The Vatican Rip

'You clever bastard,' He honestly sounded full of admiration. 'The old fiddle switch to rip the Vatican. I might have known. A bluff on a bluff.'

'It was nothing,' I said, all modest.

'They said you were really something, Lovejoy.' He was chuckling. 'Robbery without alarms. The only way it can be done. Congratulations.'

I thought, Here goes. 'Thank you,' I said with careful loudness. 'Captain.'

I moved my trembling legs ready to leap off the stool and run.

He paused, tilted his head. 'Captain? What are you talking about, Lovejoy?' He waited. I tried not to glance again at the million miles of sand which stretched between the recess and me.

'You're a senior officer of the Vatican Security guard, Arcellano.'

'You're insane.'

'You thought up this rip to test the Vatican's security. On the quiet.' I let that sink in.

'So you had a grotty copy made of the Chippendale original. This is that copy.'

'So where's the real piece?'

'You have it stashed away.'

'And why should I go to all that trouble?'

I smiled, the thing I least felt like doing. 'If I succeeded in pulling the rip, you naturally assumed there'd be a gap left in the gallery's exhibits. Then you could put the real Chippendale back. Nobody would then know there'd been a rip at all.'

'And if you failed?'

'Then I'd be nabbed,' I said evenly. 'By you. Your men would have me in clink.'

'Doubtless telling tales, no?'

'Yes, but an improbable tale people would laugh at. You gave yourself away, Captain.'

'Really?' The bastard was too calm by far. I could feel his two goons smiling in the morning shadows behind me and tried not to look round, to concentrate on this murdering bastard who had now resumed his oh-so-casual stroll round the terrace towards my only escape route. 'Really, Lovejoy? How?'

'A clever geezer like you would naturally want to protect his interests, in case things went wrong,' I said. 'Captain Blood put an end to the straight-lift caper, nicking the Crown Jewels from the Tower of London in 1671. Substituting the dud showed your hand.'

'But why should I bother, Lovejoy?'

'Because you had the greatest prize of all in mind—a method, Captain. If I succeeded, you'd know how it could be done.'

He was smiling, the fucking swine, thinking he'd won. 'And you've given it to me, Lovejoy. A method which can be repeated times out of number.' He grinned. 'I'm indebted. Now I can drain the whole Vatican, item by item. I thank you. Sincerely.'

'But you murdered Marcello, Captain.'

'Well.' He spread his hands. 'He started asking around about Cardinal Arcellano.'

'That was my fault,' I cut in. 'I knew no other name for you except that. I should have realized as soon as Marcello sounded suddenly so different, full of urgency.'

'Silly of me to use the honoured Cardinal's name at that little auction. It seemed just a joke at the time.'

'It misfired, Captain. You had to kill Marcello because of it. Am I correct?'

'Near enough. But it's over, Lovejoy. Once that table's out of sight all your evidence has gone, right?'

'You've forgotten one thing, Captain.'

He snapped his fingers. The stockier of his gorillas stepped out of the terrace shadows.

A second appeared far over to my left. My exit run was now overlooked by them both.

Arcellano made some light quip to the goon, the pleasant way his sort do before knocking somebody off. He turned back to me, a picture of mayhem in classy suiting.

His voice was suddenly flint hard. 'If you mean payment, Lovejoy, you'll get paid—well paid.'

I said shakily, sweat stinging my eyes and my voice quavering, 'I don't mean that.

You're under arrest, Captain.'

It should have come out crisp as a western gunfighter's threat. It came out a feeble warble.

His famous non-smile was back. 'I'm… what?

'You heard, piss-head.'

A car droned by. It didn't stop. Yet this was the moment Russomanno and his Keystone Kops should have come bursting in with lovely protecting howitzers. There was silence.

A cat yawned extravagantly. Arcellano was glancing about swiftly. His two goons had reached inside their jackets. With innate skill they backed against the supporting pillars, fading from the daylight into shadow.

'Get him.'

I flung myself sideways, dropping to the ground, and was off, keening with fright. I ran like a stag down the narrow avenue of tall stones, hunched and babbling imprecations, begging for my life. Instinctively I weaved, ducking in and out among the colossal rectangles and scuffing the sand. If only I'd trained. Something plucked the air by my head, clipping stone chips from the masonry. My face stung. A bang, echoing. I heard Arcellano screaming instructions. I could hear footsteps along the terrace.

Frantic now, I cringed behind an upright slab as a piece of stone exploded at eye level ahead of me. Three cracks sounded. More stone chips. I moaned in terror. The bastards were everywhere. It was all wrong.

Arcellano should have come down to this level so I could imprison him by my ingenious falling block in that recess up ahead, for the police to arrest at leisure. I ducked into view, saw Arcellano on the terrace, hurled myself back into cover. Two more gunshots, one from behind and to the side. My leg went funny. Bleating with terror I tottered forward, weaving among the standing stones as fast as my sudden limp would allow. I whined, 'Please, please…'

'Halt! Hait!'

'Get him!'

Along the stone avenue, with shots going everywhere and people shouting. I glimpsed Arcellano directly against the metal railing. He swung over ahead of me and dropped lightly to the sand, to my level at last. But he carried a shiny slate blue length in his hand. For a big man he moved like a dancer, soft and easy. I moaned in terror at the sight. He was only twenty yards off and floating like the hunter he was, his teeth bared in a silent hiss. I'd never been so frigging scared of anything or anybody. I limped to the right. More shouts and a small fusillade of echoing shots. Somebody screamed. It wasn't me, thank God.

'Lovejoy!' some lunatic yelled, as if I wasn't out of my skull with horror.

Gasping, I lumbered along the arena wall and across the straight avenue of standing stones. The bastard was gliding away from me, looking from side to side. I must have made a noise, maybe scraped on a stone or something, because he spun instantly and the blue thing in his hand flashed. The air near me warmed and splinters flicked blood splashes from my face. I tumbled to, one side, scrabbled lopsidedly across to the far side where my chain hung. The only place I could go was my recess. My own bloody prison.

The space was the size of a large room. Masonry tools lay scattered. Chisels, hammers, mallets and set-squares, some as Valerio and I had dropped them during the dark hours. Too late to think of using those now. I made it to the coil of chain and gave it a yank to set it firm on the pulley. My throat was raw with fright. Somebody shouted again up on the terraces. I heard rather than saw Arcellano step towards the gap through which I'd come. I flicked the chain once, released it and stepped aside as the dull rumbling began.

Arcellano came into the space. The fucking gun looked enormous.

'Okay, Arcellano,' I yelled, though he was only a few feet off. 'I surrender! I'll say it was me!'

'Too late, Lovejoy.' He was smiling now. 'You're resisting arrest, you see.' He raised his voice and shouted, 'The table, Maria! Just push it off that stone. It'll smash.'

'Who?' I asked dully. He'd said Maria.

The gun lifted. My belly squeezed. He glanced up then. Maybe it was the sudden swiftness of the rectangular shadow, maybe the rumbling of the descending block. I don't know. It was all in an instant. But he glanced up and froze, appalled at the sight of the massive block plummeting towards him. He hesitated, started to step back.