“I’m not so sure about that. I’ve been waiting to call Moody and tell him what happened. He might have some ideas. And he’ll be able to give us a read on exactly how trustworthy Danny really is. If Moody thinks it wasn’t him that rolled, I’d believe him — he’s a very careful man, and he wouldn’t send us into harm’s way. I say we wait until I talk to Moody and see what he proposes. It can’t hurt.”
“No, it probably can’t. Although I’m reluctant to trust anyone right now. There are probably hotels around the Appian Way that we could check into without sounding any alarms. Fortunately, it’s not far from this terminal,” Steven reasoned.
“Really?”
“Maybe two and a half miles. Assuming that this catacomb is anywhere near the others. Most of them are in the same general area.”
“Just a few miles? That’s nothing. Let’s go,” Natalie said.
“I think we’re better off waiting until it’s light out. It’ll still look suspicious if we show up at a hotel without a reservation before dawn.”
“Wow. If only you had a computer and could go online and make a reservation for early checkin, say around eight this morning…then it wouldn’t look at all weird. Just a couple getting in early after an all-night flight,” Natalie suggested sarcastically.
Steven didn’t say anything for a few seconds.
“Did I mention I don’t process well when I’m exhausted?”
“I got that. Let me know what you find…” Natalie stood. “I’m going to the little girls’ room. Oh, and just get one hotel room — use the name Linda Jenkins. That will take care of any problems we could run into getting two rooms. They’d want your passport for the second room.”
“Linda Jenkins. Got it.”
Steven rubbed his eyes, then did a quick search for hotels near the Appian Way. There were a few within a mile, and he found one that was modern, large and had plenty of vacancies. He was just finishing up as Natalie got back.
“I’ve been thinking. I want to call Moody right now and get it over with. It’s after midnight in Virginia, but I think this rates a call. I don’t want to have to wait seven more hours. We’re in a footrace, and the sooner we make it to wherever we’re going, the better.” Natalie shrugged. “I’m sorry you’re tired — I’m tired, too — but I really feel strongly about this. If Danny’s bad we need to know it, and if he isn’t, we need to get him working for us as soon as possible.”
He looked at her, standing with her hands on her hips, her jaw set with determination. Steven was too tired to fight about it. He unplugged the phone from the computer and handed it to her.
“Knock yourself out. I’m going to get some more coffee. You’ll probably want the same order, right?”
Natalie nodded, already pressing the phone to her ear.
Some of the cafés in the terminal were putting out small tables, gearing up for the morning crush of commuters making their way into the bustling capital. Steven stood outside one as the tired-looking man who was probably the owner of the nearest one set out a few chairs and then motioned to Steven to approach the counter. He ordered two lattes and waited as the man steamed the concoctions. Fumbling with some change, he paid the proprietor and made his way back to Natalie, who was finishing up the call.
“Would you? That would be awesome…but you really don’t have to. No, it’s not that. I just don’t want to drag you into anything that’s not your problem. All right. It’s your funeral. I appreciate it. Let me know when you arrive. And, Moody? Thanks again.” Natalie glanced at Steven and hung up.
He silently handed her a cup.
“Moody says there’s no way Danny tipped anyone off. He’s been a trusted asset for fifteen years, and there’s never been any question of his loyalty. Moody swears by him. I think we can rest easy on that. I told him what happened with Frederick and gave him a brief outline of what’s going on, and he volunteered to fly over to help out.” Natalie hesitated. “That would be invaluable, Steven.”
He sipped the rich brew and then asked the question that had been burning since she’d originally referred to him. “This Moody is going to fly across the Atlantic on a moment’s notice to get involved in a dangerous situation in a foreign country that involves the most powerful organization in the world? That’s some friend. Mind if I ask what exactly the relationship is?”
“I do mind. It’s none of your business,” she snapped and then seemed to reconsider. “Moody and I met when I was in Quantico. We dated for a while, but it never went anywhere — I wasn’t interested in him that way, I guess you could say. He was, but it didn’t pan out. But we’ve remained close ever since, and he’s a good man. It doesn’t hurt us that he’s pretty high up in the CIA.”
Steven didn’t betray any emotion.
“He’s twenty-five years older than me, Steven. It wasn’t meant to be. I think we can leave it at that.” Natalie suddenly sounded defensive, more like a teen having to answer to a parent than the confident woman he’d spent the last two days with.
“Natalie. The guy’s a spook. I don’t know much about them, but are you sure he’s completely disinterested and just pursuing this as a favor to a ‘friend’? It may sound overly paranoid, but you’ve got me convinced now that your story’s true, which means the manuscript could in fact hide a secret that some would do anything to get their hands on. What makes you think that a government wouldn’t take a side in this to curry favor with the Church?”
“Steven, you’re not paranoid. If it was anyone else but Moody, I’d say you have a point. But you don’t know him. I do. For almost a decade. I trust him like I’d trust my father,” she replied evenly.
“If you’re wrong, it could be our lives.”
She gave him a look he’d come to know well even within the scant time they’d spent together — the old Natalie was back with a vengeance.
“I’m not wrong.”
CHAPTER 23
Blue flashing lights flickered along the basilica’s side street, where three police cars, a detective’s sedan, and the coroner’s wagon blocked the broad drive. A handful of officers stood at the edge of the yellow police tape that sealed off the crime scene. Bright spotlights were mounted on stands along the perimeter, bathing the bodies in a cold, white glow. The forensics team was processing the area, and as the dawn’s uneasy light pervaded the Roman sky, the cleanup crew was anxious to get the corpses moved — before the city came to life and they had a crowd-control situation on their hands.
Rome was as dangerous as most large cities, but even so, it was unusual to have a stabbing victim as well as a gunshot fatality on church property. The two detectives chartered with investigating the mess were not optimistic about their chances. A late-night passer-by had phoned in the report, but nobody had called about any gunfire, which was strange, following a densely-populated area shooting. Either everyone in the nearby apartments was deaf, or a silenced weapon had been involved.
The two homicide detectives watched impassively as the crime scene personnel methodically pored over the vicinity of the assault. Both detectives had been working the Rome beat for decades and so had seen everything. The older, taller of the two, Emilio Carruzo, leaned in to his partner. Neither man had shaved for three days.
“What do you think? This wasn’t a robber — both victims were packing guns. Maybe a Mafia hit?” he asked his companion.
The smaller, olive-skinned man, Detective Guillermo Farrallio, spat into the gutter then fished a packet of cigarettes from his jacket, pausing to light one with a stainless steel zippo before responding.
“Could be, but there’s too much that doesn’t make sense. Where did the stabbing victim’s gun go? He’s got a shoulder holster; he was armed. But the other stiff got close enough to stab him, what, four times?” Guillermo gestured with his head. “And the stabber also had a gun he didn’t use, preferring a knife. The way I see it, the stabbing victim gets out of the car, is waiting for something, and the stabber sneaks up on him and gets him with the knife. But why wouldn’t the victim have heard him?”