Marcus motioned him toward the nearby door with his pistol.
Ramirez sneered back at Marcus as he reached for the doorknob. "But you already knew that."
"Unlock your cell phone."
"What?"
"Your cell phone. I heard it vibrate. Unlock it and give it to me."
The Cardinal reached into his robe and pulled out a phone, unlocking it before handing it over to Marcus. The Roman motioned him to step back into his room. Marcus closed the door, holstered his pistol, and took out his phone. He scanned through the cardinal's text messages, finding the one he needed. Pulling up the info, he used his phone to take a picture of the number. Turning, Marcus tossed the cardinal's phone and sprinted to a panel in the wall halfway towards the other exit. He searched where Bennucio had instructed and found a slight indentation on the underside of the panel. As he pressed the dimple, a section swung back into the darkness. Marcus slipped into the opening and pushed the door closed. Less than five minutes later, he was descending deep into the catacombs, his mind still trying to grasp the contents of the envelope.
My God, Thomas, what have you done?
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
I prayed to God to make me strong and able to fight.
— Harriet Tubman
May 1849
West Africa
Marcus stood on the bow of the rowboat and scanned the reed-covered riverbank. Isabella was supposed to meet him somewhere along this shoreline. Marcus peered beyond the bank and could barely make out the walls of the stone fortress. He was still surprised that Thomas could have become somehow mixed up with slavers, but then again, nothing should surprise him anymore.
He scanned a break in the reeds, and that was when he saw a figure waving at him. He held up his hand to the rowers, pointed to the split in the vegetation, and waited as the soldiers guided their craft onto the sandy beach. Marcus hopped off the boat as the bow crunched to a halt.
"Isabella!" He hugged her, then leaned back, searching her dark eyes. "Are you okay? I've been worried."
"We both know I've been through much worse."
"Don't remind me. Is Blanco still here?"
"No, he left several months ago. The men he left behind are just as bad."
"Any news about Thomas?"
"About that." She paused, seeing his expression change.
"What?"
"Thomas was never involved."
"Then why did you tell me he might be?"
"Because I needed your help, I needed your connections with the British Navy. Without them, I'd never free these people. But you're so focused on finding Thomas…" She grabbed his arm. "Marcus, thousands of slaves pass through here every month. We have to shut this down."
He took a deep breath, shaking his head. His eyes drifted from her to the wall beyond the bank. "Can you tell us how we get inside?"
"No, but I can show you."
"Lead the way."
She motioned for the group of men on the boat to follow her. She disappeared into a gap in the reeds that led to a narrow path along the water, and Marcus kept close behind. Isabella slowed and picked her way up a pile of rocks that formed something of a staircase up the bank. Near the top, she knelt and waved for Marcus to come forward. As he sat beside her, she leaned forward and pointed to the wall above, whispering in his ear.
"There is one guard. We can make it to the door when he is walking the other way." She pointed at a dark recess in the wall's base, ten yards across the open ground.
"Is the door locked?"
"Yes, but I have someone waiting inside. It'll be easy to pass through. The guard is a lazy Spaniard with poor eyesight."
"My favorite guards. Say when."
She watched for the guard, barely visible above the wall. When she was sure he was moving in the other direction, Isabella motioned for one man to cross the expanse. She got three across in the first pass. It took three rounds to get all eight of them across, the group crammed into a small alcove.
"Do you have a pistol?"
Marcus shook his head, pulled one from his belt, and handed it to her.
She used the butt of the gun to knock on the door. There was a long silence, then the sound of the drawn latch. Isabella motioned for them to make room for her to pull the door open. On the other side was a tiny black woman in a dirty blouse and ragged trousers. She grinned, several of her teeth missing.
Isabella motioned the men through, then pulled the door closed behind her. They found themselves in the shadows of the rampart above, the courtyard beyond bathed in pale starlight. Isabella bent over and spoke with the older lady in some strange language that Marcus had never heard before. Nodding, Isabella motioned for her to return to her quarters.
"She'll warn the other servants." Isabella rejoined the group. "What time do we need to open the gate?"
"5 AM, just before sunrise." Marcus pulled out his pocket watch and squinted in the darkness. Unable to read the clock face, he moved to the edge of shadow and held the watch out. "We have twenty minutes."
Isabella motioned for the group to huddle around her near the wall.
"There will be two men in the guardhouse, but they are probably asleep." She pointed to the long building on the opposite side of the courtyard. "That's the barracks. Marcus and I will go to the gate. The rest of you stay here and cover the barracks. Once the gate is open, we will head to the officers' quarters."
The men took up positions behind whatever cover they could find. Isabella tilted her head toward the gate, and Marcus followed her deeper into the shadows. They crept along the wall, ducking under windows and skirting around the staircase leading up to the rampart. She held up one hand and motioned for them to settle in. They both sat on the ground, leaning against the wall between the gate and the small guardhouse. The building across the square from them was a large one, with three arched openings, each closed off with a tall iron portcullis.
Marcus nodded toward the stone structure. "How many?"
"At least 500, maybe twice that. I didn't see how many they brought in just before sunset."
Marcus looked at the two posts in the middle of the courtyard, standing ten feet apart from one another.
"And those?"
"Whipping posts." She met his gaze. "They pick men at random from each group as examples."
The irony was not lost on either of them that the same empire proved so instrumental in establishing the slave trade was now raiding the most famous outpost of that same trade. The Brits were eager to rewrite history, and in doing so, place themselves in a much more favorable light.
Isabella looked at Marcus and caught him staring at her.
"What?" She asked.
"Nothing," he said. But then he changed his mind. "I'm glad you asked me to help. Even if that meant lying to me."
"You're not mad?"
"No. Of course not. And I know my search for Thomas has distracted me. I see his shadow everywhere I go. Anything evil, I assume he has something to do with it."
"Where do you think he is? America?"
"No, too small. Hard to get lost there. I'd say he's part of the old power structures in Europe. Or maybe Russia."
"Yeah, that would make sense." Marcus picked up a pebble and rolled it in his hand. "I miss him."
"Me too," she replied. "But he chose his path. Maybe someday he'll come back."
"I don't think so."
"Me neither."
He looked down at his watch and then back up again. "It's time."
She nodded and motioned toward the guardhouse.
He pulled his pistol from his belt and followed her toward the door. They took up positions on both sides of the opening, kneeling in the darkness. Marcus pointed at himself, then to her, then to the door, and shrugged. She pointed to herself and leaned up to twist the door handle when it turned all on its own. The door swung inward, letting the light from a lantern spill out into the courtyard. A guard stepped out, his bearded face stretched in a yawn.
Isabella
stood up before Marcus could react and swung the pistol by the barrel, catching the man under the chin with the brass plate molded to the grip. There was a sickening crunch as his jaw, and possibly his skull, shattered into pieces. He thudded to the ground, a moan slipping from the bloody mess that used to be his mouth. She flipped the pistol in the air, catching the blood-soaked grip in her hand and stepping through the doorway. Marcus, right behind her, felt a pistol ball slice through his left ear and smash into the door frame behind him as the gunshot echoed through the tiny room. Isabella used the muzzle's flash to locate the second guardsman in a darkened corner of the room and emptied her pistol into his chest. He dropped his weapon and, grasping at the wound, fell backward. She spied several swords hanging on the wall by the lantern. She stepped forward and grabbed one, tossing it to Marcus. He caught it by the hilt and strode over to the lever mechanism that controlled the gate. As Isabella gained a cutlass for herself, the loud report of musket fire filled the courtyard. As she left the room, she dropped her expended pistol and took one from the guard near the doorway.
Marcus freed the lever, and spun the wheel that opened the gate. They both moved to the door, where Isabella knelt and peered out. The first guard was now crawling away from the door. Isabella reached over and pulled the pistol from his belt before driving her sword into his chest.
Turning to Marcus, she smirked. "The more we kill, the less the Brits can let go later."
A lively firefight had erupted between the Brits and several Spanish guards escaping the barracks. Isabella ignored the action and sprinted to a nearby set of steps, Marcus hot on her heels. She took the stairs two at a time, reaching the top just as a door opened and a half-dressed man stepped out, sword in hand. Isabella leveled her pistol, shot him in the face, and then advanced further along the balcony to the next door. Marcus, confident she could take care of herself, headed the other direction.
Marcus stopped in front of a door and kicked it in. A man inside cursed in Spanish as he raised his pistol and fired, the shot nearly taking off his other ear. Marcus cursed back at him in Spanish and stepped forward, driving his cutlass into the man's chest. He pulled it out and turned to see a young African woman huddled in the corner, a blanket wrapped around her tiny frame. Marcus held one finger to his lips, not knowing if the gesture meant anything to her.
A moment later, Isabella walked through the door, her face covered in blood. She looked at the man bleeding to death on the bed.
"This is the commander. Will he live?"
"Not much longer." Marcus tilted his head to the corner.
Isabella rushed over and crouched beside the girl. She comforted her in her native tongue and helped her to her feet. Marcus led them from the room and to the balcony beyond.
The rising sun revealed that the firefight had now ceased with the arrival of more British redcoats. The men who had come with Marcus were emerging from the shadows, one helping a wounded comrade. Two-dozen surviving slavers were standing in front of the barracks, their weapons scattered across the dusty ground. The battle, short and sweet, was over.
They spent most of the day ferrying nearly 800 freed slaves to nearby transports.
"Where will they go?" Marcus leaned on a railing and watched the last of the ex-slaves climb up the rope ladder of a nearby ship.
"Sierra Leone."
"Why can't they go home?"
"It's difficult to find a home for most of them. Many were sold into slavery by another tribe. To go home would be an embarrassment to the local chieftain."
"What will you do now?" He asked her.
"This is the major fortress, but there are many slaver posts."
"You can't stop them all."
"I can try." She met his gaze.
"Or you could come to London with me."
After a long pause, she asked, "How long has it been?"
Marcus looked down at the azure water. "Twenty-three years."
"I've never seen you go that long without dying. But next week, you'll get yourself killed." She reached up to the missing part of his ear. "It's only a matter of time. And when you come back, you're never the same person. I know why—I can't compete with her. At least, not now."
"I understand. Maybe someday I will get over it."
She suppressed a wry smile. She shook her head, placed both hands on his jaw, and leaned forward to kiss his lips, lingering for a long moment before she pulled away, a single tear running down her cheek.
"Goodbye, Marcus."
A moment later, the explosives they had set in the fortifications went off, sending a massive cloud of rock and smoke skyward. Marcus turned back and watched the fortress crumble.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Everyone has a plan 'til they get punched in the mouth.
— Mike Tyson
Modern Day
Rome
Marcus walked across the square, scanning the streets as he tore into a breakfast pastry, and washed it down with an espresso. He was late, but then again, it was Rome. He was nervous at the thought of seeing Isabella again, as their last parting had not been on the best of terms. The sexual abuse scandals that had rocked the Catholic Church were the final straw for her. She refused to have anything to do with the Church, its leadership, and especially the Vatican. Marcus, loyal to a fault, had not been ready to walk away, and he knew that had frustrated her. He regretted the things he said.
But she had agreed to meet, so things must be okay. Or perhaps she realized how much trouble he was in. Probably the latter. He stopped near a fountain, tossing his empty coffee cup into a nearby trash can. That is when he saw her standing by a black BMW, waving at him. She was stunning, as ever.
He smiled and met her halfway to the car, where they exchanged an uncomfortable embrace.
He stepped back and kept two hands on her arms. "I'm glad to see you."
She studied the haggard lines on his face. "What's wrong?"
"Not here." He glanced around, then nodded to the car. "Are Sam and Cormac safe?"
"Yeah." She nodded her head toward the car. "I'll take you to them."
When they had settled into the car, he handed her the envelope he had taken from the Cardinal. Without saying a word, she opened it and began to read.
"Can I smoke?"
"Yeah." She nodded, engrossed in the material.
"You want one?"
"No, I quit three years ago."
About halfway through, she reached over and took his cigarette, taking a long pull as she flipped the page. He lit another one, picking his teeth with his thumb as he stared out the window. She looked up at him when she finished.
"You've got to be kidding me."
"Nope. Matches everything we have: DNA, drug formulas."
"Where would he get this kind of technology?"
"I assume he's been investing in this for decades."
"Do we know where?"
"No."
"Jesus Christ." She shook her head. "We have to find out where."
"Does that mean you'll help me?"
"Of course."
"Good. First, we get Sam and Cormac somewhere safe."
"Okay." She reached down and started the car. "I can't believe he's going to do this."
Marcus just sat staring out the window.
They turned down a narrow alley, and Isabella pushed the button on a garage remote. They waited in front of a nondescript warehouse as the door lifted, then they pulled inside. As they came to a stop, Marcus could see a dozen men brandishing automatic weapons and two large black SUVs. Near the back of the garage was a staircase leading up to a loft area.
Marcus left the car and made his way up the stairs while Isabella stopped to speak with her crew. The men responded by unlocking the cabinets and loading various gear into the SUVs.
As Marcus reached the top of the stairs, he could see Sam scanned his dirty clothes.
"Before you say anything, I want to make it clear…I was not shot." Marcus had both arms raised.
"Then why are you so fucking late?" Cormac asked.
"I used the catacombs to sneak into the Vatican, and when I was leaving…"
"You got lost," Sam finished.
"How did you know?" Isabella said, having just joined the conversation.
Sam Smirked. "His problem isn't getting into places; it's getting out." Sam smirked.
"Amen!" Cormac crossed his arms. "How did you get out?"
"I wandered around until I found an exit." In truth, Brother Bennucio had found him just before dawn, but he had promised to keep the monk's involvement secret.
"Did you find what you were looking for?" Cormac asked.
"Unfortunately." He pulled the packet from his jacket and tossed it onto the coffee table. The other two stared at the manila envelope. Marcus motioned to Sam. "Go ahead."
Marcus sat down, accepted the cup of coffee one of the men brought him, and took a sip as he watched Sam read through the documents. Sam handed each to Cormac, who scanned them through his thick reading glasses. He dropped the papers onto the table when done.
Cormac squinted in disbelief. "Can he clone a human?"
"I don't see why not," Marcus said.
"I know we're close, but this all seems pretty far-fetched," Sam countered.
"Maybe, but I can only imagine the money Thomas has poured into this research. I'm guessing his team is at least ten years ahead of the curve…and they are operating outside the legal regulations. For them, human trials are very much an option."
"So," Cormac continued, "the question is who and when."
"Who is pretty clear," Marcus said, "when is the problem."
"You know who?" Sam asked.
Marcus looked to Isabella, who nodded.
"Thomas is going to clone Jesus Christ," Marcus said.
"For fuck's sake," Cormac mumbled.
"That's ridiculous," Sam exclaimed. "Why do you think that?"
"I know Thomas." Marcus pointed to the folder. "And that's the only thing that makes sense to me."
The Last Roman: Book One: Exile Page 18
