The Cup

by Alex Lukeman

  "It won't take long for the Greeks to suspect we were involved in what happened to those three terrorists. They may not know that we were in the church. We left everything as it was, except for taking the tile. If we're lucky, no one will miss it for a while."

  "Don't worry about the Greeks, I'll handle it."

  "We'll be in Bulgaria soon," Nick said. "Anything else, Director?"

  "No. Go talk to Mercurio."

  Nick disconnected and put the phone back in his pocket.

  "What's the word?" Ronnie asked.

  "We're going to Milan."

  "Pizza," Lamont said.

  CHAPTER 27

  Abdul Haddad sat in the backseat of a tan colored, armored Land Rover that had once belonged to the Iraqi army. He watched the Syrian desert speeding past. The sun was a golden ball of fire, the sky a gray-blue dome that stretched to the horizon. Air blowing through the open windows smelled of dry sand and heated rock.

  Sitting next to Haddad was a pinched little man wearing thick glasses with heavy black frames, reading a technical abstract dealing with the finer points of nuclear fission. The paper was written in French. The principles of creating a nuclear explosion were the same in any language.

  Rashid Jaffari had been educated in the West, taking an advanced degree at MIT. He'd been working on building a bomb for Saddam Hussein before the invasion but had run out of time before it could be completed. He'd gone to ground in the lawless mountains of Pakistan before the Americans could capture him. Now he'd been given a second chance to finish his work. This time, he would not be interrupted before he was done.

  It was of little consequence to Rashid if success meant the deaths of many thousands of people. Rashid didn't think of nonbelievers as people. He thought of them as less than human, doomed by their refusal to see the truth of the Messenger's teachings. When the Day of Retribution came and they died and found themselves in hell, they would have only themselves to blame. If true believers also died, Allah would welcome them with open arms.

  There were few of those in the city where ISIS planned to detonate the bomb.

  The Land Rover turned off the desert road onto a rough track leading toward a row of rugged hills a few miles away. The driver stopped, got out of the car and attached a drag behind the vehicle to obscure the tire marks. He got back in and they proceeded at a crawl, driving slowly to avoid raising a dust trail that might capture the attention of a passing drone or satellite. After twenty minutes the track descended into a broad wadi running between the hills. During the rainy season, a shallow river ran through the ravine, bringing life to the desert. The rains were late this year. The valley was dry and brown, marked by outcroppings of rock as black as the hearts of the men sitting in the car.

  "We're almost there," Haddad said.

  Rashid looked up from his paper.

  "Good." He tapped the paper in his lap. "This has given me the final piece of information I was seeking. Have the rest of the materials arrived?"

  "Yes. Everything we recovered from Iraq. It will all be familiar to you. Everything will be brought down to you tomorrow."

  "You found the sealed containers?"

  "Yes. Your directions were very good. The Americans passed the site without ever noticing what was there. The camouflage was perfect."

  "We'd been warned," Rashid said. "We knew they were coming. It gave us enough time. The Russian warhead you provided was in poor shape but useful for my design. By incorporating the material that was stored in the containers, the effect of the warhead will be amplified considerably. The yield should be in the neighborhood of five kilotons, about half the size of the bombs which destroyed Hiroshima and Nagasaki."

  "Excellent, excellent. It is a great thing we do, my brother. God will be pleased."

  Rashid placed his hand over his heart. "We are but His servants."

  The car slowed as it came to several large boulders strewn across the riverbed. It looked natural to a casual observer, but the boulders forced anyone coming down the riverbed to drive between them. Camouflage netting stretched overhead. As they passed the first boulder three men appeared as if from nowhere, armed with AKs. One of them held up his hand. The driver stopped the car. The guard looked inside, saw Haddad and Rashid, and waved them through.

  They passed a second boulder and found themselves in front of a cave in the side of the ravine. The entrance was invisible from above, broad and high enough to let a good-sized truck pass through. Once inside, the cave widened to forty or fifty yards across. The car came to a halt. Rashid and Haddad climbed out.

  Haddad stretched his arms and yawned. "I am going back as soon as I see what you have done. Al-Baghdadi wants a report on our progress."

  "Tell him we are nearing completion."

  "When will the work be finished?"

  "If all goes well, less than a week. The bomb is already partially assembled."

  "Be careful, Rashid. This is not the time for you to walk the martyr's path. You are too valuable to lose."

  "I survived the incompetence of Saddam's sons and the missiles of the Americans," Rashid said. "I can survive this. Don't worry, my brother. I have no desire for paradise just yet. Come, let me show you what I have accomplished."

  The cave extended back into the hill for almost a hundred yards. The floor had been smoothed over and rooms dug out of the sides. Supplies and sleeping arrangements for the guards took up the first half of the cave. There were always at least a dozen men awake and on duty while the others slept. They cooked only at night, inside the cave, so heat from the fire would not register on the satellites passing overhead.

  The rest of the cave was sealed off by plastic sheeting hung from the ceiling. A heavy table mounted on a four wheeled platform was visible through the plastic. Rashid's bomb sat on top of it.

  Rashid took out a dosimeter and placed it on Haddad's shirt. He took out another for himself and pinned it on. He held the plastic aside for Haddad to enter the room.

  "Is it safe?"

  "Quite safe," Rashid said. "The dosimeter is a routine precaution. The plutonium is stored in that container by the wall. The enriched uranium is on the other side. As long as everything remains sealed in its container, there is no danger. Everything will be prepared before hand for the final assembly. I will be wearing a radiation suit to protect me."

  "Is there any chance of an accidental explosion?"

  "As long as the trigger is not detonated, no. This is a very basic design, a gun-type weapon. We do not have the equipment for something more sophisticated, but it is of little importance."

  "How does it work?"

  "A charge of Semtex is detonated to begin the process. The explosion shoots a quantity of enriched uranium at high velocity into another compact mass of enriched uranium. That provides the critical mass needed to set off the chain reaction. It's very inefficient but highly effective. I will pack plutonium around it. The plutonium will not detonate but it will create a lethal cloud of dust. This will be a very dirty bomb. The ground will be poisoned for thousands of years, for miles around."

  Jaffari had built his bomb inside a metal chest the size of a footlocker, the kind of container that could be found on any construction site or oil rig. The lid was open. Wires ran from a digital panel and counter on the inside of the lid, the down into the interior.

  "As you can see," Rashid said, "I have not yet added the final components. Once everything is in place, the panel is ready for programming. The bomb can easily be moved in a van or truck. It is a true accomplishment to make this from what was available."

  Rashid's voice resonated with pride.

  "Is it dangerous to transport?"

  "Until it has been programmed to fire it is safe, but there will be some radiation leakage. Those who deliver the weapon to the target must be prepared for martyrdom."

  "There will be no shortage of volunteers," Haddad said. "This is a mission that will bring great honor to them."

  "Sometimes I wonder what use honor is to s
omeone who has died to gain it," Rashid said.

  Haddad looked at him in surprise. "You had better not let others hear you say that. It might be taken the wrong way."

  "I know, I know," Rashid said. "You are my oldest friend, Abdul. If I cannot trust you then I am lost."

  Haddad embraced him. "You are not lost, my brother. Take your doubts to Allah in prayer. Now I must return."

  The two men walked back to the entrance of the cave.

  "Drive slowly," Rashid said. "The American satellites are very good at paying attention to dust trails."

  CHAPTER 28

  It was late afternoon when their flight arrived in Milan. Nick rented a red Alfa Romeo, a brand-new Giulia. Two hundred and seventy six Italian horses that could hit a hundred and fifty on a good day. Selena smiled when she saw the car. She got behind the wheel and plugged the location into her GPS. They headed out of the airport and the city toward Mercurio's Villa in the foothills of the mountains.

  "Nice country," Nick said.

  Lamont leaned over the front seat and pointed at a range of snowcapped mountains not far away.

  "Those the Italian Alps?"

  Selena nodded. "Hannibal crossed them during the Second Punic War to take on the Romans. It was quite a feat, one of the great military accomplishments in ancient times."

  "He the guy with the elephants?" Ronnie asked.

  "Yes. If you were a Roman soldier, it must've been a terrifying sight when Hannibal came down out of the mountains with them. In the end, it didn't make any difference. The Romans won."

  "Man, I'll take a doped up jihadi with an AK any day over a pissed off elephant trying to stomp on me," Lamont said.

  The approach to Mercurio's Villa was along a country road bordered by hedges and tall trees. They started passing a high stone wall on the right. Selena was watching her GPS.

  "Were getting close. The entrance should be up here on the right."

  "This wall must border his property," Nick said.

  They came to a pair of closed, black wrought iron gates. In the center of the gates, the iron had been worked into an elaborate crest. A call box was mounted on one of the stone columns supporting the gates. Nick lowered his window and pressed the call button.

  "Chi è , per favore?"

  The voice from the speaker belonged to a woman.

  "What did she say?" Nick asked.

  "She asked who it was," Selena said. She leaned across the seat and spoke into the speaker.

  "Vogliamo parlare con il conte."

  "Conte Mercurio non riceve visitatori."

  "Digli Anastasio ci ha inviato".

  The speaker was silent.

  "What was all that about?" Ronnie asked.

  "I told her we wanted to speak with the count. She said he wasn't receiving. I told her to tell him Anastasius sent us."

  "Good one," Lamont said.

  There was a loud click. The lock on the gates released and they swung open. Nick put the car in gear.

  The drive to the villa was paved with white gravel that crunched under their tires. It was immaculate, not a weed in sight, bordered on either side by a long row of Italian cypress trees. Each tree was planted exactly the same distance from the next. The manicured, green grass bordering the drive would have done justice to a world-class golf course.

  They came around a curve and saw the villa, a three-story, yellow building with a red tile roof. It sat at the foot of a steep slope where the mountains began. A wide, shaded veranda on the second floor faced the drive. On the right, the ground sloped sharply away from the drive, down to a flat area and a long, rectangular swimming pool surrounded by trees and flowers. The water in the pool was still and dark.

  "Nice digs," Lamont said. "What does this guy do again?"

  "He produces olive oil," Nick said. "A lot of it."

  "Like the Godfather?"

  "Harker says he's one of the good guys."

  "Everyone's a good guy to somebody," Lamont said.

  An unsmiling, middle-aged woman in a blue dress that reached down to a pair of black, sturdy shoes waited for them by the entrance to the villa. A colonnaded portico extended out over the entry. Nick parked the car under it and turned to Ronnie and Lamont in the back seat.

  "I don't want to spook him. It might be better if the two of you stayed in the car while Selena and I go in."

  "Why would he get spooked?" Lamont asked.

  "Are you kidding? One look at you would do it."

  The scar across Lamont's face tended to make people wary the first time they saw him.

  "Hey, I'm not so bad when you get to know me," Lamont said.

  "Mmm," Nick said.

  Nick and Selena got out of the car. Selena greeted the woman.

  "Buon giorno, signora. Parli inglese?"

  "Yes, I speak English. Who are you?"

  "My name is Selena, and this is my husband, Nick. We've come to talk with the count about something important to him."

  "Anastasius."

  "Yes."

  Her expression was unfriendly. "Count Mercurio is not a well man. I must ask you to respect that. The name you mentioned has upset him."

  "That was not my intention," Selena said. "On the contrary, we have information for him that he'll want to hear."

  The woman sniffed. "Follow me."

  She swept away, not bothering to see if they followed.

  "Friendly," Nick said.

  "She being protective," Selena said.

  They followed her up a wide, marble staircase to the second story and then down a tiled hall to a set of tall, wooden doors open at the end.

  "The count will receive you in his study," the woman said.

  She gestured at the open doors and stood aside. Selena and Nick walked past her into a large room that was part study, part library. The ceiling was fourteen feet high, giving the room a sense of regal space. The floor was made of reddish tile and scattered with antique Persian rugs. One wall featured an enormous bookcase filled with books. At the far end, tall French doors opened onto a balcony.

  Count Mercurio stood as they entered. Selena's first thought on seeing him was that he looked as though he should be sailing on the Riviera rather than waiting to talk with a pair of foreign strangers who had disrupted his day. He wore a light blue silk sport jacket, dark slacks and polished black loafers. His shirt was a creamy white, open at the collar. A silk handkerchief peeked from his breast pocket. On the third finger of his left hand was a large gold ring, identical to the one Bellini had worn in Sweden.

  Selena introduced herself and Nick in Italian.

  "You are American," Mercurio said. "Please, speak English. I need the practice. I must admit, I am intrigued. What do you know about Anastasius?"

  "We didn't mean to disturb you, Count."

  "You've been talking to Maria, haven't you? She saw me react and she worries about me. Pay no attention."

  Selena took out to photographs. The first was of the Anastasius tile. She passed it over to him and followed up with a picture of the tile they'd found in Greece.

  Mercurio sucked in a breath. "I see. We'd better sit down."

  He gestured toward the doors by the balcony, where a couch, chairs and low table formed a comfortable grouping. Mercurio took a seat on the couch.

  "You obviously know of my interest in Anastasius. What else do you know?"

  "We know about your connection with Bergstrom," Nick said. "We also know it was your agent who was murdered with him in Sweden."

  A look of distress flashed across Mercurio's face. It was gone as quickly as it had come.

  "Antonio was much more than an agent. He was a very old friend. Are you police? Interpol?"

  "No. We're not interested in creating problems for you. The antiquities you've been buying from Bergstrom are brought out of the Middle East by ISIS. They use the money to fund their terror tactics. We want to shut them down."

  "Are you CIA? By the way, your pistol is showing."

  Nick looked down. T
he butt of his Sig was visible under his jacket.

  "We're not CIA," Selena said, "but we work for our government. A smaller agency. It was ISIS that killed your friend and Bergstrom. They were looking for the Anastasius tile."

  "Oh, dear."

  "You may be in danger," Selena said. "We found you without much trouble by tracing the ring your friend was wearing. The tile and the ring were evidence. They were supposed to be safe in Stockholm but they've gone missing. Someone in the Swedish police is working for ISIS, which means the caliphate knows about you."

  "Oh, dear," Mercurio said again.

  He picked up a bell from the table and rang it. The woman Mercurio had called Maria came into the room within seconds.

  Listening outside, Nick thought.

  "Maria, please bring the Sancerre. The 2010 vintage. And glasses."

  Maria gave Nick and Selena another disapproving look and left the room.

  "She means well," Mercurio said.

  Selena said, "We know you're looking for the Grail. Tell us about the Companions."

  Mercurio sighed. "The society was founded in the 1500s. The search for the Grail has always been the real reason for our existence, although these days most do not join with serious intent. That serves us well. It gives us the look of another religious organization that exists for social reasons. Antonio was the only other member who knew about the tile. We both felt it confirmed the manuscript."

  "What manuscript?" Nick asked.

  Maria came back into the room with a tray bearing the wine and three crystal glasses. She set the tray down and reached for the bottle.

  "I'll do that," Mercurio said.

  "Signor..."

  "It's all right, Maria. Thank you."

  When she was gone, Mercurio opened the bottle.

  "We'll let it breathe for a bit."

  "What manuscript?" Nick asked again.

  Mercurio stood and walked over to a cupboard on the far wall, opened it and took out a flat wooden box. He carried it over to the table where they were sitting and sat down. He lifted the lid off the box. Inside was a single yellowed page, protected by an archival glass case filled with inert gas. The page was covered with fading lines of brown ink.