Hwong laughed at Kilkenny’s joke. ‘Why did they build it?’
‘According to the plaque inside, it celebrates the restoration of the Trajan Aqueduct in the early sixteen hundreds. The imperial Romans used triumphal arches to commemorate their success in war. Their descendants were happy to get fresh drinking water.’
Kilkenny and Hwong veered right at the fountain, straining on the increasing grade of the road as they climbed the Passeggiata del Gianicolo. City buildings abruptly gave way to lush trees and manicured landscapes. Kilkenny’s commentary trailed off in the absence of monuments to point out, which suited him fine. Their rapid ascent of Rome’s Mons Aureus — Hill of Gold — left him with little breath to spare.
The road leveled out near the top of the hill and flowed into a broad open space — the Janiculum Terrace. Small groups of tourists clustered alongside the low wall on the eastern border of the piazzale. To the west stood a section of ancient defensive walls built by the third-century emperor Aurelian to protect his capital city. A guardrail of heavy iron chain threaded through a ring of stone bollards defined a circular traffic island in the center of the terrace. Kilkenny and Hwong jogged across the terrace to the island and stopped at the base of a massive equestrian monument. The heroic figure of Giuseppe Garibaldi on horseback towered above them from the very spot where the charismatic adventurer commanded the defense of Rome against the French in 1849.
As their breathing steadied, both runners took deep pulls from their water bottles. Kilkenny extended his arm toward the east.
‘Miss Hwong, there is the reward for climbing this hill.’
Rome glistened in the morning sun, the undulating city dazzling from this lofty height. The Tiber sparkled like liquid silver as it snaked between the ancient hills now obscured by roads and buildings. The generations of people who dwelled here had left their mark in the numerous monuments and domes, palaces and bell towers — some instantly recognizable the world over.
Hwong wiped the perspiration from her forehead as she took in the view.
‘As beautiful as that is,’ Kilkenny added, ‘it’s even more amazing at sunset.’
He had read about this view while preparing for his assignment to Rome and, though never a romantic about sunsets, knew immediately it was a place Kelsey would have wanted to see with him. Kilkenny ran the hill every morning, pausing at the top to enjoy the view and remember his wife. Before dinner last night, for the first time, he had come here alone to watch the sunset.
Three Alfa sedans raced into the piazzale. Hwong’s heart pounded at the sight of the fast-approaching cars, her body instinctively pumping adrenaline in preparation to fight or flee. The water bottle slipped from her trembling fingers.
‘Lord, help me,’ Hwong stammered.
‘What?’ Kilkenny asked, lost in his thoughts.
‘I have something for the Pope,’ Hwong replied, touching the iPod on her arm. ‘Evidence of a great tragedy. My government does not want the world to know what they’ve done.’
Tires squealed against the pavement. The lead car veered left to cover the front of the monument. The second car stopped at the guardrail directly in front of Kilkenny and Hwong, and the third moved to box them in on the right. Two men from the first car, both wearing black balaclavas, leaped over the guardrail as the doors of the second car flew open.
‘Run,’ Kilkenny said, pushing Hwong away from the four men rushing toward them. ‘Head for the woods.’
A bullet ricocheted off granite as they rounded the back of the monument, and several tourists screamed. The third car stopped directly in their path and two more men emerged, charging with pistols drawn. In a quick calculus of their situation, Kilkenny knew they were outnumbered, outgunned, and caught almost completely in the open. Though it had been a few years since his Navy days, Kilkenny’s SEAL training kicked in.
Using his only weapon, Kilkenny hurled his water bottle at the nearest assailant. It struck the man squarely in the face as Kilkenny quickly closed the distance. Moving to the outside, he grabbed the man’s right wrist and twisted until the elbow locked. A sharp palm strike audibly fractured the joint, and the man’s weapon clattered to the pavement. Using the momentum of his attack, Kilkenny spun his opponent around by his broken arm and hammered him into the second assailant.
Both men fell in a heap, the one on the bottom knocked senseless when he toppled back and struck his head against the cobblestones. Hwong ran straight for the walking paths that led into the woods, and as Kilkenny turned to follow her, he scooped up the loose pistol and emptied the weapon at the next pair of pursuers. His shots chiseled the corner of the monument’s plinth, buying time by forcing the men to seek cover behind the sculpted mass of stone.
As he emerged from the long shadow cast by Garibaldi’s monument, Kilkenny saw the pair of assailants from the first car chasing Hwong. One of them was shouting at her angrily in Chinese and, failing to close the distance on her, took careful aim and fired. A single round caught Hwong between the shoulder blades. Her arms flailed as if to grasp something. As Hwong’s legs folded beneath her, she fell to the ground like a wounded bird.
Kilkenny charged angrily toward the shooter, colliding with the man in a vicious broadside and knocking him down. The impact sent the still-smoking pistol clattering across the pavement, and the weapon came to rest near a group of frightened tourists. Kilkenny leaned over and stripped the balaclava from the man’s head.
Recovering from the open-field tackle, Liu faced Kilkenny, his eyes a pair of smoldering black coals. He struck quickly, spearing Kilkenny in the chest with the tip of his elbow. The air burst from Kilkenny’s lungs, and as he gasped, Liu smashed the back of his fist against Kilkenny’s forehead and raked his knuckles down Kilkenny’s face. Liu grabbed a fistful of Kilkenny’s hair and rolled. As Kilkenny toppled over, Liu struck the side of his neck with the outer edge of his right hand, stunning Kilkenny to near-unconsciousness.
Liu pushed Kilkenny aside and leaped to his feet. In the distance, he heard the wail of approaching sirens.
‘I have them,’ one of the Italians teamed with Liu called out, Hwong’s iPod and phone clutched in his meaty fists.
Not waiting for the order, the others loaded the two wounded men into the nearest car. Liu considered finishing off Kilkenny, but he had what he came for and the police were on their way.
As the Alfas fled the terrace, Kilkenny struggled to his feet and staggered to where Hwong had fallen supine on the pavement. From the tiny wound, an oozing slick of blood now soaked her T-shirt. She was still alive, though her breathing was quick and shallow. Kilkenny took her hand but dared not move her.
‘Hang on,’ Kilkenny urged.
‘Did they take it?’ Hwong asked, pointing weakly at her arm. The armband with her iPod was gone.
‘Yes.’
Her look of relief surprised Kilkenny.
‘Long live Christ the King,’ she said softly. ‘Long live the Pope.’
3
Clad in one of his new suits, Kilkenny walked out of the eastern pavilion of the Casina — the sixteenth-century summer residence of Pope Pius IV — and descended a few steps into an oval court paved in a geometric pattern of light and dark marble. A low wall framed the perimeter of the ellipse, a boundary broken at the far ends by a pair of arched gateways and along the short axis by porticos fronting the Casina’s two pavilions. The artisans who built the courtyard had envisioned it as an ancient nyphaeum, decorating the idyllic space with a High Renaissance flurry of statues and reliefs, stucco-framed depictions of riders atop water-spewing dolphins.