The Spear of Destiny

by Julian Noyce

  “You know if you were to smash one of the windows, particularly the driver’s or front passenger’s side you could reach in and pull the switch for the boot,” the officer who’d brought the crowbar volunteered.

  De Luca stopped what he was doing and looked at the policeman openmouthed.

  “What?”

  “This model has a switch which opens the boot from the front.”

  “Well why didn’t you say,” De Luca replied, irritated.

  Sonnenburg turned at the sound of a siren approaching. The police tape was lowered and an ambulance came slowly up the street. The siren was switched off but the blue lights remained.

  De Luca approached the driver’s window of the Alfa, kept close to the car to avoid any flying glass and swung the crowbar with all his might. The first blow bounced off the toughened glass but the second shattered it in a shower of green cubes. De Luca reached into the car and found the small switch he was looking for. He heard the click as the boot opened and he quickly rushed round as Sonnenburg lifted the boot and stepped back. They both looked down at the dead police officer. The body was starting to smell. Early stages of decay and De Luca noted the congealed blood on the black uniform jacket.

  Sonnenburg clicked his fingers at the paramedics who both rushed forward with their medi-packs. The first of them instantly reached for a pulse on the neck. Then he tried the wrist. He shook his head at the two policemen and closed his medical kit and stood up.

  “Thank you,” Sonnenburg said, dismissing the paramedics.

  “Well I guess we now have a murder case on our hands,” De Luca said. He turned to look for his assistant just as Ferrara finished the phone call.

  “Mario we need forensics here as soon as possible. We now have a murdered cop on our hands.”

  “Sir I’ve just got off the phone to Ezio. Those tyre marks you told me to photograph, they’ve come back as a match. The one’s at the roadside and the abandoned airfield are the same. They are identical to tyres supplied to the Carabinieri Alfa Romeo’s. Sir this proves that Balotelli was at that airfield.”

  “But you and I investigated that airfield. There was nothing there.”

  “Who would want to murder a policeman at an abandoned airfield and dump his body here?” Sonnenburg asked.

  They turned at the sound of approaching foot steps. Bauer had just flashed his I.D. and was now hurrying towards them.

  “I’ve just heard from my office. German police have been monitoring Von Werner’s bank accounts and guess what? You’ll never believe this. Von Werner has purchased an old abandoned airfield just North of Rome.”

  De Luca met Sonnenburg’s gaze.

  “I think we just found our suspect.”

  “I should say,” Bauer continued, “And that’s not all. Interpol have upgraded the notice on Von Werner to red.”

  De Luca was confused.

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means,” Sonnenburg answered, “That they’ve issued an international arrest warrant for him. Red is the highest notice that they can issue to all member forces. It also includes the power to extradite persons or individuals to the warrant issuing authority.”

  “So this means that the German’s want him.”

  “As well as the Americans and Austrians,” Sonnenburg added.

  “Actually you’re both wrong. It is Tunisia who have requested his extradition.”

  “Not a chance,” De Luca shook his head, “If he’s killed or is responsible for the death of one of my officers then I want him.”

  “Yes,” Sonnenburg agreed, “If he’s still in Italy.”

  “And if he is. I intend to catch him.”

  Dennis, Natalie, Hutchinson and Alberto, their guide, all stepped back out into the late afternoon sunshine. They thanked their guide for a wonderful tour which had culminated in the viewing of the sistine chapel.

  Despite signs everywhere telling visitors to switch off mobile phones Dennis had kept the one Sonnenburg had given him on. It now began to ring incessantly.

  “Excuse me,” he said reaching into his jeans pocket for it.

  Hutchinson was busy passing a large tip to Alberto. Natalie took her eyes off the transaction to look at her boyfriend. He cupped his hand over the mouthpiece to speak to her.

  “It’s Bauer.”

  He turned his attention back to the phonecall. He couldn’t hear over the large crowds of visitors and he apologised and asked the Austrian to speak up. He tried putting a finger in his other ear to drown out surrounding noise but it was still no use.

  “I’m sorry Thomas I still can’t hear you.”

  He heard the voice reply but still didn’t catch any of it.”

  “Hold on Thomas. I will try to get somewhere quieter. Just bear with me….”

  Dennis moved through the crowd looking for a vantage point. Then he saw a large gap in the crowds and he pushed his way to it.

  “Right Thomas. I might be able to hear you now. Sorry, what were you saying.”

  “Peter I need the three of you outside St Peter’s now. I’m at the square of Pope Pius XII in a black Lancia. Meet me there….”

  Some tourists waving Brazilian flags suddenly appeared next to Dennis. They were shouting excitedly whilst having their photographs taken against the backdrop of the papal palace. Dennis couldn’t hear what Bauer was saying again and he looked at them with irritation. Then his eyes grew wide as he caught the single word.

  “Bomb!”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Natalie and Dennis ran out of St Peter’s square and onto the via Della Conciliazone road. The black Lancia was parked just in front of the square of Pope Pius XII. Bauer had the driver’s door open and was standing and leaning on it. In his hand was a police radio. Beyond the Lancia Natalie and Dennis could see a Carabinieri mini-bus blocking the road and a dozen uniformed officers setting up a cordon with police tape. Visitors to the square were being moved back away from the Vatican.

  Natalie and Dennis rushed up to Bauer who looked past them to Hutchinson who, at fifty eight, couldn’t keep up with his companions. He slowed down to a fast walk.

  “Just a second!” he shouted between great gulps of air.

  “What’s going on?” Dennis asked when they were still a dozen paces away. Concerned looking Romans and tourists were gathering in crowds to watch at the cordon tape.

  “We’ve had an officer murdered and his body dumped in the boot of his police car which was then parked on the via Di Porta Angelica road just a couple of blocks from here. We now know that his last known position was here. An old abandoned world war II airfield 45 miles north of Rome called Tarquinia. An airfield which has been purchased by Count Otto Brest von Werner….”

  “Von Werner is here?” Dennis blurted out.

  “We don’t know that for sure but we’ve had an officer gunned down. Presumably taken by surprise because he didn’t radio in that he was in trouble. No known associates of Von Werner’s or Von Werner himself have entered Italy with their passports but there was a private flight that used the airfield sometime between eleven and eleven thirty this morning. We are waiting for details of that flight and its origin.”

  “You said something on the phone to me about a bomb,” Dennis said.

  “When the crime scene investigators attempted to move Balotelli’s body to look for clues they discovered the boot of the car is packed with explosives. We are now waiting for an army bomb disposal unit to arrive. As you can see,” Bauer gestured at the uniformed police, “We are sealing off an area four blocks square.”

  The uniformed officers now walked towards them and spaced themselves around Bauer and the Lancia.

  “What do you want us to do?” Dennis asked.

  “Miss Feltham, Mr Hutchinson, this is detective Mario Ferrara….”

  Ferrara nodded at them.

  “….I would like you to both go back into St Peter’s square with him and these officers and mingle in the crowds. If you recognise anyone or see anything sus
picious these officers will make arrests. Can you do this for me?”

  They both nodded.

  “Isn’t that a little dangerous for them?” Dennis asked, “I mean they’ve already killed one policeman.”

  Bauer turned as the sound of a helicopter got nearer. It swooped in low over rooftops, flew directly over them and hovered over the Vatican.

  “Sonnenburg is putting snipers on rooftops,” Bauer said, “And as we can see we now have support from the air.”

  Dennis looked at Natalie.

  ’Will you be all right?’ he mouthed silently.

  She smiled and nodded.

  “Aren’t you evacuating St Peter’s?” Hutchinson asked, having only just got his breath back.

  “Not as yet,” Bauer replied, “The car bomb is a few blocks away and as you can see the Vatican is protected by high walls. The papal office has been alerted and his holiness’ speech for this afternoon has been postponed. We are still not sure if this is a diversionary tactic or a direct attack on Vatican city itself. We may, of course, have been wrong about the intended target.”

  “And what do you want me to do?” Dennis asked.

  “Mr Dennis I need you to come with me to the church of Santa Croce,” Bauer looked at his watch, “It is almost three thirty now. The church closes at four. You and I will watch it this evening. If they’re planning an attack it will come tonight. Now everyone,” Bauer continued, “You all know what to do.”

  He got into the driver’s seat of the Lancia and slammed the door. Dennis held Natalie’s face in his hands.

  “Are you all right?”

  She nodded and smiled.

  “If you think that you’re in any danger you get out of there,” he said, “Just get out. You promise me that.”

  She nodded again.

  “I will.”

  “Don’t worry Pete. She’s safe with me,” Hutchinson added.

  Dennis kissed her on the mouth.

  “I love you,” he said.

  She repeated it and watched as he got into the Lancia and Bauer put the car into reverse, spun the steering wheel rapidly and with tyres squealing the Lancia sped off down the now closed one way street the wrong way.

  Natalie and Ferrara moved through the crowds in St Peter’s square. The hustle and bustle of the day’s tourists had begun to thin and unwind as the afternoon stretched on and the light began to fail. Late arriving tourists and those that stayed settled into tones of hushed conversation or even silence. Many formed groups that lit candles in vigil and prayer. Here and there were single people all doing their own personal thing. One tourist seeing Natalie and Ferrara, who in his suit, the man mistook for a bodyguard and the four uniformed policemen took her photograph, clearly thinking she was a celebrity. Ferrara stopped to give the man a severe talking to.

  “He thought you were the prime ministers daughter or wife or something,” Ferrara apologised to her, “I told him he was lucky I didn’t confiscate his camera.”

  Natalie wasn’t bothered by the incident. She had other things on her mind. She was concerned about Dennis.

  “Do you think they’ll be all right?” she asked the detective.

  “Who?”

  “Bauer and Peter.”

  “Yes of course. From what I can make of it Bauer is a very experienced police officer. We have Carabinieri swarming all over the church. I’m sure they’ll be fine. Remember it’s just a precaution. We don’t know what their true intentions are. For all we know we may have got it wrong.”

  Ferrara looked up at the light coming from the windows of the papal offices.

  ‘Blessed father please watch over his holiness,’ he said in silent prayer.

  “I don’t know what I’m supposed to be looking for,” Natalie said, “I can’t imagine Von Werner’s mercenaries will be out here wandering around armed to the teeth.”

  “We just need to have our presence felt. I want any would be suspects to see uniforms at every turn.”

  The last rays of October sun had now left the square and were now a dark yellow on St Peter’s church.

  “It’s getting dark,” Natalie said, “What time is it?”

  Ferrara brought his wrist up to check his watch.

  “It is almost a quarter to seven.”

  “What time does the square usually close?”

  “From April until September the opening times are until seven o’clock. From October until March six o’clock. We are not closing this evening because of the bomb. The last thing Commandant Sonnenburg wants is thousands of people leaving the square and taking routes that will take them close to Balotelli’s police car. We do not need a panic on our hands.”

  “So how long will it stay open to visitors?”

  “All night if we have to.”

  Ferrara looked at faces around him.

  “Everyone seems content at the extended opening. “Let us hope it stays that way.”

  No more than a hundred metres from them a man glanced impatiently at his watch again. It was now six forty five. He glanced around. The crowds should have been leaving at six o’clock. Filing through Pope Pius XII’s square the crowds would continue down the via Della Conciliazone or they would take the roads to the left or right. The bomb would cause absolute chaos and mass hysteria, distraction for the police.

  Twice uniformed officers had passed by very close. One group had a very attractive blonde with them. Each time he’d averted them. He held an Apple I-pad in his hands, the code for the car bomb already programmed in. He had only to hit the enter button now.

  He was still wearing his dark sunglasses. Suddenly a tourist stepping back to take a photograph bumped into him. The girl apologised and the man with the I-pad replied in Russian. The American tourist didn’t understand a word of what was said and she shrank away at the cruelty in the voice. A large, heavily muscled, heavily tattooed American man rounded on the Russian.

  “Hey she said she was sorry.”

  The Russian stared back through his sunglasses as the American glared on. The Russian had already decided that his training gave him the tools to cut the American down in a dozen different ways. He didn’t move though, unwilling to draw attention to himself from the police. Finally, the Americans, realising there wouldn’t be an argument forthcoming moved further away. Now the Russian had a clear line of sight to the attractive blonde. That she was with a policeman, no doubt a detective, was obvious. Then the detective was holding a finger to his ear and was talking quickly into his collar. Now the blonde was looking straight at him.

  Natalie stared straight at the dark sunglasses. A chill went through her. She frantically tugged Ferrara’s arm, the one up to his ear. He stopped talking into his collar to look at her open mouthed.

  “Him,” Natalie said, not taking her eyes off the man with the I-pad.

  Ferrara spun round and met the cold stare. He undid his jacket and reached for his gun. The man with the I-pad turned and began to walk away.

  “Stop!” Ferrara shouted.

  He took his Beretta out and held it up into the air.

  The man in the sunglasses was charging through people barging them out of the way. The four uniformed officers began to give chase but Ferrara stopped them. He fired a warning shot into the air causing people to scream and panic.

  “Everybody down on the ground now!” Ferrara shouted, firing another warning shot into the air. People dived for the ground, many covered their heads with their hands. The man with the I-pad still in his hand turned on the run and pulling a handgun out of his pocket he fired at Ferrara. The bullets whizzed past the detective as he returned fire hitting the man twice in the chest. The gun man cried out as the impact of the bullets sent him sprawling. He looked over his shoulder, his eyes wide with pain and terror as he crawled towards the I-pad. Ferrara advanced on him quickly, the gun held in both hands never wavering from the target. Ferrara realising the man’s intent shouted.

  “STOP!”

  Too late.

  The Russian re
ached the I-pad which had skittered out of reach and brought his hand down onto the touch screen as Ferrara shot him dead. A last groan escaped from his lips as he collapsed to the ground.

  Ferrara, Natalie and the uniformed police all spun around as a huge explosion rocked the very walls of the Vatican and a large ball of fire rose into the darkening sky.

  Sonnenburg and De Luca watched the scene from behind a jersey barricade which had been put in place four hundred yards from Balotelli’s police car.

  Thirty minutes earlier a black army car along with the bomb disposal truck had arrived. An elegant officer had jumped out of the car and had introduced himself to the two senior police officers as Colonel Antonio Farina, an army bomb disposal expert who had done two tours of Afghanistan and three in Iraq with the united nations. He had instantly taken control of the situation and launched a rubber wheeled robot to investigate the car.

  Sonnenburg and De Luca had been invited into the back of the bomb disposal truck which was also the incident unit and had watched on a bank of computer screens as the robot had set to work. Six rubber wheels and two mechanical arms had approached the Alfa Romeo. The two policemen had watched with keen interest as the robot had investigated the boot. The live video images streaming to the computers had shown the dead body being moved to examine the incendiary device. The robot had then moved around to the front of the door and peered inside the window De Luca had smashed.

  Farina had noticed wires taped to the console which housed both the parking brake and the gear stick and then disappeared beneath the accelerator pedal. The robot had cleverly reached inside and pulled the door handle, reversed back and opened the door to Sonnenburg and De Luca’s total amazement. Next the robot had beamed back images of the car’s interior.

  Finally Farina had moved away from the bank of computers to address the two policemen.

  “It’s a simple device which is activated by someone depressing the accelerator pedal,” Farina explained, “This is why the bomb didn’t explode when you broke the window and opened the door.”