The Templar Salvation

Chapter 14

Reilly accompanied the cardinal secretary across the leafy garden square of Piazza Santa Marta. It was past noon by now, and the air around them was scorched. Fifty yards to their left, the rear facade of St. Peter’s Cathedral soared high into the sky. Only faint wisps remained of the black cloud from the car bomb, but the square itself, usually lively with cars, buses, and tourists at this time of year, was deserted. Even though the second bomb had been defused and cleared, the Vatican felt like a ghost town, and seeing it like this made Reilly feel even lousier than he had felt in the inspector’s office.

The cardinal walked in silence, his hands clasped behind his back. Without turning to look at Reilly, he asked, “We didn’t get a chance to speak after your last visit—how long ago was it, three years?”

“That’s right,” Reilly confirmed.

Brugnone nodded, deep in thought. After a moment, he asked, “It wasn’t a pleasant time for you either, was it? The questions you had, the answers you got … and then, after all that, getting sucked into that catastrophic storm …”

Memories of that episode of his life came flooding back. Even three years later, he could still taste the salt water in his throat and feel the deep chill from the long hours spent half-dead in the sea, floating on a makeshift raft miles away from the coast of some tiny Greek island. But it was the words he remembered the cardinal saying to him back then that chilled him the most: I’m afraid the truth is as you fear it. It reminded Reilly that he hadn’t had the closure of a definitive answer to his question. He remembered standing on that cliff top with Tess and watching helplessly as the sheets of parchment fluttered down into the roaring surf, robbing him of the chance to know whether they were the real deal or just an elaborate forgery.

“Today wasn’t a cakewalk either,” Reilly replied.

The cardinal didn’t get it. “A ‘cakewalk’?”

“It wasn’t an easy day,” Reilly clarified. “For some reason, my visits here never seem to be,” he lamented.

Brugnone shrugged and brushed the comment away with a flick of his big hand. “This is a seat of great power, Agent Reilly. And where there is power, there is bound to be conflict.”

They crossed the road and entered the sacristy, a three-story building that had been tacked onto the south side of the cathedral. Once inside, they turned left and cut through the sumptuous halls of its Treasury Museum. With each step, the acres of rare marble and the bronze busts of past popes weighed heavily on Reilly. Every inch of this place was steeped in history, in the very underpinnings of Western civilization—a history he now knew a lot more about.

The cardinal asked, “You were quite a devout person when we first met. Do you still attend mass?”

“Not really. I help out Father Bragg with the kids’ softball on Sunday mornings when I can, but that’s about it.”

“If I may ask—why is that?”

Reilly weighed his words. The adventure he and Tess had survived three years earlier, and its disturbing revelations, had left their mark on him, but he still held Brugnone in great esteem and didn’t want to be in any way disrespectful. “I’ve read a lot, since we met … I’ve thought about it all, and … I guess I’m less comfortable with the whole concept of institutionalized religion than I used to be.”

Brugnone brooded over his reply, his hooded eyes distant with thought. Neither of them spoke as they reached the end of the frescoed gallery and entered the south transept of the cathedral. Reilly had never been inside the great basilica, and the sight that greeted him was a jaw-dropper. Arguably the most sublime piece of architecture on the planet, its every detail dazzled the eye and lifted the soul. To his left, he glimpsed Bernini’s papal altar, the twisted barley-shaped columns and exquisite canopy of the prodigious baldachino dwarfed by the mammoth dome that towered above it. To his right, he could barely make out the distant entrance at the far end of the nave. Shafts of sunlight streamed in through the clerestory windows high overhead, bathing the cathedral in an ethereal glow and rekindling a spark deep within him that had died out over the last few years.

Brugnone seemed to notice the effect it all had on Reilly and paused by the intersection of the transept arms to give him a moment to savor it.

“You’ve never had the time for a proper visit, have you?”

“No,” Reilly replied. “And it’s not going to be this time, either.” He paused, then asked, “I need to know something, Your Eminence.”

Brugnone didn’t flinch. “You want to know what’s in those trunks.”

“Yes. Do you know what he’s after?”

“I’m not sure,” the cardinal said. “But if it’s what I think it might be … it would be even worse for us than what that man Vance was after.” He paused for a beat, then asked, “After what he did today … does it matter?”

Reilly shrugged. It was a fair point. “Not really. But it would help to know. We need to find him.”

Brugnone nodded, clearly making a mental note of Reilly’s request. He studied Reilly for a spell, then told him, “I heard what you said back there. And while I don’t condone what you did or agree with your decision to exclude us from your deliberations, I can appreciate that you were in a tough position. And the fact is, we are indebted to you. You did us a great service three years ago, one that I realize was hard for you to stomach. But you kept true to your principles, despite your doubts, and you put your life on the line for us, and that’s not something any man would have done.”

Reilly felt a twinge of guilt. What Brugnone was saying was partly true, but the cardinal didn’t know the whole truth. Upon their return from Greece three years ago, Reilly and Tess had agreed to tell a slightly redacted version of what had really happened. They’d lied. Big-time. They’d told the brass at the FBI and the Vatican’s representative in New York that the storm had led to the deaths of everyone involved, everyone except for the two of them, that is, and said the wreck of the Falcon Temple had never been found. They’d promised not to talk about what they’d been through after the raid at the Metropolitan Museum, when four horsemen dressed as Templar knights had stormed the Vatican’s big gala and trashed the joint before making off with an old Templar decoder. And that was that. As far as the Vatican was concerned, Reilly had fought valiantly right to the end to defend its cause—which also wasn’t strictly true. And the fact that Reilly and the cardinal were now standing by the Altar of the Lie—a monumental Adami mosaic depicting what Reilly recognized was the punishment of a couple who had lied to St. Peter about how much money they’d been paid for a piece of land and were struck dead for their deception—wasn’t helping.

“We needed your help back then, and despite everything, you agreed to help us,” the cardinal told him. “What I need to know is, how do you feel now? Has anything changed? Are you still willing to fight for us?”

Reilly sensed an opening. It didn’t change his answer. “My job is to make sure guys like him don’t get a chance to hurt others ever again. Innocent people, like the people who died outside these walls today. I don’t really care what’s in those trunks, Your Eminence. I just want to lock this guy up or put him six feet underground if that’s his preference.”

Brugnone held his gaze for a moment, then his internal deliberations seemed to reach a verdict as he nodded to himself, slowly. “Well then, Agent Reilly … I think we need to let you get on with it, don’t we?”

After everything that had happened, and with his emotions still frayed, Reilly wasn’t sure he’d heard right. “What are you saying? I thought I was under arrest.”

Brugnone brushed his comment away. “What happened this morning started here, inside Vatican City. How we deal with it is our business … and as you know, we also have some influence in what happens beyond these walls.”

“Does your influence extend as far as Federal Plaza? Cause I think they want my badge back.”

Brugnone gave him a knowing, confident smile. “In this matter, I don’t think there are many areas that are outside our sphere of influence.” His tone turned firm. “I want you to be part of this investigation, Agent Reilly. I want you to find this man and put an end to his savagery. But I also need to know that you’ll be looking out for our interests, that if you were to find whatever it is he’s after, you’ll bring it to me first, regardless of all other considerations … or influences.” His last word had an edge to it.

Reilly felt its jab. “What do you mean?”

“Some of your associates—or friends—may have other ideas, in terms of what to do with a find of historic proportions.” Again, one word—friends—came out more pointedly.

Reilly thought he understood. “You’re worried about Tess?”

Brugnone shrugged. “Anyone would be a concern in a situation like this. That’s why I need to know that you’ll have the Church’s interests at heart, above all others. Do I have your word on this, Agent Reilly?”

Reilly pondered the cardinal’s words. On the one hand, he felt like he was being blackmailed. On the other, it wasn’t like he was being asked to do something he wouldn’t have done anyway. And besides, right now, his priority was taking down the man who’d caused the carnage. Whatever was in those trunks was of secondary importance. A distant second.

“You have my word.”

Brugnone acknowledged him with a slight nod of his head. “Then you need to get to work. I’ll talk to Delpiero and to the officials at the Polizia. And to your superiors. You can take it from there.”

“Thank you.” Reilly extended his hand graciously, unsure if a handshake was the appropriate move here.

Brugnone cupped it firmly in both of his. “Find him. And stop him.”

“It won’t be easy. He got what he came for … and with that Registry, he’s got a head start on us. If it’s got any information in it about what happened to this Conrad, then that’s where we’ll find our bomber. But he’s got it and we don’t.”

Brugnone cracked a ghost of a smile. “I wouldn’t go that far.” He let the words hang teasingly, then said, “You see, it’s been clear to us for quite a while that the archive was becoming far too large to administer using traditional methods. We have over eighty-five linear kilometers of shelves, all of them just heaving with material. So, about eight years ago, we initiated a electronic archiving project. We’re almost halfway through scanning the entire collection.”

Reilly’s face brightened slightly. He already knew what Brugnone would answer, but he said, “I’m hoping you’re not doing it alphabetically.”

“We’re doing it according to perceived relevance,” the cardinal replied with a knowing smile. “And the Templars—especially after what happened three years ago—well, they’re hardly irrelevant, now, are they?”