Allan Folsom - Day Of Confession

'If not today, tomorrow. Tomorrow you would find a way to create another horror. And after that, another. And then another.' In his mind Marsciano saw only the anguished horror of a face seen in close-up on his television screen only moments before Harry Addison had come. It had been that of his friend Yan Yeh as the Chinese banker was led to a waiting car in the Beijing compound after having been informed of the deaths of his wife and son, poisoned by the water in Wuxi.

Staring blindly at the altar cross, over the white blaze of Palestrina's hair in front of him, Marsciano felt the ornate letter opener in his hands as he pushed down, twisting slowly and with all his might as he did, driving it deeper into the neck and body that roiled and writhed like some monstrous serpent trying to escape. Afraid that it might slip out of hands already coated and slippery with the statesman's blood.

Then he heard Palestrina cry out and felt his body shudder once against the blade, and then he was still. A huge breath escaped Marsciano and, letting go, he stumbled back. Bloodied hands before him. His heart pounding. Horrified at what he had done.

'Holy Mary, Mother of God' – his voice was a whisper – 'pray for us sinners, now and at the moment of our death…'

Suddenly, he felt a presence and looked around.

Farel stood in the doorway behind him.

'You were right, Eminence,' he said softly, and closed the door behind him. 'Tomorrow he would have found another lake…' Farel's eyes went to Palestrina and he stared for a long moment before he looked back to Marsciano.

'What you did had to be done. I had not the courage… He was, as he said, a street urchin, a scugnizzo… nothing more.'

'No, Dottor Farel,' Marsciano said. 'He was a man and a cardinal of the Church.'

10:58 a.m.

Eaton stood near the back corner of the railroad station, breathless and sweating, trying to stifle a coughing fit from the inhaling of smoke. The scant breeze that had come helped some but not enough, except that it had cleared the air just a little, enough for him to see what he saw now – Harry Addison coming down the grassy slope to his right, carrying the dwarf he'd left the apartment on Via Nicolo V with in his arms. He was half walking, half running, using a stand of trees that lined the roadway to the rail station for cover.

Fifty feet in front of him, Eaton saw the green engine inch toward an old and rusting freight car, which, he was certain, had to be the escape wagon. Glancing back he saw the rusty tracks leading out through the open gates in the Vatican wall. Now he looked back, searching for Father Daniel. If he could find him, that opening was the way he would take him, one way or another, even if he had to carry him.

Crossing behind the station, Eaton came onto the tracks with his back to the open gate. In front of him he saw the gray-haired, white-shirted stationmaster standing on the platform watching the work engine near the freight car. The man was a problem, as was the two-man crew he'd seen on the engine. But none of them were half the problem he saw now. Adrianna, suddenly, and from nowhere, was crossing the grassy hill toward Harry Addison and the dwarf.

He watched Harry stop when he saw her. Then Harry yelled something, as if to tell her to go away. But it made no difference. She kept coming, and now she had reached them and was moving alongside, looking at the dwarf in Harry's arms then back to Harry himself. Whatever she said or was saying, Harry Addison kept going, heading downhill, toward the tracks.

'Dammit,' Eaton swore under his breath, his eyes moving off again, searching for Father Daniel.

'Adrianna, get out of here! You don't know what the fuck you're doing!' Harry yelled, half stumbling with Hercules in his arms.

'I'm going with you, that's what the fuck I'm doing.'

They were almost at the bottom of the hill. Almost to the tracks. Harry could see the green work engine nose to nose with the freight car, its engineer and brakeman with their backs to them, working at the couplings.

'Your brother's in the freight car, isn't he? The trainmen don't know it, but that's where he is.'

Harry ignored her. Kept walking, praying the trainmen wouldn't look up and see them. Hercules grunted and Harry looked down at him. The dwarf smiled feebly.

'The Gypsies are going to meet the train when it stops… Don't let the police have me, Mr Harry… The Gypsies will bury me…'

'Nobody's going to bury you.'

Suddenly the trainmen were walking away from the coupling, moving toward the engine.

'They're getting ready to leave!' Immediately Harry was pulling Hercules tight to his chest. Starting to run the short distance to the tracks. Adrianna stayed right with him.

Ten seconds later they were there. Crossing the tracks behind the freight car, running alongside it, out of sight of the trainmen.

Harry's eyes watered, his lungs on fire from the smoke and exertion of carrying Hercules. Where the hell were Danny and Elena? What had happened to Roscani? Then they were at the door and he stopped. It was partially open.

'Danny. Elena-'

No reply.

Suddenly the train whistle sounded. They heard the engine's diesel rev up. A puff of brown-black exhaust rising from its smokestack.

'Danny-,' Harry called again. Nothing.

Again the train whistle. Harry glanced at his watch.

11:00 A.M. exactly.

No time, they had to get into the car and do it now.

'Get in.' Harry looked quickly to Adrianna. 'I'll hand him up.'

'All right-'

Putting both hands on the freight car's floor, Adrianna pulled herself up and in. Then she turned and Harry set Hercules in her arms.

The dwarf coughed, grimacing as she strained to lift him. Then she had him up, and Harry was coming into the dimly lit car behind her. Suddenly she froze.

Thomas Kind stood directly in front of him. Elena was with him, eyes wide with fright, an ugly machine pistol to her head.

11:04 a.m.

Scala leaned on the hood of Roscani's blue Alfa, a set of binoculars trained on the distant gates. All he could see was the slight bend of the tracks as they curved inside the wall and a small part of the station but that was all. Behind it everything, despite the new breeze, was still thick smoke. Castelletti stood halfway down the tracks in front of him, staring at the same gape in the wall. Despite the wail of sirens, they had heard the gunshots, and as much as they knew their job was to wait for the train to come out and follow it to where it stopped, both had to work with all they had not to rush in after Roscani. But they couldn't, and they knew it. All they could do was watch and wait.

'You have a gun, Mr Addison. Please give it to me.'

Harry hesitated; Kind pushed the machine pistol up under Elena's ear.

'You know who I am, Mr Addison… And what I will do…' Thomas Kind's voice was calm, a slight smile crossing his lips.

Slowly Harry reached into his belt and lifted out the Calico.

'Put it on the floor.'

Harry did, then stood back.

'Where is your brother?'

'I wish I knew…' Harry's eyes went to Elena.

'She doesn't know either,' Thomas Kind said with the same calm. Elena had been alone, running to the freight car, when Kind suddenly came down over the edge of the wall and grabbed her, demanding to know where Father Daniel was. She had no idea, she told him defiantly. The father had gone one way, she another. She was a nurse, Father Daniel's brother was bringing a wounded man to the train. And that was where she was headed, to give the service that was needed.

It was at that moment, when he had Elena by the arm and saw both the dread and the fiery resolve in her, that Thomas Kind felt the sudden savage rush of his addiction come back. He could taste it in his mouth and feel the arousal it gave him. In that instant he knew his retreat from it had ended.