‘What do you mean, they just walked out?’ Major Heinrich glowered at Corporal Yoder. The junior officer was in fact significantly taller than Heinrich, but the Major seemed to wither down upon him all the same. ‘You were supposed to keep an eye on them!’
‘Keep an eye on them, sure, as long as they chose to stay put. But they weren’t under arrest.’
‘It took us two teams to bring them in! We barely kept them alive!’
Max Yoder stood tall. ‘The Papal Swiss Guard may not detain Italian or foreign nationals within the Holy See without a writ of arrest or significant findings of criminal behaviour likely to lead to the issuance of such a writ.’ He recited the code from their training manual verbatim, then looked down directly into the eyes of his superior officer. ‘Major, sir.’
Heinrich kept the man’s gaze, clenching his jaws and rubbing his molars together with the tension of frustration. The Corporal was, however, correct. The relations between Vatican City and the Italian government were delicate and based on a fragile trust between what were technically the agents of two different governments, overlapping in a packed, tense territory inside the borders of a single Italian city. Overstepping the boundaries of that agreed code of conduct, even in a minor way, tended to have disproportionately vast repercussions. And this was hardly minor. Detaining two Roman citizens would lead to word of the Swiss Guard having effected their capture in the first place – outside of Vatican City, on Italian State territory, without the knowledge or cooperation of the Polizia di Stato – which would open up a can of worms that Vatican–Roman relations did not need.
He turned away from the other Guardsman. Behind him, rows of glass desks housed computers that were manned by the Investigations Division of the Papal Swiss Guard, humming with electrical whirs and the constant finger-tapping of focused computer work. The machines had only been brought back to life fifteen minutes ago, a sudden power outage having cut every trunk into the city – including their high-tech offices beneath the stone grandeur of the Apostolic Palace. The Guard’s control rooms were only back in the running thanks to a bank of petrol-powered generators on reserve in a wire-mesh cage at ground level, precisely for such emergency situations.
It was the first time they’d ever had to be used.
Heinrich wasn’t yet able to wrap his head around the events of the day. Cardinal Forte’s suspicions over the text that had been unearthed near San Clemente had proven well founded, but it had come as a shock to learn that Calla and Verdyx were not the culprits behind it that Heinrich had suspected. They’d barely managed to sweep up the two academics in time before others – presumably the actual individuals responsible for whatever the hell was going on – succeeded in their attempt to kill them off.
Now they were out of their hands. Fine, fend for yourselves out there. His thoughts were hard, realistic and unemotional, yet deeper inside he knew that Verdyx and Calla might still be relevant to their work.
‘Put a track on their phones,’ he said, directing the words towards a desk where a young man in the informal business dress of the Guard seemed to expect such instruction, ‘and whatever else you need to tap to keep an eye on them. I’d like to know where they go from here.’
Heinrich turned away without waiting for affirmation of his instruction. He knew his men would follow it diligently.
Angelina Calla and Ben Verdyx were no longer his primary subjects of interest. Having ensured that Cardinal Forte and the other senior members of the Curia were updated on the affairs of the afternoon, his chief interest was in identifying who was behind their attempted assassination. It was an elaborate and difficult process, to start from complete unknowns and work back to something solid. CCTV footage from the site of each attack could be used to try to identify assailants – hoping for a shot clear enough to run facial recognition, or perhaps a vehicle with plates that could be processed. These would lead to data trails, which would lead to identities, which Heinrich was convinced would eventually lead to concrete persons that could be called in and questioned. All they needed was time.
‘Sir,’ a voice suddenly broke the silence, ‘outside. In the piazza.’ The man who spoke was audibly alarmed, his words curt and tense. To the members of the Guard, ‘the piazza’ always meant St Peter’s.
‘Report,’ Heinrich commanded.
‘There’s been gunfire. The public security squads on ground level are already responding.’
Heinrich’s skin went cold. It wasn’t with fear, but with determination.
Whoever was wreaking havoc on the city had just brought it into his own walls. And that, for a man of devotion of Heinrich’s calibre, was a step too far.