I reached the flag-waver, a young guy of about thirty. He said, “You Nephilim Logan? DSS?”

I said, “Yes. That’s me. Where’s the ambassador?”

“He’s inside. What’s the trouble?”

“I need to get into the ceremony, right now. I don’t have time to explain. Do you have identification or a badge that can do that?”

“Well, yeah, but I need to know why.”

I started to tell him why—namely that it would save him from an ass-kicking—when two distinct thumps came from the basilica.

And then the people started screaming.

91

Jacob got in line behind Carlos and Devon, the Holy Father less than thirty meters away. The Lost Boys began shuffling forward like a row of condemned men walking to their final resting place.

He watched the Father, ignoring the men around him. Watched him smile, small glasses on his face, joy in his manner. He wondered if the man could feel death coming. Wondered if he knew it and yet did nothing because of his stature. He’d read about previous attacks, with each pope declaring divine intervention that they lived, with one saying, “My defense is my cross.” Did they really believe that? Did they honestly think that they were above death?

They crept closer and Jacob whispered into the ear of Carlos, “Remember the delay of the detonator. You must time it. Two seconds after release.”

Carlos nodded.

The Holy Father continued to meet the line, and Jacob saw real happiness. Not make-believe political posturing because he had to be there. He felt a twinge of guilt and reflexively looked for Father Brimm. He was nowhere to be found.

They were now twenty people back, and one of the suited men with an earpiece came forward, whispering into the Holy Father’s ear. He nodded, but didn’t break his connection with the boys visiting. Another came forward, whispering to a prelate on the side. Then a third. Then a man with an earpiece came toward the line. Searching.

We’ve been discovered.

He said, “Carlos, this is it. Go now. You first, to kill the line of defense, then Devon, to kill the pope.”

The kid behind him poked him in the back, saying, “Quiet. You’re not supposed to be talking.” Never even hearing the words.

Carlos and Devon separated from the line and began walking forward in a rapid manner. Jacob caught movement from the security, but knew it would be too late to do anything. They were too close.

Carlos saw the protective detail closing in and darted forward, screaming, “Allahu Akbar!” The security men coalesced like flies to sugar, beating him to the ground. He waited until all were on him, then detonated.

A huge explosion rent the air, and body parts were flung throughout the cathedral, the noise stunning everyone. Devon began running straight at the Holy Father, his hand held high, shouting the same Arabic phrase.

The remaining security men leapt on the Holy Father, three pulling him to the ground and two standing in front, shooting small submachine guns they’d produced from under their jackets. Devon took a staggering amount of rounds, but remained on his feet, still moving forward. His device detonated fifteen feet away, disintegrating his body and shredding the men surrounding the target.

On the ground with everyone else, Jacob realized instantly what had happened. Devon had mistimed the chemicals, expecting to reach the pope on the run. The bullets had slowed him enough to cause it to fire early. Among the screaming and crying, he stared at the mass of flesh of his friend, split neatly in half, his upper torso remarkably intact, his head looking back at Jacob, eyes open.

Jacob stood, preparing to run screaming out of the basilica with everyone else. He took one last look at the altar, surveying the carnage.

And saw the Holy Father move.

*   *   *

Shoshana was running flat-out, retracing the path that Omar had taken out of Trastevere. Jennifer matched her stride for stride, two steps back.

They ran down the sidewalk next to the Tiber River, reaching the bridge for the island and sprinting forward, keeping a pace that made Jennifer’s lungs burn.

Moving across the spit of land, drawing stares from the tourists mingling about, Jennifer held up on the north side of the river, seeing a highway paralleling it, but nothing going into the interior.

Shoshana said, “Why are we stopping? Get us to the Colosseum.”

Jennifer manipulated her phone, saying, “Trying to find a shortcut. Last contact was at Via dei Fori Imperiali, the road leading to the Colosseum. He’s gone the long way around the Forum and is now headed east. We follow and we’ll never reach him in time.”

Exasperated, Shoshana said, “We’ll never reach him sitting here. He’s walking. We’re running.”

Jennifer put away her phone and said, “Yeah, you’re right. He took the long way because there is no short way. The Forum stretches through this area. No roads. Let’s go.”

Shoshana said, “Wait, he’s walking around the Forum because there’s no road through it? And if we find a way, we can beat him?”

“Yes, but I just told you, there isn’t a road that does that.”

“There isn’t one for someone carrying a bomb. Plenty of ways for people who run like deer. Show me the phone.”

Jennifer did, and Shoshana said, “Satellite. Like you did before.”

Jennifer manipulated the application, waiting on the resolution to come through. When it did, Shoshana said, “Right through there. We go straight up into that neighborhood. The road ends, which means it butts up into the Forum. We get into that area, it’s wide-open. We start running, and we can cut him off.”

Jennifer said, “It’ll be fenced off. Protected.”

Shoshana said, “Are you kidding me? You don’t think we can get over?”

Jennifer said, “Well, yeah, I can climb it, but we don’t have a ticket. . . .” Her voice trailed off as she realized how stupid that sounded.

Shoshana grinned at her. “We’ll buy a ticket later, to make you feel better. Let’s go.”

They took off, loping forward at the same pace, chewing up the ground, running south, away from the path of Omar. They passed a park and cut east, now running directly toward the Forum, the Colosseum beyond. They eventually hit the outskirts and found it wasn’t a simple fence. It was a brick wall reaching ten feet, covered in vines.

Shoshana ran down it for a hundred meters, then darted into a piazza, seeing benches and families enjoying the sunshine, a church on the end.

She stopped, hands on her hips, breathing heavily. “Shit. We can’t get over that. Can’t your phone tell us when we’re stupid?” She paced a bit, then said, “We’re committed now. We keep going deeper. Find a gap.”

Jennifer looked at the wall and said, “I can get you over that.”

“You mean you hoist me, leaving you here?”

Jennifer smiled. “No, Carrie. I mean I’ll follow after I hoist you up.”

“What the hell are you talking about? No way can you climb that.”

Jennifer looked left and right, seeing a couple of pedestrians, but no cops. She moved to the wall and knelt down, lacing her hands together. “Let’s go.”

Shoshana shook her head, then sprinted to the wall, planting her foot in Jennifer’s hands and leaping up. Jennifer exploded off the ground, throwing her higher, bearing the brunt of Shoshana’s weight. She felt it lighten and watched Shoshana pull herself over the top and flip to the other side.

A teenager to the left, eyes wide, said, “What are you doing?”

Jennifer darted away from the wall, then faced it, coiling her legs, her arms swinging back and forth with an unconscious count.

She took two breaths and said, “I’m saving the world.”

She sprinted as fast as she could, hitting the wall full-on, catching the rough brick with the ball of her foot and toe-kipping higher. She snagged the vines draping from the top, pulling herself up until she could muscle her way over. She paused on the apex, catching her breath, and saw the teenager below giving her a thumbs-up, beaming.