“We’ve been tracking unusual activity inside the Vatican, particularly following the funeral of your predecessor, Father Benedetti,” Dominic revealed.
Mario absorbed Dominic’s words. The Templars had been vigilantly monitoring the Vatican? How could they possibly possess detailed knowledge of Father Benedetti’s untimely demise months ago?
“A young priest succumbing to a heart attack seemed suspicious to us. We increased our surveillance, deploying our insiders to watch for any anomalies. Recently, we noticed an uptick in activity among the Vatican assassins. We trailed them, but . . .” Dominic’s voice faltered, grappling with the next revelation. “We couldn’t save your friend. My deepest condolences.”
“You’re aware of Roberto’s death?”
“That was the catalyst that put us on high alert—we were able to move into position just in time to protect you.”
“The man in the alley, who was he?”
“One of our brethren. We had four decoys in the vicinity, each prepared to sacrifice their life for you.” Dominic detailed the intricate operation to safeguard Mario from the relentless Vatican assassin.
“But why?”
“You must possess something of such significance that the powers-that-be want you eliminated.”
“Why does the Vatican employ assassins?” Mario was vexed that the holiest of institutions engaged in assassination. He was familiar with the one hundred thirty-five Swiss Guard safeguarding Vatican City and the pope, but that was benign, expected; assassins, on the other hand, should have no place there.
“They are a covert division within the Vatican, tasked with eliminating those who pose a threat to the pope or the Vatican’s reputation.”
“I’ve never heard of them.”
“Few have. This isn’t public knowledge, Mario. Can you fathom the fallout if the Catholic faithful discovered the Vatican orchestrated mafia-style operations to neutralize potential threats to its existence?”
“They would abandon the Church.”
“That’s precisely why their existence remains a secret. They operate under the radar, leaving no trace of their actions.”
Mario rubbed his thigh, feeling the microSD card embedded under his skin. The weight of this information was overwhelming.
Dominic noticed Mario’s subtle gesture. Perhaps just a nervous twitch? “Let me escort you to your quarters so you can freshen up and rest.”
“Thank you.” Mario rose, appreciating the hospitality. “I could use some sleep.”
Chapter 76
March 12, 2000
Sunday, 5:55 a.m.
Rome, Italy
Mario awoke drenched in sweat, haunted by the nightmare of Roberto’s brutal murder. The image of the man in black—with eyes as demonic as the night, teeth sharp as razors, horns and skin as red as blood—jolted him from his sleep. Was this the same assassin that had hunted him yesterday? His lifelong dream of serving the Vatican had morphed into a terrifying nightmare. In less than a day, he had lost his best friend, been scandalized in the Vatican newspaper, pursued by a Vatican assassin, witnessed the execution of his doppelgänger, discovered the legendary Knights Templars, and was now taking refuge in their subterranean headquarters. How had his life spiraled into this chaos?
He ambled over to the room’s dresser to find it half-filled with clean clothes. As he pulled out a shirt and underwear that seemed to be his size. How did they know? He slipped into the bathroom and changed into the fresh clothes. Emerging, he noticed the small table in the center of the room was now laden with juice, a carafe of coffee, and a pastry. The Templars really had thought of everything. He settled into the comfortable chair, savoring the juice and pastry while admiring the simple yet thoughtful accommodations provided by the Templars for his indefinite stay.
Having finished his meal, he ventured out of his room to explore the underground network. This area resembled a hotel corridor more than the bustling office space he’d entered from the vault elevator the previous day. Peering into one of the rooms, he saw rows of bookshelves reminiscent of the Vatican Secret Archives. Intrigued, he pushed the door fully open and stepped inside.
The volumes and records were meticulously sequenced in chronological order. He sauntered down the aisle watching the years recede until he arrived at the 1940s. Identifying a registry for the year 1941, he pulled it down and flipped it open. His gaze skimmed over the names until it anchored on “Hannah Goldstein”—the Hannah Goldstein from the journal, he was certain—who made her appearance in August 1941.
“How strange. The pope’s journal claimed she died on the plane,” he murmured to the journal.
“I see you’ve discovered our archives,” Dominic’s voice rumbled through the room, causing Mario to jump.
“You startled me.”
“My apologies. That wasn’t my intention.” Dominic’s eyes flicked to the registry in Mario’s grasp. “Which name piqued your interest?”
”Hannah Goldstein.”
“Ah, yes. She was a remarkably shrewd young girl. Managed to evade the clutches of the Treblinka death camp,” Dominic said with a hint of admiration. “Her pregnancy proved an unexpected lifeline.”
“She was pregnant?”
“Yes, she was suffering from morning sickness as she boarded the plane. Her severe nausea prompted the crew to remove her from the flight, which took off without her. When the plane met its tragic end, she took refuge in the forest for an hour before making her way to Rome. That’s when we found her.”
“She stayed here?”
“In the very room you’re occupying now,” Dominic admitted.
“What became of her?”
“She found sanctuary with us for a few months, after which we arranged for her to move to America—ironically, we fulfilled the pope’s promise to her. There, we connected her with a welcoming family with whom she could raise her newborn son.”
“Is she still alive?”
“Indeed, she and her son are thriving in America. He’s a successful author, penning books on World War II. Quite the twist of fate, wouldn’t you say?”
