Emil had just stepped into the car when it had happened. He was now halfway to the incursion site, a short trip of only a few minutes, but he hadn’t spoken since the man behind the wheel had pulled away from the kerb.
He was absolutely dumbstruck.
It was all happening, actually happening, exactly as he’d said it would.
As I said! his thoughts roared, baffled. As I determined!
Emil had chosen the place for its grandeur. Of course a pinnacle moment should take place in a locale of power and mystique. The timing he’d chosen for dramatic effect, as well as practical reasons. ‘On the third day’ would resonate with even the most nominally religious, and it gave him the time he needed to get the city distracted and prep the final stages of his other manoeuvres.
He hadn’t anticipated that the Guard would block off St Peter’s Square in quite the way they had, but that had only rendered his choice of the spot all the better. At the end of the day, it hadn’t really mattered what location Emil chose for his ‘fifth plague’. It could have been at the Colosseum, or the Forum. Or a glacier in the Antarctic. Or on the moon. Because it isn’t possible to stop the dawn and blot out the sun!
His fist slammed down on the leather seat at his side as confusion clenched his muscles. Outside the windows, the streets of central Rome were blacker than they had been at midnight. Behind him, the square at St Peter’s was a mayhem of cries and shouts, but outside his windows the rest of the city seemed to have gone silent in shock. In the strange blackness, the thick clouds cutting out the light, even the morning birds had stopped singing. Cars halted at the sides of roads. Pedestrians stood rooted to the ground, staring at the sky, jaws open. The more religious made the sign of the cross, eyes wide in wonder. And there were tears.
But Emil Durré had only one question in his heart.
What the fuck is going on?
From his breast pocket, Emil’s phone suddenly chirped him out of his mental shock. He recognised the number on the screen immediately. His hands, however, were so clammy that he had to swipe his finger across the screen three times before he finally gained the traction to answer it.
‘What!’ The word flew out of his mouth at twice the volume necessary.
The voice that answered came from the man Emil had assigned as foreman for the incursion itself.
‘Boss, the guys up top say something’s happened,’ the man said gravely. ‘We’re all set down here, everything’s in position. But I just got a radio chirp – something about the sky going black? The fuck’s that about?’
Emil bristled. None of this had been part of his plan. How could it have been? What he was seeing was simply impossible.
But he couldn’t allow even the impossible to stop him.
‘It doesn’t matter,’ he answered. ‘Not important.’ Outside his windows, the world seemed to broadcast a different message. But the foreman was underground.
‘What’s going on up here doesn’t change anything,’ Emil barked again. ‘Your men are ready?’
‘The trigger’s in my hand. But, boss, we weren’t expecting this. Everything’s been so tightly planned. Synchronised. Do we abort?’ There was obvious nervousness in his voice.
For an instant, Emil considered the request. It was sensible. This whole venture had been orchestrated down to its finest minutiae, planned to hour-by-hour execution over the span of more than a year and a half. An unknown fact at this stage, of this magnitude – who knew what it meant for their success?
But a second later, Emil’s resolve firmed. He wasn’t having his whole project go awry now.
He pressed the phone close to his face.
‘Pull the trigger. Do it now.’