Page 61 of End of Days

She saw where I was going and said, “The killer isn’t Jewish. Of that I’m sure. There are no Jews in the Knights of Malta, and that woman was murdered using a red cord.”

I said, “What on earth does a red cord have to do with any of this?”

She walked to our vehicle, saying, “You need to read your Bible more.”

I let that pass, because she was probably right. We entered the car and I said, “Okay, I can believe some of your bullshit, but this is a bit much. How am I going to sell that crap to the Taskforce? More importantly, how are you going to sell it to the Mossad?”

She looked at me with pain and said, “I’m not making this up. I think the killer is trying to bring about the End of Days. And we need to stop it.”

Chapter 40

Garrett entered the Knights of Malta Magisterial Palace in a rush, wanting to use his computer to locate the residence of one Inspector Lia Vairo. He knew it wouldn’t be that difficult, given what he’d gleaned. From what she’d said, she was the owner of the flat due to a divorce, and Trastevere was a touristy area full of students and expats renting apartments, so finding a local living there through a records search—given he now had a name—should be fairly easy. Especially with the database access he had.

He stalked past the secretary at her ornate desk, heading to the stairwell leading to his dungeon office, and she stopped him, saying, “The U.S. State Department are coming in twenty minutes. The lieutenant would like you to remain behind after they leave.”

And he realized that the killings of the women weren’t the only threat he faced.

He said, “Of course. I’ll stay as long as I have to. I was just running down to my office and then back to my car. I’ll be here when they leave.”

He jogged down the hallway, went down the stairs, and found Raphael and Michelangelo still there. He said, “Where’s Leonardo?”

“Just went out for a bite to eat.” He pointed at a clock showing the late afternoon and said, “We were going to do the same.”

“Not right now. When is Leonardo returning?”

“Maybe an hour, but he did get in touch with the contact in Lebanon. The man’s agreed to meet us without Donatello.”

“Good. Very good. At least something is going right. When do you fly?”

“Tomorrow morning, if Leonardo can purchase the tickets.”

“Okay. Good. Keep your Zello phones operational. In the meantime, you guys stay here. I might have a mission for you.”

“What?”

“Two U.S. State Department investigators are coming here with questions about Donatello. Apparently, they found his Knight’s diplomatic passport and are wondering what he did here.”

Raphael showed alarm, saying, “What are they looking for? What do they have?”

“I don’t know. I have a meeting with the lieutenant right after they leave. I don’t have time to explain right now.” He looked at his watch and said, “I’ll be back in less than ten minutes.”

He jogged back upstairs and passed the secretary, saying, “Just got to run to my car. Are they here yet?”

“Not yet.”

“Okay, I’ll be right back.”

He left the building, but didn’t go to his car parked on the road near the Spanish Steps. Instead, he shadowed the wall down the courtyard and sat on a stone bench, keeping an eye on the security guard blocking the archway that led inside to the parking area.

A late-model Acura sedan appeared and the driver spoke to the guard for a moment before being allowed inside. They parked in a space ten feet away from where Garrett sat and two men exited, both wearing knit polo shirts and chinos, but neither looked like any State Department personnel he’d ever encountered. But they were definitely American. One was tall with shaggy black hair pulled into a ponytail in a shoddy attempt to make himself look presentable. The other was a short black man with a physique that made him look like a fireplug, his muscles straining the shirt he wore. The ponytail man glanced hisway and Garrett recognized the same skill he’d seen with the man and the woman at the murder scene.

Garrett glanced away, pretending he hadn’t noticed their arrival. He waited until they’d gone inside, thinking about his options. He’d expected them to be on foot, like most everyone else in the area due to the lack of parking—just as he was routinely forced to do before coming to work. He hadn’t realized the order had given them parking privileges, but he should have assumed that would happen.

He went back in, saw the secretary, and said, “I’m back. Are they here?”

She said, “Yes. They just went in.”

“Okay, I’ll be downstairs until they’re done. Just let me know.”

---