Allan Folsom - Day Of Confession

Harry hesitated for the briefest moment, then his finger pointed off. 'There's a phone right there, Danny. Why not tell Eaton yourself?'

'He can't know where I am or you are…'

'Why?'

'Because I'm still a U.S. citizen, and because a threat to China is a matter of national security. He'll want more from me, and he'll do whatever he has to do to get it… Even if it means illegally taking all three of us into custody… If he does' – Danny's voice faded to a hoarse and exhausted whisper – 'Cardinal Marsciano will die.'

Elena saw the look in Harry's eyes. Saw him stare at his brother for a long time before he slowly nodded and said, 'Okay.' She knew in her heart Harry felt what they were doing was wrong, even ill advised. But she had also seen him accept without a word Danny's very special relationship with Cardinal Marsciano, understanding why he would risk everything to save him.

By going along, Harry had not only shown his brother how much he loved him, but in doing so had made – possibly for the first time in their adult lives – their mission the same: slip into the venerable city, free the prince imprisoned in the tower, and then escape alive. It was gallant, medieval, foolhardy, and would have been difficult enough even with Father Bardoni's help. But Father Bardoni was dead, and so his part of the burden rested solely on Harry. And Elena could feel him trying to work it out, to determine where they were now, where they could go from here. Suddenly Harry glanced at her, holding her eyes for a moment, then opened the door and left, still dressed the way he had been most all the time she'd known him, as a priest.

Beijing, China. Zhongnanhai Compound. Still Thursday, July 16. 3:05 p.m.

Yan Yeh spent the day in horror. The first reports had begun coming in from Wuxi just before ten that morning. A dozen serious cases of uncontrolled nausea, diarrhea, and vomiting had been reported to number 4 People's Hospital within a fifteen-minute span. At nearly the same time, similar reports came in from the number 1 and number 2 People's Hospitals. By eleven-thirty the Hospital of Chinese Medicine was coordinating an epidemic. Seven hundred cases reported, two hundred and seventy-one deaths.

Immediately the water supply had been shut down, and emergency service personnel along with police put on alert. The city was on the verge of panic.

By one in the afternoon there were already twenty thousand poisoned. And eleven thousand four hundred and fifty of those were dead. Among them were Yan Yeh's mother-in-law and two of her brothers. That much he had been able to find out. Where his wife and son were, or if they were dead or alive, he had no idea. Even the thundering influence of Wu Xian, general secretary of the Communist Party, had proven ineffectual in trying to find out. But what had happened was enough. Pierre Weggen had been summoned to the Zhongnanhai Compound.

Now, just after three, with still no news of his family, a solemn, deeply shaken Yan Yeh sat down with his Swiss friend at a table with Wu Xian and ten other grim-faced ranking members of the Politburo. The conversation was brief and to the point. It had been agreed to let the Swiss investment banker bring together the consortium of companies he had earlier proposed to immediately begin a leviathan ten-year plan to thoroughly and completely rebuild China's entire system of water and power delivery. Haste and efficiency were everything. China and the world must know Beijing was still in control and doing everything possible to protect the future health and well-being of its people.

'Women shenme shihou neng nadao hetong?' Wu Xian said to Weggen, finally and quietly.

When can we have the contract?

Harry's calls to Adrianna and Eaton had been made from public phones on streets two blocks apart and had been short and crisp. Yes, Adrianna had told him, she knew the piece of news tape he was talking about. Yes, she could find the sequence. Yes, she could get a copy of the tape to Eaton. But why? What was in the footage that was so important? Harry didn't respond, simply asked her to do it, telling her that if Eaton wanted her to know, he would explain it. Then he'd said thank you and hung up, even as she was yelling, 'Where the hell are you?'

Eaton had been a little more difficult, delaying Harry, talking around him, asking if he was with his brother and, if so, where they were. And Harry knew he was tracing the call.

'Just listen.' Harry had cut him off abruptly, then gone on to describe the piece of video as Danny had, telling him that there were three lakes in China to be poisoned; that the Chinese with the briefcase, in the sequence at the Hefei water-treatment plant, was their man; that Chinese Intelligence should be informed immediately; and that Adrianna was getting him the footage.

'How do you know this? – Who's behind the poisoning? – What is the reason?' At the end Eaton's questions had been direct and rapid-fire. And Harry had replied that he was only delivering a message.

And then, as he had with Adrianna, he had simply hung up and walked off and kept walking as he was now, turning down Via della Stazione Vaticana, a priest alone proceeding down a sidewalk beside the Vatican walls, nothing unusual in that. Above him were the arches of what looked like an ancient aqueduct that might have brought water to the Vatican sometime in the past. What were there now, what he hoped he would soon see, were railroad tracks that led from the main rail line in to massive gates, and then through them and into the Vatican railroad station.

'By train,' Danny had said when Harry asked how he and Father Bardoni had planned to get Marsciano out of the Vatican. The station and tracks were rarely used anymore. An Italian supply train used them to deliver heavy goods every once in a while, but that was all. In other days the tracks had provided the means for the pope to travel by train out of Vatican City and into Italy. But those days had long since ended. All that was left were the gates, the station, the tracks, and a rusting freight car sitting on a siding near the end of the line, which was a short concrete tunnel that went nowhere. Only God and the walls themselves knew how long the boxcar had been there.

Before he'd left Rome for Lugano, Father Bardoni had called the head of the railroad station and told him Cardinal Marsciano hated seeing the freight car and, ill or not, wanted it removed immediately. A short while later a call had come back from a subordinate to say that at eleven o'clock that Friday morning, a work engine would come for the old car.

And that was the plan. When the car left, Cardinal Marsciano would be inside it. It was as simple as that. And since it had been a subordinate who had called, Father Bardoni was certain the matter had been treated merely as another duty in line with many. Security would be alerted, but only to expect the switch engine; again, a conversation between underlings, and something far too mundane to reach Farel's office.

Now Harry was walking up the hill coming up toward the top level of the aqueduct. He kept moving, looking ahead.

Reaching the track level, he turned back. There it was, the main line curving to the left, the rails shiny from constant use, and the spur line to the right, its double set of rails rusted and leading directly toward the Vatican walls.

Harry turned and looked behind him, his gaze following the tracks down the main line toward Stazione San Pietro. He had ten minutes to get there and look around, make certain he wanted to go through with it. If he didn't, if he changed his mind, he could leave before they got there. But he wouldn't leave, he'd known that when he made the call. At ten-forty-five he was to meet Roscani inside the station.