Page 81 of Skotos
“Yes, sir,” I said, not liking to rule out paths we’d yet to fully walk, but he was the boss.
“Now, get to work,” Manakin said. “And, boys . . .”
“Yes, sir?”
“Be careful. Try not to get shot or stabbed again.”
Thomas made to protest, but Manakin had already hung up.
38
Thomas
We didn’t speak at first. The phone still buzzed in its cradle, a faint, hollow hum as though the Vatican itself was holding its breath. I leaned forward, elbows on my knees, staring at the crucifix on the wall. Will stood near the table, his arms crossed, looking as if he wanted to drive a fist through the stone.
“I hate this,” he muttered.
I nodded. “Yeah.”
His voice sharpened. “We’re supposed to let a man walk into an open square and not tell his bodyguards someone might put a bullet in his chest? How the hell is that okay?”
“It’s not,” I said. “But it might be necessary.”
He rounded on me. “Since when do you just roll over for orders?”
“Hey! Easy,” I said, holding up both hands in the universal “don’t shoot” signal. “I’m not caving to orders; I’m following the mission. Manakin’s right.If we alert the Vatican too soon, whoever’s behind this vanishes, and we lose their trail. You know that.”
Will looked away, his jaw clenched so tight I thought his teeth might crack.
“We tell Rinaldi something,” he said finally, voice low. “Not everything—but something.”
I nodded. “We need him to trust us. He’s our only direct line to the Vatican’s upper floors. But . . . we leave out the note, the cardinal’s cassock, and the names.”
Will paced to the wall and back, then stopped and looked at me. “You’re sure about this?”
“No,” I half laughed, shaking my head. “But I know if we blow this op, there’s no second chance. It might not be the Pope next, but some leader will die, probably a string of them.”
He nodded slowly. Reluctantly.
“Fine,” he said. “Let’s go lie to a priest.”
“To a whole church is more like it,” I said, smirking in the way that usually had Will’s mouth twitching. He only glared and raised his middle finger.
We exited the secure chamber and passed through the narrow middle hallway. The outer chamber hadn’t changed, not that I expected it to. The clerk was still seated, stern and motionless, and the two Swiss Guards hadn’t moved a single one of their overly built muscles. Rinaldi was pacing, his hands clasped behind his back, head bent in thought or prayer or whatever a high-ranking priestdid when he felt the weight of the world pressing down.
Rinaldi looked up when we entered, and the crease between his brows deepened. “You’ve spoken to your superiors?”
I glanced at the guards and the clerk, then back at Rinaldi, raising one meaning-filled brow.
He startled, as though my not-so-veiled meaning had just smacked him between the eyes. “Should we return to the secure room?”
I thought a moment. Given the limited information we were about to give the man, I decided to lower the drama level of our delivery.
“No, unfortunately, what we have to share doesn’t rise to that level of secrecy.”
Rinaldi’s face fell, and his shoulders slumped. Clearly, he’d been banking on us offering some miracle that might settle every nerve in the Vatican.
“Fine,” Rinaldi said. “In that case, let us take a walk. This room is beginning to close in around me.”
