Day of Confession - Allan Folsom [187]
“HARRY—”
“What?—”
Harry was bent over, recovering the tossed phone and at the same time sucking on his bloody knuckle.
“What’s wrong?”
“The fucking water’s off, okay?”
Danny put up a hand as they reached the far end of the gallery. Elena stopped the wheelchair. In front of them was a closed gate to the gallery beyond. The Galleria Lapidaria, the Gallery of Inscriptions. As far as they could tell, no one was inside.
For the first time they were alone, the crowd, the rush, the panic moving in the opposite direction.
“I’m going for fire three. Are you out of there?” Harry’s voice came through the phone.
“Two more stops.”
“Hurry the hell up.”
“The Swiss Guards are outside in force.”
“Forget the last two stops.”
“We do, you’ll have Farel and the Swiss Guards all over you.”
“Then stop talking and do it.”
“Harry.” Danny looked back. Through the window he could see the Swiss Guards pulling on gas masks, and firemen with breathing tanks and fire axes.
“Eaton is somewhere here. Adrianna Hall is with him.”
“How the hell did—?”
“I don’t know.”
“Jesus Christ, Danny, forget Eaton. Just get the hell out of there!”
150
“IT’S A DIVERSION.” THOMAS KIND STOOD ON the roadway just below the tower, watching the smoke from the Vatican museums billow up, talking into the two-way radio in his hand. In the distance he could hear the scream of emergency vehicles en route from various Rome City locations.
“What will you do?” Farel’s voice came back at him.
“My plans have not changed. Nor should yours either.” Suddenly Thomas Kind clicked off, and turned back for the tower.
HERCULES CROUCHED in his perch, tying the last of the heavy knots in the snout of his climbing rope, and watched Thomas Kind come back up the pathway toward the tower, radio in hand, talking into it as he came. Below, he saw the black suits on the far side of the hedge.
Hercules waited for Thomas Kind to pass the tower. Then, crutches tied together by a short length of rope and tossed over his shoulder, he moved up on the wall, hesitated briefly, and whirled a length of rope with its heavily knotted snout over head. Standing up fully, balancing almost on air, he flung the rope up and over the roof.
The knotted end settled around a heavy iron railing, then fell back. As the rope went slack Hercules glanced around once more. In the distance he could see the smoke from Vatican buildings, and over the hill beyond the trees in front of him, still more smoke rising.
Standing, he whirled the rope once more and let it fly. Again it came back slack and he cursed himself. And threw it again.
On the fifth toss it snagged, and he tested his weight on it. The tension held and he went up, grinning, straight up the side of the tower, crutches dangling from his back. Moments later he disappeared from sight over its red-and-white-tile roof.
151
“DAMMIT!” EATON CHOKED AGAINST THE smoke, handkerchief to his mouth, watery eyes searching the courtyard from the upper window of the Gallery of Tapestries, watching for wheelchairs in the mass exodus. He had already seen two of the handicapped people and discounted them. Where the hell Father Daniel and the nurse were in this confusion was impossible to tell.
Smoke, coughing, tearing eyes, and the panic around them aside, none of it was keeping Adrianna from rattling into her cell phone. She had two camera crews outside, one in St. Peter’s square, the other at the entrance to the Vatican museums. Two more were on the way, and a Skycam helicopter pulled from the Adriatic coast, where it had been covering an Italian Navy exercise, was due any minute.
Suddenly Eaton was pulling her around, taking the phone from her, covering it with his hand.
“Tell them to watch for a bearded man in a wheelchair being cared for by a young woman,” he said urgently. “Tell them he’s suspected of starting the fire or whatever. Tell them if they spot him to keep him in sight and let you know right then. Thomas Kind gets to him first, it’s over.”
Adrianna nodded and Eaton gave her back the phone.
GRIMACING AT THE PAIN in his legs,