Page 110 of Skotos
“When was this?” Manakin probed.
“Two days after the shooting. The ship’s manifest shows a passenger listed as ‘Father Antonio Rossi.’ That’s clearly fake, and the description the dock worker gave matches Severan’s build and coloring.”
Annoyance joined urgency in Manakin’s voice. “Anything else? You know I want every detail.”
“He was notably reclusive for a cardinal, kept to himself, avoided social gatherings, rarely participated in informal discussions that didn’t involve his buddy, the Pope.”
“Which should have been a red flag,” Manakin muttered. “What about the Order’s operational capacity?”
“Unknown,” I said. “We’ve found no evidence of other cells or ongoing operations, but that doesn’t mean they’re not out there. They’ve gone completely quiet since Severan disappeared.”
Silence crackled through the speaker for what felt like an eternity. When Manakin spoke again, his voice was flat with disappointment.
“So you’re telling me that after a direct attack on the Pope witnessed by thousands of people involving a cardinal of the Catholic Church, you have no leads, no suspects, and no idea what they’re planning next.”
I felt heat rising in my cheeks. “Sir, we’ve been working with every available resource—”
“I’m sure you have; and I’m sure you’ve been very thorough.” Manakin’s tone could have frozen the Mediterranean. “But thoroughness doesn’t help when the President wants to know why American intelligence failed to prevent an assassination attempt on one of our most important allies.”
“Wedidprevent it,” Thomas snapped. “The Pope is alive.”
“One cardinal is dead, another is missing and presumed to be an assassin, and the Vatican’s security has been compromised at the highest levels. Fromwhere I sit, that doesn’t look like prevention. It looks like damage control.”
“What about the intelligence value?” I pressed. “We’ve confirmed the existence of an international conspiracy with religious motivations. That has to be worth something.”
“Worth what, exactly? You can’t prosecute or quash a conspiracy without conspirators. You can’t dismantle a network you can’t locate.” Manakin’s voice was getting sharper. “All you’ve given me is confirmation that there are bad actors out there planning bad things, which we already knew.”
The words hung in the air like an accusation, which, I supposed, they were.
I exchanged a glance with Thomas, seeing my own frustration reflected in his eyes.
“What are our orders?” Thomas asked.
“This case is being transferred to Interpol and European intelligence services. This is their backyard and their problem now. We have teams standing by to assist, but they will take the lead from here. You two are going back to Paris to resume your work there.”
Thomas straightened in his chair, and I could see him gearing up to argue. “Sir, with respect, we know this case better than anyone. The Pope trusts us—personally. We’ve built relationships with Vatican security. We understand the Order’s methods—”
I reached under the table and grabbed Thomas’s leg, squeezing hard enough to make him wince. When he looked at me, I gave him the most withering scowl I could manage, the kind that said, “Shut up, you idiot, before you talk us into another assignment that gets you shot and keeps us from going home!”
Thomas blinked, then seemed to understand what I was trying to communicate.
“Actually,” he said, his tone shifting, “a return to Paris sounds reasonable. We’ve done what we can here.”
“Good.” Manakin’s voice carried a note of surprise, as if he’d been expecting more resistance. “Get back to Paris. Resume your work with the French resistance networks. Help them track down remaining Nazi collaborators. At least that’s a mission with achievable objectives.”
“When do we leave?” I asked, still maintaining my grip on Thomas’s leg.
“Tomorrow. There’s a diplomatic pouch flight departing at 0800. Your tickets are waiting at the embassy front desk.”
“Understood,” Thomas said.
“And, boys?” Manakin’s tone shifted again.
Oh, shit, here it comes.
“You did good work here. The Pope is alive because of you, even if we can’t prove it. Sometimes that has to be enough.”
The line went dead, leaving us staring at the silent speaker.
