"How? Where did he get the DNA samples?" Sam pressed him.
"Thomas has several of the spikes used for the crucifixion. He also has the original shroud, which had a lot of blood on it."
"The Shroud of Turin?" Sam guessed.
"No, that is a fake. Thomas has the real one."
"Marcus, he couldn't have gotten much DNA material from that," Sam said.
"Between the three, I bet he did."
"Tell them about the book," Isabella said.
"What book?" Cormac looked from her to Marcus.
Marcus set down his cup. "The Cardinal allowed the removal of a sacred text…one that's nearly fifteen hundred years old. The text has instructions for a ritual banishment."
Sam frowned. "What's ritual banishment?"
"It was an early attempt at exorcism. But it was too effective—it banishes the soul and the demon. Like throwing the baby out with the bathwater."
Isabella joined in. "You clone Christ, then perform ritual banishment. What that leaves is a divine host with no soul. An empty vessel, ready to be possessed."
"Sweet Mary and Joseph," Cormac said.
"What?" Sam looked at him.
"He's gonna bring Satan to earth," said Cormac, his face ashen.
"I don't get it. It would just be a baby," Sam said. "What good would that do? I mean, that leaves us like ten years to figure out how to solve this problem."
"It won't be a baby," Marcus said. "Remember the growth enhancer formula? The DNA stabilizer? It all makes sense."
"Not really," Sam said. "Why doesn't Lucifer just possess someone already here?"
"He does, periodically, but it's not that simple to find someone vulnerable, and Lucifer can never fully control a host if he has to share it with the original soul."
"Then why not just banish the soul?" Sam asked.
"Because that leaves a mortal host which would someday die," Isabella countered.
"Exactly. Thomas needs a divine host, one that cannot die," Marcus said. "That way, he can stay on earth forever."
Sam sat back in her chair. "Holy shit."
Thirty minutes later, Marcus stepped out from the bathroom and was greeted by an enticing aroma that teased his empty stomach. The others were sitting around a table while one of Isabella's men busied himself in the small kitchen. As Marcus took a seat, the Turk brought over a pan of sausage and vegetables, along with a healthy serving of flatbread. There was no small talk as the group reflected on the gravity of the situation.
Marcus was debating a second helping when Hazid pulled off his headphones and came over to the table. He leaned over and whispered into Isabella's ear. Nodding, she gave him some instructions that sent him sprinting toward the stairs.
"We have trouble." She stood. "Ten minutes, maybe less."
"Shit." Marcus tossed down his napkin. "You got a plan?"
Sam followed them up the stairs. "Does she look like someone who doesn't have a plan?"
By the time they reached the ground floor, the other men had already climbed into the two vehicles. Gustaf met them near one cabinet, handing Marcus and Isabella each a small earpiece with a microphone. As Marcus slipped his in, Isabella gave instructions to the Turk.
"I want one in front, the other behind. It's an early Sunday morning, so traffic should be light." She moved to the cabinet, pulling out several weapons. "If we're followed, wait for my signal—then we all head in different directions. Try to draw off as many as possible. These people must get out of Rome alive."
Gustaf nodded and turned back to the SUV.
"Who's driving?" Isabella looked from Marcus to Sam.
Marcus angled his head toward Sam.
"All right," Isabella said. "I'll ride up front."
Marcus moved back toward their BMW, pausing as he stepped past one of the open cabinets. He admired how well-prepared Isabella was and pulled out a Galil battle rifle. Scanning one of the shelves, he slid out a container full of magazines. Marcus handed the ammunition to Cormac, who was already settled in the rear passenger's seat, and made his way around the car. Sam raised her eyebrows when she saw Marcus moving around the vehicle with the large rifle.
"It may come in handy." Marcus slipped into the backseat.
The garage door slipped open, revealing a narrow, cobble-stoned alley. The first Suburban turned right, the BMW and second Suburban close behind. After driving for a quarter-mile, they turned right again and found themselves face-to-face with an oncoming black Mercedes. Instead of stopping, the SUV picked up speed and barreled toward the sedan. Sam let the larger vehicle pull farther ahead and hastily clicked her seat belt.
The Mercedes came to a stop, and a man started as if to get out but quickly closed the door as the Suburban plowed into the car, driving it backward and to the left. The BMW barely slipped by the wreckage and continued down the alley. Marcus watched as the second SUV in their tiny caravan squeezed through the gap, one of its mirrors busting off as it scraped against a brick building. Just behind, he could see the damaged SUV pulling back from the crumpled Mercedes.
"Take the next right." Isabella looked back over her shoulder. "Gustaf, activate the rest of our Rome operatives: code-word Byzantium." After a momentary pause, she said, "Yes, everyone—turn left."
Sam swung the BMW around the corner and down a wider avenue. Isabella shifted her attention down the road as Marcus leaned forward and said, "This isn't good."
Several cars were blocking the way, with a van parked just behind them. They could see men crouching behind the vehicles, their weapons pointed in their direction. Isabella tapped Sam on the shoulder and pointed to a spot just near a massive garage door.
"Pull up there." She motioned toward the barricade as she spoke into her mike. "Gustaf, pull past us and shield the group. Naref, bust through the garage door." Isabella looked back, a thin smile on her full lips. "This is going to get interesting."
"You and I have a very different definition of interesting," Sam said.
"Are those police officers?" Marcus pulled back the bolt on his rifle.
"Nope." Isabella glanced back at Marcus.
The first Suburban sped past, swinging forward and blocking the others. As it skidded to a halt, the men behind the barricade opened fire, rounds peppering the side of the vehicle. The other SUV had angled toward the building and was backing up to get a good run-up to the garage door. Sam flinched each time a round plowed into the Suburban next to them.
"It's okay, the side panels are reinforced steel," Isabella said. There was a loud crash as the second truck barreled through the warehouse door. "Which also makes them good battering rams."
As the truck disappeared into the building, Sam slid the BMW into reverse.
"It's an auto showroom," the voice filled their headphones. "You should be safe when you first come into the room. We pushed the first two cars out of the way."
"All right," Isabella said.
Sam shifted back into drive and maneuvered the car through the opening. Two Fiat convertibles pushed up over to the side: one partially buried in a sales office, the other had scraped along the wall, taking out a water cooler and several desks. The larger SUV was farther on in the room, parked between two sedans that, along with other vehicles, now formed a semi-circle around a four-door Mercedes. Beyond, the front of the building consisted of enormous glass panels that framed the double doors of the showroom's entrance. Behind them, they could still hear the crack of small arms fire, though the pace had fallen off.
"We need to get moving." Gustaf's voice crackled across the radio.
"Just a minute." Isabella looked at Sam. "Back up so they can get a good run-up."
"Got it."
"Naref?" she asked.
"Yes?"
"Get us out of here."
"Understood."
The taillights of the SUV glowed as it backed up and then stopped. The tires squealed against the slick tiles as the truck shoved the luxury car through the front of the building. There was an ear-spl
itting crash as the plate-glass shattered in all directions. The Suburban continued to push the vehicle out into the street, disrupting traffic in both directions. A moped, unable to avoid the wreckage, careened onto the sidewalk and into the showroom, where it collided with one of the parked cars, propelling its rider over the hood and onto the roof of the vehicle. He seemed dazed, but otherwise all right.
The SUV was not as lucky. A bakery truck smashed straight into the passenger side, driving the vehicle thirty feet down the street and out of their view. Sam shifted the car back into drive and started forward, the tires crunching on the splintered glass. They pulled out into the street, picking their way through the traffic that had now ground to a halt.
"Naref?" Isabella glared into the Suburban as Sam pulled up next to the hissing vehicle. "Naref!"
"Naref is dead. So is Hamed," an unfamiliar voice filled their earpieces, "and Jarod is wounded very badly."
"Gustaf, pick up Jarod and Yasif when you come through."
"Yes. Uluf has been shot as well—I don't think he will make it."
"Okay, get out of there." She motioned Sam to pull forward. "When you exit the building, follow us to the left."
Once past the wreckage, Sam laid the hammer down. Marcus watched out the back window as the second SUV pulled out of the building, stopping briefly to load in the two injured men. It was soon following them down the street.
"We're close to the expressway." Isabella glanced back at Marcus. "If we can make it there, we have a chance."
"Where are the police?" Marcus scanned the side streets.
"Thomas had them stand down. That's how I knew something was up," Isabella said.
Sam slowed the car as they reached an intersection that forced them to chose right or left. Directly in front of them was a vast open plaza with trees hovering over granite benches. An assortment of fountains and statues dotted the cobblestone landscape, providing natural gathering points for tourists and leisure seekers.
"Turn right." Isabella motioned.
"No! Go straight!" Marcus yelled, "and hit the gas!"
Sam straightened the wheel and stomped on the accelerator.
They burst through the intersection, barely missing a tiny white coupe. A gray van was hurtling toward them, its driver making no attempt to swerve or slow his vehicle. The van clipped the rear bumper of their car, knocking them up and over the curb. Sam fought the wheel as the BMW spun through the open square. They came to a screeching halt thirty feet from the curb, the smell of burnt rubber drifting through the air. As the van came to a stop, the pursuing Suburban rammed it and propelled the vehicle forward until it reached the sidewalk, where it rolled onto its side.
Isabella was unhurt, as was Sam, whose white knuckles were still gripping the leather steering wheel. Cormac had hit his forehead on the window and sported a growing lump. Marcus, the only one without a seat belt, had fared the worst. He had a gash on his forehead, the result of him hitting the support beam near the door.
Marcus leaned back, a painful grimace on his face. His hand was trying to stem the blood flowing from the wound, but he could only direct it away from his eye and down his face. As Isabella glanced over her shoulder, the anxious expression on her face turned to one of concern. Marcus followed her eyes and saw several men piling out of the overturned van, each sporting an assault rifle and an angry expression. Those onlookers who had started forward to help the accident victims scattered.
"Go, go!" Marcus pulled out his pistol, shattering the rear window with his first shot, and sending the men to their knees.
They returned fire, the rounds plowing into the side of the vehicle. His next two shots dropped one assailant, but they were moving across the square before he could pick off another. Isabella had unbuckled her belt and now had her head through the sunroof. She leaned forward and fired, the shells skittering across the roof. After emptying a clip, she took a moment to check on Gustaf and the other vehicle. It was then that she realized the mike had fallen from her ear and was now hanging at her side. She could see the tail section of the SUV poking out behind the van, but there did not appear to be any movement. She sat back down in her seat, shoved the tiny receiver back into her ear, and reloaded her weapon.
"Gustaf?" She pointed to the right, directing Sam around an elaborate fountain. "Gustaf? Anyone?"
"Yeah?"
"Status?"
"We're getting moving. Pretty banged up here."
"Okay, join us when you can."
"Isabella." Marcus pointed back through the open window to where a sedan had swung around the wreckage and followed them across the plaza. A man leaned out the window, spraying rounds in their direction.
"These guys never get enough," she said.
Marcus smirked, lifted the battle rifle, and slipped the barrel out the back window, resting the stock on the top of the seat. Pulling the butt of the weapon snug against his shoulder, he centered in on the pursuing vehicle and fired off several rounds, the heavy report echoing through the car. The first 7.62 mm slug hit the front of the vehicle, with the second shattering the windshield and forcing the driver to swerve.
"Hold on!" Sam tried to steer the car between two concrete pylons that marked the plaza entrance.
The car slipped between the posts, but the right side clipped one of the columns, scraping down the length of the vehicle. Just clear of the opening, the car careened across a narrow sidewalk and into the street beyond, somehow missing a parked sedan. Sam gripped the wheel like a lost lover, slammed on the brakes, and guided the vehicle to a smoking halt.
Their pursuers were not so lucky and piled directly into a pylon. The collision sheared off the post and destroyed the front end of their car. The car skidded out of control with pinned tire and crashed straight into the coupe that Sam had somehow avoided.
Marcus shifted around in his seat, pulled the empty magazine from the rifle, and dropping it to the floor, extended his hand.
"Cormac," after a moment, he repeated, "Cormac, I need—"
He stopped when he saw the older man slumped forward, with only the seat belt holding up his body. A small entry wound just below his left shoulder, a red stain slowly spreading across his back. Marcus reached forward and gently leaned him back into his seat just as Sam turned around.
"No!" Sam screamed and unhooked her seatbelt, flinging open her door.
She moved around the car to the rear passenger door when Marcus reached over and closed the blue eyes of his old friend. Marcus took the magazine from Cormac's dead hand, slammed it home, and opened his door.
"No!" Sam pulled open the door and knelt beside his limp body.
"Marcus!" Isabella started after him. Marcus ignored her, exited the vehicle, and walked toward the crippled sedan, pulling back the bolt of his rifle as he went. Stopping five feet in front of the car, he aimed at the blood-soaked passenger, who had realized his predicament and tried to raise his weapon. Marcus fired three shots into his chest, then methodically fired round after round into the shattered vehicle as the spent casings scattered across the ancient cobblestone. After pulling the trigger three times with no response, he hurled the rifle at the car and pulled out his pistol. He stepped to the side of the vehicle and emptied the weapon into the bodies crumpled in the back of the wreckage. Marcus looked down at the smoking handgun, lowered his head, and moved back toward the BMW.
By now, the SUV had joined them. Only Gustaf and one other man remained, and both helped Isabella move Cormac's body to the SUV. Isabella convinced Sam to join them and was giving them directions as Marcus arrived.
"We'll split up and join you later." Isabella looked at Marcus, tears in her eyes. "I'm sorry."
The distant look was the only response she got.
"We need to go." She took his arm and nudged him toward the passenger door.
He threw himself down into the seat and looked down at the pistol still in his hand. Marcus dropped the magazine, and replaced it with a full clip. Isabella drove the car back down th
e avenue.
She swung the vehicle around a tight corner and down a narrow alley. For the moment, it appeared as if they had no pursuers. Following the curves, she eventually exited onto a busier street. Within a few minutes, she turned the car into a parking garage, where she stopped to take a ticket from the dispenser. The gate lifted, and she pulled forward, disappearing into the shadows. They went to the lowest garage level and parked in the most remote location they could find. Isabella popped the trunk, and Marcus rummaged through his bag, pulling out several more clips for his Beretta. Isabella took a minute to clean the gash in his head with a towel and a bottle of water; the wound had already stopped bleeding. She pulled a baseball hat from the bag and gently placed it on his head. It covered most of the injury.
"There, almost normal."
"What's the plan," his voice was detached.
"The car is too conspicuous, and they would spot us in no time. Our best bet is to blend into the crowds. The other side of this mall has a bus terminal."
"Lead the way."
They walked across the top level of the mall, her arm clasped in his.
"Do you see them?" Marcus kept his eyes forward.
"Yeah. Looks like the bus won't be an option." She let go of his arm and walked over to the railing that overlooked the plaza below. "The Americans make such ugly vehicles."
Marcus followed her gaze to a bright yellow full-sized F150 pickup truck parked on the ground level.
"Do you think the keys are in the ignition?" She asked.
"No, but I bet that young sales lady has them."
"Why don't you go see, and I'll keep our friends occupied."
"You sure?"
"Of course."
Marcus entered a nearby elevator, waited for the door to open, and then stepped inside, avoiding a troupe of rowdy teens who burst from within. He watched Isabella through the glass sides of the elevator. She was making her way to an escalator further down the walkway. Stepping out of the elevator, Marcus held the door open for a lady pushing a stroller. She thanked him as she passed. He nodded and walked over to the vehicle.
He pretended he was looking at the truck, but he shifted his glance up to Isabella. He could see three or four men who looked out of place, all alone in a mall. That meant there were probably twice as many whom he had not seen yet. Isabella started towards the escalator when one of the men approached her.
The Last Roman: Book One: Exile Page 19
