Headquarters of the Swiss Guard: 6:20 p.m.
Christoph Raber was livid. Somehow a cardinal, a prince of the Church, had been killed on his watch. Not just that, he had been killed inside the Apostolic Palace—the very heart of his jurisdiction and the most secure section of Vatican City. And he knew Rinaldo hadn’t died of natural causes. Not like this, not today, not under these circumstances.
Raber’s worst fears were coming to fruition.
He’d immediately ordered a third cohort of guards to move to the papal apartments. Two were already stationed at every access point, on every staircase and in every passageway that led anywhere near the pontiff. But this third he instructed to enter the apartments themselves and stand guard alongside the Pope within constant line of sight. Gregory wouldn’t be pleased, but there were rare moments when even the Holy Father simply had to accept Raber’s professional decision. The Pope might be a man accountable only to God, but the Lord had appointed Raber over a group of men whose sole duty was to protect God’s earthly vicar. He didn’t mind incurring the pontiff’s displeasure if it meant he could keep the Holy Father safe.
Raber would join them shortly. He would explain the situation to the Pope himself. But first he wanted to know exactly what Alexander Trecchio and Gabriella Fierro were doing breaking into the city.
From the moment of their arrival at the central office, Gabriella’s nervousness increased dramatically. Everything about the Guard’s headquarters spoke of the kind of technology-orientated, hyper-vigilant security service that modern society had been programmed not to trust. NSA surveillance networks, CIA enhanced interrogation practices, military rendition—the emotionless atmosphere of this underground complex struck her as resonating with them all.
She and Alexander were led further into the complex until they reached the etched-out glass door of Commandant Christoph Raber. There they were told to stand still while a digital eye scanned them from above. When the glass finally slid aside, they were pushed into the room.
The interior was an office, sleek and modern, and the man who sat behind the central desk was immediately hard to read. He wore civilian clothes: a dark-blue pinstriped suit beneath which a firearm was obviously holstered at his chest. His hair was cropped short and neat, the wrinkles in his face more those of experience than age. He looked friendly and forbidding at the same time.
“Mr. Trecchio, Inspector Fierro,” he began as they entered, “my name is Christoph Raber and I am the head of the Papal Swiss Guard. I want to begin by impressing upon you how little I enjoy anyone breaking into Vatican City.”
Alexander tried to speak. “We were—”
“Even if,” Raber cut him off, “one of the intruders is the nephew of a cardinal and an ex-priest who used to wander the grounds with a degree of freedom.” He glared into Alexander’s eyes. The man clearly knew everything about him. A moment later he turned to Gabriella. “Or a mid-ranking police officer who, my sources tell me, has been removed from active duty for insubordination.”
Gabriella sensed there was no point in making a response.
“But,” the commandant finally said, turning back toward Alexander, “you are indeed the nephew of Cardinal Rinaldo Trecchio, a man I respected greatly. And I happen to know he respected you. You’ve told my men that the Pope is under attack. Right now the only thing keeping you out of a holding cell is that you say you’ve brought proof.”
Gabriella suddenly found a charge of courage. “We need the files we brought with us. The proof is there.”
Raber nodded and one of the guards handed her their confiscated dossiers. She tossed the first, the material that had been collected by Alexander, on to Raber’s desk.
“That folder contains full details of three medical firms we believe have staged the healings of the past two days. It highlights their connection to pay-offs originating here in Vatican City, at the IOR. It also links them to an outside source we’ve not been able to pin down.”
Raber sat back slightly and shrugged his shoulders. “This is not news to me. Our investigation has found the same.”
“There are men inside the Vatican helping with this deception,” Gabriella continued.
Raber waved aside the revelation. “The curia is hardly white as snow. We suspect everyone, including our own, as a matter of course.”
“Even of murder?”
Raber’s features hardened. “Cardinal Trecchio’s death will not go unpunished. Of that I can assure you.”
“That’s not the murder I’m talking about,” Gabriella countered, and for the first time, Christoph Raber looked surprised.
“You’re referring to the two professors.” The commandant had obviously found his way to the same information she and Alexander had.
“Not those murders, either.”
Now Raber stood. “Then just what murder are you referring to, Inspector Fierro?”
Gabriella stared at him, then turned to Alexander. He nodded his support and she turned back to Raber. “You really don’t know, do you?”
“Don’t make me ask again,” he warned.
Gabriella reached down and opened the snap on the second plastic folder.
“One other death has come to light today. So far it’s been heavily concealed, which is suspicious by itself. But once you see the body . . . well, you’ll understand.”
Raber waited as she leafed through the pages until she found the one she wanted.
“I know you all experienced something in the presence of the man you’re housing here with the Pope. I saw the video footage of the Mass. I watched you all kneel. But whoever you and others believe him to be, I can assure you this man is not a divine visitor. He’s the troubled runaway brother of a set of twins, whose other half washed up in the Tiber earlier today.”
She flung the photograph down on Raber’s desk. Even in the dark lighting of the office, the paling of his features was obvious and immediate.
“Whoever you’ve got upstairs,” Gabriella continued, “he’s a plant. Whether he’s planted himself or been manipulated by others I don’t know. But there is an attack in progress, on the Church and on the Pope. He’s a part of it, whoever else may be involved. And so far, those people have left a trail of blood and death in their wake.”
A tense silence lingered in the office. Then, all at once, Raber snapped into action. He grabbed the photo and slid it into his jacket pocket. His eyes flew to Gabriella, then to Alexander.
“Gather your things together.”
“Where are we going?” Alexander asked.
“We’re going to see the Holy Father.”