Page 99 of Skotos
The crowd erupted as the Holy Father appeared in the balcony above the crimson banner. Several cardinals in their traditional black and red flanked the smiling figure in pristine white. Standing behind the Pope, only a few feet to his right, was a man we’d come to know well: Monsignor Rinaldi.
Pius raised his arms and widened his smile.
The crowd’s voice swelled into jubilant cheers and wild applause. I might not fully understand or appreciate the beliefs of their Church, but still, one could only admire the love and respect the members held for their leader. He was, indeed, their Holy Father, and they adored him for it.
My gaze darted from the Pope back to Will. He had lowered to his knees as one policeman trained a rifle on his chest while another stepped forward to snap cuffs on their prisoner. I knew our diplomatic status would get us out of this mess, and Will wouldbe safe while in custody; and yet, his capture removed another vital player from an already empty board. Time had betrayed us, and without Will’s help—
Crack!
The gunshot was a lightning crack amid the thunder of the crowd. The moment it sounded, the gathered throng stopped cheering and watched, frozen in horror, as one of the cardinals standing next to the Pope gripped his chest and tumbled backward.
Screams and cries rose above the piazza. Onlookers gawked. Terror seized thousands as they scrambled, shoved, and pressed their way to safety. Police and Swiss Guardsmen stationed below tried to maintain order, but the threat of a shooter had panicked the crowd beyond recovery.
Rinaldi bent to care for the fallen cleric. One of the other cardinals did the same, disappearing from view behind the banner that now looked coated in blood rather than the holy dye of the Vatican’s finest seamstress.
Only the Pope remained standing . . . and one other cardinal to his left.
I looked back toward Will. His hands were being secured.
My gaze then shifted to Lucio’s man on the adjacent rooftop. He waved and shouted something. I lifted my palm to my ear to let him know I couldn’t hear him. He flapped his arms sowildly I thought he might try to leap down and fly. Then he pointed, and I followed the line of his finger.
On the far side of the plaza, on the roof of a building we’d missed, lay a man in dark clothing, a rifle in his grip.
The muzzle flashed.
Acracksent the crowd into a frenzy.
Police stationed on yet another rooftop fired.
The shooter’s rifle fell away as the man tried to stand, only to be shot several more times. I barely blinked before the bullet-riddled man fell backward to the cobbles below.
“The Pope!” someone screamed.My head snapped back to the balcony.
Rinaldi had regained his feet and was bear-hugging the Pope, pulling him down.
Both of them dropped out of view.
The cardinal, the last man standing, gripped his shoulder. His eyes widened like a child seeing his first giraffe. A shaft of sunlight cut through the clouds and glinted off something dropping from his hand. In a heartbeat, he vanished from view, leaving the balcony as empty as it had been a half hour before.
Heart in my throat, I turned and ran.
The rooftop door slammed behind me as I hurled myself down the stairwell, taking the steps three at a time. My shoulder screamed with every impact,the fresh bandages pulling tight against reopened wounds, but I didn’t slow.
Icouldn’tslow.
All I could think of was Will in handcuffs being hauled away.
I had to get to him.
Despite the pounding of my shoes against the hard stairs, it was the gunshots that echoed in my ears—those sharp cracks had split the world in two, dividing everything into “before” and “after.”
Before, when Will was safe on a rooftop surrounded by Italian police.
After, when everything had gone to hell and I had no idea if he was alive or dead or bleeding out in some Roman gutter. Italian police weren’t known for abusing prisoners, but their Pope might’ve just been assassinated, and Will was in their custody. All my mind could picture were worst-case scenarios.
I crashed through the building’s front entrance and into pure chaos.
The piazza had become a nightmare of panic and terror. Thousands of pilgrims who moments before had been singing hymns and waving papal flags now screamed, shoved, and trampled each other in their desperation to escape. Mothers clutched crying children to their chests while fathers shouted for family members lost in the crush. Elderly priests and nuns stumbled and fell, their cassocks torn and muddied by the stampeding crowd.
