Page 79 of Skotos
Yet another set of double doors stood at the end of a short hallway as equally bare as the chamber through which we’d just passed. Only a single, uncovered light bulb dangled from a cord above. Rinaldi produced his key again and unlocked the second set of doors, pausing and turning back. Thomas nearly blundered into me as I suddenly stopped walking.
“You are about to enter a place few have ever seen. This is one of the secure rooms within the Vatican where one may speak freely, both in person and on the telephone. If I read your expressions correctly, what you have to say should be also shared with your superiors in Washington, yes?”
“The telephone in your office isn’t secure?” Thomas asked.
Rinaldi’s expression filled with something. Sadness? Disappointment? I couldn’t quite tell.
“My telephone line is secure, yes, but I fear my office may be infested, if you understand my meaning. Given everything at stake, I would prefer we took no unnecessary chances.”
“We understand perfectly.” Thomas shot me a quick glance and then faced the Monsignor. “We need to brief our people before we do anything else.”
Rinaldi smiled faintly, as though he expected as much. “Of course,” he said, pushing the doors open and motioning us into the room while he remained on the other side of the double doors. “When your big bird sees fit, I will join you.”
Big bird? Did every nation, even the Vatican, know of our avian code names? Jesus.
Thomas gave Rinaldi a tight nod, then led us into the room. Like the outer chamber with the guards and clerk, this inner space was only large enough to hold a round table with four chairs. At the centerof the tabletop was a telephone and a placard on which was printed the crossed keys of the Pope and the words, “Secure Line” in English, Italian, and Latin.
Monsignor Rinaldi gestured to the phone and said, “I will be in the room with the guards should you need me.”
Before either of us could thank him, Rinaldi slipped out and the door clicked shut. Thomas and I scanned the room, my gaze returning to the telephone and its odd plaque.
“We pass through two locks, two guards, and a clerk, and someone felt the need to label the telephone as secure?” I said, unable to resist a jab at our celestial hosts.
Thomas grinned. “The Vatican is most . . . orderly. Everything has a place and, apparently, a name tag.”
I snorted. “Let’s get this over with. I doubt our friendly neighborhood Monsignor wants to wait in that room any longer than necessary.”
The glint in Thomas’s eyes was positively mischievous. “If this wasn’t a life-or-death situation, I’d say we play this as long as we can, make the man sweat through those pretty robes of his.”
I had a sharp retort, something about not wanting to see a priest’s sweaty robes, but Thomas flopped down at the table and snatched up the phone before I could speak. Within minutes, the switchboardhad rerouted the call and a familiar voice rumbled through the receiver.
“Manakin. Go.”
Efficient as ever, I had to give that to the man.
“Condor and Emu. We’re in the Vatican on a secure line.”
“Stop. How do you know it’s secure,” Manakin asked.
“We don’t. Monsignor Rinaldi led us to a room guarded by two of the Pope’s finest and mother-henned by a priest who looks like he beats children for fun, maybe eats them afterward. If this isn’t a secure facility, I don’t think one exists in the Vatican.”
“That’s not good enough,” Manakin snapped. “Assume this line is open. Understand?”
“Yes, sir,” Thomas said, his brows furrowing as he looked up at me. “Will is getting Rinaldi now. Anything we need to discuss before he comes in?”
“Don’t bring him in yet. I want to hear what you have to report before we choose to share it,” Manakin said.
“Jesus,” I whispered. “He’s not playing games.”
Thomas shook his head.
Manakin’s voice crackled through the phone. “There’s no room for games. Now, report.”
“So much for pleasantries,” I muttered.
Thomas sucked in a breath, then started with our visit to the archivist, detailing his informationregarding the spear and its symbolism. He then walked Manakin through our visit to Marini’s mother at her nursing home. He continued speaking, uninterrupted, until he finished recounting his fight with the priest in the chapel, our search of the ruin, and our subsequent return to find watchers and bugs at our hotel.
Manakin remained silent. I doubted he knew how to flinch or blink. Nothing fazed that man. “A cardinal’s cassock? Are you sure?” Manakin asked after a moment.
