Blood Symbols Read online

  ‘Are they crazy? The gate’s closed.’

  Refusing to concede defeat, the inspector ducked back into his Lamborghini. He collected the two-way handset and glanced up at the lantern atop Saint Peter’s dome.

  ‘Shoot them! Shoot them now! Damn it, just take the shot!’

  ‘I’d reconsider that, sniper,’ Weber’s voice chirped over the two-ways.

  ‘Come on!’ Verretti waived towards the corporal on the other side of the tracks. ‘Take the shot!’

  The corporal lowered his rifle. ‘I have no visual, Inspector.’

  ‘Fuck that!’

  Verretti plucked his pistol from its holster. Turning sideways, he locked the pistol firmly into both hands. Stretching his right arm across his chest, his chin pressed onto his raised shoulder, he fired a volley of rounds. He lifted his head to see if he had hit the target, only to witness the locomotive ramming the gate, ripping the steel apart. Debris flew and sparks exploded through the air, clattering against the perimeter wall and cement quay.

  Shock flagged Verretti’s face.

  ‘Shoot, dammit!’ he shouted at the corporal on the opposite side of the track. ‘Take the fucking shot!’

  *****

  ‘Don’t shoot, Corporal! I repeat! Do not take that shot!’

  The words emanating from the radios were Schreider’s. Accompanied by three Helvetians, the colonel passed Verretti in his 2.8 liter Mercedes Steyr Puch.

  Behind Schreider a determined-looking lieutenant approached in a second SUV, the Helvetians with him clinging to their seats.

  Schreider sped down the off-ramp. At the intersection with the track, he braked hard, swinging the steering first left, then right. Like a dirt truck on an off-road challenge, the vehicle bounced onto the tracks.

  ‘The audacity of the colonel!’ Verretti thought. How dare the man interfere with this pursuit?’

  Diving into the Lamborghini, the inspector motioned for his officer to get back in. He slammed the door and sped down the off-ramp like a man possessed. At the bottom, he copied Schreider’s maneuver, tail-spinning his Lamborghini sideways onto the tracks, but his vehicle did not have the clearance of Schreider’s Puch, and he lost traction. Leaping from the Lamborghini, his ego severely bruised, he bellowed a vast assortment of profanities after the speeding train.

  *****

  Minutes later, Schreider tossed his two-way onto the console and pulled his cellphone from his jacket pocket. The last thing he needed now was broken teeth. With one eye on the tracks in front of him, he dialed Weber.

  ‘I’m in direct pursuit, headed south,’ he stuttered as the SUV’s wheels bounced over the railroad ties.

  ‘You’re driving on the track, Oberst?’

  ‘I have to get to them before the carabineers do.’

  Schreider had no chance of stopping a thirty-ton, speeding behemoth with a one-and-a-half-ton Steyr Puch. They must be heading for the cover of the subway tunnel; he was now sure of that. The entrance was at the Passaggio Antonio Cesari and it came out at Trastevere. At best, he could order the men in the back seat to start shooting, but with the subway up ahead, that option was quickly vanishing too.

  ‘See if you can get someone to cut them off at Trastevere,’ he called out over the rattling noise of the Puch.

  There was a moment’s silence.

  ‘With respect, Oberst,’ Weber replied, ‘you’re asking me to cause a train wreck.’

  Schreider weighed his options. Injuring or killing bystanders was out of the question. ‘Okay. Make sure nobody shoots unless I give the order. We’re outside the city, out of our national jurisdiction. We can only use minimal force.’ Then, realizing he was nearing the subway tunnel, he added, ‘If we lose each other, I’ll call you at Trastevere.’

  Chapter 21

  When Simon saw the two SUVs mount the tracks behind them, he knew it was the Swiss Guard. Approaching the Stazione di San Pietro, he leaned out one of the rail grinder’s windows to take another look. Surely, his pursuers would not attack the locomotive now that they were outside the walls of the Vatican.

  Their crash through the gate had made Jennifer’s pulse roar in her ears. Charged with adrenalin, she also leaned out of the window. To her horror, the SUVs were closing in on her side. She drew back, hardly able to breathe.

  Simon leaned across her and peered out. Behind them a Swiss guard was balanced on the bonnet of a Mercedes 4x4, attempting to climb onto the back of the rail grinder. He pulled back and opened the throttle. The sign for the Roma San Pietro station and entrance to the subway tunnel were only two hundred meters ahead. Once they had reached that, their chances of escape would improve significantly. The subway also prevented vehicles from coming alongside the rail grinder. The Swiss would be forced to approach from the tracks—and, as the rail ties would make gaining speed in SUVs nearly impossible, he and Jennifer would, at that point, be all but out of reach.

  Now almost paralyzed with shock, Jennifer stared at the tracks ahead of them. Just before crashing through the gates, she had witnessed a gendarme fire at them. Moments later, three rounds had smashed through the window, barely missing her and Simon. She concentrated on clearing her head, but just as she thought she had, entering the subway at full speed hit her like a brick wall. She lifted her feet to the seat, folding herself into a fetal position and cupped her hands over her ears to alleviate the immense pressure of the compressed air. Sitting like this awhile, she calmed herself enough to think. She wondered if Simon had planned their escape route. The gendarme uniform, their flight through the gardens—in preference to a gate—and the rail grinder parked at Vatican Station all seemed to indicate he had. But, that would mean he had accomplices. How else could the rail grinder have ended up at the Vatican?

  Lowering her feet, she tried to deal with her situation. She had never been in trouble as deep as she was now. Aside from sabotaging her interview, she had—let’s see—become a fugitive, who having committed no more than breaking and entering, found herself at the mercy of and accomplice to a stranger who, by the looks of it, had done something far worse than she could even imagine. She would have to escape from him as well; there was no doubt about that. He looked Middle Eastern. Was he a terrorist!? Her heart rate rose again. Such people had no respect for life; on missions like this, they operated in cells, meaning he might be part of a larger network. She simply had to get away from him. She would seize the first chance she got; she had to.

  Then something else struck her: his going out of his way to rescue her made no sense. He had no reason to endanger himself for her. Of course, it was not that she minded. If it had not been for him, she would, at present, be sitting in an interrogation room, trying to explain to a pack of old sadists that sneaking into their secret clubhouse was not grounds for placing her on the rack. Yes, he had rescued her from the library’s upper story. Either he had been lost too, or it had been his intention to help her.

  ‘Why did you come for me?’ she asked.

  ‘I got you into this; it’s only fair I get you out.’

  ‘How did you get me into this?’

  ‘Your break-in coincided with mine.’

  ‘I hardly did anything.’

  ‘That’s not why they’re after you.’

  ‘What? Why then?’

  ‘Right now, they’re after anybody trespassing.’

  She stared at him quizzically, but did not speak.

  ‘A priest was murdered, okay.’

  Jennifer gasped. ‘What does it have to do with me?’

  ‘They think I killed him …’

  Despite the shocking news, Simon sounded annoyed—almost as if he were hiding something. Surely he must have had something to do with the killing. Why else would the gendarmes be shooting at them? The evidence was right there above his head.

  ‘Don’t look at me like that. I didn’t do it.’

  ‘How can I believe you? You already said you stole something.’

  ‘I took something.’

  ‘Ta
ke …, steal …, what’s the damn difference.’ She remained still for a moment. Suddenly curious, she asked, ‘What did you take?’

  ‘A letter …’

  When Simon pulled the throttle back to slow the rail grinder, Jennifer felt as if she was about to have a heart attack. ‘Why are you stopping?!’

  ‘We’re getting off.’

  ‘You’re crazy. There’s nowhere to go!’

  The steel wheels screeched as the railgrinder rolled to a halt. Simon flung his rucksack over his shoulder. He picked up a crowbar that was lying by his feet and leapt to the gravel below.

  ‘Come on, now,’ he said, his arms stretched towards Jennifer.

  She shook off his help and leapt down on her own. Hardly, had she landed when the roar of the two SUVs speeding down the tunnel towards the back of the rail grinder caught her attention.

  Simon ran up the dark subway.

  She did not.

  She could not go with him—not after what he had just told her. She glanced back towards the approaching trucks. Gravel shot up against the back of the railgrinder, causing her diaphragm to contract. Murderer or not, she feared going back more than she feared going on, and she could escape from Simon later—he probably was not the type to torture his victims.

  Then, she ran after him.

  Chapter 22

  Why had the rail grinder ground to a halt? Schreider was painfully aware the two fugitives could have an escape route for it was insane to stop with him and his men tailing them. Closing in on the front of the locomotive, he found the cabin door standing open. He raised his sidearm and, approaching cautiously, shouted for the fugitives to come out with their hands over their heads. Three Helvetians dashed up behind him. He need not check. They would all have their semi-automatic rifles pressed into their shoulders. Then he heard the lieutenant and his three Helvetians closing in from the opposite side.

  ‘Anything on your side, Lieutenant?’

  ‘Nothing, Oberst.’

  When Schreider saw the empty cockpit, his heart skipped several beats. Then he heard footsteps echo further up the tunnel. In the distance, he saw the suspects’ silhouettes growing smaller as they neared a shaft of light. The airshaft. That was where they were headed. Calling his men to follow, he lunged forwards. His lieutenant made it to the bottom of the ladder first. Schreider arrived as the fugitives reached the catwalk, just below the exit above.

  ‘I can get the male, Oberst,’ the lieutenant said, taking aim.

  ‘No, go after them. Go!’

  The lieutenant slung his rifle over his shoulder. With the agility of a trapeze acrobat, he scaled the ladder.

  Schreider followed close behind. He might be older, but he was still fit enough to keep up with the youngest of recruits.

  ‘Go,’ he ordered. ‘We can’t let them escape!’

  Chapter 23

  Simon closed the hatch behind them and jammed the crowbar into the latch. He checked his watch hoping they were not too late. It was nineteen past ten o’clock.

  Standing on the subway roof, he scanned the surrounding apartments to make sure nobody had seen them exit the airshaft. He was wary of old ladies with nothing else to do, but call on the carabinieri informing them about trespassers in their area. The air had warmed by at least ten degrees, and that, on top of the exertions of their escape, had drenched him with sweat.

  He headed to the stairs leading to the street, which due to the slope, the property was one level below them.

  Jennifer was shading the morning sun with her hand. Their sudden emergence into daylight hurt her eyes. She had no clue where they were, but needed an escape route away from Simon. Surrounded by apartment blocks, she saw none, so she followed him. On the street, she weighed up her options again. She was thankful he had helped her, but did not trust him. She had no idea whether he was telling the truth.

  Simon peeled off the uniform jacket and pitched the jacket into an open dumpster on the side of the road. He swung the rucksack over his shoulder with an easy air, then, as if reading Jennifer’s thoughts, he pulled her towards the Viale del Quattro Venti and the Piazza Francesco Cucchi.

  Jennifer must escape from him as soon as the opportunity arose. He had already conceded to stealing a letter from the Vatican, sure, but now he admitted to being an accomplice to a murder. Why would he do that? Only true nut jobs admit to crime. How was she to know if he was speaking the truth anyway. For all she knew he was chased for being the killer. Even if he was not the killer, he must be connected with the crime. How else could he know about it?

  Suddenly it dawned on her: ‘Oh my God, I left my briefcase in the library!’

  ‘What was in it?’

  ‘My keys, phone, my notes. Part of my thesis was in it.’

  ‘What about your passport?’

  ‘I have it on me, I think.’

  She pulled her purse from her inside pocket and let out a relieved sigh. Before she had a chance to replace it, though, Simon snatched it from her hand. She reached for it, but he was too quick and tucked it in the back pocket of his pants.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Don’t worry. You’ll get it back.’

  The viper returned, stirring in her belly. He had this maddening way of making her feel helpless. For a moment, she considered screaming, but the street was deserted.

  ‘I need to get back to New York,’ she moaned helplessly.

  ‘You won’t make it. They’ll stop you.’

  It irked her that he was probably right, but she had to do something. She was not planning on staying with him, but how else could she get back to the States again? The scent of cocoa floated across the street. ‘Di Angele Marco Cioccolateria’, read the sign on the nearest building. If she made it inside, would anyone help her? She studied the surrounding area for escape routes. On the far side of the piazza ahead, a woman with a buggy was crossing the street, a young girl at her side. A friend waved from a nearby porch. At the corner café below, four elderly men were playing cards, drinking espresso and smoking cigars. The shop to the right had a delivery truck parked in front of it and the driver was offloading boxes and stacking them on a trolley. Beneath the median’s trees, a silver taxi idled. It was a Maserati sedan. How could she not recognize it? She found it laughable that someone had the gall to turn such a fine machine into a taxi. The driver had the engine idling, no doubt with the air conditioner running as well.

  Simon headed for the taxi, but Jennifer resisted. She was not entering another vehicle with a killer and terrorist—even if it was a Maserati. She had managed to escape the Vatican with him, but her determination to escape him led her to resist getting in the car. With bystanders, close by, she was confident she could escape. She would figure her way out of Rome later; hell, all she had to do was find the American consulate.

  ‘Forgive us our trespasses,’ she whispered, not a little ironically as she considered the possibility that they might extradite her.

  The cabdriver, possibly in his late thirties to early forties with solid stature and of Jennifer’s height must have noticed her resisting Simon, because he got out of his vehicle and was approaching them. When he was only a few paces away, he lunged forward and grabbed Simon around the waist. Heaving the harasser like a grizzly, the cabby swung Simon around in a circle, but instead of wrestling him to the ground, the man peaceably set Simon back on his feet.

  ‘Simon, you made it!’ the cabdriver cried. ‘I was starting to worry.’ Then, clasping Jennifer’s shoulders, he kissed her on both cheeks and standing back, gazed at her. ‘And who’s your beautiful companion?’

  ‘Jennifer Jaine, Giorgio. We met at the library.’

  ‘What a glorious place to meet. Well, I hope it was good for you too, Jennifer.’

  His dark complexion, stubble-covered jaw and lumpy cheeks gave Giorgio the appearance of a South American freedom fighter. But, the similarity ended there. His black leather jacket, charcoal beret, greying mane and Latin accent lent him an unmistakably Italian f
lair. If only his spirited friendliness could raise her spirit.

  ‘I’m not so sure it was the best place to meet,’ she replied.

  Giorgio looked her over admiringly. ‘Yes, I think I shall go to the library myself. Perhaps they’ll also let me check out a girl like you,’ he teased.

  Jennifer dismissed the compliment though. It had just crossed her mind to demand that Giorgio drive her to her embassy when movement behind him caught her eye. A couple of blocks away, on Via Francesco Daverio, two blue Lamborghinis turned off a side street and were roaring straight for them.

  ‘Get in,’ Giorgio urged.

  This time she did not hesitate. But when Simon held the front passenger door for her, she slipped in the back. She had to escape the Vatican’s hyenas first, but with Simon and Giorgio in the front, she would have a chance to escape from them as well. She just needed the right opportunity.

  Simon leapt into the passenger seat as Giorgio released the clutch. With wheels spinning and tires burning, the vehicle skid sideways around the median. Simon managed to close the door, but their momentum forced him to brace himself until Giorgio had straightened the vehicle.

  The Maserati shot ahead, startling a flock of pigeons. By the time they reached Viale del Quattro Venti, Giorgio had put some distance between themselves and the Lamborghinis.

  ‘Airport?’ he called out.

  Simon put on his seatbelt. ‘No, first you have to lose these guys behind us.’

  ‘I think you’ve unleashed a demon. Perhaps it’s Satan himself you’ve angered.’

  Powering down the Viale del Quattro Venti, Giorgio thought of an escape route. The Via di Donna Olimpia intersection at the Piazzale Enrico Dunant lay a kilometer ahead. Beyond that, the Ponte Guglialmo Marconi was their fastest route to the Ciampino Airport. He peered at his rear-view. Having gained distance, the Lamborghinis were on his bumper like hungry hounds. The first Lamborghini raced towards Giorgio’s side, slamming against the Maserati’s left-rear door. Clearly trained in pursuit, the second Lamborghini closed in on the sedan’s tail, boxing Giorgio in and preventing him from decelerating. Rather than letting the gendarmes tail-flip him, Giorgio sped up. He checked his side-view mirror for their attack while also glancing at the road ahead. Then he saw a gap: a pack of vehicles before him was approaching di Donna Olimpia intersection a few hundred meters ahead just slowly enough that it might let him lose the gendarmes.