Hackel locked the door of his flat and opened one of his west-facing windows to let in some fresh air. His building was too low for him to see the Sistine Chapel but the spire atop St Peter’s was visible against a hazy late-afternoon sky.
He turned on his television. The crowd in the Square was placid, expectant.
He went into the bedroom and slid open the top drawer of his dresser. Behind the folded stacks of black socks was a black and green box, the size of three packs of playing cards.
Hackel sat on his bed and tested the on-off switch of the Combifire detonator. He knew the batteries were fresh but just in case he was wrong he had spares.
A small bulb glowed green.
He put the detonator down and sighed.
He was troubled by the call that had been made to Krek’s residence by someone claiming to be him. The number texted to him was from a Rome exchange. Someone was onto him. Who? How? The notion of riding out the investigation was now absurd. He’d have to disappear immediately.
Hackel went to his closet and retrieved an empty suitcase.
Zazo gunned the Honda like a madman, weaving in and out of traffic, passing through gaps between cars so tight that he scraped their doors with the handlebars. The combination of rush-hour traffic and the extraordinary congestion around Vatican City made for total gridlock.
On the Via Domenico Silveri the traffic came to a complete stop. He looked up at the Dome of the Basilica, turned the handlebars and jumped the motorbike over the curb and onto the sidewalk.
Pedestrians yelled at him and he yelled back, making it clear that he wasn’t going to stop. Dodging and zigzagging, he made it to the Via della Stazione Vaticana where the sidewalks too became impassable.
Zazo ditched the Honda and ran.
He fought through the crowds and arrived, chest heaving, at the Petriano Entrance on the south side of St Peter’s where three of his own men were guarding a checkpoint.
He came barreling up to them. From the look in their eyes he could tell that they knew he was on suspension.
A corporal said, ‘Major Celestino, I thought—’
Zazo interrupted him. ‘It’s okay. I’ve been reinstated. Inspector Loreti called me back in.’
They saluted and let him pass.
It was pointless trying to cut through the Square. He’d never seen it so packed. Instead he ran through the non-public zones by the Domus Sanctae Marthae and the back of the Basilica to a rear entrance of the Palace off the Square of the Furnace.
The smokeless Conclave chimney was overhead.
He made it into the Sala Regia unchallenged. Even the Swiss Guards saluted him curiously.
The hall was bright and ornate, filled with archbishops, bishops, monsignors and lay officials awaiting the conclusion of the first day.
Lorenzo was at the Palace end of the hall with Major Capozzoli. He spotted Zazo, called out in surprise and intercepted him.
‘What the hell are you doing here?’ he asked. Zazo looked at him with wild eyes. ‘I need your gun.’
‘Are you crazy? What’s the matter with you?’
‘There’s a bomb!’ An archbishop overheard him and began whispering to one of his colleagues.
Lorenzo eyed him with alarm. ‘Be quiet! How do you know?’
‘Elisabetta found out! I think Hackel placed it.’
‘Why hasn’t Loreti or anyone notified me?’
‘No one knows yet. For God’s sake, Lorenzo! Give me your gun. Cappy, clear the hall. Lorenzo, find Hackel and stop him before it’s too late!’
Hackel zipped his suitcase and put it by the front door.
There was a drawer in his study desk that contained an accordion folder of private papers and false passports. He took it out and stuffed it into an outer flap of his case.
He’d be traveling. He wanted to be as anonymous as a man of his size could be. His black suit wouldn’t do. He took it off and folded it carefully, peeked at the television, then looked in his closet for something more comfortable. He’d be taking his car as far as a taxi stand, getting a ride to a rental-car facility, then calling Krek. An escape plan would quickly fall into place. He wasn’t all that worried.
Glauser saw Zazo and stiffened.
‘Celestino! You’re suspended. Who let you in here?’
The costumed Swiss Guards at the Sistine Chapel door clutched their ceremonial pikes tightly and looked to Glauser for instructions.
Zazo tried to control his tone lest he should sound deranged. ‘Glauser, listen to me carefully. We have to evacuate the Chapel. There’s a bomb.’
‘You’re out of your mind!’ The small man began to lift his arm to speak into his cuff microphone but Zazo stopped him by pulling Lorenzo’s SIG from his waistband, breeching a round and pointing it at Glauser’s head. There was a commotion in the Sala Regia as people murmured and backed away.
‘Glauser, keep your hands folded in front of you,’ Zazo ordered. ‘I’ll shoot you if I have to.’ He spoke to the Swiss Guards. ‘Men, there’s a traitor in your midst. Your duty is to protect the Pope. One of the cardinals inside the Sistine Chapel will soon be that man. Help me clear the area.’
Glauser seethed at him. ‘The only traitor is you, Celestino. I’ve always had my suspicions about you. You’re going to rot in jail for this.’
Glauser reached inside his suit jacket for his weapon and Zazo reacted. He fired a bullet into Glauser’s right knee and when the man fell screaming Zazo reached inside the jacket and ripped out Glauser’s Heckler & Koch MP5A3. He clicked the safety off and pointed the weapon at the stunned Guards. He barked at one of them: ‘You, put a tourniquet on him or he’ll die. And you other men – for God’s sake clear the Sala Regia!’
At the other end of the hall Capozzoli was at the Pauline Door, yelling for everyone to get out. Clergy and laity streamed urgently toward him.
Zazo kept the sub-machine gun aimed at the Guards and kicked at the door of the Sistine Chapel with his heel. ‘It’s an emergency!’ he shouted. ‘It’s Major Celestino of the Gendarmerie! Let me in!’
It seemed to take an eternity but eventually he heard the bolt slide back.
Cardinal Franconi was at the door with an expression of equal parts apprehension and confusion on his face. The sight of a non-uniformed man holding a sub-machine gun sent him into a state of panic.
Zazo rushed past him into the Chapel. A hundred elderly men wearing red hats stared at him in stunned silence and put down the pens they were using to mark their ballot papers.
Zazo had been inside the Chapel hundreds of times, perhaps thousands, and he hardly noticed its majesty anymore. But he’d never seen it like this, steeped in the gravitas of all the Cardinal Electors fulfilling their ancient duty. The magical ceiling was softly illuminated by afternoon light pouring through the high windows. Zazo stopped in the center of the Chapel. Directly above his head the hand of God reached to the outstretched hand of Adam, bestowing life.
Cardinal Diaz rose from his desk and straightened his spine. He recognized Zazo. ‘Major, why have you come to this holy place with a weapon and interrupted our sacred rites?’
Zazo’s voice reverberated in the chamber and sounded, to him, other-worldly. ‘I’m sorry, Your Excellency. But everyone must leave immediately.’
‘We are in the midst of a ballot. We cannot leave.’
‘There’s no time to explain but I believe there’s a bomb inside the Chapel.’
Diaz scanned the faces of his fellow cardinals.
Cardinal Aspromonte rose. ‘Why do you believe this? Who has told you?’
‘A nun. A nun named Elisabetta.’
Some of the cardinals tittered nervously.
‘You’ve committed this great sacrilege because of the word of a nun?’ Diaz roared. ‘Leave us! Leave at once!’