The Final Pontiff

by Neil Howarth

  “I am going back to the compartment,” she suddenly announced.

  “I’ll get the bill.”

  “No, you should stay here for a while. I would like to be on my own.”

  Fagan watched her go. He wondered how much of her pain had been due to him. If he had not come into her life, would she be with her husband now, safely tucked away in that farmhouse? Would her Uncle Omar still be alive?

  “Can I get you something, sir?”

  Fagan looked up at the waiter. The young man began clearing the plates.

  “Whiskey,” Fagan said.

  The waiter brought him a double shot of Glenfiddich in a miniature bottle and poured it into a plastic cup with a single cube of ice. Fagan sipped the malt Scotch and looked out of the window. There was nothing to see but darkness.

  They should be in The Hague by tomorrow evening. Armena would get to do what her brother had been unable to do. This monster, Colonel Vladij, if there was any justice at all, would finally get what he deserved. And maybe he would get what he wanted — a miracle.

  Is that what he really needed?

  He wanted Frankie here with him now. He wanted to hold her close in his arms, but more than that, he wanted to reach out to her for the answer to this unfathomable puzzle. He needed her to tell him what this was all about. But Frankie was out there leading the dogs away. It was up to him to put the pieces of the puzzle together. He had to deliver his part of the deal.

  He drained the whiskey and looked out into the darkness. A sliver of silver moon had appeared, giving an eerie illumination to the landscape. The night was now a series of lighter and darker shadows dancing across the hillside. As if they were hiding the secrets and the ghosts.

  And somewhere out there was Frankie, and she was slipping away.

  59

  Railway Track, Austrian-Swiss border.

  The small brick building stood beside the railway line, raised up on a criss-cross frame of steel. Originally it was designed to allow the signalman a good view of the track in both directions. But the physical levers that switched the points had been replaced by electrical relays activated from a control panel, in the early 80s. Then the control panel had been replaced by a computer system ten years later, which had eventually gone on to replace the signalman. The old-time signal box remained, but now it was unmanned and contained only control equipment.

  The whole traffic management network was controlled by a sophisticated, load balanced, and redundant computer system, housed in the futuristic ’Signal Box’ building in Zurich, more famous for its award-winning architecture than its state of the art technology.

  Six men moved silently out of the shadows. They wore dark clothes and full-face ski masks. The one at the front, the tallest of all six, communicated to the others with nothing but hand signals. Three stayed at the bottom while the tall one and the other two climbed the metal steps. Their rubber shoes made no sound.

  The tall one at the front made a gesture as they reached the top, and the one at the rear moved to the front.

  “You have ten minutes,” the tall one said.

  “I know what time I have.” Roberto looked up at the man with undisguised dislike. “Just stay out of my way and let me get on with it.”

  Walter had let him go but had extracted some promises and made some threats. He was sure he meant every word. Roberto had gone back to his apartment but had been dragged out of bed in the early hours of the morning and driven to a small airport north of Rome. The private plane that was waiting for them had taken off as soon as they were onboard, and had flown for a little over an hour then landed at a small airstrip close to the Austrian-Swiss border. The tall one had explained Roberto’s task during the flight. He was a man of few words, his instructions were short and succinct. The man’s name was Tomas. He worked for Father Juergen and was almost as scary as the man himself.

  “How long will it take?”

  Roberto did not look up from his task. “Longer if you keep interrupting me.”

  “We have little time.”

  “Then let me get on with the job.”

  The door had a relatively sophisticated security keypad, but the software he had running on the iPad he had connected to the innards of the exposed control panel, he was sure was up to the job. He had bought it on AlphaBay, the Darknet marketplace where all the top hackers sold their stuff. He had sold some of his own creations there in the past but nothing as sophisticated as this code. He knew quality when he saw it, and this was right out of the top drawer.

  The light on the control panel turned green. Roberto breathed a sigh of relief and opened the door. The three men moved quickly inside. Roberto shone his flashlight around the small room. All the old mechanical equipment had been removed, and a double rack of computer equipment stood against the far wall. Roberto moved over. The double doors to the computer racks were solid and locked with conventional locks. The tall one waved in the other man. Roberto recognized Franco’s weasel eyes staring out from the ski mask. Franco gave him a frightened look then stepped in with a lock-pick gun.

  When the doors were open Roberto stepped forward and connected the iPad to a USB port on the control panel.

  “It is the night train from Zagreb.” The tall one said.

  “I know which train it is.”

  Roberto’s fingers skipped across the soft keypad. Pulling up windows, entering information, then dancing off again. Finally, he looked up at Tomas.

  “The train will stop at the control light a kilometer down the track from here. You will have five minutes to get on board. I cannot hold it any longer than that. The Swiss railway control system is one of the most sophisticated systems in the world, it is reassessing the total network every two seconds and adjusting and rebalancing the traffic flow to make up for small delays on the tracks. But if a delay goes beyond five minutes in a non-congested area, it will throw up an alarm. The way I have set things up, the stop light will switch on for exactly four minutes and fifty-nine seconds then will switch back to green. When it does, the system will automatically adjust for the delay, rebalance, and no one will ever know we were here.”

  Part of him felt good for the job he had done. Hacking into the Swiss railway control system was not a job for an amateur, but then Roberto always considered himself a professional, an artist expressing himself in code. The other part of him was scared to death. Walter had told him to watch out for this, and he knew what it meant. Back in Rome, they had received information that had tracked a mobile phone to Zagreb station, where it had gone dead. He had hacked into the ticket booking system and found them. The train was coming up this line.

  “Come on, let us get out of here,” Tomas said.

  “You head off,” Roberto said. “You do not have a lot of time. I will close up here and head back to the van. I am supposed to go directly back to Rome.”

  Tomas seemed to study him, then nodded. “Franco has already headed back. I will give Luigi a call, tell him to expect you.” Tomas gave him a last look and disappeared out the door.

  Roberto’s stomach did a somersault. He could imagine what Luigi expecting him meant. He knew his usefulness to Cardinal Brennan was hanging by a very delicate thread. Maybe it was finally about to break. He already knew far too much.

  Walter had filled him in on some of the background that he had not known about. It was only then that he realized how deep he was in. He had a vision of Carlo lying on the floor of Father Juergen’s cellar. He wondered where his body was now.

  He suppressed a shiver and closed up the rack and then the double doors. They self-locked as he pushed them shut. He headed for the door and paused at the top of the steps. He looked down the rail track. The trackside lights illuminated the snow already beginning to fall. He could just make out four figures disappearing into the dancing white mist. He knew what he had to do.

  He pulled out his phone and tapped in a short message. He paused a moment. Then tapped in a further line.

  I’m doing this fo
r Carlo.

  He hit send, then closed his eyes and took a deep breath. It was done now, there was no going back. He checked his exact location on Google Maps. It was not far to the town. He put the phone in his pocket and headed down the stairs. He had a little time before they missed him. If he could steal a car and make it to his cousin’s house in Ravenna, maybe there he would be safe.

  60

  Night Train, Zagreb — Zurich.

  Something jerked at his world. Fagan awoke quickly. He opened his eyes, the soldier in him already wide awake. He was still dressed. He pulled out his phone and checked the time. It was almost seven o’clock. He had slept for more than eight hours. He sat up and looked out of the window. It was still dark, but he could see from the reflection of the light from the carriages, that snow was falling heavily. He could also see something else — the train was slowing.

  They were still two hours from Zurich. He had chosen this train because it was a direct service, there were no stops on the run between Zagreb and Zurich. Yet as he looked out of the window, the train was definitely slowing down.

  Fagan climbed down from the upper bunk. Armena was sleeping. He was reluctant to wake her. He had no idea at what time she had fallen asleep. He shook her gently by the shoulder. “Armena, wake up.”

  Her eyes opened. She stared up at him, fear in them. “What is it? What time is it?”

  “It’s almost seven. We’re stopping, and I don’t know why. But let’s be ready for whatever happens. Get your things together and be ready to move. I’m going to take a look.”

  Fagan slipped out into the corridor as the train finally jerked to a halt. He headed towards the front of the train. In the restaurant car, the same waiter was just opening up.

  “Do you know why we’re stopping.”

  The waiter shook his head. “It is probably the control lights. It can get very busy approaching Zurich at this time. I am sure we will be moving again soon.” The man flashed him his best customer service smile. “I can assure you. We will arrive on time.”

  Except they were still a long way from Zurich.

  He nodded at the waiter and turned to head back. His phone vibrated in his pocket. He stepped out of the restaurant car and pulled it out. The display showed a brief message from Walter. The words sent a chill through his heart.

  GET OFF THE TRAIN NOW!

  He hurried back. Armena was waiting inside the compartment. She was sitting on the bed but already wearing her coat.

  “We have to go.”

  She didn’t question him. Her copy of the Qu’ran was lying on the bed beside her. He picked it up, studying its batter leather cover. Holy books, or was it the people that read them that sent the whole world crazy? He had to believe it was the latter. He handed her the Qu’ran.

  “Hold on to this. We both might need it.”

  She shoved it into her backpack and stood up. Fagan pulled on his coat and led the way towards the rear. The train jerked forward and began moving again.

  “Okay, this is where we get out,” Fagan said.

  He pushed open the outer door. It banged back against the outer carriage wall.

  “We need to jump before we pick up any speed.”

  Armena looked at him, uncertainty on her face.

  He turned her around facing the snow.

  “Jump.”

  He gave her a gentle push then followed her out. She was still floundering in the deep snow when he landed beside her. He struggled to his feet and grabbed her arm. “Come on. We have to move.”

  They waded forward. The snow was knee deep. Something smacked off the tree nearest to Fagan’s head, taking a chunk out of the tree bark. He turned around. A man stood in the open carriage doorway, a silenced pistol in his hand.

  “Come on.” He grabbed Armena and pulled her into the cover of the trees. He glanced back and counted four men as they jumped from the train. He pulled out the Glock and pushed Armena forward.

  “We have to keep moving.”

  The snow was falling heavily now, obscuring them from their attackers but also making it difficult to see how close they were. He caught the sound of a stumble and a scuff in the snow. A man suddenly appeared from his left. Fagan brought up the silenced Glock instinctively and fired. The man went down.

  “Wait here.”

  Fagan hurried over to the fallen man. The shot had caught him below his left eye. He removed the communicator from the man’s ear and the small control box clipped onto the inside of his snow jacket. He fitted it on himself and put in the earpiece. The communicator burst into life. He was about to move but stopped and pulled the glove off the man’s left hand. The ring was there and the crown of thorns.

  Brennan had found him again.

  “Come on, this way.” He grabbed hold of Armena. She seemed in shock and blundered on behind him like a zombie.

  Fagan had no idea where they were, if they were out in the country, or close to a town or any kind of civilization. He staggered on, into what was rapidly turning into a full-on blizzard. There were voices in his earpiece, they were speaking in Italian. Once voice calling out to the others in turn. They were trying to move in a coordinated sweep. Hoping to gather them up in their deadly net. Then the caller was trying to reach the man he had taken down. He knew that because the caller repeated his call, but no one answered.

  Fagan found a track and moving forward became easier. He did not worry about leaving a trail. The snow was covering their footsteps as soon as they made them. A large rock outcrop emerged out of the surging white madness. It was nestled in a cluster of trees just off the track they were moving on. He stepped off the path and pulled Armena behind him. He found what would suffice and pushed her down into a crevice in the rocks.

  “Stay here.”

  He had to do the rest of this on his own. He needed a safe place to leave Armena. This was not great, but it would have to do.

  Armena was looking at him with a wide-eyed stare, but he was not sure she was seeing him.

  “Don’t move until I get back.”

  A thought flipped into his mind.

  What if I don’t make it back?

  He quickly pushed it aside and moved out onto the track.

  He tried his best to find a landmark and a position on it so he could find his way back. It was not easy in the visibility. The trees surrounding the rocks where Armena was hiding would have to do, and the track that ran up to it, though covered in thick snow formed a natural ‘v’ with the land rising up on either side. It was far from perfect, but it was the best landmark bearing he could get.

  He headed back into the mouth of the blizzard.

  He made an estimate of the direction of the line his attackers were spread along, then adjusted how far they would have moved ahead. He worked his way forward and scrambled to the top of a small hill. For a moment the blizzard seemed to ease, and the landscape became a hazy blur. He caught a shape moving fast towards him. Then it was snatched away as the blizzard swept back in. He dived into the snow and rolled. He came up holding the Glock in both hands as a figure appeared, pouring silenced rounds into the place where he had been standing, a moment before. He took no chances with the man’s body armor. He put a rapid double tap into his head.

  He moved quickly over to the fallen man, but he was clearly dead.

  Two down, two to go.

  “Mister Fagan,” a voice sounded in his ear. “I know you are listening out there. We need to meet. I have your friend here.”

  61

  Swiss Alps, outside Zurich.

  “What do you want?” Fagan said into the mike.

  “There you are,” the voice answered. “You have already taken down two of my men judging from their lack of communication, and I knew a professional would immediately take one of their communicators. But things have changed a lot since your day. We now have GPS on our system. I know where you are, and I have been tracking your movements. How do you think I found your friend. Maybe you are just getting old. It is time to come
in. Save this girl’s life.”

  Fagan should have known. It was not about getting old, though he knew he was. It was about being tired. Fatigue was making him slow.

  “You have the girl,” Fagan said. “But you really want me. You can let her go. She has stayed silent for the past twenty-five years. I think you can rely on her to say nothing for the next twenty-five. But you can’t say the same about me. Armena told me everything.” He paused. “Everything.”

  Fagan knew they were never going to let her go, but he had to get close to them.

  “Stay just where you are,” the man’s voice said. “We will find you.”

  “Harm her in any way, and I guarantee I will hunt you down.”

  “I believe you Mister Fagan, but for now I want you to stand up and stay there.”

  Fagan mind was racing, he had to take advantage of what they thought they knew. His adversary might kill Armena anyway, then come after him, but he had to hope he wanted him more and she still might be useful to him.”

  He looked down at the man at his feet. The snow was already beginning to cover him. Fagan squatted down beside him and brushed aside the snow. The man was dressed in full combat gear and modern body armor. Fagan stuffed the Glock in the front of his trousers then quickly stripped off the man’s outer jacket and then the body armor vest. He removed his own ski jacket and slipped on the vest. He pulled the straps tight then put his ski jacket back on.

  He searched the man’s jacket and found a Glock 42 with a sound suppressor and a spare magazine. He shoved the ammo in his pocket and ejected the magazine from the Glock. It was still half full. He stowed it in his pocket and threw the Glock out into the snow. He checked the man’s other pockets and found a knife. It looked like an Israeli ISAK. It had a six-inch stainless steel blade with a two finger grooved, fiberglass handle. He had used one similar in the old days. He weighed it in his hand, it balanced perfectly. A blade used by a professional.