Steven turned and began moving back to the house. Natalie increased her pace, quickly catching up to him.
“I…I’m sorry, Steven. I didn’t involve you on purpose. It’s the letter to my father that got you sucked in…”
“Natalie. I’m a big boy. I understand that. I’m not looking for who to blame. I’m worried about how to survive, not just today, but ten years from now. Assuming you’re right, it’s going to take every bit of luck and skill we have to make it through this. Fortunately, I’ve got enough money to last a lifetime, but I need to move it around so it stays off the radar. But I realize I’m going to have to walk away and never look back.” Steven rubbed his face and sighed. “I’ve done this before. It’s tough. The sooner you realize what you have to do, the better. One mistake and you’re screwed. You can never slip up. Ever.”
Natalie digested his words as she trudged along beside him. Her tough exterior had cracked, just a little, and Steven saw a hint of vulnerability where before there had only been strength. He knew what she was going through. She’d been so busy pursuing the secret of the Scroll, hell bent on somehow avenging her father, that she hadn’t considered the larger picture. Either that, or she had, and decided to push off acknowledging reality until she was more prepared to deal with it. But Steven had once before been forced to throw everything in his life into a bag and run, and once you’d been through it, you never slept the same, and a part of you was always mentally prepared to do it again. In some ways he was the worst possible target to pursue because he’d been there and remembered all the lessons.
“This sucks,” Natalie muttered.
“You can say that again.”
Overhead, a few birds hung languorously in the air, wheeling around the field before the farmer came on duty with his ancient shotgun. The sun kissed the vines of the neighboring parceclass="underline" a picture of rustic serenity. Other than the fact Natalie and he were being hunted like rats, it was a beautiful day.
Steven checked his watch. The program might have finished. Time to get back to work.
Frederick was carrying Natalie’s two bags out to the car when they approached the house; he nodded at them in greeting. Steven again wondered what the man’s story was.
“What’s with Frederick? What’s his deal?” he asked Natalie as they entered the house.
“Frederick was with my father for almost twenty-five years. I sort of inherited him when my father died. He was at the house when I arrived to claim the remains and said he wanted to help me.”
“Not very chatty, is he?”
“Not really.”
“But I’ll bet he’s a hoot on karaoke night…”
Natalie laughed. “Frederick just isn’t loquacious. He never has been. But he’s fiercely loyal and would do anything for me. He’s completely fearless. Ex-Green Beret. Went to work for my father in the mid-Eighties straight out of the service and never had another job. He’d follow me anywhere,” Natalie said.
“That’s good, because he’s going to need to be with you for a long time. His life is also over as he knew it. You get that now, right?”
“I’m there, Steven. I just need a little time to absorb the concept. I’ve had a few other things on my plate…”
Steven moved to the computer and began staring intently at the screen. “Bingo.”
“What?”
“Change of plans. We’re not going to Bologna,” Steven declared.
“We aren’t? Where are we going?”
“Rome.”
CHAPTER 17
“Why Rome?” Natalie asked.
“That’s what pops up with ninety-six percent certainty as the likely location described in the parchment. Specifically, the Basilica of San Clemente. One of the most ornate churches in Rome. Among its most noteworthy features is that it’s built on top of a fourth-century basilica that acts as a pseudo-basement, which is itself built over a first-century Roman home, complete with pagan worship room. And it has several noteworthy examples of art, one of which is of St. Alexis. I’ve heard of it, but I need to do some more research. Does your phone get internet access? Can we access the web while we’re on the road — plug the computer through the cell phone?” Steven asked.
Natalie nodded. “That will work. Although you can surf using just the phone.”
“Screen’s too small or I’d take you up on it.” He closed the laptop and quickly readied it for departure. “This way, I can read up on San Clemente while we’re en route. I don’t see any more reason to stick around here.”
He carried his bag out to the car, where Frederick stood, expressionless, near the sedan. The trunk popped open, Frederick having pushed a button on the key fob. Steven carefully placed his duffle beside Natalie’s bags. Another smaller suitcase sat to the side, presumably containing Frederick’s gear.
In a now familiar ritual, Natalie slid into the back seat, and Steven followed. The trip to Rome would take three to four hours, depending on traffic.
Once they were underway, Steven connected the laptop to the web and began searching for everything he could find on the old church. There was precious little to go on. The site was only a few blocks from the Roman Coliseum and appeared to be impenetrable, with bars on every window and security lighting and razor wire running across all roof areas. Steven shared this with her. Natalie retrieved her phone from the laptop and made a hushed call. She murmured for a few minutes and then terminated the discussion and plugged Steven back in.
“Who was that?” Steven asked.
“You’ll see. I have some contacts in Rome. They’ll work on finding someone who can help us with the basilica.”
Steven assessed her blank face, which betrayed nothing.
“You seem to have an extraordinarily developed network, Natalie. I’m surprised.”
“I’ve traveled in some interesting circles. You aren’t wanted by Interpol for any reason, are you?” she replied.
“No. Why?”
“The man I called is very innovative and can arrange for virtually anything, but he’s naturally suspicious, so you can expect that you’ll have a background check run that’s far more thorough than what I did. If you’re an international criminal, that wouldn’t be so good,” Natalie explained.
“What does he do, this innovative friend of yours?”
“This and that. Doesn’t like to broadcast exactly who he works for, but I think it’s safe to say he’s no stranger to alphabet agencies.”
Steven processed that. “And he can help us? Do you trust him?”
“Absolutely. We have history,” she declared, and left it at that.
Natalie was proving to be increasingly surprising: she didn’t flinch at violence and had contacts with the CIA or someone similar. He wanted to probe more, but sensed this wasn’t the time, so returned to his research while the car sped down the freeway.
The church’s lower levels were only discovered in 1857, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything. Whether the author of the parchment had known about it in the mid-1400s had little to do with whether that knowledge had died with him. History was filled with gaps, and Rome’s was no different. Once the middle-level basilica had been rediscovered, the order of Irish Dominicans, who were the facility’s caretakers since 1667, had excavated it, along with the first-century building beneath it.
At the time of the parchment’s authorship, the basilica had been under the stewardship of monks from Milan, who were of a newly created order — the Augustinian Congregation of St. Ambrose. If the author had been a monk in that order, it would explain why the mystery was hidden in the middle level. That a secret passage had been crafted to access the hidden church-beneath-a-church didn’t particularly surprise Steven. That period of history was filled with intrigue and persecutions, so prudent clergy trusted no one and kept their own counsel. And that the knowledge had somehow been forgotten over the centuries was consistent with the original monks being displaced by the Dominican monks from Ireland — who would have been regarded by the Italians as not-to-be-trusted, unwelcome interlopers.