"They're all dead! Sister Rosaria stammered into the telephone in her Saint-Sulpice residence. She was leaving a message on an answering machine. "Please pick up! They're all dead!" The first three phone numbers on the list had produced terrifying results - a hysterical widow, a detective working late at a murder scene, and a somber priest consoling a bereaved family. All three contacts were dead. And now, she called the fourth and final number - the number she was not supposed to call unless the first three could not be reached - she got an answering machine. The outgoing message offered no name but simply asked the caller to leave a message."The floor panel has been broken!" She pleaded as she left the message. "The other three are dead!" Sister Rosaria did not know the identities of the four men she protected, but the private phone numbers stashed beneath her bed were for use only on one condition.The faceless messenger had told her that if the floor panel was to be broken
Sophie's SmartCar tore through the diplomatic quarter, weaving past embassies and consulates, finally racing out a side street and taking a right turn back onto the massive thoroughfare of Champs-Elysées. Jim sat white-knuckled in the passenger seat, twisted backward, scanning behind them for any signs of the police. He suddenly wished he had not decided to run. You didn't, he reminded himself. Sophie had made the decision for him when she threw the tracking device out the bathroom window. Now, as they sped away from the embassy, serpentining through the sparse traffic on Champs-Elysées, Jim felt his options deteriorating. Although Sophie seemed to have lost the police, at least for the moment, Jim doubted their luck would hold for long.Behind the wheel Sophie was fishing in her sweater pocket. She removed a small metal object and held it out for him. "Jim, you'd better have a look at this. This is what my grandfather left me.Feeling a shiver of anticipation, Jim took the object and
The driver who collected Bishop Myositis from Leonardo da Vinci International Airport pulled up in a small, unimpressive navy blue Honda Accord. Building his black cassock around himself, Myositis claimed into the back seat and settled in for the long drive to Castel Gandolfo. It would be the same ride he had taken five months ago. Now, seated in the Honda, Bishop Myositis realized his fist was clenched just thinking about his first meeting. He released his grip and focused on a slow inhalation, relaxing his muscles.Telling himself that everything will turn out great as the Honda wound higher into the mountains. Still, he wished his cell phone would ring. Wondering why the Teacher hasn't called him. Amorth should have the Cruciform key by now.Trying to ease his nerves, the bishop meditated on the purple amethyst in his ring. Feeling the texture of the mitre-crozier appliqué and the facets of the diamonds. He reminded himself that this ring was a symbol of power far less than that w
Outside the Salle des Etats, Andrie Romano was fuming as Louvre warden Pablo Diez explained how Sophie and Jim had disarmed him. "Captain?" Lieutenant Suslowicz loped toward them from the direction of the command post. "Captain, I just heard. They located Agent McEwan's car.""Did she make the embassy?""No. Train station. Bought two tickets. Train just left."Romano waved off warden Pablo Diez and led Suslowicz to a nearby alcove, addressing him in hushed tones. "What was the destination?""Lyon.""Probably a decoy." Romano exhaled, formulating a plan. "Okay, alert the next station, have the train stopped and searched, just in case. Leave her car where it is and put a plainclothes watch in case they try to come back to it. Send men to search the streets around the station in case they fled on foot. Are buses running from the station?""Not at this hour, Sir. Only the taxi queue.""Good. Question the drivers. See if they saw anything. Then contact the taxi company dispatcher with a d
Although the Spartan room in the brownstone on Rue La Bruyère had witnessed a lot of suffering, Amorth doubted anything could match the anguish now gripping his pale body. Amorth had been tricked. The brothers had lied, choosing death instead of revealing their true secret. Amorth did not have the strength to call the Teacher. Not only had Amorth killed the only four people who knew where the Cruciform key was hidden, he had killed a nun inside Saint-Sulpice. A crime of impulse, the woman's death complicated matters greatly. Bishop Myositis had placed the phone call that got Amorth into Saint-Sulpice; what would the abbé think when he discovered the nun was dead? Although Amorth had placed her back in her bed, the wound on her head was obvious. Amorth had attempted to replace the broken tiles in the floor, but the damage too was obvious. They would know someone had been there.Amorth had planned to hide within Copus peccate when his task here was completed. He could imagine no more b
The Depository Bank of Zurich was a twenty-four-hour Geldschrank bank offering the full modern array of anonymous services in the tradition of the Swiss numbered account. Maintaining offices in Zurich, Kuala Lumpur, New York, and Paris, the bank had expanded its services in recent years to offer anonymous computer source code escrow services and faceless digitalized back up.The bread and butter of its operation was by far it's oldest and simplest offering - the anonyme Lager - blind drop services, otherwise known as anonymous safe-deposit boxes. Clients wishing to store anything from stock certificates to valuable paintings could deposit their belongings anonymously, through a series of high-tech veils of privacy, withdrawing items at any time, almost in total anonymity.As Sophie pulled the taxi to a stop in front of their destination, Jim gazed out at the building's uncompromising architecture and sensed the Depository Bank of Zurich was a firm with little sense of humor. The build
The manager answered. "Oui?""We have a situation down here.""What's happening?" The manager demanded."The French Police are tracking two fugitives tonight.""So?""Both of them just walked into our bank.""The manger cursed quietly. "Okay, I'll contact Monsieur Alexandra immediately."The guard then hung up and placed a second call. This one to Interpol.Jim was surprised to feel the elevator dropping rather than climbing. He had no idea how many floors they had descended beneath the Depository Bank of Zurich before the door finally opened. He didn't care. He was happy to be out of the elevator.Displaying impressive alacrity, a host was already standing there to greet them. He was elderly and pleasant, wearing a neatly pressed flannel suit that made him look oddly out of place - an old-world banker in a high-tech world. "Bonsoir," the man said. "Good evening. Would you be so kind to follow me, s'il vous plait? Without waiting for a response, he spun on his heel and strode briskl
Fombellida Alexandra - president of the Paris branch of the Depository Bank of Zurich - lived in a lavish flat above the bank. Despite his plush accommodations, he had always dreamed of owning a Riverside apartment on L'lle Saint-Louis, where he could rub shoulders with the true cognoscenti, rather than here, where he simply met the filthy rich.When I retire, Alexandra told himself, I will fill my cellar with rare Bordeaux, adorn my salon with a Fragonard and perhaps a Boucher, and spend my days hunting for antique furniture and rare books in the Quartier Latin. Tonight, Alexandra had been awake only six and a half minutes. Even so, as he hurried through the bank's underground corridor, he looked as if his personal tailor and hairdresser had polished him to a fine sheen. Impeccably dressed in a silk suit, Alexandra sprayed some breath spray in his mouth and tightened his tie as he walked. No stranger to being awoken to attend to his international clients arriving from differen