Cotton sat in the helicopter, heading south to Rome, Pollux Gallo and Stephanie flying with him. At first Stephanie had wanted to remain behind to coordinate what he was doing with Luke’s activities on Malta. Gallo had offered her the Villa Pagana in Rapallo as her headquarters, and she’d nearly accepted his generosity, but in the end she opted to come along instead, wanting to be back in Rome.
“I know you must find this confusing,” Gallo said to him. “Brother against brother. And twin brothers at that.”
“Have you always been estranged?”
“Just the opposite, in fact. Our parents were killed when we were children, so we only had each other. We were raised in an orphanage, the nuns a poor substitute, but they did the best they could. Kastor and I clung to each other. But as we grew older, we drifted apart. Our personalities changed. Though we look alike, we don’t think alike. By the time we were twenty, he was off to seminary and I was in the army.”
“You said back at the archive that your brother wants to be pope. You know that for sure?”
“Without question. He told me so himself. He views this conclave as a gift from God, an unexpected opportunity that he must use to full advantage.”
“You spoke on the subject?”
Gallo nodded. “We had a heated discussion. One of many of late.”
“Is Archbishop Spagna his ally?” Stephanie asked.
“That’s what I’ve learned. Kastor traveled to Malta yesterday specifically to meet with Spagna.”
“And you know this how?” Cotton asked.
“Just like Spagna, we have spies, too.”
He did not doubt that observation and he was still troubled by the comment made at the archive, which had yet to be explained. “Why do you think your brother’s life is in danger?”
“We have people on Malta, inside Fort St. Angelo. Several knights are permanently stationed there. They’ve been watching my brother’s activities and report he might be in danger.”
“From who?” Stephanie asked.
“The Secreti. They’re on the island. We know that for sure.”
Cotton glanced across at Stephanie. “Nothing from Luke?”
She shook her head. “Silence. The GPS signal from his phone has also stopped. He’s working with a Maltese security agent named Laura Price. They’re both now with Spagna. The head of Maltese security tells me the situation is under control, so I have to trust Luke can handle himself.”
“He can.”
The chopper kept knifing through the night air. He glanced out the windows and spotted a dark rural landscape, broken occasionally by the lights of a village or a farmhouse. They were not yet to Rome, still north in Tuscany, he estimated.
“I see now,” Gallo said, “that my brother’s interest in the knights was totally self-serving, as is usual for him. He used his position to learn our secrets. To use them for his own advantage. Hopefully, we’ll be able to prevent any further harm and end his bid for the papacy before he ever begins.”
A canvas sack rested on the cabin floor. Gallo pointed toward it and said, “I brought what we’ll need. I’m guessing the legend is not true and there’s no need to destroy the whole obelisk to get to the codex, or whatever else Mussolini may have left inside. We’ve long thought a marked stone at the base could provide access to the repository.”
“Planning on blowing it open?” Stephanie asked.
Gallo chuckled. “I’m hoping a sledgehammer will do the trick. But there are a great many in Italy who would not be sad to see that obelisk fall. The government has tried several times to raze it.”
Yet it still stood. Like the flowers at the site where Mussolini had been shot.
“Why would the Secreti want your brother dead?” Cotton asked.
“He’s antagonized half of the knights into enemies.”
“But they’re not the kind who normally kill people.”
“The Secreti are fanatics, which makes them unpredictable and dangerous. They apparently view Kastor as a threat to the order. Their entire purpose is to eliminate threats. So the last thing they would want is for Kastor to become pope.”
“And they’ll kill to stop that?” Stephanie asked.
“I’m not sure what they’ll do. All I know is that they are on Malta.”
He felt the chopper start to descend and begin a wide turn. Outside the windows he saw they’d arrived on the outskirts of Rome. He caught sight of the forum, its two stadiums, running tracks, tennis courts, and other buildings, partially lit to the night, and the obelisk, rising at the entrance before an imposing avenue that stretched to a far piazza.
He checked his watch.
Nearly midnight.
It had been a long day.
The knight stared at the lit obelisk, able to see in the dim wash of light the enormous inscription etched into its side.
MUSSOLINI DUX.
Finally. The truth may be told.
Was the map there? Or maybe the Nostra Trinità itself?
Waiting patiently?
Within the order a precious few were privy to the most confidential of information. Thankfully, he was one of those. He knew the story of Mussolini’s visit to the Villa del Priorato di Malta and what he told Grand Master Rovere-Albani. I’ve even done him a favor and sealed it away where no one can get to it. If Mussolini truly found the Trinity, this could be his hiding place.
At least that’s what James Grant had told him. Now it was time to determine if the information he’d risked everything to obtain was true.
Finally, the Brits were out of the way.
Only the Americans remained.
But he’d handle them.