When she spoke, however, her words astonished Cloutard as much as they did Hagen.
“You work for AF,” Giuseppina said. “And we are part of a very big family, if you know what I mean. We would be well within our rights to take revenge—you were trying to kill us, after all. But we like to think ahead.”
Giuseppina looked up at Cloutard; he already knew where she was going. The aging mafia donna had spent decades learning from the best. Never act out of emotion; always have a long-term plan. Always look for an advantage, even if none seems obvious at first glance.
Giuseppina’s tone softened a little, and Hagen’s face relaxed.
“We could be of great benefit to one another,” she said, standing up and moving slowly around the room. From Giuseppina’s first sentence, Cloutard knew that Hagen would accept whatever she was offering. It was an offer he couldn’t refuse.
63
Behind the George Washington Masonic National Memorial
Tom stared at Noah, but he couldn’t get a single word out.
“Wow. It’s worth it just for the look on your face,” Noah said. He lowered his gun. There were already enough weapons pointed at Tom and Hellen to blast them into next week if Tom made one false move. Tom let the assault rifle fall to the ground.
“That stupid, stunned look. That’s what I wanted to see.” Noah rolled toward Tom and handed his pistol to Ossana, who turned, stepped back and trained the gun on Tom. Tom raised his hands and crossed them behind his head. He was still not able to say a word.
“I’ve been waiting a long time for this moment, old friend,” Noah said, spitting the last two words out savagely. “The moment when I finally get to throw your incompetence back in your face.”
Slowly but surely, the truth was dawning on Tom. His expression changed.
“Finally! The wheels are starting to turn. It always takes a while with you.”
Noah rolled very close to Tom and looked him in the eye. For a few seconds, nothing happened. Then the words practically exploded from Noah’s mouth, with a level of vitriol that made Tom recoil. “I’ve been stuck in this thing for years because of your rookie mistake. We were on a mission, and you weren’t at your post. You didn’t secure your area as we’d agreed, and they were able to shoot me down because of it. Your stupidity left me a sitting duck, and I paid for it with a shredded spinal cord.”
“But Noah—” Tom stammered.
“Shut your fucking mouth!” Noah bellowed, and the veins on his forehead swelled. “Because of you, I’m not a man anymore. I was Mossad’s top agent. They came to me when they had nowhere else to go. They needed me. They needed my help. And then suddenly I couldn’t even go to the shitter by myself.”
Tom tried to say something, but he didn’t get the chance.
“You don’t know what it’s like. You don’t have the slightest idea how it feels when you lose everything you’ve ever lived for from one day to the next. This job was my life. And what can I do now? I’ve been downgraded to tech nerd. I get to mess around on computers and play the hacker for all the rest of you.”
“You faked our friendship all this time?”
“‘By way of deception, thou shalt wage war,’” said Noah, and he laughed loudly. Something maniacal had crept into his eyes. “I never thought the motto of good old Mossad would serve me so well.”
“But why are you helping . . . her?” Tom nodded toward Ossana.
“A few months ago my doctor updated my prognosis. My condition’s deteriorating. He read me my death sentence.”
Tom was shaken. He did not understand what Noah was doing, or why he had switched to Ossana’s side, but he certainly didn’t want him to die. He looked into the hate-filled face of his best friend. Or rather, the person he’d thought was his best friend until a few minutes ago. No matter how absurd the situation had become, he could understand where Noah was coming from. True, he had no idea what it was like to suddenly be in a wheelchair, but he could imagine that it could break a man. And he knew that it was his fault. But what made Noah want to help AF?
“Why am I helping her, you ask? Once again, you weren’t listening. The Pope already explained it to you. He told you about the power of the stone. How it can perfect things. How it can make you rich. How it can make you healthy. How it can heal. It’s the stone that will heal me.”
Tom could not remember the last time he’d wept, but he could feel tears filling his eyes now. Compassion was getting the better of him. Noah was grasping at every straw in his desperation to be well again, to escape death. Ossana and AF must have promised him heaven, and the broken man had bought it. Tom knew there was nothing he could do. Not here, not now. There was no point in arguing.
“Tom, Tom, Tom. I liked you. I really did. Your heart’s in the right place. Even now, after I’ve threatened your little girlfriend, after your uncle’s been shot, and with your back to the wall, you’re still playing the hero, the man who wants justice for everyone. Look, now he’s crying, too.” Noah turned to Ossana, who giggled softly. “And if I know you, those are tears of pity. You pity me. But you know what?” Noah turned away from Tom and rolled back a short distance, then he turned and glared at him. “You can take your fucking pity and shove it. This is where it ends. You’ve lost. I’ve won. I’ll be able to walk again. And then, my friend, you’ll pay for all the years I’ve lost because of you.”
Ossana signaled to her men that it was time to go. In the distance, Tom could hear sirens. The police and FBI were on the way. The helicopter’s rotors began to turn.
“We have to go,” Ossana called to Noah, who was still staring at Tom like a madman. Tom slowly lowered his hands. His legs gave way and he slumped onto the ground in shock. Stunned, he could only watch as the soldiers heaved Noah into the helicopter. Ossana was the last to board. She gave Tom a final, spiteful smile and closed the door. Hellen, almost knocked over by the downdraft from the departing chopper, ran to the helpless Tom and dragged him to his feet. Together, they ran back into the building.
Drawn by the deafening roar of the departing helicopter, the first confused guests came out of the theater. Some cried out, startled, when a blood-covered man suddenly stumbled across the Memorial Hall and collapsed.
Tom and Hellen ran to him in time to catch him. They could see immediately how seriously Tom’s uncle was hurt.
“Is there a doctor here?” Hellen shouted, tears in her eyes. The sirens of the approaching police grew louder and louder, and several guests ran outside.
Scott, in his pain, could only stammer. “Maybe I was wrong, my boy. It’s a bit more than a scratch.” He coughed and grimaced in agony.
“You’ll make it, Uncle. Hold on just a few more minutes.” Tom’s voice trembled and tears again welled in his eyes.
“You’ve got to finish this, Tom. You have to get the stone to safety. You have to . . .” His words gave out and he coughed again.
“Everything will work out. I’ll take care of it. What matters now is that we get you patched up.”
Tom did not believe a word he was saying. He’d seen people die in action. He knew what it looked like. Scott’s coughing ended abruptly, and his body went limp in Tom’s arms. The police stormed into the building, doctors and paramedics with them. They reached Scott seconds later, but it was too late. All their attempts at resuscitation failed. Hellen held Tom in her arms. All he could do was stare into space. The red and blue flashing lights of the emergency vehicles cast an eerie light over the tragic scene. Tom saw the world around him in slow motion. He felt utterly alone.
64
Cloutard’s house, near Siena, Tuscany
Giuseppina and Cloutard sat on the terrace, satisfied with their work. Giuseppina had cooked, and the table was straining under the weight of enough delicacies to feed a small army: bruschetta, crostini, insalata caprese, fiori di zucca, prosciutto e melone, pesce spada affumicato, cozze gratinate, and much more. And those were just the starters. The pasta was still simmering in the kitchen. Clou
tard was French and loved his haute cuisine, but when la mamma cooked, there was nothing to beat it. Besides, meals were the only times Giuseppina refrained from her usual scolding and remonstrations. Food made her happy.
Cloutard sprinkled a slice of bruschetta with a little olive oil, bit into it and washed it down with a sip of Villa Antinori Rosso. He was happy, too.
“We made a good deal with this Englishman, o cosa ne pensi?” said Giuseppina.
Cloutard smacked his lips and nodded. In his mind, he was running through the many new options that would soon be available to him. The sudden ring of his cell phone shattered the idyll and made both of them start. Giuseppina was instantly back in protest mode.
“Madonna mia, il tuo fottuto telefono,” she snapped when Cloutard looked at the display. He recognized the caller.
The call lasted a few minutes, during which Cloutard only nodded and mumbled an occasional “Oui, oui.” He was on his feet and pacing nervously back and forth across the terrace. Giuseppina had turned to her food again. In the meantime, she had loaded mounds of spaghetti aglio con olio e peperoncino onto their two plates and begun to eat, her face the picture of bliss. Cloutard finished the call, but tapped at his cell phone nervously: he had another call to make.
“Francesco, gli spaghetti si raffreddano,” she said reproachfully. “Don’t let it get cold.”
But Cloutard finished the second call before sitting down with his foster mother again.
“I have to go. There’s something I have to take care of, something that will solve all my problems once and for all. And it fits in well with our new plan.”
“How many times have you said that before, and how many times have you brought shame on our family? Innocento, God rest his soul, would be deeply disappointed in you.”
“Please, Mamma. Spare me the old song. I know what papa would think and do, and I will do my best, I promise. But I am not him, and one day you will have to accept that.”
His tone had become sharper and to Cloutard’s surprise, Giuseppina did not reply immediately. She simply continued to eat.
“Do whatever you have to do,” she said after a while, getting to her feet and kissing him on the forehead. “But take Marcello and Giuliano with you. Better safe than sorry.”
Her tone was so adamant that Cloutard could not say no. It wouldn’t make any difference if he did. He looked at his watch. “I have to hurry. My flight leaves in two hours.”
65
1943, Office of the Prefect of the Vatican Archive, the Vatican
Monsignor Giuseppe Negozi, Prefect of the Vatican Council, was worried as his brother Silvio left the office. Silvio and their third brother, Angelo, had accepted an important duty: to bring the Holy of Holies to safety. The Vatican was no longer safe from Hitler’s thugs.
The Nazis’ interest in historical, mythical and occult artifacts had been general knowledge for years. Himmler, and even Hitler himself, were intensively engaged in the pursuit and had sent diverse teams around the world to track down important relics and treasures. And there was no doubt in the prefect’s mind that the Philosopher’s Stone was high on their list. Worse still, there had been contact between the top echelons of the Vatican and Hitler’s Germany, which meant that anything could happen—including the Nazis getting their hands on the fabled stone and using it to do irreparable damage. The prefect was one of the few people who had actually witnessed the power of the stone, who had seen the good—and the evil—of which the stone was capable. And when the grasping fingers of the Nazis began to reach out toward the Holy See, he and his two brothers had decided to break the stone into three pieces, taking two of them far away from the Vatican for safekeeping. Angelo had made contact with members of the Austrian resistance, who in turn were in touch with the Americans, and the brothers had decided to send one of the pieces to the United States. He himself and his brother Silvio maintained good relations with the Coptic Church, and had therefore decided to take the third stone to Abyssinia and hand it over to Emperor Haile Selassie. Both journeys would be dangerous, and the monsignor’s concern was etched deep into his face.
Silvio Negozi arrived in Civitavecchia the following day, and was horrified at the destruction he found. The city and port had been torn apart by air raids. The arsenal, the watchtowers, the old lighthouse and Bramante’s fortress had all fallen victim to the bombing. But Silvio’s luck was in. He found a captain who agreed to take him across the Mediterranean and through the Suez Canal to Abyssinia. Silvio had received substantial funds from his brother to finance the voyage, almost all of which went toward the captain’s wages: the crossing was exceptionally dangerous, and correspondingly expensive. One week later, the ship docked in Assab, where Silvio was met by Tekle Haymanot, a friend of Giuseppe who was also a cleric of the Ethiopian Orthodox Church. Together, Silvio and Tekle set off on an even more arduous journey. In an old rattletrap that bore only the slightest resemblance to an actual car, and was apparently a remnant of Benito Mussolini’s occupation, they drove far inland to Addis Ababa, the capital of the Empire of Abyssinia, and one day after Silvio’s arrival in the city, he was received by Emperor Haile Selassie himself, the 225th successor of King Solomon. The King of Kings, as Haile Selassie was often known, was extraordinarily popular in his own country, where he enjoyed godlike status and where, with the help of the British, he had returned to power in 1941.
“My brother, Monsignor Negozi, has sent me. I bring with me a fragment of the holiest relic of all. The Philosopher’s Stone must be kept safe. We hope that this piece of it will find a haven in your empire.”
The Emperor nodded his thanks and accepted the package from Silvio. “My country has suffered greatly under the yoke of the fascists. We are glad that we have been able to free ourselves from their oppression. We give thanks to the Lord for that, and thanks also to know that our greatest treasure has not fallen into the hands of our enemies.”
Silvio knew what the emperor was talking about. According to the tradition of the Ethiopian Church, the Ark of the Covenant had been stolen by minions of Menelik, the son of Solomon and the Queen of Sheba.
“You will accompany me with the package to our holy city,” said Selassie.
Silvio, equally moved and thrilled at the invitation, bowed deeply before the emperor. Would the emperor take him to Aksum and show him the Ethiopian Church’s greatest treasure? According to the Kebra Nagast, the country’s thirteenth-century national epic, the Ethiopian emperors could be traced in a direct line back to Menelik . . . and the Kebra Nagast also told of a holy relic reportedly kept in a chapel beside the church of St. Mary of Zion.
66
Red Sea, off the coast of Eritrea
The “Avalon,” almost five hundred feet of mega-yacht, cut through the stormy sea. The weather had turned unseasonably rough in the last hours, and the spray whipped high against the hull of the ocean-going behemoth, which nevertheless glided with amazing serenity through the Red Sea.
The end is near, thought the man, as he stood at the stern window on the master deck and gazed out over the turbulent sea. In the distance, he saw Ossana’s helicopter approaching at high speed across the foaming waters.
She had actually done it. In a few moments, he would be holding the second piece of the stone in his hands, and in a few hours they would have the third. He had waited a very long time for this, but today would bring him a huge step closer to his goal.
Superficially, the magnate’s ship looked like a normal, if exceptionally large, luxury yacht, the kind any super-rich businessman might command. But in reality it was more like a warship. Equipped with computer systems and listening equipment equal to anything in the NSA’s arsenal, with a missile defense system, two helicopter landing pads and laser-based anti-paparazzi shielding, the yacht was probably the most dangerous non-military vessel in the world. The anti-paparazzi shield prevented the yacht from being photographed; anyone trying to do so would get no more than a blank image. The ship housed four separate paramilitary
units, one of which was on the foredeck preparing for its mission, loading another helicopter, a dark-gray Airbus H215, with all the equipment they would need. The ship could accommodate a second helicopter at the stern, where it could be stowed below deck with its rotors folded.
The rough seas and the high speed of the yacht caused Ossana’s pilot some difficulty when he tried to land the helicopter, but she and Noah were soon making their way inside, out of the storm. Immediately, three of the crew refueled and loaded the helicopter, making it ready to join the Airbus on the upcoming mission. Ossana and Noah rode the elevator to the master deck.
“Well done, my dear,” the man welcomed his adopted daughter, welcoming her with open arms and embracing her warmly. She kissed him lovingly on his cheek.
“Thank you, Daddy,” she said, her voice almost girlish. She stood beside her father with one arm around his waist.
“Well, let’s take a look, shall we?” the man said. He turned to Noah, who had a small, cloth-wrapped parcel on his lap. Noah handed the man the stone piece that Hellen and Tom had retrieved from deep below the Masonic memorial.
Nervous with anticipation, as cautious as if it were made of glass, the man carried the stone fragment to put it with the one he already had. The fragment from the Vatican lay inside an open suitcase on a sideboard in the center of the suite. He peeled apart the wrappings and put the cloth aside and, after gently examining the shimmering green stone, he placed it in the suitcase beside its twin. When the two stones touched, he could have sworn he felt an electrical discharge. The hair on his forearms bristled.
The Library of the Kings (A Tom Wagner Adventure Book 2) Page 18
