Time passed. Rain and sleet bombarded Rome so hard it seemed to be trying to wash away a multitude of sins and goodness too, all at once, in one terrific deluge. Vatican City stood stoically beneath it, washed clean. The skies brooded by night and day, hanging heavy with the promise of more to come. Thunder and lightning swept the city, noise and light stalking from east to west and beyond.
Joe Mason and his team arrived before it all started and went straight to Premo Conte, who was passing through the barracks of the Swiss guards when they called him. Immediately, he gave them clearance, and they turned to their right across St Peter’s Square and passed through a security cordon. Conte stood right before them.
It was three p.m. in the afternoon. In his video call, Marduk had given the Vatican two days, which meant that something would happen tomorrow. They had a little time to come up with a plan. The team had travelled under their official guise and could retain their firearms, albeit stowed away for the flight. Mason was hoping Conte would resupply their ammunition from the Swiss Guard’s armoury.
But what next?
What were they expecting? What could you do to stop someone as ruthlessly determined as Marduk?
Premo Conte was tall, broad, and wore wraparound sunglasses and a tailored suit. He walked up to them outside the barracks and stopped suddenly, regarding them.
‘It’s going to rain,’ he said. ‘We should go inside.’
Mason, surprised, followed him towards the nearest door. Around them, the profound quiet of Vatican City away from the tourists reigned, the spaces relatively empty, but Mason had only to look back over his shoulder and peer through the massive Doric colonnades to see that the hustle and bustle of sightseeing Rome wasn’t far away.
‘Is there any more information?’ Sally asked as they walked.
‘Everything that can be done is being done. We don’t know what’s coming. It is hard convincing some cardinals and the police that anything is coming. The gendarmes, the Carabinieri, they have their own security structures and there has been no warning of anything happening. No chatter, no leaked information. No signs of any sort. I have told them that Marduk is an unknown entity working alone at the top. I have told them his circumstances, of having to wait for the money, but they simply do not believe that anything could have flown under their radar. My station, it seems, doesn’t give me the credibility I’d hoped for.’
‘But they’re on alert, right?’ Hassell asked.
Conte nodded. ‘To a point.’
‘The politics of Italian police forces.’ Sally sighed. ‘I have heard it is both complex and harsh.’
Conte walked through a door into a busy office. He hung his coat up and moved inside. Mason shrugged out of his leather jacket, hung it up next to Conte’s and then moved further into the room, which appeared to be a communications hub. Men and women sat at desks, some with headgear, talking to a dozen people around Rome and the world. The walls were bare and functional, the windows tinted.
‘We don’t have long,’ Conte said. ‘Let’s get to it.’
He led them to a smaller room, closed the door and asked for a debrief. Mason and Sally gave him a rundown of everything they’d done since learning of the murder of Cardinal Vallini.
‘And what would you do next?’ Conte asked at the end of it all.
‘Find Marduk,’ Mason said. ‘This all ends with his capture. Without him, there is no way forward for our enemy.’
‘Thousands of hotels in Rome,’ Conte said. ‘Not to mention other residences up for rent. Where do you suggest we begin?’
Out the window, Mason saw the start of the rain. It hit the pane with a splat, four big droplets, each one striking before sliding down. Seconds later it began in earnest, the view outside obscured by sheets of liquid.
‘Ignore that,’ Conte said. ‘It is the least of our worries. Do you really think Marduk has plans to destroy the Vatican tomorrow?’
‘It is his reason for living,’ Mason said. ‘He will do it.’
‘He will do it?’
‘Unless we stop him.’