h.e.l.l. How'd he not think of that?

He reached behind him, unplugged the d.a.m.ned phone. Silence Silence. The guard stopped midstep, mumbled something, then turned back the way he'd come. Through the one-way gla.s.s, Marc could see Lisette hovering over Rafiq, playing the panicked helpless woman to the hilt. The guard came out, and together they a.s.sisted Rafiq to the pa.s.senger side of the car, Marc's cue to leave once he photographed the schedule and returned it to the cabinet.

And he was just about to make his exit when he saw something in the monitor, the top left quarter that flashed on the interior of a warehouse on the premises. It was there and gone, its image replaced by another location, and he had to wait until it cycled back to the warehouse to see if he'd really seen what he'd thought was there.

Or was it his imagination?

Definitely not his imagination. The very sight drenched him with sweat. That was the the warehouse they were blowing to smithereens. It took him a moment to rouse himself, realize that nothing was happening if he didn't get his a.s.s out of there so they could figure out what to do next. warehouse they were blowing to smithereens. It took him a moment to rouse himself, realize that nothing was happening if he didn't get his a.s.s out of there so they could figure out what to do next.

But as he slipped out of the guard shack, then on past the cement barricade, he couldn't shake the image from his mind.

That of a man heaped on a pallet, his face bloodied, his tux torn and dirty, his cowboy boots covered in mud.

Tex?

But he was supposed to be dead. Griffin had identified him at the morgue.

No, he realized. Griffin had made an identification of a man whose face had been removed...

21.

Francesca sat in the back of the van, gripping her briefcase as they went around yet another turn. The man called Griffin a.s.sured them that he'd at last lost the tail, and she finally felt as though she could breathe. Until the moment he answered Father Dumas's query as to where he was going to take them. briefcase as they went around yet another turn. The man called Griffin a.s.sured them that he'd at last lost the tail, and she finally felt as though she could breathe. Until the moment he answered Father Dumas's query as to where he was going to take them.

"My opinion," Griffin said, "they'll be safer in the States. We take the professor to the airport with Special Agent Fitzpatrick."

"You don't have any say," Francesca said. "I have a deadline. I stand to lose my entire grant if I don't have my research finished and to the academic press in time."

"Impossible," Griffin replied. "The men who tried to kill you up at the Pa.s.segiata will stop at nothing to get what they want. They've seen you. No doubt they're already investigating who you might be, if they haven't already discovered it."

"I am not leaving, and I'm fairly certain that you have no authority to make me."

Griffin looked at Dumas. "Maybe next time you can put in a good word and keep me from being saddled with stubborn women?"

"Come to church on Sunday and I'll see what I can do."

"Trust me. You wouldn't want to hear my confession."

Griffin checked each of the mirrors, then pulled over.

"Why are we stopped?" Francesca asked.

"To change my insignia. They'll be looking for the phone company. I'd rather not make it easy." He got out and walked around the van. A moment later, the side door opened, and he slid in two large magnetic signs, then removed two others that read "ENEL," for the electric company. A couple of minutes later, he was back in the driver's seat, looking back at Francesca. "Convince me why we should let you stay."

"As I explained, I must finish my research to keep from losing my grant."

"You realize after this afternoon that it isn't safe for you to return to the academy? Not until this matter is resolved."

She didn't even want to think what methods they'd use to resolve resolve it. "But all my notes are there." When that didn't faze him, she added, "And I need to use the library there." it. "But all my notes are there." When that didn't faze him, she added, "And I need to use the library there."

"What is it you're researching?"

She decided that Griffin didn't trust her, nor was he going to buy any simple explanations. It was true she had some research to do, but not for the reasons given. A partial truth was best in cases like this. "Historical burial sites."

"And the academy has the only library suited for this?"

"No, of course not."

He looked over at Dumas, then back at Francesca. "The Vatican has a library, doesn't it?"

"Of course," she said.

"Won't it do?"

It would more than do, but she wasn't sure she wanted to seem too eager. "I believe so."

To Dumas, he asked, "Will she be safe there?"

"I will make sure of it."

"Then it's settled. You stay with Dumas. Now about this package Alessandra sent..."

Francesca said, "Alessandra was explicit on the code, and that until you answered to it, I wasn't to give out anything."

"There is no code. Alessandra's head was filled with fantasies."

"The code or no package," Francesca said.

Dumas smiled.

Griffin, however, looked more than annoyed as he said, "All for one and one for all. Alessandra had taken it upon herself to liken us to the Three Musketeers. Alessandra, Dumas, and me, of course."

"Three Musketeers?" Sydney replied, looking at the both of them. Neither Dumas nor Griffin said a thing. "That means that Alessandra was working with with you?" you?"

Dumas shifted in his seat, his eyes downcast, as Griffin said, "Dumas recruited her."

"And you agreed," Father Dumas pointed out.

"Since by then it was too late."

Francesca's eyes narrowed as she looked at Dumas. "You're a spy? Housed in the Vatican?"

"Spy is a harsh word. As I explained earlier, I am looking out for the Vatican's interests, which happen to sometimes coincide with those of...certain governments that have emba.s.sies residing here," he said, casting a dark look toward Griffin. is a harsh word. As I explained earlier, I am looking out for the Vatican's interests, which happen to sometimes coincide with those of...certain governments that have emba.s.sies residing here," he said, casting a dark look toward Griffin.

Francesca rested her hand on the package Alessandra had sent. "I find it interesting that she chose to a.s.sist something she had come to detest. Governments and their machinations."

"Actually," Dumas said, "she came to us because because of government machinations. She had overheard a few things by some men who attended her father's parties at the emba.s.sy, and-" of government machinations. She had overheard a few things by some men who attended her father's parties at the emba.s.sy, and-"

"And now it matters little," Griffin said, though his expression told Francesca it mattered very much. "What does matter is proving who killed Alessandra, and continuing the work she started."

In this at least Francesca recognized his sincerity, and she finally removed the package from her briefcase.

Tunisia Lisette and Rafiq stared at Marc, as he related what he'd seen. They'd fled the compound, supposedly en route to the hospital to have Rafiq examined for his chest pains, instead picking up Marc a few streets away. Lisette finally had to pull over. "You're sure of what you saw?"

"Positive," Marc said. "I couldn't believe it myself."

"You're sure it wasn't Dr. Balraj? It was Tex?"

"I couldn't see his face clear enough. Not enough time to get that close to the monitor. But it definitely wasn't Balraj. Besides, who the h.e.l.l else would be wearing a tux and cowboy boots in the middle of the b.l.o.o.d.y afternoon in Tunisia?"

"Was he alive?" she asked.

"He wasn't moving."

Rafiq shook his head. "He was dead. Had to be."

"No," Lisette said. "Why go to the trouble of killing someone else to make us think Tex is dead, only to kill him, then hide his body in another country?"

Marc knew exactly why.

Rafiq answered. "He might not have been dead then, but maybe he is now. They needed time to torture him in hopes of finding out what we were about. If we thought he was dead, there would be no rescue attempts."

Lisette looked sick. "You don't think they have him in there because they know that building is our next target?" she asked Marc.

"We didn't even know it was our next target, which means Tex couldn't have known. Either way, we have to tell Griffin," Marc said, trying to recall exactly what he'd seen. If Tex was tied up, then he wasn't dead. But he couldn't remember seeing any ropes, primarily because he wasn't looking for them.

"They were best friends," Lisette said. "To get Griffin's hopes up..."

No one dared finish the thought. To get his hopes up, only to face the realization that if it was Tex in that warehouse, fortune would have to be smiling on them to perform a rescue. They were under orders that the warehouse and all its contents be destroyed by 0830 hours tomorrow. Any later and they risked that the biological weapons that were recently manufactured and stored there would be shipped out and used. According to Lisette, Adami's scientists were working primarily with bacteria. For that she was grateful. Should any biomatter escape the blast, the full desert sun would kill what was left, so the earlier the better.

Tex's life for possibly those of hundreds of thousands of innocents...

Marc looked at his watch. They had until tomorrow morning to destroy Adami's warehouse. Now that they had the delivery schedule, they needed to figure out who they were going to impersonate, and how they were going to get the explosives onto the compound. "We need to get to a secure phone. I've got to call HQ."

22.

Sydney watched as Francesca pulled a book from the package. A photograph of a pyramid was displayed on the dustcover beneath a t.i.tle that read the package. A photograph of a pyramid was displayed on the dustcover beneath a t.i.tle that read Egyptian Influence on Ancient Roman History Egyptian Influence on Ancient Roman History. Griffin took it, flipped through the pages, then looked at Francesca in question. "This is what she sent?" is what she sent?"

"It appears she bought it at the Smithsonian gift shop and had it mailed here," Francesca said.

"There's nothing in it. Why was it so important that she get it to us?"

"I have no idea. I'm only the messenger."

He flipped through the book once more, then handed it to Dumas. "See if you can find something in it."

Dumas opened it, doing a more thorough perusal of each page as Griffin started up the van, then pulled back onto the road. Dumas found nothing. Sydney was tempted to ask to see the book herself, but one look at Griffin's face when he glanced back at her told her he was not even remotely close to forgiving her for not flying home this morning-a feeling that persisted long after they'd dropped off Dumas and the professor at the Vatican.

Still, she thought, once they started the long and circuitous trip back to the safe house, someone was going to have to talk first, and Sydney figured it might as well be her. "Exactly who does Father Dumas work for?"

Griffin looked at her, his anger over her actions still evident on his face. He turned back to the road, let out a tense breath. Then, surprising her that he was even going to talk to her at all, said, "The Vatican first and foremost. After that, he is, for all intents and purposes-and to my objection-part of our team."

"I take it you don't trust him?"

"I trust him as long as the needs of the Vatican and ATLAS coincide. It's when they don't that I have concerns." He glanced in his rearview mirror, then over at her. "His loyalties to the church aside, his placement in the Vatican is a valuable resource, one that can't be ignored."

"It never occurred to me that the Vatican would be working covert operations."

"It never occurred to the Vatican, either, at least not officially, until Pope John Paul I decided to investigate the Mafia's involvement in the Vatican finances that uncovered the Banco Ambrosiano scandal. Unfortunately for him, the Mafia and the Black Network, another criminal organization, had infiltrated more than just the Vatican's bank. They'd also penetrated the most venerable walls of the Vatican's governing body, the Curia. There's no doubt why he died thirty days after becoming pope."

"So you believe his death was a murder?"

"Some historians might believe otherwise, but he was poisoned-not, however, before he handpicked a few of his most trustworthy a.s.sociates to look after the Vatican's true interests. Dumas is the second generation of the team that Pope John Paul I started. They are covert, but not black ops. They are rarely called out on our business, and only as a liaison to the church."

"Why was Dumas called out on this operation?"

"That's the problem. He wasn't called out, though we had considered it initially. So either Alessandra brought him into this, or he is here for the church. That isn't necessarily a bad thing. It does present problems. It's clearly understood that Dumas has divided loyalties. Where our team must answer to the director of operations, Dumas must answer to G.o.d. And since G.o.d usually makes himself unavailable for personal interviews, the current pope stands in."

"And the pope is aware of Dumas's actions?" she asked, watching the side view mirror for any tails, and making sure she looked up at the corner buildings to read the street placards in case she ever had to navigate this place on her own. "He knows what you do?"

"The pope is aware of anything that directly involves the church. That does not necessarily mean he knows what we are doing."

Griffin turned off the Corso Vittorio into the Via dei Chiavari, then drove into a horseshoe-shaped parking lot. He pulled into a slot marked "Riservato per SIP." The telephone company, Sydney recalled, thinking of the phone company cover he'd used earlier. The van currently had the ENEL logo on it. That, of course, made her wonder if the sign was legit, or if he'd had it erected for his operation. At the moment, she was more interested in Dumas. "Hard to imagine a priest working covert ops."

"Don't let the clerical garb fool you. The man is as dangerous as any of our full-time operatives. And he's been a valuable resource at times. By the way, your bag is in the back. You left it at the academy."

Only because she wanted there to be some sign of where she'd been. This didn't seem the time to point that out, and she grabbed her bag, exited the vehicle. "Then what is the problem with Dumas?" she asked, as Griffin walked up to the sign, casually removed it, then replaced it with one that read "Riservato per ENEL" which matched the logo currently on the van. So much for the question of its legitimacy.

"The problem?" Griffin replied. "He saved my d.a.m.ned life two years ago in an operation that went bad. And I hate owing favors to guys I can't trust."

Trust. Now there was a word Sydney had difficulty embracing. She didn't trust herself, and apparently Griffin didn't trust anyone. Quite a team. Especially when it came to this case. Not that she was about to mention this to him. Instead, she asked, "Do you get the feeling that the professor was holding something back?"

"Right now I'm more interested in why you aren't seated on a plane that should be across the Atlantic right now."

Too much to hope that he was going to let that slide. "Had I been, the professor and your spy at the Vatican would both be dead, and Adami's men would have the book that Alessandra sent."

"Or they'd never have been followed to begin with." He placed the SIP sign in the back of the van, picked up the book in question, then shut and locked the van door.