Page 93 of Skotos
Thomas whistled, his brows lifting. “Someone’s been planning.”
“Planning it from every angle,” I agreed.
The meaning settled over us like the dust in the room—heavy and choking.
“Holy shit. We were right.” Thomas blinked. “They’re really going to kill the Pope.”
42
Thomas
We stared at the wall. The red-ink notations, the grainy black-and-white photos, the meticulously arranged vantage points around the Vatican—all of it suddenly took on a different weight now that we saw it for what it was: a tactical map.
No, a kill box.
Will stepped closer to the wall, his fingers lightly touching the edge of one clipping. “These aren’t just surveillance shots.”
“No,” I said quietly. “They’re blueprints, a step-by-step for whoever’s going to pull the trigger.”
He pointed to one image—an overhead shot of the piazza. “That’s from the Apostolic Palace. And that one . . .” He moved to a sharper-angled photo. “ . . . looks like it’s from the roof of the Excelsior.”
My jaw clenched. “That’s less than three hundred yards from the balcony. Perfect sniper distance.”
Will stepped back from the wall, running a hand through his hair, pacing a slow, tense loop around the room. “We need his schedule. If we can find out when he’s going to be out there—”
“—we can stop it,” I finished for him. “But how?”
“I say we call Manakin. This is bigger than us now.”
I shook my head before he’d even finished. “No. If we do that, Washington will step in, Vatican security will get spooked, and they’ll pull the Pope indoors and cancel the appearance—whatever it is. The shooters will vanish, and we’ll lose our chance.”
“You’d rather risk the Pope’s life than scare away the killers?” Will turned on me. “This thing could shake the world, Thomas. Seriously, we can’t just—”
“That’snotwhat I’m saying,” I said firmly. “I’m saying we have tocatchthem. If we don’t, they’ll just try again somewhere else with another leader, possibly with the Pope as he delivers another mass. If we lose this chance, we might never know when or where they plan to strike again until it’s too late.”
He paced, hands on his hips. “It’s hislife, Thomas.”
“And it’s the only chance we have to end this madness. You know that.”
He looked like he wanted to argue but didn’t. Instead, he dropped into the nearest chair and buried his face in his hands. “God, I hate this. All of it.”
I rested a hand on his shoulder. “So do I.”
We were quiet a moment, surrounded by the stillness of that cold basement chamber, our breathing the only sound.
Will finally looked up. “All right. So we keep this between us.”
I nodded. “We get eyes on the piazza . . . and we talk to Lucio’s people, see if any of them know someone in the Swiss Guard. Maybe they’ve heard something.”
“And rooftops,” Will added. “We need to check every single vantage point pictured here. If they’re prepping for a shot, we’ll find it.”
“We’d better,” I said, rising slowly. Pain flared through me, but I kept it to myself.
Will stood, too, watching me. “You okay?”
“No, but I will be.”
I pulled the Vatican clippings from the wall and folded them into my coat pocket.
