Paul Christopher: The Templar Cross

Peggy laughed weakly. "What the hell took you guys so long?"

"Love you too, Peggy-o," Holliday said and grinned. She smiled up at him wearily. Suddenly she looked terribly fragile. Then Rafi took her in his arms and the tears began to flow. A few seconds later Holliday managed to get the U bolt out of the floor and she was free. Tidyman appeared out of the smoke and haze. He had a ring of keys in one hand and his pistol in the other. Suddenly there was a sound like a gunshot going off and the front of the chiesetta lurched and sagged. The flames roared toward them.

"Our chariot awaits," said Tidyman. "Better hurry up unless you want to be part of the fish fry."

They followed the Egyptian out of the burning shack and into the sunlight. There were no sirens yet, and except for the roar of the climbing flames at their back and the cloud of greasy smoke rising into the salt air everything seemed normal. Rafi brought up the rear, supporting a still wobbly Peggy, his arm around her shoulders.

She staggered a little as she walked, leaning into Rafi's side, her head bent to his shoulder. Tidyman unlocked the doors of the old Fiat Ducato van and they climbed in, Rafi and Peggy in the back, Tidyman and Holliday up front. The interior of the van was baking hot, the air close and suffocating. As Tidyman started the engine they heard the first warbling of the fire trucks in the distance ahead of them.

"Bug-out time," said Holliday. Behind them the flames burst through the roof of the shack and boiled into the air. Holliday leaned back in his seat, feeling the adrenaline and the sudden sag of fatigue in a single instant. "They start finding bodies with bullets in that barbecue behind us and we'll be in trouble."

He glanced out the window on Tidyman's side of the van and saw people coming out of their shacks to gawk at the rising flames. Some busy-body would take down the license plate number and there'd be an all- points alert on the airwaves in minutes.

Holliday's cell phone vibrated in his pocket. He dug it out. Tidyman put the van in gear and swung the steering wheel around. They headed up the dusty road, gravel crunching under the wheels. The approaching sirens were getting louder.

"Text message from Caruso," said Holliday.

"What does it say?" Tidyman asked.

Holliday frowned, not understanding. He read out the message.

"Termini Station. Seven forty-five sharp. Dress formal. RSVP."

"You've got to be kidding me," said Holliday to Vince Caruso, standing on the platform for Track 11 at the central Rome train station. Beside the two men, Rafi, Peggy and Emil Tidyman waited, staring at the long line of old-fashioned railway cars on the track beside them. Each of the gleaming, freshly washed coaches was painted a deep rich blue and bore an ornate crest with the letters V.S.O.E. entwined and picked out in gold. Just below the curved, cream-colored roof of each coach, also in gold, was a banner that read Compagnie Internationale des Wagons-Lits.

"Last night you asked me for an exit strategy, Colonel, sir; this is it," said the young man proudly. "Gets you out of Rome in style."

"But Vince," said Holliday, "the Orient Express? Come on!"

"Beg your pardon, Colonel, but it makes pretty good sense from a tactical point of view. Actually, it makes a lotta sense. According to my sources half the cops in Rome are looking for you. Apparently you were involved in the suspicious homicides of a priest who worked for the Vatican and a bunch of mobbed-up La Santa types from Naples. Am I right, Colonel? That a fair assessment?"

A brake valve hissed loudly and there was an incomprehensible announcement on the PA system. A piercing whistle blew.

"Close enough," said Holliday.

"Which means they'll have the airports sewn up, and knowing the cops they'll have roadblocks everywhere. There's more surveillance cameras in Rome than there are in New York. They've been dealing with domestic terrorists for a lot longer than we have, right?"

"Right," said Holliday.

"There you go," said Caruso. "So who's going to expect you to bug out of town (a) on a train, and (b) on a train full of rich people and bigwigs? It's like trying to escape from Sing Sing on the Queen Mary." The young lieutenant frowned. "Much as I'd like to, sir, there's no way I could stash you at the embassy, either. You and your friends here are red-hot right now."

"I appreciate everything that you've done, Vince. Believe me, we couldn't have pulled this off without you," said Holliday.

Peggy, still looking a little the worse for wear, stepped forward. Caruso was easily six feet three in his bare feet and Peggy had to stand on tiptoe to kiss him gently on the cheek.

"Me too, Lieutenant," she said quietly. "You saved my life."

Caruso blushed like a schoolboy out on his first date. Peggy stepped back and took Rafi's hand. Tidyman, still a little dumbfounded, stared up at the exotic livery of the train car beside him.

On a track farther over a much more modern train pulled out of the station, the deep hum of the electric locomotive echoing loudly as it gathered speed. Through the open roof the newly risen moon shone down.

"What about documents?" Holliday asked.

Caruso pulled himself together, blinking.

"Uh, right here, Colonel." He took a thick envelope out of his pocket and handed it over. "Passports for all of you, well used, new names. Some credit cards, some cash. When you get to Paris, go to the embassy and we'll take it from there."

"We're going to Paris?" Peggy asked dreamily. She yawned and leaned sleepily against Rafi. He didn't seem to mind at all.

"You're booked on the train all the way, Venice, Vienna, and then west to Paris. I've arranged for a shepherd to meet you in Bologna at around midnight. His name is Paul Czinner-he knows all about you."

"How do we know him?" Holliday asked.

"He dresses like a slob and he'll be wearing a ring from the Point," said Caruso. "He's one of us."

"Good enough for me." Holliday nodded.

A railway security officer in blue slacks and a blazer weaved through the pedestrian traffic on a humming Segway transporter, looking distinctly out of place beside the elegant old train. Holliday looked away, his heart rising into his throat. The railway cop cruised by, heading down the platform, and Holliday relaxed.

"Weapons gone?" Caruso asked softly.

Holliday nodded. "Into the Tiber."

The platform around them was crowded now; last-minute buzzing swarms of well-dressed people speaking half a dozen languages were milling around, followed by attendants in blue uniforms hauling overloaded luggage dollies piled high with designer suitcases.

"I don't think we're dressed for this," said Holliday, looking around at the obviously upscale passengers.

"All taken care of," said Caruso. "Suitcase for each of you already in your compartments." He paused and pulled a second folder out of his pocket, this one secured with a rubber band. "Tickets." Holliday took them.

"How'd you know my size?" Peggy asked.

"Uh, the colonel described you, ma'am," said Caruso, blushing furiously again. "I used to work summers at my uncle Ziggy's place in the garment district. He ran a fashion knockoff shop and sold stuff on Canal Street. I used to hang out with the models. You sounded like a size six to me."

"You're a sweetheart," she said, smiling. Caruso reddened yet again. He looked at his watch. "Time to get aboard, sir."

Caruso led them up into the train. There was a bit of a crush in the narrow corridor, but they eventually reached a doorway midway down the car. The door was made of some sort of burled exotic wood veneer. The fittings were brass. The carpeting in the corridor was a dark paisley pattern, the corridor lights above them soft and muted. Everything looked expensive. The effect was like stepping into an old photograph. Next thing you knew a Russian princess would appear, draped in jewels and smoking a cigarette in a long ivory holder.