Reilly processed it for a few seconds. “This guy, whoever he is, whoever he’s working for—and I think we’ve got some ideas to think about on that front—he’s got some serious resources at his disposal. He shows up in Istanbul and thinks nothing of murdering a woman to motivate Sharafi. He shadows him to Jordan and somehow gets wind of what you and Simmons were talking about privately. He grabs the three of you out in Jordan and manages to whisk at least two of you, if not all three, all the way to Rome, undetected. He has the balls to meet me at the airport and sell me on his story and has me bring him in here to recover this Registry, but not before setting up a couple of rigged cars to use as diversions in case he needs them.” He shook his head and exhaled heavily. “This guy’s got access to the right intel, he’s got resources that allow him to travel around as he likes, he’s got access to explosives and detonators and cars and God knows what else. He’s as cool under pressure as anyone I’ve come across.” He looked around the room to press his point. “This guy is no lightweight. He’s the real deal. And we’re going to need some serious resources ourselves if we’re going to stand half a chance of taking him down.”
Delpiero bristled, his expression indignant. “Oh, we intend to do everything we can to bring this man to justice,” the Vatican cop confirmed, his tone laced with mockery. “But equally, I think you have a lot to answer for in this matter. You seem to have forgotten that you were his accomplice in this crime.”
“I haven’t forgotten that at all,” Reilly snapped. “I want this guy more than anyone in this room.”
“Perhaps I’m not making myself clear,” the inspector said. “We’re filing charges against you. You brought this man into the Vatican. If you hadn’t done that, he wouldn’t have gotten into the archives, he wouldn’t have needed to detonate any bombs, and—”
“You think that would have been it?” Reilly fired back. “You think he’d have called it a day and scooted home? Are you kidding me? You saw how he operates. If I hadn’t brought him in here, he would have found another way in. He might have, I don’t know, found a way to get to Monsignor Bescondi. Maybe with another severed head, to make sure he was taken seriously.”
“You drugged the monsignor,” Delpiero growled. “You helped the bomber escape.”
“That was before I knew he was the damn bomber or that he even had a bomb,” Reilly raged. “I did what I had to do to get him his damn book and save the hostages. You tell me this, all right? What would you have said if I’d told you this guy needed to check out the Templar Registry? Would you have just let him waltz in there and given him access to it? Or would you have needed to know exactly who he was and why he needed to see it?”
Delpiero stumbled for a reply, then looked over at Bescondi and Brugnone. The archivist and the cardinal seemed equally flustered by the question.
“Well?” Reilly insisted, his tone fierce.
Their shrugs answered him.
He mopped his face with his hands and tried to throttle back his anger. “Look,” he offered, his voice calmer now, but still resolute. “Maybe you think I was wrong, maybe you think I should have done things differently. Maybe you’re right. But in the heat of the moment, I just didn’t see any other option. I’m willing to face the consequences of what I did. Absolutely. You can do anything you want to me—once this is over. After he’s in custody or in the morgue. But until that happens, I need to be part of this. I need to help bring him in.”
Delpiero met his gaze straight on. “That’s very admirable of you, Agent Reilly. But we’ve discussed this with your superiors, and they agree with us.”
Reilly followed the inspector’s glance across to Tilden, who gave him a “what the hell did you expect?” shrug. “You weren’t here on Bureau business—worse, you withheld informing us about what you were really here for. That hasn’t gone down too well with the powers that be back home. Unless I’m missing something, my bet is you should consider yourself suspended,” the attache told him, “pending the Vatican and Italian authorities’ investigation.”
“You can’t sideline me on this,” Reilly protested. “This guy suckered me into it. I need to do this.” He looked around the room and noticed Brugnone studying him.
Tilden spread his hands open in a resigned, helpless gesture. “I’m sorry, but that’s how it has to play out for now.”
Reilly shot up to his feet. “This is insane,” he railed, his hands cutting the air emphatically. “We have to move fast. We’ve got a crime scene to process. We’ve got an unexploded bomb to analyze. We may have prints in the cars and in the archives and vidcaps on CCTV footage. We need to get a BOLO out to all ports of entry, we need to liaise with Interpol.” He focused on Delpiero. “Don’t cut off your nose to spite your face. I know you’re pissed off. So am I. But I can help, and I’m here now. You can use FBI resources on this and you can’t afford to wait until they figure out who to send and fly them over. He could be long gone by then.”
Delpiero seemed unmoved by Reilly’s plea. Three chairs away, however, Brugnone cleared his throat conspicuously, drawing everyone’s attention as he rose out of his seat.
“Let’s not rush into anything.” He slid a glance at Reilly and said, “Agent Reilly. Walk with me to my chambers, won’t you?”
Delpiero shot to his feet. “Eminenza Vostra,”—Your Eminence—”begging your forgiveness, but … what are you doing? This man should be under arrest.”
Brugnone stilled him with a languid flick of his hand that, however understated, carried great authority. “Predersela con calma.” Calm down.
It was enough to stop Delpiero in his tracks.
Reilly got up, glanced uncertainly at Tilden and at Delpiero, and followed the cardinal out.
Chapter 14
Reilly accompanied the cardinal secretary across the leafy garden square of Piazza Santa Marta. It was past noon by now, and the air around them was scorched. Fifty yards to their left, the rear facade of St. Peter’s Cathedral soared high into the sky. Only faint wisps remained of the black cloud from the car bomb, but the square itself, usually lively with cars, buses, and tourists at this time of year, was deserted. Even though the second bomb had been defused and cleared, the Vatican felt like a ghost town, and seeing it like this made Reilly feel even lousier than he had felt in the inspector’s office.
The cardinal walked in silence, his hands clasped behind his back. Without turning to look at Reilly, he asked, “We didn’t get a chance to speak after your last visit—how long ago was it, three years?”
“That’s right,” Reilly confirmed.
Brugnone nodded, deep in thought. After a moment, he asked, “It wasn’t a pleasant time for you either, was it? The questions you had, the answers you got … and then, after all that, getting sucked into that catastrophic storm …”
Memories of that episode of his life came flooding back. Even three years later, he could still taste the salt water in his throat and feel the deep chill from the long hours spent half-dead in the sea, floating on a makeshift raft miles away from the coast of some tiny Greek island. But it was the words he remembered the cardinal saying to him back then that chilled him the most: I’m afraid the truth is as you fear it. It reminded Reilly that he hadn’t had the closure of a definitive answer to his question. He remembered standing on that cliff top with Tess and watching helplessly as the sheets of parchment fluttered down into the roaring surf, robbing him of the chance to know whether they were the real deal or just an elaborate forgery.