“I need to get to Rome and hand the journal over to you for safekeeping. Can you arrange for a private jet to fly me to Rome immediately?”
“I’ll have it prepped”—Dominic glanced at his clock, calculating the time he could have the jet ready—“in Memphis at 10 p.m. your time.”
“No, wait, I’m currently in Naples, Florida. Can you reroute it to Naples?”
The line went silent for a moment. “Why are you in Florida?”
“That’s a convoluted tale. Can you just get the jet here?”
“You can explain your presence in Florida when you arrive here.”
“Thank you, Dominic. I truly appreciate it. So, still 10 p.m., but in Naples, Florida?”
Dominic glanced at the clock again. “Make it 8:00 p.m. Fortunately for you, it’s already at the airport in Naples right now.”
“Thank you.” Mario rubbed his right thigh, feeling the microSD card sewn into his flesh. This was his insurance policy. Handing over the original journal to the Vatican assassin was the ransom he’d pay to ensure Janet’s safe return.
After hanging up, he retreated to his cottage to pack his essentials before making his way to the airport.
Chapter 96
May 17, 2000
Wednesday, 10:32 a.m.
Rome, Italy
Five men in black suits passed through the entrance to the Trinity Bank of Italy. Like a well-oiled machine, they fanned out, each taking a customer under their wing and guiding them towards the exit. Their voices were hushed whispers, their words chosen carefully to avoid inciting panic. They were the Vatican’s elite, their mission: clear the bank under the guise of a potential gas leak.
As the final customer vacated the premises, a pair of the Vatican’s finest remained at the entrance, their stance a silent warning to any who dared approach. The sign on the door flipped to Closed. Another two operatives took up strategic positions on opposite walls of the bank. Their right hands remained concealed within their suits, fingers curled around silenced 9mm handguns, ready to quell any form of resistance.
“Your presence is required at the Vatican,” Vittorio, the lead assassin declared, his eyes locked on the bank manager that was making his way to the center of the bank. The manager, a Templar known as Francois, had known what was about to transpire from the moment the men entered. He appreciated the courtesy the assassins had shown, ensuring the bank was devoid of innocent bystanders before violence ensued.
“And why is that?” Francois responded, maintaining a veneer of professionalism amidst the escalating tension in the air.
“An unresolved matter regarding our account here.”
“I’m certain we can address any concerns you might—”
“Enough with the charade,” Vittorio snarled, cutting him off.
“How did you track us down?”
“Your ‘altar boy’ was spotted outside a grocery store in Florida. You underestimated our global surveillance. Did you really believe a priest could remain hidden in Florida?”
“Have you come to exterminate us?” Francois asked, his voice unwavering.
“No. As I stated, the Vatican requests your presence. The pope merely desires a private conversation with your leader.”
“Ah. He’s currently unavailable, but I’ll be sure to pass along the message.”
Growing impatient, the assassin cut to the chase. “The Vatican seeks what is rightfully ours.”
“And what might that be?”
The assassin grew visibly agitated. “You know damn well, Francois. We are the rightful heirs to Solomon’s treasure.”
Francois remained silent, refusing to acknowledge Vittorio’s claim. Solomon’s treasure could never fall into the Vatican’s hands. His gaze shifted to the assassins at the door, his mind racing, knowing this confrontation was far from over.
“By the way, excellent hiding place. I must say, we never thought of this.” Vittorio gestured expansively, his arms sweeping across the resplendence of the bank’s interior. “Genius. Hidden in plain sight, right under our nose.”
“Your words honor us,” Francois responded, placing his right hand on his stomach as he dipped his head in a respectful nod to his formidable adversary. “Do extend my regards to His Holiness,” he added, straightening up while his hand surreptitiously sought the remote hanging from his neck. “However, we have more urgent matters to attend to.” Locating the remote under his shirt, he pressed the button, triggering the self-destruct sequence.
The Templars had meticulously designed and constructed the building for this exact moment, anticipating the day the Vatican might uncover their covert operation. They had danced dangerously close to the flame for decades, always evading detection. But now, the jig was up.
The remote activated electronic locks on the front doors—heavy steel barriers slid into place, sealing everyone inside. Gas lines embedded in the walls ignited, setting the white-oak walls ablaze.
“Checkmate,” Francois smirked at the Vatican assassin.
Without skipping a beat, Vittorio drew his handgun and shot Francois in the forehead. The Templar’s body crumpled to the floor, blood pooling around his head on the polished cement. “Eliminate the rest and let’s get out of here.”
The assassin on the left side of the bank swiftly shot the two Templars near the teller counter. Meanwhile, the two assassins at the entrance grappled futilely with the impenetrable steel doors.
In the basement, pipes affixed to the ceiling sprayed liquid gas over the entire Templar basement quarters, offices, and archives. The entire underground below the bank erupted in a fiery inferno. The twenty Templar staff, trained for this moment, each bit down on a cyanide capsule, opting for a swift death over the raging flames. The temperature quickly soared to over a thousand degrees, reducing the archives to ash.
Back in the bank lobby, instead of water, the sprinkler system doused the room with gasoline. The Vatican hit squad scrambled to avoid the flammable rain. As the flames roiled, the men screamed in agony, frantically trying to extinguish the fire consuming their flesh. Vittorio, seeing his team was suffering, mercifully shot each man. His own body now a living torch, he pressed the gun to his heart and pulled the trigger.
Trinity Bank had become a fiery tomb. In less than thirty minutes, the destruction would be complete. The booby-trapped building, rigged for total annihilation, collapsed in on itself, obliterating all traces of the Templar outpost. Any subsequent investigation by local authorities would conclude that the building had been destroyed by an accidental gas leak.
Chapter 97
May 17, 2000
Wednesday, 10:52 a.m.
Private Airfield
Rome, Italy
Mario’s eyes were fixated on the row of hangars as the Gulfstream G650ER maneuvered its way towards them. He could make out Dominic’s silhouette standing with an air of readiness beside a sleek black limousine, the vehicle primed to transport them to Rome’s bustling train station. A knot of anxiety twisted in the pit of his stomach, gnawing at his resolve. With Janet’s life hanging in the balance, he’d made the critical decision to orchestrate a face-off between the Vatican assassins and the Templars. If they were hell-bent on pursuing this blood feud, he would play the role of matchmaker, setting the stage for their deadly rendezvous. Amidst the pandemonium, he hoped to find a fleeting opportunity to rescue Janet.
Noticing his cell phone reception was back, he dialed Alistar’s number.
“Where are you?” came Alistar’s dead voice, his tone carrying the slightest trace of impatience. He was seated in the back seat of a Mercedes sedan parked inconspicuously outside Roberto’s residence, awaiting Mario’s arrival. The driver, glancing in the mirror at Alistar, eavesdropped on the conversation. Janet was bound and gagged in the backseat, the assassin looming over her.
“You were right. I lied,” Mario confessed, praying his admission wouldn’t trigger Janet’s execution. “The journal you want is at the Rome train station.”
“Are you fucking with me, Father?”
