Heavenly Father, Yin prayed, I ask only for a small parish in need of a priest.
After landing, the aircraft taxied past the international terminal and pulled directly into a large hangar used by the airline to service its fleet. After the hangar doors were closed, the passengers and their Swiss Guard escort deplaned in privacy.
Tao, Gates, and Han stepped down the gangway, each wearing a new suit of clothes — a tailor on board customized the fit during the long flight from India. The tailor had also brought enough suits to outfit another eight men. Yin wore a new black cassock piped in amaranth red, with Ke Li’s cross displayed openly on his chest.
As they waited for a car, Tao stepped over to the tailor’s rack and looked at the collection of unused suits. She found a garment bag tagged with Kilkenny’s name and zipped it open. Inside, she found a classic wool pinstripe suit with a double-breasted jacket.
‘What’s that?’ Gates asked.
‘Nolan’s suit. He would have looked good in it,’ Tao suddenly choked back a sob. ‘I can’t believe I’m already talking about him like he’s gone.’
‘That’s the bitch about not knowing,’ Gates offered. ‘But I’m not giving up on him, not with all he and I have been through. And if I have to go back into China to get him out, I’ll do it.’
Tao embraced Gates and kissed his cheek. ‘If that’s what it takes, I’m going with you.’
An airport shuttle pulled into the hangar. The travelers boarded it and were transported to a section of the airfield reserved for private planes and helicopters. There they boarded a gleaming white Sikorsky S-92 bearing the Vatican coat of arms.
Luciano Papiri nursed a drink in the satellite terminal serving international flights. From his seat by the window, he had watched the Alitalia flight land and taxi out to the service buildings without stopping at the terminal. Now, as the Vatican helicopter lifted off, he pulled out his cell phone and selected a preprogrammed number.
‘Yes,’ Cusumano answered.
‘You guessed right. They just took off.’
‘Good.’
Papiri ended the call, paid his tab, and left the bar.
The Sikorsky raced over the Eternal City and, after a ten-minute flight, hovered above the far west bastion of the Vatican’s medieval walls. The arrowhead-shaped projection of the Leonine Walls surrounded a flat expanse of ground that held two paved areas. Bypassing a smaller circular helipad set close to the tip of the arrowhead, the Sikorsky floated above the larger rectangular pad nearer the access road. This corner of the Vatican lay between the inner and outer walls and was dominated by the massive cylindrical form of Saint John’s Tower.
The trees and bushes that lined the old walls rustled with the downwash from the helicopter, shedding tiny droplets of water collected during the day. Cardinals Donoher and Velu sat inside the first of two sedans parked on the access road, both vehicles guarded by a pair of armed Swiss Guards.
Concealed behind a thick grouping of trees and leafy shrubs that thrived alongside the medieval walls, Cusumano watched Yin’s helicopter arrive. He was still dressed in sodden coveralls, but had added gloves and a balaclava to his disguise, the latter also soaked with perspiration and itchy. He had concealed himself in the remote copse hours earlier in expectation that Yin would be flown to the Vatican rather than driven — the roads leading to the city-state were packed with the faithful on vigil. When word came that Yin would indeed arrive by air, Cusumano was relieved. The Swiss Guards were on heightened alert in response to the discovery of the dead men in the caboose, and Cusumano knew they would be out in force near the conclave.
As the helicopter touched down, Cusumano gripped a pair of Chinese Type-86P grenades. He had hidden the weapons in the middle chamber of his thermos; they were black-market weapons the mafia profited from and now stood to lose if he didn’t kill Yin. It infuriated him that the Chinese had failed to kill a man who had been their prisoner for decades. Now the ludicrous and dangerously suicidal task of killing the Bishop inside the Vatican had fallen to him.
If I get out of this alive, Cusumano thought, the Chinese will have to pay me enough to buy a library of Gutenberg Bibles.
The main rotor slowed, and the helicopter door began to open. Cusumano glimpsed the passengers through the row of small windows that dotted the side of the helicopter, then saw the Swiss Guard stepping down the stair. Yin was the next figure in the doorway and the guard turned to help the Bishop deplane. Cusumano rushed out into the clearing. As he ran, he popped the grenade pins with his thumbs, then pivoted his body and swung his right arm around for a side-arm throw to keep the weapon below the rotor blades.
Something bit sharply into Cusumano’s left leg just as the grenade slipped from his fingertips. The fifty-caliber round drilled a one-inch hole midthigh, ripping through flesh and muscle and shattering the bone. The damaged leg buckled immediately.
The grenade sailed through the air, its trajectory a low, flat arc toward the helicopter. Too low. It hit the ground short of the tarmac, the soft moist earth absorbing most of its kinetic energy. It rebounded with a weak hop and dribbled onto the tarmac, where the ovoid weapon rolled erratically like a fumbled football.
The guard at the foot of the stair spotted the masked figure running out of the shadows and turned back toward Yin. Looking over the Bishop’s shoulder, Tao saw the man too, wrapped her arms around Yin, and pulled him back from the opening.
Cusumano’s first grenade detonated at the edge of the tarmac. The weapon’s plastic shell all but vaporized with the blast, and sixteen hundred tiny steel balls blossomed out in all directions. The Sikorsky shuddered from the blast, but was distant enough to suffer no damage from the concussive force. Lethal shrapnel peppered the side of the helicopter, puncturing the thin metal skin. Dozens of fragments struck the Swiss Guardsman blocking the doorway, and he toppled forward into the aircraft.
Shifting his weight to his good leg, Cusumano reached back to hurl his remaining grenade. The sniper positioned atop Saint John’s Tower fired a second fifty-caliber round from his AS50 rifle. The 660-grain ball projectile drilled through the center of Cusumano’s chest. The Sicilian’s heart exploded as fragments of lead and bone pureed everything within six inches of the entry point. The impact threw Cusumano onto his back, and he dropped the grenade as he fell. Seconds later, the weapon detonated in a spray of smoke and dirt, shredding the assassin’s body.
‘Tango is down!’ Gates shouted. ‘Roxanne, you’re with Yin. Terry, grab the med kit. Once we’re outside, put your eyes on this bird and see how bad we’ve been hit.’ He turned to the other guards aboard the helicopter. ‘You, speak English?’
‘Ja,’ the young soldier replied.
‘Great. Help me move your man.’
Gates leaped over the fallen guard down onto the tarmac, then quickly scanned the area for any other threats, finding none. The two guardsmen by the access road raced over to assist, with Velu and Donoher following at a slower pace. The injured guard cursed as Gates and his comrade gingerly carried him through the doorway.
‘All clear?’ Gates asked as the guardsmen moved to assist.
‘Yes, only one man,’ one of the guards confirmed.
Han surveyed the side of the helicopter with the pilot as the remaining passengers stepped off. The fuselage was dented and punctured in several places.
‘How’s it look?’ Gates asked.