Only small people take pleasure in small insults. Don’t be petty, Tamara.
Letting out a deep sigh, she accepted the call.
“Dane Maddock. You finally decided to stop bypassing the chain of command and talk to me directly?”
“Come on,” came the voice on the other end, “I’m not allowed to call my sister from time to time?”
“To invite her to a barbecue? Yes. To ask for her help in her official capacity as a member of the Myrmidons and use my resources? Hell no.” She gritted her teeth and mentally kicked herself. Another dollar for the swear jar.
A doughy man sitting nearby glanced up from the legal pad on which he’d been pretending to take notes. Tam gave him a look that said, Mind your business, and he immediately looked away, his pad slipping from his hands and falling to the floor. He snatched it up, but not before she saw the doodles of sailboats and large-breasted stick figures.
Classy, she mouthed.
The man grinned, his face turning a delicate shade of pink.
“I’m sorry about that. I just didn’t want to bother you with it.”
“Sure.” She rolled her eyes. “So what’s this about? Social call?”
“Sorry, no. I need your help.”
“Don’t you make me cuss again,” she warned.
“What?”
“You turned down my offer to be a part of my team, but you still want to use my resources? Is that how you treat all the women in your life?” She turned and walked out into the hallway before she said something unprofessional.
“We’re friends. Friends help each other out.”
“All right, but you know I expect favors to be repaid. Go on, and make it quick. I’m about to go into a meeting with the director of the CIA.”
“Do you know anything about a man named Ibrahim Shawa?”
Tam knew the name, but not a great deal else. “Sure. Spiritual guru? Trying to make peace in war plagued parts of Africa?”
“That’s what he claims, but my friend Jimmy has evidence that he not only has connections to Boko Haram, but that he’s also a bigwig with the Trident. Maybe the leader.”
That was a surprise. Tam chewed on this bit of information. Jimmy was another man who had declined her invitation to join the Myrmidons. Oh well, no need to hold a grudge. “Maddock, you know I can’t get involved investigating the Trident. The Dominion isn’t nearly as dead in America as we hoped. I just dealt with a big old mess on the Mexican border.”
“Dealt?” Maddock said. “Past tense. So that means you’re free to help me.”
Tam had to laugh at that. “Maybe, but it depends on what you need. And have Jimmy send me his Intel. If it’s good stuff, I’ll consider that as your payment for the favor I’m about to do you.”
“Deal,” Maddock sounded relieved. “As for the favor, Bones and I need to sneak inside somewhere very secure, and we need to take one more person with us.”
As Maddock explained where he needed to go and what he hoped to find, a rueful grin spread across Tam’s face. The things that man got himself into.
“Lord Jesus, I swear you are going to be the death of me. You know, I think the only reason you keep Bones around is so you don’t look arrogant by comparison.”
“Fair enough. So, is that a yes or a no?”
Tam closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead. The man was impossible.
“It’s a yes,” she finally said, “and I’ve got the perfect person to help you out.”
Chapter 29
Maddock marveled at the grandeur of St. Peter’s Basilica. All around him were sights so magnificent he felt he could scarcely take them in: intricately carved wood and marble, magnificent paintings and mosaics, exquisite stained-glass, and gleaming precious metals. As he, Bones, and Dima made their way up the stairs, he reflected on the centuries of history contained in this place. One could probably spend a lifetime exploring the Vatican and still not unlock all its mysteries.
“It’s pretty cool,” Bones said, looking around, “but don’t you think they could sell some of this stuff and, I don’t know, feed hungry people?”
“You can’t sell history,” Maddock said.
“I suppose.” Bones made a sudden move and in a flash he held a thin, swarthy man by the wrists. The man struggled and cursed him in a variety of languages. “Don’t waste your time,” Bones said. “Just hand me back the wallet.” The man pleaded ignorance in broken English, but Bones squeezed his wrist until he changed his tune.
“I will give it back. It is in my left pocket.”
Maddock retrieved the wallet, opened it, and frowned. “There’s only a couple of dollars American in here. Where’s everything else?”
The pickpocket gaped at Maddock. “I didn’t… I mean, I don’t…”
Bones let out a harsh laugh. “It’s a decoy wallet, genius. Now, how about I rip your arms out of their sockets so you can’t steal anymore?” He began to twist the man’s arms.
“No, please! I will leave right now,” the man begged, his brown eyes wide with terror. Maddock reckoned the man had never been faced with so frightening a sight as the huge, angry native.
“See that you do.” Bones released him and gave him a hard shove that sent him falling down hard on his backside. He spared one frightened glance at Bones before springing to his feet and hurrying down the stairs.
“Do you think that’ll teach him a lesson?” Dima asked
“Probably not, but it felt good.”
At the top of the dome they paused to take in the magnificent view. The city lay spread out below them, a living monument to one of the greatest civilizations the world had ever known, and the religion it single-handedly spread across much of the world. It was truly a remarkable site.
“It’s something else, isn’t it?” A tall, lean man with brown hair and sharp eyes sidled up to them.
Maddock nodded. “It’s my first visit here, so everything is pretty impressive.”
“If you like the view from up top, you should see what’s down below,” the man said.
That was a signal. Maddock smiled. “I’m Maddock, this is Bones and Dima.”
“Gavin Stone.” Stone didn’t offer to shake hands. Instead, he got right down to business. “Remember, you are tourists taking the Scavi tour, the same tour your friend Robert booked a spot on, and I’m your guide. Follow my lead. We have a tight window so let’s not dawdle.”
Stone led them back down the stairs and through the main level of the Basilica. From here, beneath a sign that read “Sepulcrum Sancti Petri Apostoli,” a tourist could get a limited view of the area designated as the tomb of Saint Peter, but Maddock and his friends were going to get a much closer look.
“We will first make our way down to the Vatican grotto,” Stone said in a perfect tour guide voice, “which lies one level above the remains of St. Peter.”
They descended an ornate staircase and passed through marble-lined hallways. As they walked, Maddock thought he could understand Bones’ discomfort with the obscene displays of wealth. Then again, such magnificence seemed fitting for what was essentially the capital city of one of the world’s major religions. When they descended into the lowest level, their surroundings changed. Here the walls were brick and stone and showed signs of great age.
Stone continued to play his role, speaking in a voice intended to carry to anyone within earshot. “The lowest level, called the Vatican Scavi, is sixteen-hundred years old. Also known as the Vatican Necropolis, the Tomb of the Dead, or St. Peter’s Tomb, this area was discovered in the 1940s when excavations were carried out in preparation for the burial of Pope Pius IX. Though this place had been long reputed to be the resting place of St. Peter, no one expected to find anything down here.”