"I believe that was his name. This kid was a nutcase. He said he was a friend of Alessandra's, and that's the only reason I agreed to talk to him. He tried to say that the photo of she and I, that the government leaked it to discredit me. A government conspiracy."

"Any truth to that?"

"No doubt in my mind that it was done on purpose, and to discredit me. But I think he's out there if he thinks my own government did it as part of a national conspiracy. Especially when he added that it was all due to the government's involvement in Propaganda Due."

"Which would be what?"

"You may have heard of it under the name P2. A Freemason lodge in Italy, shut down in the eighties, after it nearly toppled the Italian government and crippled the Vatican bank. He said he had proof that they were active again, this time in our country, and there would be biological warfare involved."

"Okay. So he was out there. About Alessandra?"

"What about her?" the congressman asked, his voice short. "Regardless of what appeared in the paper, there's nothing to tell."

"Why did it appear?"

"The photo in question? Someone got a lucky shot, figured they could pin a quote beneath it, and somehow it made its way to a real newspaper. But when you think about it, is it any different from what you see on the cover of any supermarket tabloid? Make up c.r.a.p and sell a story?"

"Why don't you tell me?"

"Nothing happened." happened."

"You realize she's dead?"

"Dead?" His jaw dropped, and the blood drained from his face. One couldn't fake that sort of reaction. "How?"

"Murdered."

"Oh my G.o.d." The congressman closed his eyes a moment, took a deep breath. When he looked up again, he said, "Stop the car, Thomas. I need some air."

"Yes, sir." The driver made a right turn, then pulled over, allowing them to exit the car. "Where would you like me to pick you up?"

"I'll walk from here. I'll call if I need you later today."

The car drove off, and Burnett stood there, his hands shoved in his pockets, staring after the car. After several seconds, he turned to Carillo. "I'm sorry, I really am, but nothing happened between us. I didn't kill her if that's what you're asking. For G.o.d's sake, I regret the day I agreed to be on that committee."

"What committee?"

"Atlas. That's the reason our photo appeared in the paper. She had learned from her father that I was on the committee, and she wanted to know if we were looking into the death of the UVA professor, that microbiologist who killed herself. I sure as h.e.l.l wasn't about to admit to her it wasn't a suicide. I had to say it was investigated thoroughly, but they were friends and she wanted to know if I could have it reopened. Nothing more, I a.s.sure you. Unfortunately, it wasn't like I could go to the press and clarify details."

"Atlas?"

The congressman looked over at Carillo. "Do you agencies ever talk talk to one another?" to one another?"

"You'd be surprised how much we don't talk."

"h.e.l.l. I really don't want to end up in jail for breaching national security secrets. I'm sorry, but I can't discuss any more of this with you. I-I was rattled about Alessandra's death. I wasn't thinking." He looked more than rattled. A sheen of sweat covered his brow and upper lip. A vein pulsed at his temple. He might not be guilty of Alessandra's death, but he was certainly worried about something more than a simple photo in the paper.

"Look. My partner may be in danger, and it has something to do with whatever Alessandra was working on."

"I'm sorry. I really need to go." He stepped to the curb, held up his arm, calling out, "Taxi!"

A cab pulled up, and Congressman Burnett got in, barely sparing a parting glance in Carillo's direction.

Carillo stood there at the curb, going over the conversation. It wasn't unusual for politicians to sit on committees that weren't necessarily common knowledge to the rest of the world, but at least he had one more lead that hadn't existed a few minutes ago.

He pulled out his phone, called his personal font of knowledge, Doc Schermer. "You ever heard of Atlas?"

"Are we talking cartography or Greek mythology? A map versus the guy who was forced to hold up the sky?"

"I thought he was holding the globe."

"Common misconception, which may be why a map of the world was called an atlas."

"Figures you'd know this. But no, I'm referring to an OGA with that name. Just got done talking to Congressman Burnett, who mentioned it in relationship to that other matter I'm not allowed to discuss. The guy froze up on me. Was worried about breaching national security."

"That's a whole different ball game," Doc said. "But it fits with what I found out about the congressman on that background you asked me to do. He was sitting on a national security task force, so..." Carillo could hear him clicking away on his keyboard. "Not Atlas, but ATLAS the acronym."

"As in...?"

"As in Alliance for Threat Level a.s.sessment and Security. It's a global task force that a.s.sesses terrorist threats, and when necessary deploys a highly trained strike force to eliminate those threats."

"And why is it no one's ever heard of it?"

"It wouldn't be very effective if everyone knew about it, would it?"

"So they're a covert agency?"

"Extremely covert. Most of their operations are NOC, nonofficial cover. Plausible deniability is standard procedure, if you could even get the government to admit there was such an organization."

"How come you know about it?"

"h.e.l.lo? Didn't you just get done asking me to research the congressman less than a day ago? That and I was able to finally dig up something on this Griffin. He's running an international paper that's more than likely a cover for CIA."

"I'll keep that in mind should someone mistakenly nominate them for a Pulitzer. Back to the OGA."

"It's a multi-agency, multi-country task force, populated by brainiacs in specialized fields, along with your average spies and your not-so-average special ops types on the strike force, of which Griffin is one. From what I've been able to deduce, each country involved has their own team, but they work cooperatively. It came about after 9/11."

"So how much plausible denial are we talking?"

"Remember those CIA agents who were arrested in Italy a few years back for some shady operations?"

"Vaguely."

"Put it this way. The government will not admit any involvement whatsoever. If Fitzpatrick involves herself in anything not above board and gets caught? Not only is her job at the Bureau history, but she's probably looking at jail time."

"That's a.s.suming she survives whatever it is she's doing. I'm starting to have a real bad feeling about all this."

"As well you should. They don't send out guys like Griffin on the strike force, unless there's a d.a.m.ned good reason."

Sydney woke from her nap, wondering if Carillo had gotten ahold of the congressman, and if so, had the man actually been contacted by Xavier Caldwell. She picked up Caldwell's papers, scanned the last sheet, then found it. World governments all searching for some key that would lead them to the missing Templar treasure. That was enough to make any sane FBI agent realize that the writer of this paper was reading way too much fiction and Internet propaganda. And that's precisely what she'd thought at first, except for that niggling memory of the latest display on loan to the Smithsonian. Something to do with the Holy Crusades...Templar Knights were involved in the Holy Crusades.

For the second time that day, Sydney called Tony Carillo's cell phone, having the hotel operator place it on her hotel bill. Italy being six hours ahead, she glanced at the clock to determine what time it would be in Washington, D.C., a.s.suming he'd gotten there by now. It was almost five in the evening, not quite dark here, which would put it almost eleven A.M A.M. there. "Give me good news," she said.

"I haven't made it out to the Smithsonian yet, but I did get in touch with the congressman. You ever hear of an agency called ATLAS?"

"No."

"That's where your boy Griffin works."

"What is ATLAS?"

"Alliance for Threat Level a.s.sessment and Security. Griffin's on the strike force team. As in the special ops guys who go out and deal with the really, really really bad boys. Doc Schermer thinks you need to get your b.u.t.t out of there and home, if you want to keep your job." He gave her the rundown of the team. bad boys. Doc Schermer thinks you need to get your b.u.t.t out of there and home, if you want to keep your job." He gave her the rundown of the team.

"As it turns out, Griffin is insisting I return home, to keep me from becoming involved, so that shouldn't be a problem. Tomorrow, in fact. I suppose if necessary, I could leave earlier. He's all for it, scout's honor."

"Where is he now?"

"Making the death notification to the amba.s.sador. Back to the congressman. You asked him about the missing student?"

"I did. He says the kid is a nutcase, talking about how the Freemasons and Propaganda Due are running the U.S. government, and that's why they manufactured his photo with Alessandra and allowed it to be published. Hard to imagine that lead going anywhere."

"Except that she is dead and he's still missing."

"Maybe he killed her and fled."

"Or maybe he was killed, too, and we haven't found his body yet. In a nutsh.e.l.l, I think we need to find out if there's anything in this conspiracy paper he wrote, and if that's why this girl was killed."

"Okay, let's say it is why she was killed. How the h.e.l.l'd she and this Xavier stumble across this on some conspiracy Web site, and end up dead? It's not like other nuts out there haven't made a similar connection, and yet they're still walking around searching for the Templar treasure and spouting off that the Illuminati is about ready to take over the world. No one's killed them."

"What did she do different, you mean?"

"Exactly."

"Like I said, her body was found at the Smithsonian, where they recently had a display on loan having something to do with the Holy Crusade."

"As in the Templars?" Carillo said. "Maybe you shoulda taken this vacation a lot sooner."

"Bear with me a second. This conspiracy paper I'm holding mentions Templar treasure, and some key that leads to it, which certain world governments are searching for."

"Does it say why?"

"No. But like you, I'd have dismissed it in a heartbeat, if not for the dead girl with the missing face, whose body was found just outside the very building where this display was located."

"Or maybe it has nothing to do with the display. Either way, I'll head to the Smithsonian next."

"I'll keep in touch, let you know what's going on here."

"Likewise. Stay out of trouble, Fitz. And do not, under any circ.u.mstances, get yourself involved with whatever these guys are involved in. Doc Schermer's a pretty laid-back guy, and if he's insisting you get out, I think you should listen."

"I'm holed up in a Roman hotel room in my bathrobe. What sort of trouble could I possibly get into?"

12.

Sydney walked to the balcony and threw open the door, realizing there was little she could do about this information until Griffin's return. The air had warmed somewhat, probably due to the low gray clouds that now filled the sky, threatening rain. Warm enough, she decided, to sit outside with something to drink. She thought about getting dressed, but was comfortable in her robe, and she cinched the belt tight, retrieved another small bottle of door, realizing there was little she could do about this information until Griffin's return. The air had warmed somewhat, probably due to the low gray clouds that now filled the sky, threatening rain. Warm enough, she decided, to sit outside with something to drink. She thought about getting dressed, but was comfortable in her robe, and she cinched the belt tight, retrieved another small bottle of prosecco prosecco, when the phone rang.

It was Griffin. "I hope you're awake?"

"Yes. And I'm glad you called. There's something I found out-"

"No time," he said, his voice sharp, clipped. "I'll be at the hotel in about one minute. I'm being followed. Have been since I left the amba.s.sador's residence."

"What do you want me to do?"

"I don't want them to know I'm on to them, and I can't have them follow me to the safe house. Meet me out front."

It wasn't until she caught her reflection in the mirror that she realized there was a flaw or two with this plan. "Now?"

"Something wrong?"

"I'm not exactly dressed at the moment."

"Nice visual," he said. "I need you out there to see what they're doing. Don't contact me. Just observe."

"Out where?"

"The lobby should do nicely."

He hung up before she could protest, and she glanced at her clothes, then out the window, saw him pulling up. "One minute? Try thirty seconds," she said. No time to dress, she ran out the door, still carrying the little bottle of prosecco. prosecco. It wasn't until she stepped onto the elevator that she realized she'd forgotten her key and she was barefoot. Okay, so maybe she'd be dismissed as a crazy American waiting for a friend. If that was the worst of her problems, she could deal with it, she thought, dropping the little bottle of It wasn't until she stepped onto the elevator that she realized she'd forgotten her key and she was barefoot. Okay, so maybe she'd be dismissed as a crazy American waiting for a friend. If that was the worst of her problems, she could deal with it, she thought, dropping the little bottle of prosecco prosecco into her pocket as the elevator stopped and the door opened. She stepped around a young woman who was busy trying to catch a towheaded toddler, who tried to run toward the open elevator. into her pocket as the elevator stopped and the door opened. She stepped around a young woman who was busy trying to catch a towheaded toddler, who tried to run toward the open elevator.

Sydney ignored the polite but direct stares of the hotel staff, as well as the few tourists lounging about in the chairs. Had this been Florida, no one would have given her a second glance, probably a.s.suming she was on her way to the beach or the pool. But this wasn't, which made the whole experience somewhat awkward. She only hoped it didn't get her booted out of her hotel, and she did her best to ignore the looks, waving off the concierge, who asked if she needed a.s.sistance.

She headed for the doors, exited, and tried to remain un.o.btrusive-as if that were even possible, dressed as she was-beside a column just as Griffin got out of a Peugeot that he apparently had picked up after he'd dropped her off. He handed his key to the valet, as though he were a guest, waited for his ticket, gave a casual glance toward Sydney, raised a brow at the sight of her robe. He walked past her, dropped his ticket, and as he bent down to retrieve it, his back to the street, said, "Do you see a blue BMW?"

"It's pulling up now."

"Keep an eye on them. Maybe they're only here to see where I'm staying. I can deal with that."

"And if it's not that?"