The Hades Conspiracy (A Delphi Group Thriller Book 3)

by John Sneeden

  Truth be told, Cortesi doubted the writings were from Augustine. After all, many priests and bishops had passed through the church at Hippo. But the text was interesting because it shed light on the beliefs and customs of the time. Regardless of its author, the papyri would make for an interesting read. Unfortunately, that would have to take place another time. For now, there was a tour to put together.

  Cortesi arrived on the first floor two minutes later. The archives were still a hive of activity, even at this late hour. Seminary students moved in and out of the library, along with a few members of the archival staff. As he approached the front entrance, Cortesi saw the driver had already been checked through security and stood to one side. He was a bit on the heavy side with close-cropped dark hair. Cortesi recognized many of the drivers but not this one.

  “Welcome,” Cortesi said as he approached. “I’m Father Luca Cortesi.”

  “Fabio,” the man mumbled.

  As they shook hands, Father Coresi noticed the man averted his eyes, which was a bit peculiar. Most of this company’s drivers were outgoing. In the man’s defense, he had just experienced engine trouble and was probably past ready to go home. Everyone was entitled to a bad day.

  Father Cortesi led the man across the entrance hall and into a large library with vaulted ceilings. As they walked past the rows of books, he glanced at Fabio. “I understand you had some problems with your truck?”

  “Flat tire.”

  Cortesi frowned. He could’ve sworn his assistant had said it was an engine problem. He shrugged. It was probably a simple misunderstanding. “Is this your last stop?”

  “No, I have one more.”

  “Would you like something to eat or drink before you—”

  “I’m fine. Thank you.”

  The poor man. He just wanted to get this over with, something Cortesi understood completely. He’d had a long day too, and it would probably be good for both of them to continue in silence. He lifted a quick prayer in his thoughts, asking the Lord to bless Fabio.

  After reaching the far end of the library, they continued toward a bank of elevators at the end of a short corridor. Cortesi touched a button on a nearby panel, and the elevator doors swished open. After stepping inside, he inserted a card in the slot below the interior panel. He pressed the bottom button, and the elevator began its descent.

  Cortesi had often compared the Vatican Library and Secret Archives to an iceberg. Most assumed the upper complex of buildings housed the entirety of the Vatican’s collection of books, documents, and relics. In reality, nothing could be further from the truth. To be sure, the miles of halls housed some remarkable historical documents: a letter from Michelangelo to the Pope, the transcripts from the trial of the Knights Templar, letters sent to Pope Pius IX from Abraham Lincoln and Jefferson Davis, and perhaps its most famous document of all, Pope Leo X’s papal bull excommunicating Martin Luther. But the most secret and valuable objects were held in the underground. The vault served two purposes. It kept the treasures behind additional levels of security, and it also kept them sealed in a carefully monitored environment, which prevented physical decay.

  The elevator came to a halt, and the doors slid open. Cortesi stepped out and led the driver down a short corridor to a checkpoint manned by two guards. One stood, and the other sat behind a monitor.

  “Good evening, Father,” the sitting guard said.

  “Good evening, Hannes.”

  Hannes stared at his screen. “I see you’re checking something in.”

  “We are.”

  “Can you handle this, Hannes?” said the other guard.

  “Of course.”

  “I’m going to take off then. I have firearms training in ten minutes.”

  Hannes looked at Cortesi. “Niklas is always looking for an excuse to leave early.”

  “Okay, okay, whatever you say,” Niklas said as he walked toward the elevators.

  “Just kidding,” Hannes said. “I don’t want you in a bad mood when you’re firing a weapon.” He looked at the driver. “Your identification please.”

  Fabio lifted the badge over his neck and handed it to him.

  Hannes swept it over past a scanner while looking at his screen. “Fabio Pinelli?”

  The driver nodded.

  “You’re all set.” Hannes handed the badge back then stood and motioned for them to proceed through the metal detector. After they came out on the other side, Hannes walked them to a specially sealed glass door at the end of the hallway. The dark vault loomed on the other side.

  “How long do you think you’ll be?” Hannes asked.

  “Not long.” Cortesi fished the file card out of his pocket and looked at the numbers printed there. “It’s going to be housed in Section Three, so we should be in and out in ten minutes.”

  Hannes smiled at the two men. “A friendly reminder: your phones won’t work beyond the seal. If you need help, you can raise me on the intercom.”

  After getting nods in response, Hannes stepped over to a flat-screen monitor and entered a series of digits. A loud beep followed. Hannes opened the door, which hissed as the air seal was broken.

  Hannes handed Cortesi a flashlight. “We need to replace a few bulbs, so you might want this just in case.”

  Cortesi took it from him and slipped it into his robe. “Thank you.”

  “My pleasure.” Hannes waved them in.

  As Cortesi stepped through the entrance, a strange feeling swept over him. An internal alarm was going off, but he wasn’t sure why. It was a simple delivery, and in ten minutes, it would be over. Cortesi shook his head and pushed the thought aside. The stress of his week was beginning to get to him.

  “See you on your way out,” Hannes said as he closed the door.

  Cortesi hoped he was right.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  ZANE SPENT THE next half hour detailing all that had transpired to date. His trust in the Swiss Guard was complete, so he felt no need to hold back any pertinent information. For his part, Stegmann listened with rapt attention, looking away only to scribble detailed notes on a yellow legal pad.

  Mindful of the situation at hand, Zane used the bulk of his time describing what they’d discovered on Pauling’s laptop. Stegmann was impressed Amanda had been able to identify the drawer in the image. He confessed he didn’t know what any of the archive containers looked like. Then again, they typically didn’t relate to his work.

  Once Zane finished, Stegmann remained perfectly still, his eyes fixed on nothing in particular. He seemed to be carefully digesting the information.

  A minute later, his eyes shifted back to Zane. “Tell me about the gunmen you encountered in Venice and in Menaggio, How many were there?”

  “Eleven in Venice. We weren’t able to count the number of men at the mountain villa, but we’re assuming it was the same team.”

  “What were they wearing?”

  “All black. They weren’t military uniforms, but it was obvious these men planned everything in great detail, including their garb. As I indicated earlier, we believe they’re the security arm of a larger organization, and the conversation my associate overhead in Menaggio seemed to confirm that.”

  Stegmann tapped a pen on the edge of his desk. “You described them as paramilitary. Why not military? Perhaps they were working on behalf of a sovereign state.”

  “I guess that’s possible,” Zane admitted, “but I doubt that’s the case. Sending a group of that size into another country, particularly a tightly populated city like Venice, would be asking for trouble.”

  “Maybe they were desperate.”

  Zane lifted a brow. “Desperate for archaeological relics?”

  “Assuming that’s truly what this is all about.”

  “There’s another reason I don’t believe this is a state-sponsored organization. As I said, my colleague overhead chatter between the team members. She said the men spoke English, but it was accented English.”

  Stegmann nodded. “I see your
point. They were using English as a common language even though they weren’t native speakers.”

  “Precisely. I believe it’s a large organization with an amalgam of nationalities.”

  Stegmann leaned back in his chair and stared out the window. “So who do you think we’re dealing with? A crime syndicate?”

  “I certainly can’t rule out a ring of some kind. Organized crime families often trade in priceless works of art, so why not ancient relics? The one thing that doesn’t fit is the man my partner heard on the other end of the phone.”

  “The one with the American accent.”

  Zane nodded. “There seems to be something deeper here. Unfortunately, I just can’t get my mind around what that might be.”

  Stegmann straightened. “The relic… the one you believe is housed here. I believe you said you have a picture?”

  “I do.” Zane removed his phone. After finding the image, he slid the phone across the desk.

  Stegmann’s silver eyes scrutinized it carefully. “That’s one of the strangest things I’ve ever seen.”

  “One of my colleagues is an archaeologist, and even she couldn’t identify it.”

  Stegmann looked up briefly. “Did she even have a guess?”

  “She said it might be a decorative piece, but that’s the best she could do.”

  “I’m no archaeologist, but perhaps its value is tied to who or what it was associated with.”

  “Can you give me an example?”

  “The Shroud of Turin. If we wanted to sell it, you’re talking—”

  “Billions.”

  Stegmann nodded then pulled a desktop phone closer. “You and I could talk about this all night without making any progress. Let’s see if our resident expert can shed some light on it.” He dialed a number then placed it on speaker. The call rang four times then transferred to voice mail. Stegmann disconnected the call without leaving a message. “Strange. Luca always picks up.”

  “Luca is one of your archaeologists?”

  “Father Luca Cortesi is a document specialist. He probably knows more about our archives than any living man.”

  Stegmann dialed another number. The call was answered on the first ring. “Good evening, sir.”

  “Markus, have you seen Father Cortesi? He’s not answering his phone.”

  “He’s still here. I believe he had a late document delivery.”

  Stegmann frowned. “Would that prevent him from answering his phone?”

  “Just a moment.” Markus covered the phone and spoke to someone in the background. He came back on a moment later. “They’re in the vault, sir.”

  “Who is they?”

  “He and a courier took an incoming delivery down to the vault. There is no signal there, which would explain why he’s not picking up. Would you like me to go down and get him?”

  Stegmann looked at Zane then said, “That won’t be necessary. We’ll come over there.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  THE HERMETICALLY SEALED vault door closed with a hiss. Father Cortesi took a deep breath. For better or for worse, they were shut off from the outside world.

  “This way.” He motioned for Fabio to follow him. “Thankfully, our drawer is not far.”

  Overhead lights clicked on automatically as they walked down the center aisle, illuminating each new area they entered. Like most first-time visitors, Fabio seemed surprised at the immense size of the underground facility. The cavernous room encompassed several acres. Most of the space was lined with rows of shelving, although there were a few open areas with tables used to examine documents and other items.

  In order to protect the documents from damage and deterioration, the environmental conditions behind the sealed glass were carefully set and monitored. The temperature was kept at a cool ten degrees Celsius, while the relative humidity was maintained at a steady thirty-five percent. Unlike a few of his colleagues, Cortesi actually found the conditions pleasant to work in.

  The motion-sensor lights were also a part of the protective system. Light of any kind was an enemy of document preservation, so the vault was kept in almost perpetual darkness. Even the lights themselves were housed in opaque covers, ensuring a dim luminescence.

  Cortesi looked at Fabio. “I don’t believe we’ve met before. Is this your first time here?”

  Fabio flinched at the question. The man was obviously not a conversationalist. “I’ve been to the Vatican twice before, but never here.”

  Cortesi turned left at the second intersection. “Is Rome your territory?”

  “Mostly the central part of Italy, yes.”

  A minute later, they arrived at the row Cortesi was looking for then turned right. The relics housed in Section Three were ones that had not yet been examined by any of the curators. Like many organizations, the Vatican Secret Archives operated with a bare-bones staff. That meant many of the relics housed here would never be examined at all. However, that would not be the case with the Augustine papyri. Cortesi had already determined he’d move them to the top of his list.

  Cortesi pulled out the flashlight and illuminated some of the numbered containers near the floor. Eventually, he found the one he was looking for and crouched. “Here we are.” He slid the drawer out of its slot. It was empty, save for the log they would both need to sign. He looked back over his shoulder. “May I have the package?”

  “Yes.” The man slid the black satchel off his shoulder and placed it on the floor. He opened it and pulled out a flat box, which he passed to Cortesi. After confirming the item number on the exterior, Cortesi opened the box and removed a heavy-duty vinyl envelope. Inside were the clear-plastic sleeves containing the papyri. Cortesi examined each one carefully, making sure they matched the photographs he’d studied the night before. “Perfect.” He slid the sleeves back into the envelope then placed it in the drawer. “Now we just sign the paperwork, and we’ll be done.”

  Fabio didn’t say anything, but Cortesi heard a zipper being zipped, followed by a rustling sound.

  Cortesi signed and dated the log then held it over his shoulder. “If you don’t mind, I’ll just need your signature confirming everything was successfully put away.”

  There was no response, so Cortesi turned and looked over his shoulder. For some reason, the driver was no longer in view. He waved the paper one more time. “Do you mind signing?”

  There was a shuffling sound but still no response. Sensing something was amiss, Cortesi stood. A sharp object dug into his back. He shouted in pain and tried to squirm free, but the blade had already reached his vital organs.

  Choking and coughing, Luca Cortesi fell forward onto the floor.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  NIGHT HAD FALLEN when Zane and Stegmann left the barracks. After a short walk down Via di Belvedere, they entered a tunnel that passed through a coral-colored building at the end of the street. On the other side, they emerged into a courtyard. The Vatican Museum complex rose up around them.

  “Welcome to the Belvedere Courtyard.” Stegmann gestured toward the asphalt and the parked cars. “As you can see, we now use it as a parking lot.”

  Zane looked up at the lighted windows. “It looks as if there’s still a lot of work going on.”

  “The work never seems to end. Many of the curators tell me they can get more work done in the evening.”

  “And all of these people need protection.”

  “Twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. They say New York never sleeps. I could say the same thing about the Vatican.”

  “This is a spiritual place, so I pictured everything shutting down well before midnight.”

  “To some extent, it does. For example, the Holy Father retires to his chamber at eight thirty every night. But that’s not the case with all the priests. Are you familiar with the Old and New Gardens?”

  Zane nodded. “The gardens on the west side of the Vatican. I’ve never been, but I’ve seen pictures.”

  “It’s the most beautiful place within our wa
lls. It’s not uncommon to find priests there throughout the night. Praying, meditating, talking.”

  “I can assure that’s not what’s going on in New York.”

  The two laughed, then Stegmann suddenly halted. He seemed to be looking north.

  Zane stopped as well. “Something wrong?”

  “Do you hear that?”

  Zane heard only the distant sound of Rome traffic. As he continued to listen, another sound broke above the background noise. It was a pulsating, high-pitched whistle. It was impossible to pinpoint its precise location, but it seemed to be coming from a sand-colored building directly ahead.

  Zane looked at Stegmann. “What is it?”

  “It’s an alarm.” He was already sprinting forward.

  Zane followed him across the parking area. After they skirted a row of buses, the bottom half of the building came into view. The whistle was loud here. Swiss Guards, priests, nuns, and a few parishioners swarmed the sidewalk in front of the entrance. A group of students had just come out, and their teacher appeared to be counting heads.

  Two people came out of the building as they arrived. One of them—a nun—coughed uncontrollably. A member of the Swiss Guard was at her side, his head down and his arm around her waist. He guided her to the curb then continued out into the parking lot.

  Stegmann pushed past a few people as he led Zane inside. The interior was hazy, and the stench of smoke hung in the air. Swiss guards stood at various points around the entrance hall, directing people toward the door and helping those who needed assistance. Stegmann rushed over to one of the guards barking commands. His nametag indicated it was Markus, who the commander had spoken to earlier.

  “What happened?” Stegmann asked.