Temple of the Gods - Andy McDermott [68]
Agnelli was leaving an audible trail of protesting voices. She followed it, emerging from the hall into a larger and more spacious section of interconnected chapels and shrines. This part of the grottoes was much busier: the tomb of John Paul II, a recent and highly venerated pope, was situated within.
Nina slowed, scanning the throng of pilgrims. Where was Agnelli? Trying to blend in with the crowd – or using them as cover to escape?
A woman’s cry told her it was the latter. She saw an elderly lady in black lying on the pale marble floor, her companions still reeling. Agnelli’s path was as clear as a ship’s wake.
‘Let me through!’ Nina shouted as she ran after him. Even giving a warning, she still had to sweep an arm ahead of her like a snowplough to push past the startled mourners – until a shriek of ‘Pistola!’ told her that someone had seen her gun.
The chamber erupted into chaos, frightened people scattering in all directions. Nina cursed. She had briefly spotted Agnelli’s distinctive haircut over the crowd – now it was lost again in the confusion.
A man called out ahead. From his authoritative tone he was clearly a member of the Vatican’s staff, trying to restore order. A woman shouted behind her; Nina’s Italian was limited, but she knew enough to pick out capelli rossi – red hair. Two attendants in dark uniforms swung in her direction, yelling ‘Scostare, scostare!’ as they pushed people out of their way.
Nina ducked lower, angling away from the guards into the milling mass. She could no longer afford to be polite – if she were caught, by the time she explained the situation Agnelli would have escaped.
A broad set of steps ahead. She jumped them, almost slipping on the marble as she landed and careering against a burly man. The gun was snagged from her grasp by his camera strap and clattered to the floor. Shit!
No time to stop and pick it up. All she could do was keep running. Another glimpse of Agnelli. He was heading along the right side of the new room, passing the tombs set into the alcoves along it.
He rushed into one of them. Nina glanced back. One of the guards had tripped on the steps, bowling over a tourist as he fell. His comrade was lost to sight behind a knot of panicking people.
She reached the alcove, home to a stone sarcophagus, and charged through the doorway behind it. Ahead was a museum, archaeological discoveries from beneath the Vatican on display behind glass. No time for sightseeing; she continued to chase Agnelli through the rooms. He now had something in his hand – a phone, she realised.
Who was he calling? And was he trying to get help – or backup?
The panting Agnelli ran up a flight of stairs, thumb clumsily swiping over his phone’s screen. Once he got outside into the Piazzetta Braschi, he would finally have cell reception and be able to call the number his contact had given him for emergencies.
Until now, his idea of what might constitute an emergency had been the Brotherhood becoming suspicious that he had secretly passed on information from the archives – not a madwoman chasing after him with a gun. The Brotherhood had killed her parents, and tried to kill her; after the ferocity with which she had attacked him in the catacombs, he had no doubts that she wanted to return the favour.
The thought sent a resurgent wave of fear through him, blowing away his fatigue. He glanced back. She was gaining. Oh, God help me!
Even in this holiest of places, God couldn’t assist him directly – but there was someone who could. He reached the top of the stairs and threw open a heavy door, tapping furiously at the screen as the phone finally got a signal. ‘Come on!’ he gasped as he ran into the square, turning to head for an archway that would take him out of Vatican territory back into Rome—
He stopped abruptly. Beyond the arch, two men in brightly coloured uniforms and black berets were sprinting towards him: Swiss Guards. Their elaborate, old-fashioned clothing might have looked ridiculous, but anyone who took the soldiers themselves lightly would quickly regret their mistake.