Pandemonium broke out—the crowd was scattering in all directions. Dominic’s bodyguard, undeterred by what was happening, forged a path for Dominic, shoving the panicked crowd aside to close distance on Alistar.
Wincing in agony as he propped himself up against the locker, Alistar locked his sights on the second Templar, who was barreling towards him. With a swift, practiced motion, he yanked his silenced 9mm from its holster, steadied his aim, and squeezed the trigger. The bullet whistled through the air, finding a home in the Templar’s chest, killing him instantly.
But the Vatican assassin didn’t have eyes in the back of his head.
Dominic, with his imposing bodyguard working the crowd, drew close to Alistar, stopping just a few feet behind the assassin. “Checkmate,” he declared with grim satisfaction. Yet the assassin didn’t react.
Instead, Alistar’s gaze slowly drifted upwards, drawn magnetically to a TV monitor mounted on the wall, its flickering display drawing his attention. The monitor was broadcasting the local news, its sound muted, but the images it displayed were deafening in their horror. The once majestic Trinity Bank was now nothing more than a smoldering crater, a grotesque testament to the destructive power of his associates. The horrifying images filled the large screen, painting a grim picture of devastation and chaos. A sinister smirk slowly spread across his face.
Dominic’s eyes followed Alistar’s line of sight and landed on the chilling scene displayed on the monitor. He read the caption scrolling across the bottom of the screen, a cold dread settling in his stomach: The Trinity Bank of Italy in Rome has been obliterated by an apparent gas leak that reduced the entire structure to rubble within minutes. We are awaiting confirmation on casualties. . . .
Alistar, his right arm draped across his midsection, aimed his silenced gun behind him and pulled the trigger in rapid succession. The bullets tore through Dominic and his bodyguard, the hollow points leaving gaping, bloody wounds. Both Templars collapsing to the ground, their lifeblood pooling on the train station floor.
Alistar, his gun now empty, holstered his weapon and straightened up, wincing at the throbbing pain in his groin. He limped away from the carnage, making his way toward the train platform. As a nearby train sounded its slow departure, he continued to hobble along until he was out of the train station, leaving behind the havoc he’d wrought.
Chapter 98
May 17, 2000
Wednesday, 12:09 p.m.
Rome, Italy
Mario yanked Janet away from the escalating chaos. Weaving through the panicked crowd, they made their way onto the train platform and boarded the closest train. They practically hurtled into the first two empty seats they could find. Glancing out the window while keeping his head low, Mario saw no signs of pursuit amidst the chaos. The platform was a scene of pandemonium—a sea of terrified faces, people huddling behind walls or trash bins out of fear another hail of bullets would come.
“We are safe,” Mario reassured Janet, his eyes unable to look away from the scene outside the window. It appeared they had truly evaded their pursuers. Their breaths ran ragged, lungs burning from the adrenaline-fueled sprint to the train.
“Who were those people?” Janet breathed heavily, her voice shaky.
Mario glanced down at her bound hands. He quickly removed his coat to conceal the ropes and avoid drawing unwanted attention. “Mi scusi. Sorry. Sorry. I no want you involved. Vatican assassin found me. He take you.”
“The Vatican has assassins?” Janet asked, her eyes wide with fear and disbelief.
“Sì. I told you. Bad people,” Mario replied, his voice heavy with regret.
She listened intently as Mario continued to explain the dangerous world he was unwillingly a part of.
“Vatican assassin is bad person,” he reiterated.
“Yeah, I got that,” Janet replied, her voice laced with newfound respect for the peril they had just evaded.
Mario’s eyes continued to dart across the chaotic scene, struggling to believe they were out of danger. The crowd was a tumultuous sea of bodies, each person a wave crashing against the next in a desperate, frenzied scramble onto the safety of the platform.
Every single soul, gripped by a primal fear, sought refuge from the escalating chaos that had taken over the main terminal. They sought shelter behind anything they could find - garbage cans that reeked of decay, cold, hard benches that offered little comfort, outdated phone booths that echoed with the frantic calls of yesteryears, and even the smallest alcoves that offered a sliver of protection.
Mario’s gaze swept across the scene, his heart pounding in his chest like a desperate SOS signal being tapped out in Morse code. The rhythm was frantic, a relentless drumming that echoed the terror coursing through his veins. Yet, amidst the pandemonium, he saw no sign of the deadly assassins or the Templars. Their absence, rather than providing relief, only served to heighten the sense of impending doom looming in the air like a thick, suffocating fog that threatened to choke the very life out of him.
His gaze was drawn to a TV monitor mounted on the wall broadcasting images of Trinity Bank, now a smoldering ruin. Realization hit him like a punch to the gut—the Vatican assassins had obliterated the Templar satellite operation. The sight of the bank’s destruction was a stark reminder that he was now utterly alone. The sanctuary he and Janet could have sought refuge in was no more.
Janet’s eyes followed his gaze to the TV monitor. “What’s that about? Another terrorist attack?”
“They hide me,” Mario confessed, his mind filled with images of the workers who had cared for him during his time there. His heart ached with the knowledge they were all likely dead.
The train jolted into motion, a welcome sign they were moments away from escaping the chaos in the station. In a matter of seconds, they would be whisked away to safety. “Come, let’s find better seat.” He gently guided Janet down the aisle, his hand firm on her arm.
They found solace in an empty cabin near the front of the train. Its automatic door closed behind them with a reassuring thud. He carefully removed the jacket that had been concealing her bound hands and, kneeling before her, began the delicate task of loosening the ropes. Janet watched, her eyes wide, as he worked to free her. She studied him, sensing a kindness that seemed out of place in their current predicament. How had he become entangled in such a dangerous web?
“What happens now?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
He paused in his task to look up at her. “We disappear,” he said, his voice heavy with the weight of their new reality. His next word hung in the air like a specter. “Forever.”
Janet’s gaze locked onto his upon hearing the finality of that word.
“Vatican never stop looking. We know much. How do I explain?” Mario’s voice was filled with a mix of frustration and resignation.
Janet glanced up at the cabin’s digital display; their destination glowed bright on the panel. “It looks like we’re headed to Milan. We’ve got time. Start at the beginning.”
For the next hour, Mario delved into the intricate tale of Eugenio Pacelli’s journal, detailing how the man and his backers the Black Nobility puppeteered Hitler into his infamous role as the Führer of the Third Reich and the Nazi Party. He recounted the chilling story of the Vatican assassins who orchestrated the death of Pope Pius XI, paving the way for Pacelli to ascend as Pope Pius XII. He laid bare the harrowing details of his own pursuit by a Vatican assassin in Rome two months ago, his uncanny replacement by doppelgänger, and him taking refuge in the Templar bank.
“That was the bank we saw ablaze on the news,” Janet interjected, the image from the local news broadcast seared into her memory.
“Sì. I read at bank Trevor Muldoon is pope son,” Mario confirmed.
“Wait. The pope had a son?” Janet asked, incredulous.
“Pacelli is Pope Pius XII. Pope have sex with Trevor mother.”
“So, the Vatican is hell-bent on eliminating anyone who could potentially expose their dark secrets. Is that the gist of it?” Janet asked, piecing together the puzzle.
