The Simeon Scroll

by Neil Howarth

“I can say I want to see him on a matter of the utmost security,” she continued. “Which will be true.”

  “I don’t like it,” Fagan said.

  “What’s to like? Do we have any other choice?”

  Fagan wasn’t convinced, but he had by now come to realize that when Frankie said she was going to do something, you had better get used to it.

  “What are you going to tell him?” Walter asked.

  “The truth,” Frankie said. “That De Vaux intends to assassinate the President of the United States, that there’s a bomb inside the Vatican,”

  “Do we really know that?” Walter said.

  “De Vaux admitted as much to me when we were in the Priory,” Fagan said. “And Blanchet pretty much confirmed it out at the Abbey.”

  “Blanchet,” Walter said. “This is the guy from your dark past that you don’t want to talk about, and who kicked down Aldo’s door. He’s still pretty upset about that.”

  “Blanchet also murdered Luca.”

  “What?” Walter looked like someone had just punched him in the gut. “You know this to be true?”

  “I know it.”

  “My God, who are these people?”

  “We know who they are. And if we don’t stop them, they’ll rip apart everything that William and Luca ever stood for.”

  “Guys, we need to focus,” Frankie butted in. “Or they will do just that.”

  Walter took another generous gulp of his wine. “Sorry Frankie, you’re right.” He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, then opened them and looked at Fagan. “Okay, you said that De Vaux told you about a bomb in the Vatican?”

  “Well actually, I told him, but he didn’t deny it.”

  “Just what did he say?”

  “It seems that De Vaux has taken over from our 12th century monk, he believes God is speaking to him, and he is enacting the End Times Prophecy. He believes he’s the new Messiah.”

  “End Times Prophecy,” Walter’s face was white. “My God, I was right, the scroll is a portent.”

  “The scroll is a scam,” Fagan said.

  Walter sank his wine. “Do you really believe that?”

  “I believe De Vaux is insane. I believe that God chose William Tsonga to make a difference, and he chose Luca to find us. We are his instruments. We have to make that difference.”

  Fagan reached for the wine jug, filled up the three glasses and picked up one. “William and Luca are gone, we’re all that’s left. We have to do it now. Are you with me?”

  Walter and Frankie picked up their glasses.

  Walter glanced towards the heavens. “Luca, you better be right about this.”

  The three of them clinked their glasses together and then drained them.

  Walter wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Good stirring speech, Joseph, but what the hell are we going to do?”

  “We have to figure this thing out,” Fagan said. The wine had been cleared away and replaced by cups of black espresso. “Let’s start by asking, how would they get a bomb into the Vatican?”

  “Maybe it’s with the scroll itself?” Frankie said.

  “I don’t think that’s possible,” Walter said. “When I was down there this morning sniffing around, I was talking to a friend of mine in the Swiss Guards. He told me the scroll had arrived early that morning and it had to go through full security, which was just installed. They had x-rays, sniffer dogs, bomb detectors, the works.”

  “So what does that leave us with?” Frankie asked.

  Fagan rubbed a hand across his face. He felt tired, but there was no time for that now. He had to concentrate.

  “De Vaux said something. What was it? The End Times Prophecy will have been brought to fruition by a simple Muslim carpenter. But what can a Muslim carpenter have to do with this?”

  The three of them looked at each other.

  “The cabinet,” Walter suddenly announced with a broad grin.

  “What?”

  “More Vatican gossip. The scroll is in a sealed glass container. That’s what was delivered this morning. But it’s to be kept in a special temperature controlled cabinet. A hand carved oak cabinet donated by the De Vaux Foundation. They have converted one of the mausoleums below St. Peters crypt to keep it in. The cabinet arrived a couple of days ago, before the big security measures were put in place.”

  “That must be it,” Frankie said.

  “But surely they would have checked it out anyway,” Fagan said.

  “Maybe,” Walter said. “But the checks would not be as stringent, and there are ways to protect explosives against discovery which only the most sensitive of equipment can find. And that equipment was not in place when they brought the cabinet in.”

  “But the electronics that control the detonator, that’s usually some kind of radio device. Surely any x-ray equipment would have picked that up.” Fagan looked at Walter. “Am I right?”

  Walter held up a massive hand in defeat. “Okay, I’m out of answers.”

  “The only way to find out is to take a look,” Frankie said. “Which is why I need to talk to Commissario De Mateo.”

  72

  St Peter’s Basilica, The Vatican.

  Father Paul Brennan descended the ancient set of stone steps and wound his way through the Vatican Scavi, the necropolis two floors beneath St Peter’s Basilica. Originally it was a burial ground, on the southern slope of the Vatican Hill, but when Emperor Constantine built the first Basilica, the place had been filled with earth and formed part of the foundations. It had only been excavated in the mid-twentieth century.

  A narrow passage ran away to his left, dimly lit with pale, yellow bulbs. Brennan hurried ahead, passing a series of doorways into small crypts and mausoleums, where the ancient wealthiest, and most affluent Roman families were buried.

  A security guard stood at the far end, the wire from a communicator dangled from his ear. He nodded as Father Brennan approached.

  “Just making a final check before we get started,” Brennan said.

  He moved past the guard and turned into the last mausoleum on the passageway. In building Constantine’s church, his builders had preserved one particular grave, of one special man. Now his bones rested directly above Brennan’s head. This was the rock upon which the Lord’s church had been built. Today it would provide the foundation for the next major stride forward. St. Peter was a man who knew about sacrifice. Brennan hoped he would understand the sacrifices that would be made today.

  The lights were brighter here. The conversion had been hurried. Just a cleanup and more power laid in to run the air conditioning control unit, that was connected to the cabinet, and provided the precise environmental conditions required to preserve its precious contents.

  The wooden cabinet stood, two floors below where the funeral of the late Pontiff would shortly take place. The obvious skill of the hand carved woodwork seemed a fitting tribute to what now lay inside. Brennan moved up close. The scroll was still rolled, sealed in a thick glass container, which was laid upon a simple, white silk backcloth and illuminated by thin strip lights inside the glass topped cabinet. He found himself holding his breath. He put his hand in the pocket of his cassock and found the device the man from Excalibur Security had slipped to him. His fingers explored the side of the cabinet. He felt the slight depression in the panel, just as he had been told. He inspected it closer and pressed with his forefinger. A small aperture appeared, the same shape as the device he held in his other hand. He inserted it into the opening and pushed it into place. It clicked home and a small green light illuminated. He pressed the panel again and the aperture closed.

  He had read about the monk, Brother Ademar, the creator of the scroll. He had truly believed that God spoke to him and guided his hand. In that same way, Brennan felt that God was guiding his own hand, right now. To most, it would be regarded as an act of infamy. But in the future, as events unfolded, it would be seen as the first and necessary step in His glorious return.

  Fiumicino
Airport, Rome.

  The Boeing 747, designated Air Force One, settled gently on the tarmac at Fiumicino Airport. It taxied off the runway and wound its way out to a remote part of the airport where it came to a stop.

  There was no VIP welcoming committee. All the Italian dignitaries were already waiting in the Vatican. Formalities could take place later. A convoy of cars and motorcycles raced out towards the aircraft as it came to a halt.

  Before the four Pratt and Whitney engines had wound down, the nose of the 747 lifted and the President’s bombproof Lincoln limousine emerged, driving slowly down the ramp, its presidential flag and the stars and stripes flapping on each wing. It was followed by four armored, utility vehicles, crammed with Secret Service agents.

  The vehicles quickly moved into line in the center of the escort, and the whole convoy raced out of the airport, outriders out front and in the rear, lights flashing and sirens blasting, and took the main road to the city.

  73

  The Vatican, Rome.

  Frankie stepped out into the road, opposite the Porta di Sant’Anna. Fagan sat with Walter in a small cafe a short way down the street, a cold, solid rock sitting in his gut. He could see her approach the checkpoint at the main gate. He glanced across at Walter, but the big man was silent. He had desperately wanted to stop her, but the problem was, she was right. She had the best chance of getting through and talking to Commissario De Mateo.

  A guard stepped out to meet her. She held up something in her hand, and the guard reached out and took it. He could see her talking to him in her animated fashion. This was it. Her charm needed to work this time.

  A man appeared in the doorway of the guardhouse, dressed in a black suit. He held a finger to his ear and was obviously talking to someone on his communicator. Something about him stirred in Fagan’s memory. Then recognition dawned. He looked different in a suit, and now his beard and head were shaved, but Fagan knew him, he was one of Blanchet’s men. The one called Marco.

  Fagan was out of his seat and into the road when a black SUV, screeched to a halt in front of the gate, directly obscuring his view of Frankie. A taxi honked its horn and forced its way forward. Fagan was forced to step back. The security gate came back into view as the SUV moved away at speed. The guard was walking back to the guardhouse, alone.

  Fagan stood in the middle of the road.

  “What just happened?” Walter shouted to him.

  “They took her away in that SUV.”

  “But De Mateo is inside the Vatican not down there.”

  “I know.” Fagan was already moving again.

  “Where are you going?”

  “After Frankie. You try to get to De Mateo.”

  “But..”

  Fagan wasn’t listening. In front of him was a line of parked scooters, mopeds, and motorcycles. Fagan chose a red and black Ducati. It was a long time since he had hot wired anything, but fear seemed to guide his fingers, and the powerful engine burst into life beneath him. He looked back at Walter, who was still standing on the sidewalk, a look of total shock on his face.

  “Don’t let me down, Walter.” Then he gunned the engine and shot off down the street.

  74

  Via Veneto, Rome.

  “Your man in the Vatican just confirmed. The detonator device is in place.”

  Dominic De Vaux beamed. “Wonderful.”

  He had felt confident smuggling in the bomb inside the cabinet, but he had felt that attempting to bring in the electronics of the radio controlled detonator was taking too much of a risk. But now all the pieces were in place.

  The suite was on the top floor of the Regina Hotel, a short walk from the Spanish Steps. De Vaux sat at a small table by the window, its curtains open to let in the midday sunshine and the view of the Via Veneto below. The table was set with fine silver service and delicate cut glasses. In front of him was a large plate arranged with thin slices of smoked salmon and quarters of fresh lemon. Beside it was an equally large plate of thick cut slices of fresh brown bread. A flute of champagne, its bubbles sparkling in the sunlight, sat on the table close to his hand. He forked a large piece of smoked salmon on to a piece of brown bread, squeezed some lemon juice over it and popped it into his mouth.

  “So,” he said, still chewing. “Everything was tidied up at the Abbey?”

  Blanchet nodded. “Just as we agreed, the Monastery has been gutted, the main charges were placed around the scriptorium. Joe Fagan and the woman should be floating somewhere out in the Atlantic by now, along with Brother Fabian.”

  He dabbed his lips with a white napkin. “Poor Fabian, such a waste. But that is progress as our American friends like to say. We have to move on.”

  Blanchet looked at his watch. “Talking about moving, it’s time. The President’s plane should have landed, and we need to be in place.”

  Blanchet’s phone chirped in his pocket, and he dug it out.

  “Yeah.” His teeth set in a tight grimace as he listened. “Right, take her up to the villa. And watch out for the priest. He’s probably not far behind.” He disconnected the call and looked across at De Vaux.

  De Vaux shook his head. “Don’t tell me.”

  “I’m sorry, my men just picked up the girl, trying to get into the Vatican.” He lifted his hands in an empty gesture. “I was told they were taken care of.”

  De Vaux threw his napkin on to the table. “I seem to have heard that before. What about Fagan?”

  “My men are looking for him. He’ll be not too far away. We’ll find him.”

  “Will you? Or are you going to ruin my day?”

  “I’ll take care of it personally.”

  “You do that, and put a lid on this, tight. I need you to hold it together for another two hours. Then it will not matter anymore.”

  Blanchet stopped at the door. “When that bomb goes off, you need to be far away. And remember once the President gets inside St. Peter’s, no one will be able to get in or out.”

  “Don’t worry,” De Vaux said. “I’m counting on that.”

  75

  The Vatican, Rome.

  “Peter,” Walter recognized his friend in the Swiss guard as he approached the security gate and beckoned him over.

  “Walter, I told you, visitors and staff need special passes today.”

  “Look, Peter, I need to speak to Commissario De Mateo, really urgently, it’s a matter of vital security.”

  The guard shook his head. “Not a chance, Walter. Have you any idea how busy he is today?”

  “Hey, this is me, your old mate Walter. You can let me in. I only need a couple of minutes.”

  “Have you any idea what would happen to me if I let you in without a pass?”

  “Look, I’m serious. I have good reason to believe there’s a bomb inside Saint Peter’s Basilica.”

  The guard grabbed hold of Walter’s jacket, pulling him close, his voice a shouted whisper. “Walter, they will shoot you for just mentioning that word.”

  “I’m not joking, Peter. You need to get me to see the Commissario.”

  The Swiss Guard studied him, still holding on to his jacket front, as if trying to make up his mind.

  “Is there a problem?”

  Walter and the Swiss Guard turned to see the speaker.

  “Father Walter, is everything all right?”

  Walter felt the relief flood through him. “Father Paul,” he said to the concerned face of Paul Brennan. “I need to speak to the Commissario urgently.”

  “I’ve told him, Father. It’s impossible.”

  “I understand. Walter, what’s going on?”

  “I have good reason to believe there is a bomb inside the Vatican, inside Saint Peter’s itself.”

  “What? I take it you’re sure of this.”

  “Absolutely,” Walter said, at the same time praying that his and Joseph’s assumptions were right.

  Father Brennan looked back at the Swiss Guard. “Look, why don’t you let me take him to my office. He can tell me
all about it there. Then I can speak to the Commissario if necessary.”

  The guard still looked reluctant.

  “Look, my office is over in the Casina Pio, which is well away from Saint Peter’s Basilica, that’s where your security effort is.”

  The guard studied the two of them then finally nodded. “Very well. But to your office only, Father. Then he reports directly back here.”

  “Not a problem,” Brennan smiled and put an arm around Walter’s shoulders. “Come on, you can tell me all about it.”

  Outside Vatican City, Rome.

  Fagan had lost sight of the SUV. He took the bike up through the gears as fast as he could, weaving in and out of the traffic, hoping and praying it had not turned off without him seeing. He finally caught sight of it up ahead, stopped at the traffic lights. He let the speed drop off as he ran up to the stationary traffic, guiding the bike between the lines of cars and stopped, a dozen vehicles behind.

  He wasn’t sure what he was going to do when he caught up with it. But for the moment that didn’t matter, what was important was he hadn’t lost her.

  The lights changed, and the traffic up ahead started moving, the SUV was already crossing the intersection. He eased the bike forward, but a car in front drifted out into his space and blocked his way, forcing him to weave his way around. A chorus of honking horns greeted him as he maneuvered his way back into the free space between the lines of cars and got himself moving forward again. The SUV up ahead, was now clear of the intersection and beginning to accelerate away. He opened up the throttle as the lights changed to amber just ahead of him. He gunned the engine.

  A siren sounded, then something flashed in from the edge of his vision. A motorcycle screeched to a halt, jamming itself horizontally across the lane in front of him, followed by another behind it, both with blue police lights flashing, blocking off all three lanes of traffic.