“So? What the fuck does that have to do with anything?”

“The three were in Venice last week. Same as the Lost Boys. And today, they’re having a personal audience with the pope at a ceremony. But they never checked into their hotel here in Rome. Their trail ends in Venice.”

His words hit me like a lightning bolt.

Jesus Christ. They’re going to assassinate the pope.

87

Jacob rode in the front seat of the cab, with Devon and Carl in the back, sitting stiffly. Paralleling the Tiber River, the driver kept pulling him away from his thoughts, aggravating Jacob with his broken English.

“You are going to the canonization ceremony, yes?”

“We are. We can’t wait.”

“It is a glorious day for it! Who would have thought the Holy Father would bestow sainthood on an Arab? Strange times.”

Arab? An Arab Catholic?

Jacob had painstakingly learned the entire laborious process for beautification and canonization by the papal authorities, but had never bothered to discover whom today’s ceremony was for.

The cabby continued, “I’ve driven more Arabs this week than I have in my entire life. I never even knew they had Christianity. It was strange.”

They made the turn onto Via Paolo VI, and Saint Peter’s Square came into view, thousands of people milling about, waiting on the ceremony. Jacob was taken aback at its size. He’d studied it and the basilica relentlessly with Google Earth, virtual tours, and plain old tourist brochures, but none did the site justice. It was breathtaking.

How will we find Father Brimm? There appeared to be over five thousand people in the square, with more spilling in every second.

The driver said, “Here? Is this good? I can’t get any closer because of the ceremony.”

Jacob got his bearings, seeing the left colonnade on the other side of the square, where Father Brimm was supposedly located, and the facade of Saint Peter’s Basilica in the distance, the dome rising into the blue sky.

He said, “This is fine.”

They exited, Jacob paying the fare with the Fulbright credit card, the last time he would do so. He held the back door open, his two friends walking stiffly up to the barricade on the square. Jacob waited until the cab left before saying, “You two are acting like you have a fucking bomb strapped to you. Loosen up.”

Carlos grinned and said, “Sorry. I’m afraid of setting it off.”

“You couldn’t cause it to explode with a hammer right now. It’s not even primed. Come on. Let’s find the first aid station.”

They pushed their way past the crowds, going to the first of two security checkpoints. Jacob showed his ticket, then walked through a metal detector exactly like at an airport. The Vatican policeman waved him on. He stood on the other side and held his breath. Carlos showed his ticket, handed his cell phone to a policeman, and came to the far side. The machine did not beep. Jacob let out a breath as Devon followed. Jacob said, “Thank God for small miracles. Looks like we’re going to make it.”

Now inside the square, he turned to find the aid station, flabbergasted that so many people would show up for a ceremony involving someone who’d died centuries ago. The square looked like someone had cracked open a rock concert and dropped it into Vatican City.

Jacob kept his eyes open, scanning for undercover security, but only seeing a large, overt police presence. He saw a sign for the first aid station, and a priest with a clipboard in front of it, checking his watch. He said, “Is that him?”

“Yep. That’s him.”

Jacob walked rapidly up, bumping people out of the way, and the priest turned, recognizing Carlos and Devon. He said, “About time. You guys are almost too late.”

Jacob said, “Father Brimm, I’m sorry. Mr. Fulbright said to be here at this time, way before the ceremony.”

“Way before? Yeah, it’s way before the ceremony, but it’s the time for you to be inside! Not trying to get through security. We’re meeting the pope before the ceremony. You were supposed to be here an hour ago.”

Jacob immediately thought about Omar’s diversion. It was supposed to happen before the papal visit, to draw off the police before they conducted their attack, but now he was operating on a different timeline. Father Brimm said, “You have your passports, right?”

All three nodded and the priest took off across the square toward the other colonnade, Jacob struggling to keep up with his bruised hip. Father Brimm turned as he walked and said, “They told you what’s going to happen, right? You missed the rehearsal.”

“Yes, sir. It doesn’t seem that difficult. We’re meeting the Holy Father before the canonization.”

“You stand in line, you kiss his ring, you move on. Once you’re through the receiving line, you leave the basilica to the square and take your seat with everyone else.”

“How many are going through the receiving line?”

“I don’t know about who else is attending, but from the United States I have thirty-two. Thirty-five with you.”

They reached the inner ring of security, the one leading to the entrance of Saint Peter’s Basilica, and it was much, much more formal than the outer one. The men manning the gate wore civilian clothes, suits, ties, and mirrored sunglasses, and each had an earpiece coming from one ear. Father Brimm showed a badge and said, “Sorry we’re so late. These are the last three.”

The first man, working a tablet, said, “Passports, please.” Jacob collected all three and handed them to him, wondering how hard he would check for a forgery. He didn’t at all. He fiddled for a little bit, tapping the tablet, going through various things Jacob couldn’t see, then handed them back with a smile. “Enjoy the ceremony. Not many get to actually meet His Holiness.”

Jacob said, “Have you?”

The man laughed, saying, “Yes, of course. I protect him.”

Jacob smiled back, thinking, Not today.

88

Jennifer saw my face and said, “What’s Retro got? What did he figure out?”

I didn’t even want to voice it, because doing so would make it real. But it was real. “The Lost Boys are going to try to kill the pope.”

Aaron said, “What? That’s crazy.”

I said, “Brett, get online and check the Vatican calendar. Jennifer, call Retro, find out what the schedule was for the church group.”

I paced in a circle and Shoshana said, “The phone going away is Omar. Not the Lost Boys.”

I waved my hand and said, “I don’t need the psychic shit now. I need to think.”

I had some tough choices to make, and not a lot of time to make them. The Vatican was hell and gone from the Colosseum, but I had a target phone headed that way. Which to choose?

Shoshana said, “It’s logic, not ‘psychic shit.’ The first phone you were tracking came from Venice. Meaning Lost Boys. The second phone called from here. Both phones ended up in this place. The first one was Jacob. The second—the one on the move—is Omar. He’s going to kill someone too. A dual attack.”

Shit. She was right, and I’d stepped into the biggest mess I had ever imagined. For the first time, I felt it was out of my control. I could stop one, but not both.

Brett looked up and said, “Canonization ceremony right now. The pope’s there.”

Damn it. I’d halfway hoped the thing was tomorrow. I said, “Jennifer, what’s up with Retro?”

She pulled the phone from her ear and covered the handset. “Chris Fulbright was leading some boys from a Catholic parish for a personal visit with the pope. Outside of Christine, nobody’s registered them missing.”