Blood Symbols

by Izak Botha

  ‘Hold on—tight!’ he ordered.

  As his tongue struck the final t against his teeth, he cut a hard left into oncoming traffic. He sped up just enough to ensure the two Lamborghinis followed him, and as they moved in, he punched the gas once more. On passing the first car, he swung back into the flow of traffic, deftly sliding the Maserati between the back and front ends of two cars in the driving lane. This maneuver stranded the two Lamborghinis on the wrong side of the road, causing both their drivers to brake hard, and while the rear Lamborghini could swing back into the flow of traffic, the front vehicle ended up facing oncoming traffic. To avoid a head-on collision, the driver swerved out even more, scraping against several parked cars.

  This bit of ingenuity from Giorgio had helped put some distance between the Maserati and the Lamborghinis, but he had not managed to lose them entirely. Then, as they entered the bend before crossing the intersection of the vias del Quattro Venti and di Donna Olimpia, a delivery truck was pulling away from a loading bay, veering straight in front of the Maserati and blocking its path. With nowhere to go, Giorgio swung the sedan back into the oncoming lane. The move allowed the Lamborghinis to catch up, but in a way, that was preferable, for it now created the opportunity Giorgio was hoping for earlier. Once he had pulled next to the truck, the Lamborghini’s closely following on his tail, Giorgio matched the speed of the truck. He waited for the exact moment when oncoming traffic was right up ahead before accelerating again, swerving in front of the truck. As expected, the Lamborghinis tried to copy his move, but just as Giorgio had cut in front of the truck, instead of accelerating, he slammed on the brakes, making it impossible for the Lamborghinis to get back into the driving lane.

  As before, the first Lamborghini swung left to avoid oncoming traffic. The second tried to follow suit, but it was too late. Swerving to avoid a bus the driver swung in towards the truck. Squeezed between the bus and the truck the driver had nowhere else to go, but head straight for the intersection. The Lamborghini hit the Piazzale Enrico Dunant median at eighty miles an hour sending it airborne. Its tires burst and wheels bent at ninety degree angles from its axles the Lamborghini took off like a pipped fighter jet, sliding first sideways across the second-story stone façade of a bistro, before bouncing back and hitting a traffic light. The vehicle spun seven hundred and twenty degrees before striking the next section of pavement diagonally, flipping backwards and, with glass and sparks shooting through the air, rolling three more times before wrapping its back end around a streetlamp.

  Jennifer had turned back just in time to see a small coupe collide with the totaled Lamborghini. She felt for the unassuming Italian couple inside, who had suddenly found themselves in an unwarranted accident, but faced forwards again as the second Lamborghini nipped the Maserati’s rear bumper.

  Then Giorgio hit the brakes as they found themselves behind three lanes of traffic stacked four cars deep.

  ‘We can’t stop!’ Jennifer yelled. ‘Why aren’t they moving?’

  Giorgio leaned out of the window. ‘There’s a train up ahead. The metro must be passing.’

  Glancing over her shoulder, Jennifer screamed instinctively as a cold hand seemed to grip her heart. Not far behind them the Lamborghini had stopped and the gendarmes were approaching on foot.

  Giorgio glanced at the rear-view mirror. The two gendarmes had disembarked and were running towards the rear of the Maserati, firearm raised and ready to fire. In desperation, he slapped the hazard-light button, pressed his hand into the horn and accelerated onto the nearby sidewalk. Swerving around pedestrians, he sped past stationary cars, a set of café patio chairs and the bookshop entrance. At the Circonvallazione Gianicolense intersection ahead, three lanes of traffic were crossing their path. Between the street’s east- and west-bound lanes ran two shuttle tracks, and Giorgio tapped the brakes as he considered whether he could cross it safely. The passing traffic was moving slowly, and he could slip between the oncoming cars, punch the gas and maneuver the Maserati between the speeding shuttle and a truck.

  Jennifer could have touched either vehicle, so close were they to the Maserati’s flanks. Turning back again, she saw the Lamborghini was about twenty yards behind them having copied their every move, but luckily, with the lack of space between the truck, the Maserati and the shuttle, it was now impossible for the gendarmes to get out and approach on foot as they had minutes before.

  Giorgio waited for a second truck to pass before turning right and speeding down the Via Quirino Majorana.

  Meanwhile, Simon’s composure puzzled Jennifer. Since they had left the piazza, he had not said a word. She also could not help wondering why the Vatican would go to such lengths to capture them, when it meant endangering the citizens of another sovereign state so recklessly that it was bound to make the evening news. Obviously, the gendarmes were after the stolen letter. So why not just give them what they wanted? She thought of grabbing the rucksack from Simon and tossing it out, but her curiosity got the better of her. Whatever the letter contained had to be important enough for the Vatican to risk international censure to recapture it, and now she wanted to know what it said too.

  ‘Give me the rucksack,’ she demanded, stretching an open hand towards Simon. ‘Just the bag. You can keep the letter.’

  Recognizing her ingenuity, Simon removed the silver casket from the rucksack and handed it to her.

  The Via Portuense crossing lay not far ahead. Shrugging off her jacket, Jennifer stuffed it into the rucksack. Turning in her seat, she lifted the rucksack to the rear window to ensure the gendarmes saw it. Then, leaning out the rear window, and with all the strength she could muster, she heaved it into the air. Pulling back in, she watched as it hit the bridge’s balustrade, bounce back into the air again and, seconds later, hitting the Via Portuense several stories below.

  ‘Please let them go for it!’ she pleaded.

  Jennifer saw the gendarme in the passenger seat shout at the driver and point to the over bridge behind them. Then, the Lamborghini swerved to the side of the road, stopping in a cloud of smoke. When she swiveled forwards again, her eyes met Simon’s. He was beaming. She noted his appreciation, but something even more exciting gripped her—whatever was in the silver casket beneath his hand was so important that the possibility of its recovery had caused the gendarmes to abandon their pursuit. Naturally, her curiosity knew no bounds.

  Chapter 24

  Schreider had hardly returned from the subway chase when Father Franco called him from the Penitentiary for a report. His decision to deal with the bomber personally while Verretti pursued the two fugitives had made him the object of criticism. Then again, he had to accept that was just part of the job. He just did what they hired him to do.

  Marching into Santori’s office as the basilica’s bells struck eleven, he prepared himself for the dressing down he was sure the cardinal would deliver. Still dressed as a civilian, he closed the door behind him and briskly crossed the office to the lounge. Santori sat facing him, while Cardoni was perched on a couch beside the window.

  Santori’s blood pressure felt as if it had risen above critical level, and a torrent of sweat was trickling down his upper lip. If Schreider only knew. …

  Allowing the suspects to escape had created their greatest nightmare; the Holy See had been through trying times before, but never had it faced extinction. No one had ever successfully challenged their authenticity as the spiritual leaders of Christianity. Not even the non-conformist movement starting with the breakaway of Henry VIII in the sixteenth century managed, and the Ninety-Five Theses had been anything but a sneeze. Once that letter got out, two thousand years of ecclesiastical service would be down the drain.

  ‘Halfwit!’ Santori snarled. ‘Rest assured you’ll be court-martialed for this.’

  Schreider bowed. ‘Eminentissimi.’

  Santori stared across the coffee table irritably. The audacity of the man; the fugitives would blend in with the millions of tourists visiting Rome. It was nearing the he
ight of summer!

  ‘Why didn’t you go after them?’ Santori exclaimed.

  Schreider maintained his militaristic stance. ‘Your Eminence, the bomb threat at the Basilica took precedence. It threatened His Holiness’s life.’

  ‘His Holiness’s life?’ Santori snapped. ‘Don’t you get it? The Pope means absolutely nothing without His flock. There have been two hundred and sixty-six popes since Saint Peter drew breath, and two hundred and sixty-four of them now lie in the ground. A pope’s life is arbitrary. What left this city today—what you let leave—was the seed of our complete destruction!’

  Schreider refused to be enmeshed in the cardinal’s argument. He had asserted his allegiance to the Holy Pontiff and his commitment to defend the Papal Court with his life; he had not sworn to protect their immorality, just their lives.

  ‘The wellbeing of Our Holy Father takes precedence according to my oath. I didn’t swear to protect His lies or yours.’

  Santori slammed his fist against his armrest. ‘His Holiness won’t exist, if ...’ then stopping mid-sentence, he composed himself with rhythmic breaths. ‘Why didn’t you just have them shot when you had the chance?’

  ‘I couldn’t endanger civilians, Your Eminence. In any case, the woman’s role in all this has yet to be established.’

  ‘You’ve disregarded my authority!’

  Schreider had had enough of Santori’s dictatorial contempt. He was still a God-fearing man, but he was fast losing respect for God’s elite. ‘My order has served His Holiness for five hundred years,’ he said courteously but sternly. ‘Our record is impeccable. Apart from the papal throne itself, we have served the courts of France, Spain and Italy. We have fought on the frontlines of countless wars. I do not deserve your scorn.’

  ‘Psht! You’re little more than a bunch of mercenaries,’ Santori shot back. ‘If it weren’t for Swiss law, you’d render your services to the highest damned bidder.’

  Schreider’s back stiffened. ‘Our men have served in many armies. Many have lost their lives in wars made by people like you, who are happy to start conflicts but nowhere to be found when the shooting starts.’

  ‘Oh, get over yourself. Men like you fight on the frontlines of both sides. You might as well be pitbulls in a dog fight.’

  ‘Not a man amongst us has been unpatriotic!’

  Cardoni shot up. Their behavior had become intolerable.

  ‘Stop this!’ he barked. They had far more pressing things to contend with than this pissing contest between the two.

  The spasm in Schreider’s neck eased. He had always found the Cardinal Librarian easier to stomach.

  ‘What happened at the Basilica, Colonel?’ Cardoni asked, resuming his seat.

  ‘A bomber tried to blow up the Pietà.’

  ‘Do you think he had any part in all this?’

  ‘In what, Your Eminence?’

  As Santori leant forward to berate the colonel again, Cardoni lifted a restraining hand.

  ‘Your Eminence, it’s hard to say. We haven’t had time to investigate yet.’

  Santori glanced up at Schreider. ‘Because you, Colonel, not your predecessors, the gendarmerie or anyone else, botched the whole damn thing.’ The phone on the desk beside him rang and he picked up the receiver. ‘Is he here? No, it’s okay. Let him in.’

  The door opened to reveal a strutting Verretti, his chest puffed out like a mating cock. He approached and, as if to stamp his authority, halted inches beside Schreider.

  ‘Inspector Verretti will handle the investigation from here, Colonel,’ said Santori.

  Schreider’s color deepened, but he did not move. He wondered if he had heard the cardinal correctly.

  Santori pushed himself from his seat and walked towards the exit. Holding the office door ajar, he announced, ‘You may go now, Colonel.’

  Schreider turned slowly. ‘I need to examine the body first.’ He could not now find it in himself to honour the cardinal with the customary title of ‘Eminence’.

  ‘Inspector Verretti can take care of that.’

  ‘With respect, sir …’

  Santori reddened as he roared through a tight larynx: ‘You can see the body at the morgue, Colonel!’

  Schreider marched towards the open door. Passing Verretti, he felt like head-butting the inspector right in his smug, little face. He composed himself just in time though. Losing his cool would spell defeat, and he would not be able to forgive himself for that. On his way out, he saluted Santori. To be sure, however, this was only out of habit. A salute expressed respect, and respect was far from his feelings for the cardinal.

  Santori closed the door. Returning to his seat, he rearranged his vestments before leaning back. ‘Just to let you know, Inspector, you’re equally to blame for this calamity, but at least you didn’t disobey my orders.’

  ‘The colonel left me without a proper briefing, Your Eminence. Had I known what we were dealing with, none of this would have happened.’

  Santori lifted his hand. He could not care less about any squabble between the two commanders of the Vatican’s security forces; his only objective was to retrieve the letter. ‘I cannot allow any further mistakes, Inspector. You do realize that, right? So now, tell me what happened out there.’

  Verretti, though somewhat taken aback, maintained an assertive tone: ‘The male suspect had his escape meticulously planned. Because the journalist fled with him, we believe they were working together. We know where the female suspect stayed last night. I’ve already sent men there to investigate.’

  ‘Surely they would think twice before going back, Inspector,’ Cardoni interjected. ‘They know it would be too easy for your men to find them.’

  Santori frowned. ‘What about escape routes out of Rome?’

  ‘Your Eminence, it would be impossible to cover all escape routes. At best, and even with the Italians’ permission, we could focus on public transport. Naturally, the airports should be our priority, as both suspects are foreigners. My guess is they’re heading for one of the airports, probably Ciampino.’ Seeing Santori’s skeptical gaze, the inspector quickly added: ‘They fled in a south-easterly direction. If they’d been headed for the da Vinci, they would have fled west. Also, there’s less security at Ciampino.’

  Cardoni stood up and walked to the window, a cigarette between his fingers. ‘There are also private planes, and what about trains?’

  ‘They’ve just abandoned that option, Your Eminence.’

  ‘So, you’re ignoring it?’

  ‘I’ve sent men to the stations, but it’s impossible to cover every route out of Rome. As the saying goes, all roads lead into the city, and they all lead out of it too. Right now, our best bet is to get them as they try to return to wherever they came from. If we’re lucky they’re already heading back in that direction.’

  Cardoni lit his cigarette and inhaled. Exhaling smoke, he spoke with all the deliberation he once used when answering the question of a novitiate many years earlier: ‘America. …’

  ‘But, Your Eminence, we are quite sure the male suspect is Middle Eastern.’

  Cardoni’s eyes shot to Verretti. ‘A Muslim?’

  ‘God help us,’ Santori said softly. This could spark the next crusade.

  ‘It’s very simple, Your Eminences,’ Verretti said, his voice confidant. ‘We can simply arrest them at customs.’

  Santori shot up. ‘No, not customs. We cannot involve the Italians in this. We must think of something else. Find out where they’re going, but don’t let customs touch them.’ Then, though he hated going through the whole vault exercise again, he walked to the hearth. ‘What I’m about to show you, Inspector, is the most guarded secret in Christendom. You must swear this secret will never pass from your lips. Is this clear?’

  Chapter 25

  ‘I didn’t swear to protect your lies!’

  The thought, evoked in anger and frustration, reeled in Schreider’s mind. Needing time to compose himself, the colonel seated himself on a lobby b
ench outside the Penitentiary and loosened the top button of his collar. Resting his head against the wall, he closed his eyes and recited the oath he had taken more than ten years before:

  ‘I vow to faithfully, honestly and honorably serve the reigning Pope John Paul II and his legitimate successors, and to dedicate myself to them with all my strength, ready to sacrifice, should it become necessary, even my own life for them. I likewise assume this promise toward the members of the Sacred College of Cardinals during the period of the Sede Vacante of the Apostolic See.’

  Disregarding this oath was practically treason. Failure to protect those chosen by God meant dishonoring his oath. The incident at the Basilica had posed a direct threat to the wellbeing of the Holy Pontiff and the College of Cardinals. Handing the bomber to the gendarmerie to chase after a murderer who was fleeing away from the His Holiness, meant he would have violated his oath. It did not matter how important the Maggiore felt the letter was, Schreider had not vowed to protect the Church’s dogma. He had vowed to keep the Apostolic Palace’s occupants safe. If the Holy See had come to harm because of his disregard, he would have broken an oath before God.

  As for the cardinals’ conduct, demoting him in front of that meatball Verretti was the most degrading, demeaning thing that had ever happened to Schreider. It was a blemish on his otherwise sterling career. They might as well have court-martialed him and blown up Saint Peter’s themselves. Verretti was a reckless fool whose precipitous climb up the police force’s ranks had turned him into a prima donna. Schreider dreaded what the inspector would do if he captured the fugitives. The Maggiore’s scorn had infuriated Schreider, but it hardly compared with the curiosity it had inspired regarding the stolen artefact. It was evident that Santori would sacrifice anyone to recover it. Even as he had stared the bomber in the eye, Schreider had wondered about its contents. If only the kid had known, as Schreider did, the extent of the Church’s dishonesty. Concealing information from the faithful was immoral and contrary to the Church’s own teachings.