Pandora's Ark

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

Sayyid left the hotel with two of his guards and the laptop, which always seemed affixed to his hand, and headed to a café less than a quarter of a mile from their stay. They maintained an upbeat tempo, their voyage to Allah getting closer with every passing moment, which caught the attention of two Polizia Municipale, who were informed to profile anyone of Mid-East origin within earshot of the Vatican.

Pictures were taken and questions were asked at the hotel’s front desk.

One officer learned that there were four registrants in total, all arriving the day before and paying for the suite in full with Euros, a red flag. The clerk was then directed by the investigating officer to keep things under wraps without giving an explanation. He simply did what he was told with no questions asked.

Inside the café, where Sayyid and his team had been followed by two plain-clothed members of the Polizia Municipale, photos were taken under covert conditions, and then forwarded electronically to Operations, where they were scanned with facial recognition software.

Of the three men under surveillance two were on the Watch List, the third remained unknown, and the fourth had yet to be seen.

And then the joviality stopped, Sayyid’s team getting to their feet and quickly exiting the café. The two Polizia Municipale followed, reaching the sidewalk in time to see the men round the bend of an alleyway.

They followed.

As they rounded the corner the men were gone, which was impossible since the stretch of the alley was at least seventy meters in length. They should have been less than halfway down the corridor, the Arabs within sight.

But they weren’t.

The two Polizia Municipale picked up their pace into a slow jog to catch up.

Less than halfway down an Arab slid out from behind a Dumpster and slashed his blade across the throat of the first officer, the Polizia Municipale going to his knees with his hands clutching his throat, blood pulsating through the gaps of his fingers, his ever-widening eyes staring disbelievingly into open space, obviously surprised at his own mortality as his life rushed out of him.

The second officer fumbled for his weapon. But one of Sayyid’s teammates came up from behind, crooked a forearm around the man’s throat, pulled the officer close, and stabbed him repeatedly, thrust after thrust, the knife mincing the man’s innards.

As both officers lay dead Sayyid stood over them, his jaw working.

They had seen the officers inside the café. And Sayyid saw one take a photo with a hidden assemblage, dooming their fate.

Al-Ghazi would not be pleased since they had been ordered to lay low, he knew that. And now they had been compromised.

“We must return to the hotel and get Shareed,” said Sayyid. “It appears that Arabs are being profiled.”

They raced back to the hotel.

The two Polizia Municipale were off the communications grid without explanation until a backup team found their bodies in an alleyway, the lead Polizia Municipale describing their current state as ‘butchery.’

This galvanized additional forces to invade the hotel and kick in the door, the elite team of specialty officers holding their weapons forward as they breached the suite, yelling introductions as to who they were and further instructed for whoever was in the suite to ‘hit the floor.’

Shareed’s response was to return fire with his firearm, which invited a volley of gunshots that chopped and destroyed the wall leading to the bedroom of the suite where Shareed was taking refuge.

When Shared exhausted his clip he closed his eyes, prayed to Allah, ran to the balcony, and launched himself over the side, his arms pin wheeling until he hit the pavement below.

From a distance Sayyid and his team watched Shareed’s descent. Heard the body hit. They were now a team of three.

Plans would have to be altered.

With the laptop firmly within Sayyid’s grasp, the entire team disappeared within the gathering masses.

Pope Pius had learned through the SIV that a terrorist faction had checked into a Rome hotel on the previous day. During a Polizia Municipale sweep two officers were killed, but not until they were able to help identify members of the cell.

Why the cell was in Rome was still up for speculation. But Bonasero knew better. The timing was too coincidental, he thought. There was no doubt that the unveiling somehow played a role in their plans.

Leaning forward, Father Auciello slid a series of photos across the papal desk toward Bonasero. Kimball sat next to the Jesuit, taking everything in.

“These were taken by the officers at a café in Rome,” he said. “Facial recognition software quickly deciphered as to who these men were.”

Bonasero examined the photos. And then he looked at additional pictures of the men taken from the Watch-List Base.

“The main character is Sayyid Bashir,” said the Jesuit, “a former militant with ties to extremely violent regimes in the Middle East. The others have minimal history, but are linked to al-Qaeda and presumed to have been involved with factions in Afghanistan and Iraq during Iraq’s transitional period to a democratic state.”

“So the question begs to be asked: Why are they here?”

“There was nothing in their suite providing any clues or indications. The suite was sterile,” he said. “However, in this photo,” Auciello flipped through the glossies on the pope’s desk and placed his finger on one in particular. It was a photo of Sayyid and his laptop. “You can see that Sayyid is in possession of a laptop. He took the laptop with him but didn’t use it. And that leads us to believe that whatever mission they’re on is on that computer.”

“And do we know the location of Sayyid and his team?”

“They’re nowhere to be found.”

Bonasero stared at the photos. “Do you believe that the imam is involved in this?”

Auciello nodded. “No, Bonasero, not at all. And that’s why we can’t afford to make the wrong speculations at this time.”

“Two policemen lay a dead and a man deemed to be a terrorist also lies dead — throwing himself off a balcony to protect a secret. There is no other rational explanation.”

Auciello had to agree. And so did Kimball.

“The Polizia Municipale have done their job,” said Bonasero. “Now we must follow through and do ours since political and religious dignitaries have arrived for tomorrow’s unveiling, and we must protect them at all costs. But tell me this Father Auciello, how do we know that there isn’t another cell involved in this matter?”

“We don’t. But the Polizia Municipale and Italian Intelligence are all over this. So far: nothing.”

The pope pushed the photos toward Kimball. “The Ark is sanitized, that much we know,” he said. “The unveiling will go on as scheduled, since there is no absolute indication as to the intent of this cell. Since they have been compromised, then their mission may have been aborted, if they had a mission devised at all. Nevertheless…” His words trailed as he pointed to the pictures. And then to Kimball, who grabbed the glossies. “Commit those faces to memory, just in case,” he said. “Make sure every Vatican Knight, every Swiss Guard, and everyone within Vatican Security learns every line on those faces. Should they attempt to cross into Vatican City, then they are to be arrested and held accordingly. Since the unveiling is to be held in the Basilica to a selected few, I want insurances provided that these men will not be within the vicinity of the Church or the dignitaries. Nevertheless, I want all corridors thoroughly inspected for explosive devices or anything anomalous. Search the old tunnels. I want every possible access into Vatican City gone over with a fine-toothed comb. Employ whatever means necessary to protect this city up until the last possible moment.”

Kimball was looking at the photos, already committing the faces to memory.

“This event will go on as scheduled,” added Bonasero, but his tone seemed to be wilting. “And the doors leading into the Basilica will be locked. We will be protected.”

But a thought occurred to him: Do you truly believe that, Bonasero?

The pope labored to his feet and went to the balcony that overlooked the City. People were there about by the thousands.

And then that thought flashed through his mind once again, adamant for a response: Do you truly believe that?

Bonasero, however, could not bring himself to answer.

Sayyid prayed with the laptop beside him. The death of Shareed mattered little. He still had his team intact. But that didn’t detract from the situation that his mission had been made more difficult. Obviously the Italian authorities had been directed to provide security and intel prior to their arrival, which was to be expected. What wasn’t expected was to be placed in a position of compromise, for which they now found themselves in.

“Nothing has changed,” he said out loud and to no one in particular.

Sayyid stood over the rim of a bathtub, the laptop on the toilet seat beside him as he shaved in preparation for Paradise. His team would follow by shaving, and then cleanse themselves with rose water, a form of purification.

Their beards would be gone, their faces different. And by wearing Polizia Municipale uniforms recently purchased through the underground, they had allowed themselves the advantage of hiding in plain sight to those looking for insurgents in plain dress, rather than those wearing official attire.

What was more advantageous was that he wouldn’t have to enter Vatican City, as long as he was able to situate himself somewhere along the fringe of the city’s border and keep the Basilica within sight. Frequencies, after all, traveled through space. But the laptop’s range was limited.

After Shareed’s dying plunge, Sayyid and his team did some recon, finding the rooftop of a hotel across from the Vatican Museum a suitable observation post to initiate the nano program. Although the hotel was located within 400 meters of the Basilica, it was still beyond the city’s border and beyond Vatican jurisdiction. But with such a clear view of the heart of the Catholic Church, there was no doubt in Sayyid’s mind that snipers would be posted there. But his team was adept at killing. And with little or no contest they would take them out quickly, quietly, and with flawless execution.

Yes, he thought, Shareed’s death posed no threat to the mission at all. His death proving insignificant in the scheme of things since there was, after all, a solution to everything.

Tomorrow he would enter Paradise along with his teammates. And Vatican City all but destroyed.

Beneath the soft glow of a single light bulb, Sayyid continued to bathe and purify himself with the laptop by his side.