Daniel Silva - The Messenger

“What does your doctor say?”

“Her condition is as you might expect. Abrasions and contusions to her face. A slight concussion. Damage to her left eye. Deep abdominal bruises. Two cracked ribs. Two broken toes. I wonder why they did that.”

“They dragged her down the stairs to the cellar.”

“Oh, and the hypothermia. I suppose she got that from riding in the trunk. All in all, things could be a lot worse.”

“Make sure you have someone with her,” Gabriel said. “The last thing we need now is Sarah inadvertently spilling our secrets to the doctors at Ramstein.”

“Fear not, Gabriel. She’s in good hands.”

“She says she talked.”

“Of course she talked. Hell, I would have talked.”

“You should have seen the room.”

“Frankly, I’m glad I didn’t. That sort of stuff isn’t my cup of tea. I sometimes find myself longing for the good old days of the cold war, when torture and blood weren’t part of my business.” Carter looked at Gabriel. “I suppose it’s always been part of yours, hasn’t it?”

Gabriel ignored him. “She told them everything to buy time. The question is, did Muhammad manage to report any of what she told them to his superiors before we arrived?”

“You got his notebook?”

Gabriel tapped the breast pocket of his leather jacket.

“We’ll debrief Sarah when she’s recovered.”

“She might not remember everything she told them. She was filled with drugs.”

They drove in silence for a moment. Despite the early hour, there was morning commuter traffic on the road. Industrious Swiss moneymen, thought Gabriel. He wondered how many of them worked for companies linked however tenuously to AAB Holdings of Riyadh, Geneva, and points in between.

“Do you think they’re going to let me on this plane, Adrian?”

“Gustav assures me we’ll have no problems with our departure.”

“Maybe not you, but I have a colorful history here in Zurich.”

“You have a colorful history everywhere. Don’t worry, Gabriel. They’ll let you on the plane.”

“You’re sure your friend Gustav will keep it quiet?”

“Keep what quiet?” Carter managed a weary smile. “We have a cleanup team en route to Uri as we speak. Gustav will keep the property secured until they arrive. And then…” He shrugged. “It will be as if nothing ever happened.”

“What are you going to do with the bodies?”

“We have more than secret detention facilities in eastern Europe. They’ll get a proper burial, which is more than they deserve. And maybe some day, when this war without end is actually over, we’ll be able to tell one of their relatives where they can claim the bones.” Carter smoothed his mustache. “You have one, don’t you?”

“What’s that?”

“A secret cemetery? Somewhere out in the Jordan Valley?”

Gabriel took a long look into his rearview mirror but said nothing.

“How many bodies, Gabriel? Do you remember?”

“Of course I remember.”

“How many then? The team needs to know where to look.”

Gabriel told him. Two in the four-wheel-drive. Two in the clearing in front of the chalet. One in the first-floor window. One in the second-floor window. Two in the center hall. Two at the bottom of the stairs. And Muhammad.

“Eleven men,” Carter said. “We’ll run their names. We’ll find out who they were and what they were planning. But I think it’s safe to assume right now that you took down a major cell tonight, along with a very senior man in bin Shafiq’s operation.”

“We didn’t get the one we wanted.”

“Something tells me you’ll find him.”

“At least two of them were Europeans, and Uzi heard one of them speaking in a Swiss-German accent.”

“I’m afraid they’ll be buried with the jihadists. I suppose it’s how they would have wanted it.” Carter glanced at his watch. “Can’t you drive any faster?”

“I’m going eighty, Adrian. How much did you tell the Secret Service?”

“I told them we have alarmingly credible evidence that the forces of global jihad are planning to attack the president at the Vatican this afternoon. Heavy emphasis was placed on the words ‘alarmingly credible evidence.’ Secret Service got the message loud and clear, and I hope to have a moment or two with the president later this morning. He’s staying at the ambassador’s residence.”

“He might want to consider canceling.”

“That isn’t going to happen,” Carter said. “The Vatican is now the most visible symbol in the world of the dangers of Islamic terrorism. This president isn’t going to pass up a chance to reinforce his message on that stage.”

“He’s going to get an earful from Lucchesi.”

“He’s ready for it,” Carter said. “As for security, Secret Service is already making arrangements with the Italians to change the president’s travel plans. Coincidentally, they were thinking about it before they received my call. Rome is a mess. They’re expecting two million people in the streets today.”

“How are they going to get him into the Vatican?”

“The motorcade of visiting heads of state usually enters the Holy See through St. Anne’s Gate, then heads up the Via Belvedere to the San Damaso Courtyard. He’s met there by the commandant of the Swiss Guard and escorted into the Apostolic Palace. The bodyguards of the visiting heads of state have to stay down in the courtyard. Vatican protocol. The head of state goes up alone, protected only by the Guard. I’ll let you in on a little secret, though. Secret Service always stashes a couple of men in the official party-nice Catholic boys who want to meet the Holy Father.”

“So what sort of changes are you making?”

“The president is going to chopper to the Vatican and land on the Pope’s helipad.”

“It’s in the far western corner, right against the wall. If someone is waiting down on the Viale Vaticano with another missile…”

“Secret Service says the area can be secured.”

“How many nice Catholic boys are you going to stash in the president’s official delegation?”

“More than usual.” Carter looked at his watch again. “We should probably enter the airport a few minutes apart. Langley booked us in separate seats.”

“You’re ashamed of me, Adrian?”

“Never prouder, actually. You and your boys showed a lot of guts going into the chalet.”

“We didn’t have a choice, Adrian. We never have a choice.”

Carter closed his eyes for a moment. “You know, it’s possible bin Shafiq was just shooting off his mouth, or bluffing for some reason.”

“Why would he bluff, Adrian? He was going to kill her.”

IT’S A GOOD THING your friend the monsignor asked us to give you a lift,” the Carabinieri captain said. “Otherwise you would have never made it from Fiumicino to the Vatican.”

Gabriel looked out the window of the helicopter. Rome lay beneath him. The Villa Borghese had been taken over as a staging area by the demonstrators and was now a sea of humanity. The first marchers were spilling from the bottom of the park into the Via Veneto.

“Can you keep them away from the Vatican?”

“We’re going to try.” The captain pointed out the window. “You see those barricades down there? Our plan is to herd them up the hill into the Janiculum Park. But we’re expecting two million protesters. If things get out of control…” He gave an Italianate shrug. “I’m glad I don’t do riot duty anymore. It could turn into a war zone down there.”

The helicopter turned and banked toward the city-state. The dome of the Basilica, partially concealed behind the enormous tarpaulins of the work crews, shone in the bright sunlight, while the Pope’s plea for peace fluttered from the façade in the gentle morning breeze. They swept low over the Viale Vaticano, staying over Italian airspace for as long as possible, then slipped over the wall and set down on the papal helipad. Donati, dressed in a black cassock and magenta sash, was waiting there, a plainclothes Swiss Guard at this side. The tall priest’s expression was grim as they shook hands briefly and set out across the Vatican Gardens toward the Apostolic Palace.