Allan Folsom - Day Of Confession

Rome. 4:15 a.m.

Harry was in the bathroom shaving, getting rid of the beard. It was dangerous because he would be exposing the face the public knew from the Gruppo Cardinale television spots and from the newspapers. But he had no choice. Few if any Vatican gardeners, Danny had said, wore beards.

Hercules sat at the kitchen table watching tiny whiffs of steam rise from the steaming cup of black coffee he held between his hands. Elena was across from him, as silent as he, her coffee untouched.

Fifteen minutes earlier Hercules had left the bathroom – a treat so rare and luxurious he'd spent half an hour there to enjoy all of it, sit and wash in a tub of hot water, and shave as Harry was now. And when Harry was done, that would give them something else in common. Not only bold and brave crusaders about to march on a foreign land, but they would also both be freshly shaven when they did. A little thing maybe, but like a uniform, it added to the brotherhood and tickled Hercules no end.

Scala saw the front door open and the two come out. The only distinction between Harry Addison and an ordinary priest on his way to early mass was the long coil of climbing rope over his shoulder. That, and the dwarf who swung alongside him on crutches, his movements strong and smooth, like those of a gymnast.

They were leaving Via Nicolo V; he saw them cross onto Viale Vaticano and then turn left in the darkness, moving west, along the Vatican wall toward the tower of San Giovanni. It was twenty minutes to five in the morning.

Eaton – sitting behind the wheel of the Ford, using a monocular nightscope – saw them leave, too. The crippled dwarf as much a puzzle as the coil of rope.

'Harry and a dwarf.' Adrianna was awake and alert and had glimpsed them in the brief seconds when they'd passed under a streetlight before vanishing again in the dark.

'But no Father Daniel, and Scala hasn't made a move.' Eaton put away the nightscope.

'Why the rope? You don't think they're-'

'Going in after Marsciano?' Eaton finished Adrianna's sentence. 'And the police are letting them…'

'I don't get it.'

'Neither do I.'

A pickup truck rattled past carrying firewood. Then the street was dark again, and Harry and Hercules stepped from the angle in the Vatican wall they had hidden behind.

'You know what that wood is for, Mr Harry?' Hercules whispered. 'Pizza ovens all over the city. Pizza.' He winked. 'Pizza.' Abruptly he gave Harry his crutches and turned to the wall. 'Boost me up.'

With a glance back down the street, Harry picked Hercules up by the waist and lifted him toward a ledge that ran the length of the wall halfway up. Hercules strained to reach it, then did. In an instant he was up and balancing on it.

'Crutches first. Then the rope.'

Crutches handed overhead, Harry tossed the coil of rope. Grabbing it, Hercules shook out a few feet, put a loop around his shoulder and dropped the free end to Harry.

Taking hold, Harry felt it tighten. Above him, Hercules smiled, then waved him up. Ten seconds later Harry had walked up the wall and stood on the ledge beside him.

'No legs, Mr Harry, but the rest of me like granite, eh?'

'I think you like this.' Harry half grinned.

'We are in search of the truth. And no goal is more honorable, is it, Mr Harry?' Hercules' eyes bore into Harry's, the pain of a lifetime in them. Then, as quickly, he looked to the top of the wall.

'Another boost, Mr Harry. This time is trickier. Lean your back to the wall and keep your balance or we both go down.'

Putting his back against the wall, Harry dug his heels into the narrow stone ledge.

'Go,' Harry whispered. Immediately he felt Hercules' hands on his shoulders, felt him pull up. Then the rope coil brushed across his chest, and Hercules' deadened feet banged over his face, then his weight vanished. Quickly Harry looked up. Hercules was kneeling on top of the wall.

'Crutches,' he said.

'How's it look?' Harry handed them up.

One arm tucked through his crutches, Hercules peered over the side and into the Vatican gardens. The tower loomed behind some trees, not thirty yards away. Turning, he gave Harry the thumbs up.

'Good luck.'

'See you inside.' Hercules winked.

Then Harry saw him twist a turn of rope over a jutting corner of the wall, jab his arm through the crutches and disappear over the top.

For the briefest second Harry hesitated, then with a look back down the street, he jumped. Hitting the ground, he rolled over once and was up. Brushing off his jacket, tugging the black beret over his forehead, he walked quickly back down Viale Vaticano, the way he had come. Scala's Calico automatic was in his belt, Adrianna's cell phone in his pocket. Ahead of him, the buildings were stark black against the eerie pale of the brightening sky.

6:45 a.m.

Wearing the black suit and white shirt of Farel's guard, his hair black and cut short, Thomas Kind leaned against the balustrade on the outside walkway at the top of the Dome of St Peter's, looking out over Rome. Two hours earlier he'd learned the situation in Beijing was over, the contracts he'd put out on Li Wen and Chen Yin satisfied. The first had been carried out by an unsuspecting Chen Yin himself, the second done swiftly but expensively through a contact in the North Korean secret police with close ties to the Chinese Ministry of State Security. Li Wen had been brought to a military airfield in Beijing for questioning. A source had been paid to leave a door open and look the other way as Chen Yin entered. Chen Yin had done his job, fully expecting to simply turn and walk away unmolested. That was when the second contract kicked in and the whole thing ended.

That left only the business of Father Daniel and those with him. At Palestrina's order and with Farel's blessing, Thomas Kind had spent most of yesterday with five members of the black-suited Vigilanza whom the Vatican policeman had carefully chosen himself. Outwardly they carried the same initial credentials as all of the specially chosen Swiss Guards. They were Catholic and Swiss citizens, but comparisons stopped there. Where the others had previously been exemplary members of the Swiss Army, these five simply had the word 'military experience' next to their names. Secondary records showed why. All had been recruited by Farel himself and then used as his or Palestrina's personal guard. Three had been members of the French Foreign Legion and discharged with prejudice before the expiration of their five-year terms. The other two had had troubled childhoods, had been in and out of prison before Swiss Army service, and had later been discharged from the Swiss Army for aggravated assault, one with intent to commit murder. That one had been Anton Pilger. Moreover, all five had been brought into the Vigilanza within the last seven months, making Thomas Kind wonder if perhaps Palestrina had foreseen this kind of problem and therefore his need of the five black suits. But whatever Palestrina's motive, Kind had accepted the selection, met them, and then, handing out photographs of the Addison brothers, laid out his plans.

The brothers' sole purpose in coming, he told them, was to free Cardinal Marsciano. The idea then was to guard the tower from a distance, letting the brothers approach it in any way they chose. Once they were inside, the trap would simply be closed, the brothers shot on the spot, their bodies put into the trunk of an unmarked car and driven to a farmhouse in the countryside outside Rome, where they would be discovered a day or two later, killed by people unknown.

From his perch at the top of St Peter's, Thomas Kind looked down to the empty square below him. In another hour people would start to come. From then on, the crowds would grow almost by the minute as the multitudes from around the world came to visit this holy and ancient place. It was curious, he thought, how much calmer and less mad and desperate he was since he'd come here. Perhaps there was indeed something spiritual here after all.