‘Take that body out of here,’ Littel ordered no one in particular.
Since the only helpers worthy of the name in the room were Priscilla and Herbert, there was no doubt to whom the task fell. Herbert approached Barnes, took him by the feet, and dragged him toward the door.
‘That’s not the most dignified way to treat the body of a director of the CIA,’ Colonel Garrison warned. ‘There is protocol-’
‘That can’t be observed at the moment,’ Littel interrupted.
‘If you want, I can take him by the arms,’ Herbert malevolently challenged.
Stuart Garrison shot him a look of hate. Under other circumstances that boy would eat those words one by one.
Herbert continued the operation, dragging the corpse in stages. Immediately sweat began to run down his face. Barnes was very heavy.
‘Now us.’ Littel turned toward Simon, Rafael, and Sarah.
Phelps faced them euphorically. These three deaths were going to be expensive, but at least the loose ends had been tied up for three out of four. JC alone was missing, the astute old man. One only had to find the right time.
Sarah and Simon closed their eyes, anticipating the worst.
‘Herbert,’ Littel called. ‘Do the honors.’
Herbert promptly left off what he was doing. Barnes wasn’t going anywhere, after all. He drew his gun from the holster.
‘With pleasure.’
‘Do you want to say anything?’ Littel asked with a sarcastic smile.
The silence spoke for itself. Simon didn’t dare open his mouth, Sarah was gagged. Even though she didn’t want to be silent, she had to be.
‘Courage is stupidity in this case,’ Phelps said. ‘I have a question, if you don’t mind.’ He was speaking to Rafael. ‘Who did you speak with in the apostolic apartments that morning in the Vatican?’
Rafael smiled bleakly. ‘No one.’
‘You won’t answer?’ Phelps was furious.
‘I am answering. No one. We were only there to arouse your curiosity. I knew that would draw you in more. You think you fooled us all, even the pope. It was completely the opposite.’ His smile changed to a loud laugh.
Littel gestured with his head that Herbert was authorized to summarily execute the prisoners. Soon they’d only be names that passed from earth without leaving their marks on history. Rafael Santini, Sarah Monteiro, Simon Lloyd, forgotten by the world, would cease to count or even figure in the death statistics.
Herbert removed the safety on the gun, provided with a silencer, but Phelps grabbed it from his hand, infuriated, and pointed it at Rafael.
A shot.
Two shots. Whispered.
Before they understood anything, we see Herbert grab his chest and fall. The same for Phelps, who was already dead before he fell. A thin stream of blood ran from a hole in the middle of his head. He died without knowing how.
Rafael got up before any reaction. Priscilla screamed in panic. Sarah and Simon opened their eyes to see this hellish scene. Three corpses on the floor, Colonel Garrison trying to draw his gun, Marius Ferris shocked, completely astonished, Rafael behind Littel, his gun pressed into the assistant subdirector’s head.
‘Do you want to say anything?’ he asked close to Littel’s ear.
‘Don’t do anything stupid,’ Marius Ferris said.
‘More than you’ve done would be impossible.’ He pressed the barrel harder against Littel’s head. ‘Be calm,’ Rafael advised him. ‘Look what you’ve done.’
‘Me? I need to warn you it’s a serious crime to interfere with an agent of the federal government.’
‘I’m not going to interfere. I’m going to kill you,’ Rafael warned, grinding his teeth.
‘Let’s be reasonable,’ Garrison argued. ‘Surely we can come to an agreement without wasting more lives.’
‘Are you concerned about your own, Colonel?’ It was a rhetorical question. ‘I don’t remember seeing you concerned about lives in Moscow,’ he added bitterly.
Garrison lowered his head.
Rafael looked at Sarah.
‘Take off that gag.’
Sebastian Ford obeyed the order, shook out the silk handkerchief, and let it fall on the floor. Littel turned red. Sarah breathed in desperately, like someone had just pulled her from underwater.
‘Barnes didn’t commit suicide.’ She pointed at Littel. ‘He’s the one who killed him.’
Priscilla looked at her, frightened. Garrison lifted up his head in fury.
‘How could you?’ An accusing finger from the colonel.
‘Ten million dollars,’ Sarah clarified. ‘That was motive enough.’
‘Right. Are you going to take the word of a criminal?’ Littel countered with a superior attitude in spite of his precarious situation.
Rafael pushed him forward so hard that he fell on the floor next to the bodies of Phelps and Herbert.
‘Look at the patriot.’ Stuart Garrison pointed his gun at Littel.
‘What do you think you’re doing?’ Littel shouted. ‘Kill him,’ he ordered.
The colonel shifted his aim to Rafael, who kept his gun on Littel.
‘Don’t even think about it,’ Sebastian Ford said, pointing a gun in turn at Stuart Garrison’s head.
‘Drop the gun, Sebastian,’ Littel ordered.
‘Until we verify what happened here, there will be no more deaths. I’m starting an investigation, and if you’re guilty, Harvey… God and the president have mercy on your soul.’
‘The president gave precise orders to kill the prisoners,’ Littel shouted.
‘And did he give orders to kill Barnes in cold blood?’ Sebastian argued in the same tone. He turned to Rafael. ‘Get out of here. Disappear.’
‘You can’t do that, Sebastian,’ Littel alleged.
‘This smelled wrong to me from the start, Harvey. Let them go now.’
Marius Ferris raised his hands to his chest and fell on the floor. A sharp pain ran through his coronary arteries, his heart put to the test by extreme emotion.
Rafael bent over him and murmured in his ear.
‘God doesn’t sleep. The dead are going to take care of you now. Live many years with them. We’ll see you in the beyond.’
He escorted Sarah and Simon out of the Center of Operations.
In the room Priscilla cried like a child, Marius had fainted from the pain of the heart attack, Sebastian Ford remained with the gun pointed at the head of the hesitant colonel.
‘Give me the gun, Colonel,’ Sebastian ordered. Littel stayed crouched on the floor, looking into space, desperate, frustrated.
Sebastian Ford took the cell phone and made a call.
‘Sebastian Ford, code 1330. I want a rescue team in the Center of Operations in Rome, ASAP.’ He looked at Littel. ‘There are agents dead and arrested.’
He disconnected, and straightened the neck of his shirt.
It was over.
72
The Confession
December 27, 1983
Twenty minutes could be a long time.
In the narrow cell four people pressed together, only one talking, the rest listening.
Two years, seven months, and fourteen days he’d spent in judicial confinement for having carried out an unsuccessful attempt on the pope’s life.
The Supreme Pontiff sat on a small chair brought in especially for him. His secretary and the guard entrusted with preventing any possible menace against His Holiness waited standing up, although the latter had to pretend not to hear what was being said.
Not for a moment had the Turk left his position as a penitent, his hands touching the white tunic.
‘Was it so simple, my son?’ asked the Holy Father, to whom the gift of omniscience hadn’t been granted.
‘It was.’
‘A simple phone call and a meeting?’
The other said nothing. His silence was agreement. Besides he was the one who had told the story.
‘And his name?’
‘I don’t know.’