Chris Kuzneski - Sign of the Cross

‘Maybe tourists go in as a group? Hopefully, Barnes is inside and will come out shortly.’

The comment attracted the attention of a dark-haired man standing nearby. ‘I mean not to bother you,’ he mumbled in broken English. ‘But visits are no more today due to death. No one is inside Il Pozzo but the polizia. ’

‘Really? They stopped the tours because of Monday’s accident?’

‘No, you no understand. Not Monday, today. Another person is dead today.’

Jones leapt off the wall. ‘What do you mean?’

The man frowned, as if he had trouble understanding the question. ‘Ah, like you friend say: two persons on Monday and one person today. We no have violence in Orvieto for long time, now three dead real quick.’ He snapped his fingers for effect. ‘It’s a funny world, no?’

Funny wasn’t the f word that came to mind. They had come to Orvieto looking for a nonviolent criminal, at least according to Manzak’s intel. Now there were three casualties in the small town where Boyd was last seen.

Payne said, ‘I thought the pilot was the only person who died on Monday?’

‘No, no, no, no,’ the man stressed, waving his index finger for emphasis. ‘The pilot is from Orvieto. Very good man. Worked with polizia for many years. I know him long time. The other man, he no from here. He visit polizia, they go for ride, they no come back.’

A theory entered Payne’s mind. ‘Out of curiosity, was the stranger bald?’

‘Bald? What is this bald ?’

Payne pointed to his head. ‘Hair? Did the guy have hair?’

‘ Si! He have hair, just like you. Short, brown hair.’

Payne glanced at Jones. ‘Who do you think it was?’

‘Could’ve been anyone. We don’t even know if Boyd is involved in this. We could be jumping the gun.’

‘Speaking of guns,’ Payne said. ‘What can you tell us about today’s murder?’

The man frowned, then paused to kiss a silver crucifix that dangled around his neck. ‘Shhh,’ he pleaded. ‘ Silenzio is very important tradition in Italy from long time ago. We show respect for the dead with no words. Let the dead sleep in peace, no?’

But Jones wasn’t buying it. ‘You’re not allowed to talk, yet everyone in town is already here. How in the world did that happen? ESP?’

The man eyed the hundreds of people around him, then grinned. ‘Sometimes my people not very good at tradition. Word of this crime spread quick.’

Payne smiled. ‘What do you know about today’s victim?’

The man lowered his voice. ‘I hear he found at bottom of well on donkey bridge. He was, how do you say?’ He slammed his two hands together in a violent clap. ‘Splat!’

‘Was it an accident?’

‘No, I never say that.’ He slid his thumb across his neck in a slow, slashing motion. ‘It be tough for him to slip without help. The windows of the well are very small, and American was very fat. He would need much help — ’

‘American?’ Payne blurted. ‘The victim was an American?’

‘Yes, that is what I heard. A big, fat cowboy.’

Payne looked at Jones, irritated, realizing that Donald Barnes fit the description.

The Italian picked up on their tension. ‘What is wrong? I have insulted you?’

‘No, not at all. It’s just, we think you’re describing a friend of ours. We were supposed to meet him here, but we haven’t been able to find him.’

The man turned pale, stunned at the revelation. ‘ Mamma mia! I so sorry for my manners.’ He grabbed them by their arms and pulled them into the crowd. ‘Please! I lead you to your friend. I talk to police and let you pay your respects! Come with me! I get you inside the well!’

24

When the Vatican hired Benito Pelati, they knew they were getting one of the top academic minds in Italy. A man of passion. Someone who had dedicated his life to the art of antiquities and had risen to the top of his field. Remarkably, what they didn’t know was what fueled his desire. For if they had, they would’ve done everything in their power to have Benito terminated.

Not just fired but killed. Before he could do any damage.

And the reason was simple: Benito’s secret. One passed down from father to son for centuries. Started in Vindobona, Illyria, many generations before, spoken by a guilt-stricken man on his deathbed. Miraculously the secret had survived wars and plagues and tragedies of all kinds. Two thousand years of whispering, concealing, and protecting. And only one family — Benito’s family — knew the truth about what had happened so long ago.

Still, in all that time, no one had the guts to do anything about it.

No one until Benito’s father told him the secret so many years ago.

From that moment on he did everything in his power to take advantage of the information. He studied longer, worked harder, and kissed every ass he needed to kiss in order get into the inner circle of the Church. And he did it with one goal in mind: to prove that the secret was real. In his heart he knew it was. Yet he realized he needed tangible evidence from the Vatican to back up his family’s claim. Otherwise, his ancestors had wasted their breath for the past two millennia because no one in their right mind was going to believe it. And there was no way he was going to let that happen. He’d find evidence in the Archives or die trying.

Benito worked at the Vatican for more than a decade when he came across the first shred of proof. Twelve years of cleaning statues and logging paintings when he found a small stone chest filled with several untranslated scrolls. No one knew where they had come from or what they said due to their archaic language. Yet Benito sensed something special about them, a kind of cosmic connection that made him shove everything else aside and focus exclusively on the scrolls and the carvings on the stone box. There was just something about the main figure that gave him chills. The way the face looked at him. Laughed at him. Like he had a secret he wanted to reveal but was waiting for the right moment. Benito identified with him at once.

He couldn’t explain why, but somehow he knew this was the discovery he was looking for.

Word by word, line by line, Benito translated the scrolls. Each one giving him another clue to a giant puzzle that spanned two thousand years and affected billions of people. A puzzle that started in Rome, spread to the Britains and Judea, then ended up buried in the mythical Catacombs of Orvieto and forgotten by time. A plan hatched by a desperate emperor and carried out by his distant relative. A laughing man immortalized in stone for a secret he possessed.

Finally, Benito had the evidence he was looking for. The proof his family needed.

Now all he had to do was figure out what to do with it. How to take advantage of it.

That proved harder than he thought.

Benito left his office with his bodyguards in tow. One of them carried an umbrella, shading Benito’s face from the hot sun as he made his way down Via del Corso. Streams of tourists strolled by at a casual pace, most of them heading toward the Pantheon, the Palazzo Venezia, and the rest of the sites in the center city. The sound of music could be heard above the growl of nearby traffic. The faint scent of garlic wafted from the corner pizzeria.

An hour earlier the Supreme Council had summoned him to give an update on Father Jansen’s death. They wanted to know what he had learned since they asked him to look into things on Monday and what the murder meant to the Vatican. But Benito declined their invitation. He told them he wasn’t ready. He needed more time to investigate.

This infuriated Cardinal Vercelli, the head of the Council, who was used to kowtowing and ass-kissing from everyone but the pope. Benito stood his ground, though, and told Vercelli that his day was filled with urgent meetings related to the investigation. Benito said he could meet with them on Thursday, if they were interested, but no sooner. This angered Vercelli to no end. Yet he had no leverage when it came to an institution like Benito Pelati, so he eventually relented.