William Tyree - The Fellowship

Mary. My daughter. The virgin. They know. It’s her they’re looking for.

Who knows?

The Black Order. And those afraid of the Rule of Light will search the Earth for me. As it was in the time of Herod, it will be again. Many innocents will die.

Herod? Who, King Herod? I don’t understand.

Mary will carry the child. You must protect them. You must protect the child. The codeword. Shepherd with threes.

What followed next — a spoken 32-digit string of letters and numbers that Ellis had recounted under hypnosis — had been even more baffling. Eight sets of four characters. The shrink had copied the string onto a sheet of paper for her, but oddly, Ellis found that she had no need for it. She could recite the sequence from memory, as if she had known it all along. It was crazy. Ellis couldn’t even memorize phone numbers.

And then last night, she had woken suddenly at 3 am with the realization. She knew what it was. An IP address.

She had switched on her computer and typed the sequence into a web browser. When a password prompt appeared, she had entered the codeword Vera Borst had given her. Shepherd with threes . When it didn’t work, she tried a few variations. All caps, all lowercase, with and without spaces. Finally it hit her — Sh3ph3rd . Boom. She was in.

The resulting screen was all white except for the sign of the Chi-Rho and two lines of simple black webtext. The Rule of Light Begins 6-28. Check back for further instructions.

Now Speers’ voice broke through. “You all right?” He was standing in front of her now. “You’re not taking your meds, are you?”

“I’d like to be alone.”

“Haley, I know this took a toll on you. And I’m very grateful for that. But if you remembered anything that might help us find her, no matter how painful…”

The words seemed to stick to the top of Ellis’ mouth. “Mary Borst doesn’t want to be found, Julian.”

“You do know something, don’t you?”

“What we all know is that she got on that plane to Rome by herself. We saw the security camera footage. I’d say that’s proof she didn’t go under duress. I think we should just pretend that she died in that fire, like we thought in the first place.”

“Don’t tell me you actually believe she’s — ”

“That doesn’t matter. People are going to be gunning for her. They’re going to be gunning for that child. If you bring her in, you’re just making their job easier. You won’t be able to protect them. Do you really want to be responsible for that?”

The hum of Speers’ phone interrupted their conversation. It was a text message from Arunus Roth. He turned his back for a moment to read it: Carver never showed at the extraction point. Please advise.

Piazza di Spagna

The hotel elevator climbed past the second floor en route to the 10th. He had come in through the service entrance, avoiding the lobby altogether. Coming back here was insane, Carver knew. As a rule, he never returned to the roost after an operation was finished. Even when there didn’t appear to be survivors, he assumed they were out there, like roaches after a nuclear winter. They always wanted their pound of flesh. They wanted any semblance of payback they could get.

His phone rang. It was Speers.

“You missed the rendezvous,” he complained over the spotty connection. “The chopper pilot says he can’t wait any longer. Are you close?”

“You should already know the answer to that.”

Hadn’t they triangulated his phone location to the hotel near the Spanish Steps? And as for Nico, hadn’t they already checked the location of the RFID chip in his arm?

After all, Nico was the only reason he had returned.

He had not answered the room phone in nearly two hours. Nor was he answering either of the two stolen phones he had hacked into. Carver knew because he had tried them all endlessly. Fearing the worst, he had logged into the mission cloud to get a location on the chip. It was still here, within the hotel.

“Rome police is all over the villa,” Speers said. “They’re about to shut down all the train stations, the airport, you name it. We have to get you out of the city.”

His tardiness could not be helped. Tidying up loose ends had taken more time than Carver had imagined. He had freed Callahan so that he could personally deliver the ossuary back to the Vatican. Then he had taken Seven to the British Embassy, where a consulate physician would patch her up before she would be whisked quietly out of the country.

The mission was over. Balance was restored. Except for Nico. What if he had made a mistake in leaving Nico unguarded again? He had been determined to get keep him alive and return him to the States to receive the pardon he deserved. Carver owed him that.

“You still there?” Speers demanded.

“Yeah.”

“A local detective named Tesla showed up at the American consulate looking for you in connection with a double homicide. It’s getting too hot. If you can’t meet the chopper in 10 minutes, you’re on your own.”

Carver hung up as the elevator reached the 10th floor. Carver exited, stepping lightly as he moved down the unfamiliar hallway. He eased into the staircase, holding the door behind him to avoid any unnecessary noise. He remained motionless for several seconds, watching the shadows in the flights above him until he was confident that he was alone. Only then did he gingerly ascend to the 11th floor. As he approached the doorway leading to the corridor, he heard a group of revelers tramping noisily down the hall. Aussies, he figured by their accents. They were drunk.

He opened the door as the six loud drunkards passed. Just a group of tourists, he hoped. He fell into line behind them, scanning the hallway ahead for any signs of police. He saw nothing out of the ordinary. Still, he wasn’t comfortable entering the room through the front door. Too dangerous.

A floor map was posted on the wall to his left. He stopped and studied it quickly, noting an alcove up ahead outfitted with a fire escape. He backtracked to the alcove, which was just large enough for two armchairs that enjoyed an unobstructed view of the piazza. He pried the window open.

An earsplitting fire alarm sounded. All the better, Carver thought as he climbed out onto the ironwork. If the cops were there with Nico, they would have no choice but to take him downstairs. If it was Black Order, the sensory overload might help distract them.

It was cool outside. A light mist was coming down, making footing difficult on the ironwork. Room balconies stretched out in a row on either side of him. If the floor map was correct, their suite was the third to his right.

He leapt up, gripping a metal rung in the landing above him, just the way Seven had showed him. He swung back and forth until he had enough momentum to propel himself over to the adjacent balcony.

His didn’t stick the landing. His right foot slipped out from under him. Carver fell forward, crashing into a set of French doors. Fortunately, the glass didn’t break. Looking through it, Carver saw an elderly couple scrambling about half-dressed, preparing to evacuate the building. They didn’t seem to notice him. The alarm was simply too loud.

A waist-high wall was all that separated this deck from the next room. Carver scrambled to his feet and climbed over it. He was suddenly face-to-face with a little girl. She was inside, looking out the French doors, with her fingers stuck in her ears. Her parents were packing their bags, preparing to take every bit of luggage with them downstairs. Good thing this wasn’t a real fire.

He smiled and waved at the girl, and then made his way over the final barrier and crouched behind a deck chair. The suite was well lit. Soccer was on the TV. Their dirty room-service plates and utensils were still on the main table and sitting area where they had left them yesterday, the result of leaving the don’t disturb sign on the door. There were no signs of booby traps that he could see.