Page 51 of Skotos (Of Shadows & Secrets #6)

I pulled out my credentials, the same ones that had gotten us inside before. “American intelligence,” I said. “I’m working with Monsignor Rinaldi.”

The guard glanced at my papers, his expression unchanging. He handed them back with a shake of his head. “ Mi dispiace. Nessuno entra. ”

“Look, you don’t understand.”

Two of the machine-gun-wielding guards stepped up. Each was a head taller than me and bore a linebacker’s build. I took a reflexive step back.

“Thomas!”

My head whipped toward the voice. Monsignor Rinaldi hurried down the inner hall, his cassock billowing behind him like black wings. His face was pale and drawn, aged by what looked like years in the space of hours.

“ Lasciatelo passare ,” he barked at the guards. “ Subito! ”

The guards hesitated for a moment, exchanging questioning glances, then stepped aside with obvious reluctance. Rinaldi grabbed my arm and pulled me through the gates, his grip surprisingly strong for such a scholarly man.

“Thank God you’re alive,” he muttered as we walked quickly across the courtyard. “We are still trying to understand what happened. ”

“Where’s the Pope?” I interrupted. “Is he safe?”

“Yes, yes, the Holy Father is safe. He is shaken but safe.” Rinaldi stopped walking and turned to lean toward me, his voice dropping to a whisper.

“It was Cardinal Severan who was shot. Severan was one of our most senior officers, a close ally and longtime friend to Pope Pius. He has since disappeared from the medical facility. You will want to see what he dropped when the bullet struck.”

We moved through corridors and ascended stairs. The usual quiet dignity of the Vatican had been replaced by an electric tension in which priests and officials hurried past with grim expressions and whispered conversations.

“Your partner?” Rinaldi asked suddenly.

“They arrested him,” I said. “I saw them take him away.”

Rinaldi nodded grimly. “His Holiness is aware. That’s partly why—” He stopped mid-sentence as we turned a corner.

Ahead of us, the corridor was lined with Swiss Guards. They were not the ceremonial guards with their halberds and renaissance uniforms, but modern soldiers in tactical gear and modern weapons. The sight was jarring, almost obscene, like seeing angels armed for war.

“ Dolce Madre ,” Rinaldi breathed.

Two of the guards flanked a simple wooden door, their weapons held at the ready. One of them recognized Rinaldi and gave a curt nod, stepping aside to allow us entry. Neither guard said a word, though both eyed me with heightened suspicion.

“His Holiness is inside,” Rinaldi whispered. “He asked to see you when you arrived.”

The room beyond was small and sparsely furnished, a sharp contrast to the opulent chambers we’d met in before. A single wooden table sat in the center, surrounded by three plain chairs. Maps and documents were spread across the table’s surface. A telephone sat silent in one corner.

Pope Pius XII stood with his back to us, staring out a narrow window at the chaos still visible in the piazza. He’d shed his formal vestments for a simple white cassock. For the first time since I’d met him, he looked every one of his seventy-four years.

“Your Holiness,” Rinaldi said softly.

The Pope turned, and I was struck by the change in his face. Gone was the calculated serenity, replaced by something far more raw: grief and what looked like barely contained fury.

“Mr. Snead,” he said, his voice hoarse. “I am told your partner has been detained.”

“Yes, Your Holiness, the Italian police arrested him during the shooting.”

The Pope nodded slowly. “That will be remedied shortly, though there are matters we must discuss first. ”

Rinaldi moved to close the door behind us, then took a position near the window.

“What happened up there?” I asked. “On the balcony?”

The Pope moved to the table and sank into one of the chairs with a weariness that seemed to settle into his bones. “Two of my cardinals were shot. One lies dead. Cardinal Severan would have died, if not for the body armor he was wearing.”

“Body armor?” I blinked. “A cardinal was wearing armor?”

“Under his cassock, yes.” The Pope’s voice was flat, emotionless. “He knew what was coming.”

I blinked a few times, stunned.

“The medical staff said he was conscious when they brought him in.” Pius looked at his hands as they shifted, one atop the other. “He fled the moment the nurses left him alone in his room.”

“What?” I gaped. “He what?”

“Like smoke.” The Pope’s hands clenched into fists on the table. “By the time we realized what had happened, he was gone. He left only one item, and I do not believe it was intentional.”

I cocked my head and waited.

The Pope reached into his cassock and retrieved a silver dagger, sliding it across the table toward me. Carefully, I lifted it and examined the blade and hilt. A stylized spear I’d come to both know and loathe stared back from the ornate handle .

“Dear God,” I whispered, then remembered who sat before me and added, “Forgive me, Holy Father.”

The Pope waved a weathered hand. “Severan and I . . . we served this church for so many years, side by side. He has been my friend for more decades than I can count.”

I dropped into one of the remaining chairs, my mind racing. “He staged his own shooting?”

“Everything is speculation, but I believe the bullet that killed the cardinal was meant for me. The other was aimed at Cardinal Severan to throw suspicion off of himself, yes.” The Pope’s eyes met mine.

“A wounded cardinal could hardly be the mastermind behind a plot against the Church. He would be above suspicion, almost a martyr, free to continue his work, yes?”

“Son of a bitch,” I muttered, then immediately colored. “Forgive me again, Your Holiness.”

“Under the circumstances, stronger language feels appropriate, does it not?” The Pope almost grinned, his lips tight. “I know someone who may absolve you, in any case.”

We sat in silence for a moment, the weight of Severan’s deception settling over us like a shroud. Outside, I heard the distant wail of sirens and the occasional shout of orders .

“There is one other thing,” the Pope said finally. “Something Cardinal Severan said before he disappeared.”

I leaned forward.

“He asked one of the medical staff to give him last rites.” The Pope’s voice was barely above a whisper.

“They say he appeared delirious, that he likely did not even know his own mind, but when they asked why he sought holy absolution, he said his work was only beginning, that what happened today was merely one movement of a much larger symphony.”

“That’s rather eloquent for a delirious man, don’t you think?” I sat back, letting my mind sort through the possibilities. “Did he say anything about other targets? Other members?”

“No.” The Pope shook his head. “Which is why I’m going to personally see your partner released. We will need both of you if we have any hope of stopping this before it spreads further.”

“Your Holiness,” Rinaldi said carefully, “leaving the Vatican now—”

“Is exactly what I intend to do. Inform the Swiss Guard, Monsignor.” The Pope’s voice carried the authority of a man who led hundreds of millions.

“The Italian police will listen to me in ways they would not hear an ambassador or cardinal—or anyone else, really. Frankly, after what happened today, I may be safer on the streets of Rome than I am in these halls. ”

The Pope stood and moved toward the door, then paused and looked back at me.

“Tell me, Mr. Snead, do you believe in divine providence?”

I hesitated, unsure how to answer. “I’m honestly not sure, Your Holiness.”

“Neither was I until today.” He smiled faintly. “But the fact that you and your partner were here, that you uncovered as much as you did, perhaps that was not coincidence after all.”

The door opened, and one of the armed guards peered inside.

“ Santità , the car is ready.”

“Excellent.” The Pope straightened his cassock and moved toward the exit. “Come, Mr. Snead. Let us go collect your partner. There is much work to do.”