Francis finished reading the letter, detailing much of what was being discussed. It appeared His Holiness’ plan of lobbing an accusation without proof had had its desired effect. Holy Roman Emperor Frederick II stood accused of being a heretic by the pope, and those within the court and the Electoral College who supported His Holiness over the Holy Roman Emperor, were making hay with the unfounded claim. The longer it took for the actual treatise to arrive, the better, for it would allow doubt to foment further.

  “When do we expect the messenger to arrive?” asked Simon.

  His Holiness turned to Francis who stepped forward. “We can’t be exactly sure, as he’s using private resources and not Templar. We have no idea where he exactly is right now. Depending on the type of horse he’s riding, it could be as little as five days from the time he left to as many as fourteen.”

  Simon’s head bobbed. “Let’s hope it’s closer to fourteen. If two weeks should pass with the court in turmoil, the emperor’s power grab will certainly fail.”

  “Agreed,” said His Holiness as Francis returned the message.

  “Then I think, perhaps, when this current crisis is dealt with, it might be time to put an end to this problem once and for all.”

  His Holiness regarded the cardinal. “Just what are you suggesting?”

  Simon stepped closer to His Holiness’ desk, lowering his voice slightly. “The Holy Roman Emperors have been thorns in our side for over a century. The current emperor, particularly so. The man has already been excommunicated. His questioning of our faith, even before the discovery of the treatise, is well known. If there has ever been more of a skeptic on the throne, I can’t think of one. For this man to have any sway over the matters of the Church is untenable.”

  “Again, while I agree with everything you said, what is it you’re suggesting?”

  “We should make our move against him now while he’s been weakened by this accusation. Excommunicate him again. Demand the Princes of Christendom swear fealty to you and the papacy, and reduce him to nothing more than a figurehead with no power. Destroy his family name, and when he dies, we’re not dealing with an heir who holds a grudge and perhaps views that match his father’s. I fear that entire family has been touched by evil.”

  His Holiness’ head slowly bobbed and Francis gulped at the implications of what was being proposed. Simon was suggesting a war of words between the Vatican and the Holy Roman Emperor, and wars of words had the nasty habit of turning into all-out conflict.

  If this went too far, they could be at war.

  45 |

  Heading South on Highway A1 Italy Present Day

  Jihad gripped the steering wheel as he shoved the gas pedal to the floor. His pulse pounded in his ears as his heart raced, rage consuming him as the traffic continued to get in his way. He could see the infidels ahead, but every time he thought he was about to close the gap, some fool would block his path.

  If only he had a gun.

  When the man had thrown the case, he had thought they were victorious. But when he discovered it was empty and he had been played for the fool, he had seen red. Never in his life had he been so angry, and for the first time he had a true thirst for blood. He wanted to kill them, kill them all. Not just the man and woman who had tricked them, not just the team from the Vatican. He wanted them all dead.

  All the infidels.

  All the Christians.

  All the Jews.

  Everyone who didn’t embrace Islam or bow down before it. This was his day and no one was stopping him. Today, he would die a martyr, but not before he got his hands on the blasphemous document and destroyed it, condemning its insults to Islam to oblivion.

  “Go! Go! Go!” shouted Haasim as he pointed to a gap in the traffic. Jihad hammered on the gas, swinging them to the right as he punched through the opening. They surged past half a dozen cars then he jerked the wheel to the left, putting them back in the fast lane with the shoulder giving him a little bit of room but not enough, as too many cars intentionally blocked them.

  They were all in on it.

  Every one of them.

  All in his so-called home were anti-Muslim. They must be seeing the keffiyehs around their necks, the proudly displayed Palestinian colors causing the racist Italians to get in his way. But Allah was on his side and he would catch the infidels. He would punish them for tricking him.

  Then he would kill them for attempting to spread more lies about his faith.

  46 |

  Giasson’s Office The Vatican

  Giasson watched the security monitors through the glass that separated his office from his team. He had just got off the phone with Father Esposito who sounded terrified, as did the passengers in the vehicle with him. So far, the small convoy was managing to keep ahead of their pursuers but the gap was closing and they were still hours from Rome. Local authorities appeared to be in disarray and details were sketchy. At the moment, all police resources in the area were responding to what sounded like a massacre at the dig site. Esposito didn’t know what had happened. All he knew was that a mob had descended on the site, and as they were making their escape, heavy gunfire crackled behind them.

  Acton had coordinated their escape and everyone had made it out unscathed, but it meant getting the Italian police to respond to what was happening on the highway was next to impossible. At the moment, anything phoned in by drivers witnessing the pursuit would be interpreted as hooligans out street-racing. He had just finished informing his counterpart in the Rome police about what was actually happening, and she had promised she would do what she could to coordinate a response, but he feared it would come far too late.

  Rizzo knocked on his closed door and Giasson waved him in. His second-in-command entered, a frown creasing his face as he held up a tablet. “We’ve been monitoring social media. Posts are going out on the usual sites calling for people to rally at the Vatican in support of the Palestinian cause.”

  “Any mention of the Treatise?”

  “Not yet. Whoever’s behind this, I think, is just trying to get a lot of the useful idiots out.”

  Giasson’s head bobbed. Useful idiots were the worst type of protester. They had no idea about any of the facts surrounding what they were protesting. They were just out there because it was a protest. Today, it might be to support Palestinians. Tomorrow, it could be animal cruelty. The day after, a cancellation of their favorite TV show. He didn’t worry about them. They were meant to make an event’s cause seem more supported than it actually was. Get fifty people who truly believed in something out there protesting and it wouldn’t even make the news. Get fifty people plus 500 morons and the press would get all riled up, claiming a cause was clearly supported by the masses when it actually wasn’t.

  But this wasn’t a protest to support the Palestinians. If he wasn’t mistaken, this was an attempt to clog the streets around the Vatican, and if they succeeded, Esposito’s team, even if it reached Rome, would never get within the walls of the city.

  “Sir, what are your orders?”

  Giasson sighed and regarded Rizzo. “Crowd estimates?”

  “A couple hundred outside the front gate. A few dozen at each of the others, but more pouring in every minute.”

  There was a tap at the door, Francesco Russo, one of their newer recruits, poking his head in. “Sir, there’s something you’re going to want to see.”

  “What is it?”

  Russo jerked his chin toward the TV in Giasson’s office. “Channel twenty-four. They’ve got a reporter out front.”

  Giasson picked up the remote and switched the channel then cursed. Now that the news was covering it, things could only get worse. “What’s our status?”

  Rizzo’s frown was even deeper now. “We just got the last of the tourists out a few minutes ago. All gates are closed. Anybody who works or lives here who isn’t in an essential position has been encouraged to leave.”

  “His Holiness?”

  “The chopper’s ready, the route’s cleared, but he’s indicated he’s not leaving.”

  Giasson leaned back in his chair and groaned. “That man will be the death of me.”

  Rizzo chuckled. “I can see his point of view. Right now, there’s not much going on. A few hundred protesters outside our gate isn’t exactly unusual, and the circumstances are different than last time.”

  Giasson cocked an eyebrow. “Are they?”

  “Well, yes. The relic was found here.”

  “Yes. And in this case the relic’s being brought here. If it arrives, what will these people do?”

  Rizzo pinched his chin. “Last time it was terrorists who had organized things. This time there’s no indication that’s what’s happening.”

  “True. But, unfortunately, a mob doesn’t always need a leader to cause havoc. Fanatics of any stripe who feel hard done by can quickly get out of control. When mob mentality takes over, normally good people can turn bad with the slightest provocation.” He sighed. “I don’t know what this world is coming to, but I fear where we’re heading can bring only chaos.”

  47 |

  Heading South on Highway A1 Italy

  Acton kneeled on the floor, his legs angled in such a way as to lock him in place as Lombardi continued to swerve in and out of traffic, expertly keeping them ahead of their pursuers. Laura sat wedged in the corner, bent over, one leg curled up under her, her other foot extended, pressing against the bottom of the driver’s seat.

  “Are you sure we should do this?” asked Mai as she and Tommy were jockeyed around the rear row.

  Acton regarded her. “Of course we shouldn’t be doing this, but we don’t have a choice. If they get their hands on this, it’ll be destroyed regardless. We’ll never know what it said. This might be our only chance to ever read the text of the Treatise and fill in this gap in history.”

  “And you’re willing to die for that?” asked Tommy incredulously.

  Acton looked up at him. “Who said anything about dying? They’re coming after us whether we do this or not.”

  “We could always throw it out the window.”

  Laura dismissed the young man’s suggestion. “First of all, they probably wouldn’t realize what we had thrown out the window, and second of all, James is right. This is a piece of history and we’re stuck with it for now. If they catch us, we’ll surrender it and hopefully that’ll be the end of it. But if we have a chance to discover its secrets before that, then we should. Now, if you feel strongly about this, however, we’ll stop.”

  Tommy stared at them both, his eyes darting between his two mentors then finally to Mai. “What do you think?”

  “I want to know.”

  Acton grinned. “That’s my girl.”

  “Fine. Do it. I guess I’m curious too why someone would want to kill us over some pieces of paper.”

  Lombardi glanced in his rearview mirror. “Don’t forget how many they slaughtered just because of some cartoons. This thing sounds far worse.”

  Acton agreed. “Then I suggest we find out why they want to kill us over something they’ve never seen or probably heard of before today. No point in everybody being ignorant.” He returned his attention to the pages, zooming in with his phone and taking some photos. “It appears to be six pages folded in half. They appear to be in remarkably good condition. I’m gonna see if I can remove the innermost page.”

  The pages were now slightly fanned out, which boded well for successfully extricating each page. If they were stuck together due to excess moisture, his efforts would likely shred them, but the leather folio and the relatively controlled conditions of what Acton assumed was at some point a root cellar, appeared to have left things in reasonably good condition. He just wished he had his satchel and the tools it contained. Unfortunately, it had been left behind in the rush to escape.

  He reached in, pinched the edge of the innermost page, and took a deep breath, holding it before gently pulling. The page slid out and he sensed no resistance. He continued to pull in one continuous motion, focusing on the sensation in his fingertips, ready to stop at the slightest hint of resistance. But none came, and the page was soon free. He looked at the others excitedly and no one said a word, all eyes glued on the exposed page.

  “Somebody tell me what’s going on. If I’m going to die for this, I want to know why.”

  Acton exhaled and a nervous laugh escaped at Lombardi’s outburst. “I’ve got the innermost page out,” he reported. “If we assume the pages are folded the way you normally would today, then hopefully it is the first two pages of the Treatise, since it appears there’s writing on the back side. We don’t know about the inside yet.” He gestured at Tommy. “Take a good photo of what’s exposed now and run it through your app. Make sure it gets uploaded into the cloud. If something happens to us, I want there to be a record.”

  “Yes, sir.” Tommy leaned over the seat and positioned his phone, taking a series of photos before climbing back.

  “Now I’m gonna try to flip the page.” Acton gently picked up the piece of paper around the curled crease in the center and flipped it over, wincing as a sliver broke off in his fingers. “That’s what I feared.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” said Laura. “We knew this could happen. We don’t have a choice, like you said.”

  Acton leaned back. “Okay, Tommy. We’re ready for you.”

  Tommy leaned back in, taking photos of the newly exposed portion of the document then returned to the rear row as Acton looked up at Laura. “The only way we’re seeing the inside is if I force it open. It doesn’t seem too brittle but it was brittle enough for this little piece to break off.” He held up the fingertip-sized piece of parchment. “What do you think?”

  She glanced out the window. “I think they’re getting closer.”

  Acton inhaled again. “Then here goes nothing.” He gripped either side of the page between his thumbs and forefingers then slowly spread them apart. His heart pounded as the page continued to spread, the text inside revealed, and he stopped. “Tommy, can you get in there? Maybe you can get a good shot without me having to open it all the way.”

  Tommy leaned over, performing an acrobatic act that had Mai holding his legs and Laura gripping his belt. He took several shots. “Pull me up.” Mai and Laura hauled him up, pushing him back into the rear row, and he examined his handiwork. “I think I got it. I should be able to manipulate this to turn it into a flatter image.”

  Acton smiled, gently closing the page back up, giving Laura a chagrined look. “I guess I should have thought of that sooner.”

  She reached out and squeezed his forearm. “None of us are exactly thinking straight right now. I know I didn’t think of it either.”

  “Holy shit!”

  Acton pushed his hips forward and groaned at his aching back as he rose to see an excited Tommy holding out his phone. “I ran it through the app. The top of the inner page translates to Treatise of the Three Impostors!”

  A wave of gooseflesh washed over Acton as the moment of discovery, of confirmation, overwhelmed him, their dire situation momentarily forgotten. Laura reached out for him and he grabbed her, hugging her hard as Tommy and Mai did the same.

  “So, is it worth dying for?” asked Lombardi from the front seat, bringing reality back to the situation.

  Acton chuckled as he let go of Laura. “Definitely not. But at least if we do die, it won’t be in ignorance.”

  “Bah! I don’t care about ignorance. I’ve already found my positive way of looking at my impending death.”

  Acton hesitated to ask. “What’s that?”

  “I won’t have to pay for my damned ex-wife’s car repairs.”

  48 |

  Discovery Site North of Sipicciano, Italy

  Davide spun and cried out at the sight of his mother and father rushing toward him. He collapsed into her outstretched arms and wept, unable to control his emotions any longer. His father wrapped his arms around them both and the three of them stood there, a family reunited, as the horrors of what had taken place a short while ago replayed on the back of his eyelids, a preview of what he had in store for perhaps the rest of his life.

  His mother gently pushed him away and stared down at him, gripping him by his face, her thumbs wiping the tears from his cheeks. “Are you all right? Are you hurt?”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  His father regarded him. “That’s not a yes or no. Did they hurt you?”

  Davide looked away, ashamed. “I was kicked a couple of times and someone punched me.”

  His mother gasped. “Oh no! We need to get you to a hospital, get you checked out.”

  Davide dismissed the idea vigorously. “I just want to go home. The paramedics already looked at me.” He stared at them. “How did you know to come?”

  “Zaccaria’s mother saw it on the news, so I called your father at work. He came and picked me up and then we came straight here.”

  Davide stared at his feet. “I’m sorry you had to leave work, Dad.”

  His father reached out and gripped his shoulder, giving it a squeeze and a shake. “You’re my son. You’ll always come first.”

  Davide’s eyes burned and he squeezed them shut, battling the tears that threatened to flow. “I’m so sorry!” His shoulders shook and his father embraced him as he cried like he hadn’t in years, his entire body convulsing as he relived the horror. He sniffed hard, his head pressed against his father’s chest, the scent of his cologne filling Davide’s nostrils, and for the first time since it had all started, he felt safe. “I killed a man.”

  “What?”

  “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to. I mean, I did mean to, but I had to. I didn’t want to. I swear to God, I didn’t want to, but I had no choice! He was killing us!”

 

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