“What was he talking about, mother?” Trevor asked, his confusion evident.
“Trevor, please sit. There’s something I need to tell you.”
Trevor took a seat opposite his mother, his eyes searching hers, trying to decipher the secrets hidden within their depths.
“I’ve never shared this with you, or anyone,” Anna began, her voice barely above a whisper. She looked down at her hands folded in her lap. “I escaped from the Treblinka Extermination Camp when I was sixteen years old.”
Trevor’s eyes widened in shock. His mother had never spoken of her past, and he had never pressed her. The memories were too painful.
“I made it all the way to the pope’s summer residence to plead for your grandparents’ release from Treblinka.” Anna closed her eyes, bracing herself for the next part of the story. She had always told Trevor that his father was a war hero. That narrative was about to change. “I discovered that Pope Pius XII was just a man, like any other.” She took a deep breath, her eyes still closed. “He . . . took advantage of me. And I fell pregnant.”
Trevor’s mouth fell open in shock. “My father was Pope Pius XII?”
Anna looked up at her son, her eyes filled with regret. “Yes, but my being pregnant with you is what saved our lives.”
She had wanted to keep this secret from her son for as long as possible, preferably taking it to the grave. She’d dreaded the day would come he’d find out. And that day was today, when a stranger had walked into their home and exposed Anna’s past.
Outside the office door, Alistar listened in. Great. Yet another mess he would have to clean up. The revelation that the pope had spawned this bastard son was a secret that could not be made public.
Trevor rose and walked to the window. He looked out at the surf as he grappled inwardly with the shocking truth about his father. His entire life he’d been fed tales of a war hero father, stories that served as the foundation for his bestselling novels. The heroic narratives, the vivid images of bravery and valor—all were a fabrication. His father was the pope?
As he turned to confront his mother, he noticed the new butler standing ominously behind her chair. “Alistar, what’s happening?” he demanded.
“Sit down, Trevor,” Alistar commanded, his voice cold as he brandished a silenced gun and aimed it at Trevor.
Anna Muldoon’s body slumped lifelessly in her chair.
With the gun trained on him, Trevor moved cautiously around his desk and sank into the leather chair opposite his mother. “What did you do to her?” he whispered. There was no response.
Alistar moved to a table near the door to retrieve a syringe from his open briefcase. He filled it with a precise amount of fluid from a small vial. Approaching Trevor, the Vatican assassin seized his head and plunged the syringe into his neck. Trevor’s screams filled the room as a searing pain shot up his left arm, heading straight for his heart. Within seconds, the renowned author slumped forward in his chair, lifeless.
One by one, Alistar pushed the bodies onto the floor, arranging them to appear as if they had suffered simultaneous heart attacks. The coroner would have no reason to suspect foul play.
Retrieving his cell phone, Alistar dialed the number for his team, who were nearby, awaiting instructions. His voice was cold and detached as he said, “Collect Dr. Janet Doerr immediately.”
He ended the call and quickly typed out a message on the encrypted Vatican line:
Templar base at Trinity Bank
He hit Send.
Chapter 95
May 16, 2000
Tuesday, 6:48 p.m.
Naples, Florida
Oblivious to the lurking danger, Mario knocked on the garage door connected to Janet’s house. He was met with an eerie, unsettling silence. He rapped on the door again, louder this time, hoping she had merely missed his initial knock. He tried the knob and found it was unlocked. With a whirlwind of thoughts swirling in his mind, he pushed the door open and called out, “Janet? Are you here?” More silence. He fumbled for his cell phone to scan it for any missed messages from her. Nothing.
Suddenly, his phone buzzed. A text message from an unknown number flashed on the screen:
If you want to see your girlfriend again, hand over the journal.
A wave of fear crashed over him as he processed the menacing text. His hand trembled as he dialed the unknown number. With a quivering voice, he questioned, “Who is this?”
“The butler,” responding in their native Roman tongue.
A jolt of icy terror shot down Mario’s spine as the horrifying truth dawned on him—the Vatican’s lethal assassins had already found him. His thoughtless actions had unwittingly ensnared Janet in this deadly game of cat and mouse.
The air crackled with tension as Mario tried to form words. He failed.
“Mario, your assistance in locating Anna and her illegitimate offspring was invaluable. I understand you hoped to recruit them to your schemes. Unfortunately, they’ve had a . . . change of heart.”
Alistar’s icy, methodical actions confirmed Mario’s darkest fears. His relentless pursuit had led this assassin straight to his sole confidant in his mission to expose the Vatican’s sinister deeds. Remembering the Vatican left behind no trace of evidence, Mario interpreted the assassin’s cryptic statement—he had skillfully staged Anna and Trevor’s deaths to look like heart attacks, the signature method of execution for the Vatican’s killers.
“Where’s Janet?”
“Deliver the journal and your girlfriend will be returned. Any false moves and she’ll meet the same fate as the Muldoons.”
Mario was certain the assassin wouldn’t release Janet willingly, regardless of what he did. The Vatican couldn’t afford any loose ends. Alistar would ensure the journal was safely returned to the Archives, while Mario and Janet would be permanently silenced.
“I don’t have the journal. It’s stashed at my friend’s place in Rome.”
“You’re lying. We scoured every inch of that mansion.”
“I can meet you there tomorrow at noon. It will take me until then to fly to Rome so I can give you the journal.” Mario was a terrible liar. This diversion was a desperate attempt to sidestep the lie and buy some time to come up with a plan. Roberto had taught him this tactic. He could only pray the assassin would take the bait.
“If you fail to appear, your girlfriend will meet her end, Father Mario Marino.”
The merciless killer whispering his name sent a new surge of bone-chilling fear pulsating through Mario’s veins. He had never faced such raw, unfiltered evil head-on. It reminded him of an exorcism, though he’d never borne witness to one in person. He had only heard second-hand accounts from veteran priests about the nightmarish rage that erupted during such ceremonies, brought on by demonic spirits writhing within the possessed. Right now, Mario was convinced his situation was even worse—the assassin’s cold-blooded disregard for life was nothing short of a living nightmare.
He stared at his phone, plotting his next course of action. The journal was at the epicenter of this malevolent turmoil that had upended his life since he’d discovered it. He had to surrender it. Who were the pivotal players in this deadly chess game? The Vatican and the Templars. He would have to draw both parties into this perilous match to have a chance at securing Janet’s survival.
Removing the card Dominic had entrusted him with from his wallet, he dialed the number on its face.
“Dominic, it’s Mario. I am so sorry for disturbing you at this late hour, but I’m in desperate need of help. I have a situation and require your immediate assistance.”
Dominic’s voice, groggy with sleep in greeting, instantly hardened, his senses on high alert. “What do you need?” he demanded, his tone sharp and focused.
“I wasn’t entirely truthful when I was with you,” Mario confessed, his voice heavy with guilt, “but I do in fact possess the journal of Pope Pius XII.”
A chilling silence fell over the line as Dominic absorbed the ramifications of Mario’s confession.
Sensing that this wasn’t enough to fully engage the Templar, Mario added, “It contains detailed accounts by Pacelli on how he manipulated Hitler during World War II in his attempt to gain control of Solomon’s treasure.”
“What do you want me to do?”
