Page 102 of Skotos
“Under his cassock, yes.” The Pope’s voice was flat, emotionless. “He knew what was coming.”
I blinked a few times, stunned.
“The medical staff said he was conscious when they brought him in.” Pius looked at his hands as they shifted, one atop the other. “He fled the moment the nurses left him alone in his room.”
“What?” I gaped. “He what?”
“Like smoke.” The Pope’s hands clenched into fists on the table. “By the time we realized what had happened, he was gone. He left only one item, and I do not believe it was intentional.”
I cocked my head and waited.
The Pope reached into his cassock and retrieved a silver dagger, sliding it across the table toward me. Carefully, I lifted it and examined the blade and hilt. A stylized spear I’d come to both know and loathe stared back from the ornate handle.
“Dear God,” I whispered, then remembered who sat before me and added, “Forgive me, Holy Father.”
The Pope waved a weathered hand. “Severan and I . . . we served this church for so many years, side by side. He has been my friend for more decades than I can count.”
I dropped into one of the remaining chairs, my mind racing. “He staged his own shooting?”
“Everything is speculation, but I believe the bullet that killed the cardinal was meant for me. The other was aimed at Cardinal Severan to throw suspicion off of himself, yes.” The Pope’s eyes met mine. “A wounded cardinal could hardly be the mastermind behind a plot against the Church. He would be above suspicion, almost a martyr, free to continue his work, yes?”
“Son of a bitch,” I muttered, then immediately colored. “Forgive me again, Your Holiness.”
“Under the circumstances, stronger language feels appropriate, does it not?” The Pope almost grinned, his lips tight. “I know someone who may absolve you, in any case.”
We sat in silence for a moment, the weight of Severan’s deception settling over us like a shroud. Outside, I heard the distant wail of sirens and the occasional shout of orders.
“There is one other thing,” the Pope said finally. “Something Cardinal Severan said before he disappeared.”
I leaned forward.
“He asked one of the medical staff to give him last rites.” The Pope’s voice was barely above a whisper. “They say he appeared delirious, that he likely did not even know his own mind, but when they asked why he sought holy absolution, he said his work was only beginning, that what happened today was merely one movement of a much larger symphony.”
“That’s rather eloquent for a delirious man, don’t you think?” I sat back, letting my mind sort through the possibilities. “Did he say anything about other targets? Other members?”
“No.” The Pope shook his head. “Which is why I’m going topersonallysee your partner released. We will need both of you if we have any hope of stopping this before it spreads further.”
“Your Holiness,” Rinaldi said carefully, “leaving the Vatican now—”
“Isexactlywhat I intend to do. Inform the Swiss Guard, Monsignor.” The Pope’s voice carried the authority of a man who led hundreds of millions. “The Italian police will listen to me in ways they would not hear an ambassador or cardinal—or anyone else, really. Frankly, after what happened today, I may be safer on the streets of Rome than I am in these halls.”
The Pope stood and moved toward the door, then paused and looked back at me.
“Tell me, Mr. Snead, do you believe in divine providence?”
I hesitated, unsure how to answer. “I’m honestly not sure, Your Holiness.”
“Neither was I until today.” He smiled faintly. “But the fact that you and your partner were here, that you uncovered as much as you did, perhaps that was not coincidence after all.”
The door opened, and one of the armed guards peered inside.
“Santità, the car is ready.”
“Excellent.” The Pope straightened his cassock and moved toward the exit. “Come, Mr. Snead. Let us go collect your partner. There is much work to do.”
49
Will
