Page 107 of Skotos
“We still do not know.” The words fell from the Pope’s lips like a stone into still water. “As I told you before, he vanished from the Vatican infirmary shortly after our doctors tended to his wound. There was so much hysteria within the Palace that no one paid any mind to a cardinal storming out of the building.”
“What about the shooter?” I asked.
“He is dead,” Rinaldi said as the Pope moved to retrieve a manila folder from his desk, returning with photographs that made my stomach turn.
Pius opened the folder and held it out for us to examine. “Italian police found his body in an alley behind the building where he took his shots. He had been hit multiple times by police marksmen on a neighboring rooftop.”
The photographs showed a man in dark clothing, his face destroyed by gunfire and a collision with cobblestones, lying crumpled against a brick wall. The first image was gruesome, but it was the second photo that made my heart leap into my throat. It was a close-up of the man’s neck, where a tattoo was clearly visible despite the blood.
The spear.
The same one from the dagger.
The same symbol we’d been chasing across Europe.
“He bore no identification,” Rinaldi said. “Nothingto indicate who he was or who sent him. But that tattoo—”
“Proves he was part of the Order,” I finished.
“It also adds credibility to Cardinal Severan’s involvement,” the Pope said, settling back into his chair. “Was he working with the shooter? Was this a coordinated attack where both men knew their roles? Or was Severan acting independently, planning to take advantage of the chaos?”
“Either way, he’s one of them,” Will said grimly.
“Yes.” The Pope’s eyes moved to the painted ceiling above us, where saints and martyrs looked down with expressions of eternal serenity. “After so many years of friendship, of shared purpose . . .” The Pope’s eyes filled and shimmered before he drew in a deep breath and steeled himself. “All of this means the conspiracy reaches into the highest levels of the Church hierarchy.”
“How deep do you think this goes?” I asked. “How many others might be involved?”
“That, my son, is a question that terrifies me.” The Pope looked back at us, and I saw fear flickering behind his papal composure. “Cardinals have access to everything: my schedule, my private meetings, the security arrangements for papal appearances. If Severan was feeding information to the Order, they already know far more than anyone outside the walls ever should.”
A compromised cardinal could have been providing intelligence for months, maybe years.
“Your Holiness,” Will said carefully, “have there been other incidents? Other attempts or suspicious activities that might be connected?”
“Nothing as overt as today.” The Pope paused, seeming to weigh his words. “Cardinal Severan made several unrecorded trips, disappearing for days at a time without explanation. When questioned, he claimed they were personal retreats, time for prayer and contemplation.”
“You didn’t believe him?”
“A cardinal’s schedule is rarely his own,” Rinaldi said. “Every movement, every meeting, every public appearance is coordinated through official channels, especially for a cardinal so well respected and highly placed as Severan. For him to simply vanish without explanation was . . . highly irregular.”
“Do you know where he was going?” I asked.
“No,” the Pope said. “But now, with him gone and his quarters searched clean, his trail has become sand in the wind.” Pius leaned forward, his pale eyes intense. “All of which suggests this conspiracy has been planned with extraordinary care. He left no loose threads, no incriminating evidence, only the dagger.”
The fireplace sat cold and dark in the sea of brightness that was the library. A chill crept through me, and I briefly wished the logs were ablaze.
“What do you need from us?” I asked after a moment.
“Find them,” the Pope said simply. “Find whoever is really behind this before they regroup and try again. Whether they come after me or another, they will come again. Severan is a zealot. I believed his faith wed him to the Church, to our tenets, but he clearly believed in darker paths.”
“And is willing to act on them,” Will said.
I added, “What happened today—the precision, the coordination, the backup plans—it wasn’t the work of amateurs. The shooter was nearly threehundred yards away. He was an expert shot, probably former military.”
“From whose military?” Will asked.
I shrugged. “Good question for your friends back at the police station.”
“And Severan?” Rinaldi asked.
