell them who I was?”
“Not exactly. We only told them it was someone working on our behalf.”
“I’m assuming that’s a problem?”
Stegmann waved it off. “I’ll talk to them later. For now, we need to follow the trail while it’s still warm.”
Zane was relieved, yet couldn’t help thinking there would be fallout. While the police might look the other way if a Swiss Guard ventured onto their streets, he wasn’t quite so sure they’d feel the same way about an armed and unidentified American doing so.
Stegmann must have sensed his concern. “Don’t worry. We have a very good relationship with the authorities here in Rome. In emergency situations, they tend to look the other way.”
“I didn’t realize the relationship was that deep.”
“We have the largest network of ears on the planet. When Rome needs some little piece of information — something crucial to an investigation — we’re always there to help if we can. In return, they extend copious amounts of grace when our investigations take us outside these walls. Besides, I can assure you, incidents like this one rarely happen.”
Stegmann pulled a folded piece of paper from his suit coat pocket and placed it on the table. It looked like a satellite image of Rome. “I want to get some information from you while we wait.” He indicated the blue line representing the Tiber River. “Show me where the gunfight took place.”
Zane scooted closer to the table. Once he oriented himself, he used his finger to trace the route he had taken from the Vatican to the Pietro Nenni Bridge. After locating the line of structures along the east side of the river, he tapped the first one. “Here.”
“You’re sure?”
“Positive.”
Stegmann moved one of the candles closer and leaned forward. “That’s a bit further north than I thought. I’m not too familiar with the area.” He looked at Zane. “You said this was a boathouse. Was it in use?”
“It seemed to be abandoned.”
Stegmann nodded. “They probably chose it for that very reason.”
The commander was about to continue when the door pushed open. A priest dressed in a crisp black cassock entered, shutting the door behind him. As he came into the light, Zane noted he was in his late sixties or early seventies. He had a receding hairline and wore a pair of square, wire-rimmed glasses. He carried a laptop, which he set on the table. Skeleton keys and laptops. Only at the Vatican.
Stegmann introduced the two men, and all three took seats at the table.
Stegmann gestured toward Zane. “As I told you on the phone, Herr Watson came to warn us of the theft that just took place.”
“I only wish I had been a bit sooner.” Zane fixed his gaze on the priest. “I’m sorry for your loss.”