Paul Christopher - The Templar Cross

"My boss would have a fit if he knew I'd borrowed his stuff," said Caruso.

"How'd we do?" Holliday said.

"They kept talking for half an hour after you guys left," said Caruso happily. "All sorts of good stuff. Kind of thing that the media eats up. These are serious bad guys." The young man shook his head. "Talk about wolves in sheep's clothing."

"The most dangerous kind," said Rafi.

"Any trouble with the owners of the restaurant?" Holliday asked.

"Are you kidding?" Caruso laughed. "He calls those people corvos nero, black crows. He was only too happy to help his amici Americano."

"Then we've got them," said Holliday, clapping his hands together with satisfaction.

"But we still don't have Peggy," said Rafi.

The phone rang on the other side of the room. Holliday got up and answered it. He listened for a few moments, then hung up.

"That was Emil," said Holliday, grinning from ear to ear, his eyes sparkling happily. "The GPS tracker you gave us worked perfectly, Vince. We nailed it."

"Where is she?" Rafi said.

"A place called Lido del Faro-Lighthouse Beach, less than twenty miles from here at the mouth of the River Tiber. They've got her stashed in some kind of old fishing shack there."

"I'm surprised that it worked at all," confessed Holliday, sitting in the roof garden of the Hotel Alimandi and eating breakfast. It was only nine thirty but the day was already hot, the summer sun shining down from a cloudless sky. Across the Viale Vaticano Holliday could see the top of the Sistine Chapel and the ranks of tiled rooftops within the Holy City.

"I'm not," said Emil Tidyman, eating a very Western meal of sausages and scrambled eggs. "Perhaps you have to live in a religious place like Egypt to understand it. A place that has bred fundamentalist thought for a thousand years."

"I was born and raised in Israel," snorted Rafi. "What would you call that?"

"Israel is a democracy; church and state are separate. In Egypt the ulamas, the religious leaders, still control the heart and soul of the nation. The only thing the average Jew does not do is eat these," said Tidyman, waving a chunk of sausage on the end of his fork. "I'm talking about how these people think."

He ate the sausage, then reached out and poured himself another cup of coffee from the shiny silver pot in the middle of the starched linen tablecloth. He nodded toward the Vatican rooftops. "Jews have turned independent thought into a virtue. To Catholics and Muslims it is virtually a sin. Catholic fundamentalists and Muslim fundamentalists are very much alike in that they share a common fundamental belief: there is no individual, there is only Faith with a capital F. Everything is the will of God or the will of Allah and that's all there is to it. The ordinary man is powerless. Free will is for the Gods alone, interpreted by various popes and mullahs. It is their strength as well as their fatal flaw."

"History is full of that," agreed Holliday. "They took interpreting prophecy very seriously in the old days. The Macedonian kings had less power than the Oracle at Delphi. Troy fell because Cassandra's prophecy went unheeded. Caesar died because he failed to heed his soothsayers about the Ides of March."

"I still don't see what all of this has to do with our killer priests," said Rafi.

"I was just getting to that," said Tidyman seriously, putting a generous layer of honey on a thick slice of toast. "According to their dogma, Man cannot change history-history can only change Man. They have the absolute arrogance of infallibility; they are the Church, after all; how could a few outsiders presume to overpower them? It never occurred to Father Thomas or whatever he calls himself that we would act offensively against him." The Egyptian shrugged. "As I said before-we must take advantage of their vulnerabilities." He bit off a piece of toast and smiled.

"Then again," said Rafi sourly, "for all your philosophy, maybe we just got lucky."

"That, too," said Tidyman, washing his toast down with a mouthful of coffee.

"According to their schedule," said Holliday, "we've got about twelve hours left."

"Then you should make the call," responded Tidyman. "I'll go down to the desk and get the package your friend from the embassy left for us earlier."

Back in their suite Holliday called the telephone number written on the card the priest had given him. It was answered promptly on the first ring.

"Colonel," said Father Thomas. "You've come to a decision?"

"I've changed the rules," answered Holliday.

"Really," said the priest. He didn't sound impressed.

"Listen."

Holliday held the speaker of the digital recorder Vince Caruso had used the night before. He pressed the On switch.

"Yesterday's gold incisor is tomorrow's wedding band," said Father Thomas on the recorder. Holliday switched off the little machine.

"Remember that?" Holliday said.

There was a long silence. Finally the priest spoke. His voice was strained.

"I told you that you were resourceful, Colonel Holliday, but clearly I didn't know just how resourceful you really were. Someone else was obviously involved." He paused and thought for a moment. "The waiter?"

"You told me I had nothing to bargain with," answered Holliday, ignoring the priest's question. "Now I do."

"We could simply deny it," said Father Thomas. "A fake, a fabrication created by our enemies. No one would believe you."

"Not everyone, but a few would believe it. There'd be an investigation. It's like Watergate, Father Thomas. It's not the crime that gets you-it's the cover-up."

There was another long silence.

"What are you suggesting?" Father Thomas said finally.

"Just what I offered last night, except now you get a bonus. The gold and the tape. A twofer."

"How will I know you didn't make copies?" queried the priest.

"You don't," said Holliday. "But I'm not a fool. I'll keep my side of the bargain. We're well aware of your organization's long arm."

"You'd do well to remember it," warned Father Thomas.

"A trade and a truce," offered Holliday.

"That would require an exchange."

"I'll call you," said Holliday. He hung up the phone.

"Will he actually do it?" Rafi asked.

"Not in a million years," said Holliday.

Tidyman reappeared a few minutes later carrying a heavy-looking rectangular box wrapped in brown paper. He sat down on the couch, took a penknife from his pocket and opened the box with a few deft slices through the paper. Inside the plain covering was a medium-sized blue Tupperware container, and inside the plastic box, packed in foam peanuts, were three automatic pistols, three boxes of ammunition in plastic strip-clips, a GPS unit and five black Nokia cell phones.

"Will the lieutenant get in trouble if any of this surfaces?" Tidyman asked.

"We're supposed to toss the weapons and the phones when we're done-they're clean, untraceable. The GPS unit he wants back if possible," replied Holliday.

"The boat?" Tidyman asked.

"Leaves the dock at the Marconi Bridge at noon," said Holliday. "It gets to Ostia Antica at one thirty." He glanced at his watch. "We've got an hour and a half to set up." He looked across to Tidyman. "You know what to do?"

"There is a big potted plant by the doorway next to the pizzeria with the green awning at Santamaura Street and Via Candia," recited the Egyptian. "I plant the phone there, call you when I'm done and then get to the bridge in time to catch the boat."

"Rafi?"

"When you call me I get to the Castro Pretorio stop on the Metro and then I call the priest. I make sure he hears the announcer on the PA system give the name of the stop."

"Then what?" quizzed Holliday.

"I get on the subway and go in the opposite direction to the Marconi stop. Then I get myself to the bridge and the boat." The Israeli paused. "If any of us are being followed we'll know by then. We hope."