Hodgepodge was certainly the word. Different blocks or sticks or detonation systems wreathed every pillar and painting and statue, all—presumably—connected somehow to this thing Eduardo was working on. Father Mark frowned as though he’d developed a headache just glancing at it all.
“Claudia, are you off to the station now?”
A tall woman had just come up and given Eduardo a wordless nod. “Am I?” she asked Eduardo.
“Yes. Take Margaret and Bane with you, would you? They don’t know the way. Keep undercover as much as possible to avoid anyone getting photos of her—no point waving a red rag at a bull.”
Hopefully they’d have a hard time picking me out from a distance, but my stomach contracted uncomfortably. I’d almost forgotten, distracted by the charge-laying—this was all my fault. Oh Lord, please don’t let us have to push that button! Never mind that, please don’t let all these people die because of me… I fought back a horrible urge to start howling with guilt and grief and fear as we followed Claudia quickly across the basilica.
The little state was eerily silent—deserted—as we hurried along. The station stood pretty close to the basilica and the actual station building housed the department store we’d heard about, from the sign. An antiquated electric/cleanFuel hybrid locomotive stood waiting, its six rickety coaches taking up almost all the short rusty track. The great arch-shaped portal in the wall was shut tight. Here were the missing people, some milling disconsolately, others working hard loading the back few carriages with supplies, equipment and the sort of irreplaceable items the EuroGov would simply destroy—saints’ relics, for example.
A young man with a goat on a tether argued fiercely with Sister Eunice as we approached, waving his free hand towards a stack of crates full of fat hens. Oh dear. Hopefully she’d allow Father Mario’s doves on board...
“Keep under there...” Claudia edged me under the station roof. “I’ll go and see where Sister Eunice wants you.”
She headed away, glancing warily at the wall. Beyond it were the rooftops of Rome; no telling who was up there looking our way. Bane steered me into the middle of the throng, keeping his face turned away. I did the same.
As we waited some people smiled at me and said kind things about how it wasn’t my fault, others hardly seemed to register our presence. Good thing—be a bit of a giveaway if everyone turned and looked at us. A few people were crying and I tried not to listen—made me want to do the same. My stomach was fluttering as though full of flies. Happily, Claudia was soon back.
“Sister Eunice says they’re not loading people until our ultimatum’s been given to the EuroGov. Just in case they get clever ideas about a pre-emptive attack on the train. I imagine we could make them bring us another one, but it’s a lot of trouble and it won’t be much comfort to anyone who was on board. Anyway, she wants you two inside the store until it’s time to board. You’ll be in good company.”
She led us to the old station doors and a Swiss Guard let us in. Ah—that’s what she meant about good company...
“Nobody kneels to me on a day-to-day basis,” said the Holy Father hastily, as I began to dip at the sight of him. “They’d all have bad knees! Come and sit down.”
He’d taken up residence in the “furniture department” (or corner) with some of his most elderly cardinals, bishops and advisors.
“Coffee?” he asked me. “Everything is better with coffee. Especially Italian coffee.”
“Um…” I felt sick. I felt… dazed.
Bane shot a long look at me, then walked me firmly to a sofa and sat me beside an old laywoman, slipped off his jacket and wrapped it around my shoulders, then went to fetch coffee from the flask. He perched on the sofa arm to put it into my shaking hands and rub my back with his free hand.
“I’m an awful fiancé,” he muttered, kissing the top of my head. “You’re all shocky and I don’t even notice.”
“I’m fine,” I muttered back. But the sight of the train and the people and the empty corridors hadn’t done me any good. Made it real, perhaps. I could do the decent thing and give myself up for Conscious Dismantlement—and no one would have to leave—or I could go on that train, back into EuroBloc territory—and risk Conscious Dismantlement. I swallowed hard and Bane’s hand tightened around mine, steadying the cup.
“I’m fine.” My voice shook. I swallowed again. “Where’s Jon?”
“With the other patients, I imagine. That was a stupid thing I said. They’re not going to leave him behind.”
I sipped my coffee and looked around to distract myself. Everyone sat calmly, drinking coffee and talking softly, or holding real rosaries in their hands as they prayed. All older people, too old to be lifting boxes or doing anything active. Cardinal Hans wasn’t among them, though.
“Wonder where Kyle is.”
“Making himself useful, unless he’s changed a lot. Don’t worry about him.”
“I wasn’t.” The coffee was warming me from the inside and my hands were steadying. Father Mario sat on a garden chair opposite, the cardboard box cooing gently in his lap. He beamed at me in a mixture of relief and gratitude—I smiled back.
“Anyone got any idea of the schedule for this?” asked an old sister in a blue habit.
The Holy Father shrugged. “I imagine sooner or later Eduardo will want me to speak to the EuroGov. Then it’s just a question of how long they squirm before agreeing to let us go. Lord willing just a matter of how long.”
Not if.
“You, er, know the plan?” asked Bane cautiously, as though afraid he might have his visa revoked on the spot if the Holy Father knew what he’d just been doing.
Pope Cornelius nodded. “Yes, Eduardo filled me in when he evicted me and Our Lord from St. Peter’s with such inflexible politeness.” He nodded to the other end of the store—a little strongbox sat there with a red lamp burning beside it.
I managed to get up, genuflect and sit again without spilling the last of my coffee. Didn’t see you, Lord.
“Did you deconsecrate, your Holiness?” I asked.
“Yes, I made him wait that long.”
“What about the Sistine Chapel?”
“Should have been done before your little demolition squad got there. All the chapels have been done.”
Ah, yes. Bane and Father Mark had taken quite a while with their list. Probably longer than I realized. I hadn’t been feeling a hundred percent since the bombshell.
We waited. And waited. And waited. Sister Eunice came in and reported the train loaded with everything except human—and Divine—cargo and ready to leave within fifteen minutes—and we waited some more. What could be taking so long? If Eduardo had the thing mostly connected up by the time we’d arrived, how could it take Father Mark, Sister Krayj and Brother Wiesbeck—all, presumably, also experts—so much longer to simply check it?
Bane, sitting on the floor beside the sofa, took my wrist to check my watch. Scowled. I looked as well. Quarter past five. Forty-five minutes before the EuroGov came over the walls. The Holy Father pulled out his phone and called Eduardo again.
“Almost ready,” he told us, pocketing it once more.
“That’s what he said half an hour ago,” pointed out the blue-habited sister.
Pope Cornelius shrugged. The doves cooed a little less gently, so Father Mario slipped a handful of birdseed from his pocket into the box.
Ten minutes later Eduardo strode in, taking in all the store’s inhabitants in one glance, genuflecting and turning to the Holy Father.
“It’s time to board, your Holiness. We’re cleared to leave.”
Pope Cornelius’s eyes widened slightly. “You’ve contacted them already?”
“Better to keep you out of the limelight, your Holiness. Not quite such a red rag to a bull as Margaret, here, but trust me, they’d love to get their hands on you. And they don’t know what you look like—after all the trouble we’ve gone to keeping you out of sight of the walls over the years, we might as well keep it that
way.”
“Oh.” The Pope conceded the truth of this with another shrug. “The negotiations went all right?”
“No problems to speak of. They’re absolutely livid and absolutely not prepared to lose the Vatican’s treasures. We’ve safe passage through to Ostia and onto a ship flying a non-EuroBloc flag—all arranged—and out of EuroBloc waters. So let’s go.”
“Okay, then. Have you seen Hans anywhere?”
“Yes, just now.” Eduardo held out a long coat. “Please put this on, your Holiness. We don’t want the thought of pictures on the front of tomorrow’s papers of you or Margaret boarding a train to freedom to make them do something stupid.”
“Ah.” The Holy Father slipped the coat on and sat again to change his shiny red shoes for the plain black ones Eduardo set in front of him.
Slipping the red shoes into a bag, Eduardo shepherded the whole lot of us out and across the platform to a carriage near the middle of the train—which was much longer than the platform. A Vatican policeman stood at the door, checking off names as we got on.
Inside were the gutted remains of what’d once been a luxury car, the interior clearly ripped out a long time ago to make room for supplies. When the EuroGov allowed the use of their tracks—an increasingly rare occurrence—there was no space to be wasted.
Crates had been arranged as seats, made soft with priceless tapestries, carefully folded. Eduardo followed us on to say, “Seats for the elderly. Standing room only for everyone else.”
He put the bag down beside the Holy Father and out he went again. The bus quickly filled up with most of the people from the aborted debriefing, including, to my relief, Kyle and Father Mark. A stretcher was maneuvered in whilst there was still space, and laid along some more boxes.
“Jon!”
“Oh, Margo, there you are. Somehow I didn’t think they’d leave you behind.”
“They should just shove me through the gates—problem solved.”
“Don’t be stupid!” said Jon, unusually harshly. “Stupidest thing I’ve ever heard!”
“You don’t feel the teeniest bit bad we’ve just brought down the Vatican State?”
“It’s not brought down, it’s relocating.”
“This has been expected for years, Margaret,” said Father Mark.
“Yeah, ever since I got here it’s certainly just been considered a matter of time.” Kyle had worked his way over to us. “So you three were the catalyst—so what? Something was going to be.”
“Hmm,” I said.
Swiss Guards climbed aboard now, packing into what little space remained around the doors.
“How far to Ostia?” I clung to Bane for balance as everyone shuffled up again.
Bane put his hand to his pocket, stopped, shrugged. “Not far, I think.”
“I wonder what’s happening out there.” The Holy Father was sitting nearby.
“I’ve got a portable TV here, your Holiness,” said a layman. “Shall I turn it on?”
“Yes, please do.”
The man perched the little set on someone’s shoulder and fiddled with it until it was persuaded to ignore all the people and pick up a signal. Doors slammed along the train and the floor started vibrating. Ready to go. A grinding-squeaking sound—the wall portal opening?
“…and we can see the rail portal into the Vatican opening for the first time in almost two years,” confirmed the newscaster on the TV. “The last time the EuroBloc allowed the Vatican train the use of their tracks was in December the year before last. Relations since then have only deteriorated. To bring anyone joining us up to date, in response to the Vatican State granting asylum to the EuroBloc’s three most wanted fugitives—Margaret Verrall and her two companions—the EuroGov have issued an ultimatum that if by six this evening the fugitives have not been handed over to EuroBloc justice, the Vatican State will be occupied.”
“Justice, hah!” said someone. Snorts of derision from around the carriage.
“Half an hour remains before the deadline and events are taking an unexpected turn. The Vatican’s rail portal has just opened and it appears the Vatican train intends to come out onto EuroBloc track. Bafflingly, the EuroGov seem to be making no response to this. One moment…”
Silent footage of the open track portal, then the newscaster was back…
“We’ve just heard that EuroTrac control have received orders to clear the tracks and change the points to allow an unscheduled priority train to pass from Rome to Ostia docks. This is most surprising… wait, I’m getting another report…”
More silent footage of the open track portal. I clutched Bane harder in mingled hope and fear. Any moment now we’d be going through that wall—but the points were set for Ostia…
Our coach door slammed and Eduardo appeared, easing his way through the crush. His eyes fell on the TV. “Turn that off!”
The layman looked taken aback. “The Holy Father…”
“I’m watching it, Eduardo,” said Pope Cornelius mildly.
Eduardo scowled. “No need to frighten everyone with sensational EuroNews, surely?”
“Well, for some reason Veritas TV and Radio has temporarily stopped broadcasting.” The Holy Father smiled slightly. He might well be sitting on some of the smaller transmission equipment.
The train jolted and began to move. I gulped in a breath and wrapped a hand over my mouth to try and keep any cowardly noises from escaping. Bane held me close.
“Yes, it’s confirmed… this footage just in…” the newscaster was back again. “The Head of the Vatican Free State appears to be sitting in his vehicle in the middle of the Forbidden Square, holding some sort of switch in his hand.”
“What?” bellowed Pope Cornelius, lurching to his feet and clutching the TV, staring at what it showed.
A little white popemobile parked in St. Peter’s Square; inside it, a figure in white.
***+***
25
THE ALTERNATIVE
“Hans!” moaned Pope Cornelius, even as the camera zoomed in close enough to show the shiny red shoes—and the lined old face. He spun around to face his Head of Security. “Eduardo, you… you heartless…”
“All his idea,” said Eduardo expressionlessly, spreading his hands. “Someone had to stay and hold the button—we’ve no way to detonate the charges from the middle of the Mediterranean. And letting them think they’d get you just sweetened the bitter pill of their losing Margaret.”
Some people looked at me—my eyes were glued to the tiny screen. I was shaking again. The tally of lives laid down for mine was about to total one helicopter pilot, one dismantler, one commandant, a shift of bridge guards, two brave New Adults, an old man and his sons—and one cardinal.
One cardinal. It would be Conscious Dismantlement. Shudders shook me and I began, unstoppably, to cry. I buried my face against Bane’s chest and clung to him and couldn’t stop. Selfish, cowardly wretch that I was, I couldn’t speak. Yet… he was dying in my place…
Somehow, somehow I unstuck my tongue from the roof of my mouth.
“Stop…” I cleared my throat and tried again. My voice was ragged. “Stop the train! I’ll… I’ll hold the switch…” My voice almost died away to nothing, but I got the words out. Getting down from the train to act on them might be another matter.
No one made any move to stop the train, anyway.
“Calm down, Margaret,” said Eduardo. “Cardinal Hans was adamant he should do it. He has a very serious heart condition, if it makes you feel any better. He said and I quote, ‘As for me, I fully intend to drop dead the moment the dismantler’s needle touches my skin.’ While laughing in their face, I imagine. I’m certainly quite confident that the imminent prospect of Conscious Dismantlement will be more than enough to bring on a nice fatal heart attack. So don’t torture yourself. He’s not doing it for you, anyway, he’s doing it for the whole state.”
It didn’t help. Nothing would help ever again. Misery overload. Choking back a moan, I huddled deeper into the
circle of Bane’s arms. Bane clutched me tightly and made a snarling sound that said if I’d not been almost beyond reason distraught, he’d have words with me about my offer, and that anyone taking me up on it would need to go through him.
The Holy Father and Eduardo were arguing... the Holy Father wanting the train stopped so he could take Cardinal Hans’s place...
“It’s too late,” I heard Eduardo reply. “Look, we’re going under the wall. So let’s not waste a brave man’s sacrifice, right?”
The wall… EuroBloc territory… I clung tighter to Bane, shaking.
When Bane turned some time later to perch on the edge of Jon’s box-bed and settle me on his knee I caught a glimpse of the pontiff, sitting again, his face twisted with grief. Old friends? And then I was sobbing again as if I’d never stop.
“Sedative?” suggested Kyle anxiously.
“Oh, shut up!” snarled Bane.
“She’s my sister, I’m worried…!”
“She’s my fiancée and I think I…”
Even in my choking world of tears I sensed the explosion of testosterone in the air and was glad to hear Father Mark’s voice cut in, rather sharp. “You two, act your age. Kyle, she needs hugging not drugging, you twit. And Bane, could you even try to keep your temper?”
Kyle was right about one thing though, I was quite beside myself. Bane held me and held me until I’d cried myself into a stupor... Vaguely aware of him lifting me and laying me beside Jon, tucking the blanket over me and perching again to stroke my hair and rub my back. Jon’s scent in my nostrils was almost as calming as Bane’s and his hand closed gently around mine...
...The train stopped with a jolt. I sat up, my mind reeling and panic stirring.
“Where are we…?”
The Three Most Wanted Page 29
