The Chimera Sanction Read online

  ‘He’s strong. He’ll pull through,’ said the tall, thin Camerlengo, Cardinal Jean Fouquet.

  ‘Let’s pray he does,’ said Legnano, turning towards Fouquet. ‘Are you ready to—?’

  ‘To take over the papal functions if he dies? Yes. I’ll begin advising the staff of the situation immediately.’

  ‘A bit hasty, Cardinal. A bit hasty,’ said Legnano. ‘Besides, we should be getting news from the hospital at any moment.’

  While they waited in Legnano’s Venetian-style office – the light of the large Murano chandelier sending its soft rays onto the gold and red striped walls – the cardinals attempted to break the mood of anxiety with assorted conjecture. From time to time, each would throw a surreptitious glance across the room at the bronze-gilded mantelpiece clock, slowly ticking away the endless minutes. Half an hour passed. Exasperated, Legnano grabbed the phone and dialed the clinic’s number. ‘Get me Dr Donatello.’ After a brief pause, the doctor’s familiar voice came on line.

  ‘Donatello.’

  ‘Legnano speaking. How is His Holiness?’

  An awkward silence made him fear the worst as Legnano waited, looking at Brentano, then at Signorelli.

  ‘Ah, he hasn’t come in yet.’

  ‘What? What do you mean? He left half-an-hour ago. The clinic is only ten minutes away.’

  ‘We have a team waiting on the roof. They called a moment ago. They haven’t seen the helicopter. We thought it was delayed.’

  ‘Good God!’ Legnano bolted up from his desk. ‘Get me the pilot’s number again,’ shouted Legnano to the Swiss Guard standing at the door.

  ‘Yes, your Eminence.’

  Legnano dialed, but the pilot didn’t answer. Instead, every ring announced impending fatality. He hung up and dialed again. Nothing. ‘Get Colonel Romer,’ Legnano said to the guard.

  ‘Yes, your Eminence.’

  Legnano walked towards the cardinals, now standing expectantly next to the sofa, ‘Something has happened to the papal helicopter. It hasn’t arrived at the hospital.’

  ‘Mio Dio,’ exclaimed Sforza and Brentano in unison.

  Legnano rushed back to his desk, picked up the phone and called the Questura Centrale, Rome’s main police station. He anxiously eyed the cardinals, phone in hand. ‘They’ve either crashed or…. Yes, Cardinal Legnano here. Get me Inspector Guadagni. It’s urgent. No, I’ll wait.’

  ‘Or what?’ said Signorelli.

  ‘Or the Pope has been kidnapped.’

  Chapter 4

  The Vatican, 4.05 a.m.

  Cardinals Legnano, Brentano, Fouquet, Sforza and Signorelli, now joined by Colonel Romer, sat in stunned silence. A short while later, Inspector Guadagni burst into Legnano’s office, one of his shirttails sticking out of his trousers.

  ‘Ah, good, finally you’ve come, inspector,’ said Legnano, not bothering to extend a welcoming hand. ‘You know Colonel Romer of course.’ Romer, head of the Swiss Guards, and Guadagni exchanged nods. Legnano continued. ‘Meet Cardinals Fouquet, Sforza, Brentano and Signorelli.’

  ‘Your Eminences,’ said Guadagni, visibly out of breath.

  ‘Inspector, I asked you on the phone if you’d had a report of a helicopter accident?’ queried Legnano.

  ‘We checked all precincts before I left. No accidents have been reported in the Rome perimeter or its vicinity.’

  ‘My God. Just as I thought.’ said Legnano, wringing his hands nervously. ‘Perhaps they went to another hospital,’ said Sforza.

  ‘Then why isn’t the pilot answering?’ said Legnano. Sforza didn’t reply.

  ‘There must be some other explanation,’ said Romer.

  ‘Like what?’ Legnano said angrily.

  ‘I … I was just—’

  ‘Gentlemen, gentlemen, please try to stay calm,’ interrupted Guadagni. ‘Cardinal Legnano, let’s start from the beginning. Tell me what happened.’

  Legnano walked towards the window and started pacing back and forth. ‘At approximately 2.30 a.m., the Pope was taken ill and rang for Sister Vincenza. She phoned me and I immediately called Dr Bruscetti. He’s the Pope’s personal physician. I then went to the papal apartments, to the Pope’s bedside. He looked ill. The doctor came, oh, it must have been just before 3 a.m., and took his pulse and told me the Pope had had a heart attack. I called the Agostino Gemelli Clinic, then phoned for the ambulance and was told it was out of service. So I phoned for the helicopter. At about 3.25 a.m., having no news from the clinic, I phoned to find out how the Pope was.’ Legnano paused, gathering his thoughts. ‘Dr Donatello told me the helicopter never arrived. I immediately phoned you both,’ said Legnano, eyeing Guadagni and Romer.

  ‘Did you try to reach the pilot?’ asked Romer.

  ‘Yes, I tried repeatedly. No answer.’

  ‘And the ambulance attendant?’

  ‘I verified with administration. The ambulance is out of service every two months, for a full one-day servicing. The attendant hadn’t picked it up yet.’

  Inspector Guadagni telephoned the Questura Centrale and was put through to the Rome Airport traffic control center in an instant. ‘Did you have any contact with a helicopter flying over Rome in the last half-hour?’

  ‘Just a minute, I’ll check.’ After a moment, the air traffic controller said, ‘Negative. One of our men saw one on radar and tried to get a flight plan, but no answer.’

  ‘And now?’

  ‘He’s off our radar screen. He’ll be out of our range.’

  ‘Or on the ground,’ muttered Guadagni.

  ‘Could be,’ answered the controller.

  ‘Call me immediately if you get a contact,’ said Guadagni. Turning to Legnano, ‘I’m calling the Air Ministry.’

  ‘Oh, I forgot to tell you,’ said Legnano, ‘they also have Dr Bruscetti.’

  ‘With your permission, your Eminence, I’ll have forensics come over immediately and go over the papal apartments. It’s important we gather all information and evidence as quickly as possible.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Legnano. ‘By the way, I’ve called Interpol. I’ve asked that they send that Inspector Dulac, the one who helped solve the Archbishops Salvador and Conti murders.’

  ‘But why? This is purely an Italian, a Vatican matter,’ said Guadagni, offended.

  ‘You know that for a fact, inspector?’ said Legnano.

  ‘Well, no, but we have—’

  ‘As Secretary of State of the Vatican, it’s my decision,’ said Legnano glaring at Guadagni.

  Somewhere over the Italian countryside, 3.20 a.m., same day

  For a moment, Bruscetti looked away from his barely conscious patient and glanced outside the helicopter’s window. Below, the lights of buildings were strangely sparse. He looked at his watch. It’s been over fifteen minutes. That’s odd. We should have arrived by now. He leaned forward and tapped the co-pilot’s shoulder. ‘Where are we going? The clinic—’

  The co-pilot turned quickly, pointing a pistol inches from Bruscetti’s face. ‘Shut up. Be quiet and you won’t get hurt.’

  Bruscetti recoiled and sat back, speechless. For an instant, the realization didn’t register, but then, it all became terribly clear: they’d been kidnapped. Tired, dazed and confused, Bruscetti sat back and stared blankly at the opposite side of the Huey. He bent down beside the Pope and saw that his breathing was shallow, but regular.

  An hour later, Bruscetti felt the Huey slowing, then land in the darkness.

  He watched as the pilot and co-pilot transferred the stretcher bearing the Pope out of the chopper onto the ground. Bruscetti could make out a van, parked alongside the helicopter. Suddenly the gate of the van opened and four men bearing Uzis in bandolero style jumped out, took over and carried the burdened stretcher into the van. A hooded, stocky man grabbed Bruscetti‘s arm, pulled him out of the helicopter and shoved him onto the van’s middle seat. Bruscetti, his nerves raw, his hands trembling, looked beside him: the Pope lay inert on the stretcher, his breathing barely discernible. The s
tocky, hooded man clambered into the front beside the driver and ordered, ‘Go.’

  The driver floored the accelerator and Bruscetti was pushed back in his seat.

  ‘Give me my bag. I must check his vital signs,’ said Bruscetti to the hooded man, visibly in charge.

  The man signaled to one of the men in the rear to hand Bruscetti his bag. ‘Make it fast.’ After a cursory check, the doctor, for the first time, felt relief. The Pope’s pulse had dropped to normal, and his pressure was up. As Bruscetti removed the Velcro strap from the pontiff’s arm, the pontiff awakened and smiled faintly.

  ‘Where are we, doctor?’

  ‘Your Holiness, I wish I knew.’

  A while later, Bruscetti heard the engine whine as the van struggled up a steep, tortuous incline, the driver muscling the vehicle through a set of narrow switchbacks.

  Eventually, the van slowed in front of a large villa and stopped in front of one of the doors of its three car garage. The door swung silently upwards underneath the wide, cantilevered veranda and the van entered into the gaping hole. The stocky man led Bruscetti out of the van, through a doorway into the house, then along a narrow corridor. The man stopped before a small room, its door ajar.

  ‘You stay here,’ he said, shoving Bruscetti into the windowless room.

  ‘For God’s sake, the Pope’s had a heart attack. We must get him to a hospital immediately. Otherwise you’ll kill him.’

  The stocky man gave a raucous, sinister laugh then closed the door.

  The Vatican, 5.15 a.m.

  Colonel Romer and Guadagni had remained in Legnano’s office with the five Cardinals, trying to instill calmness to the anxious prelates.

  ‘What can we do?’ asked Cardinal Signorelli to Guadagni.

  Before he could reply, Sforza interjected. ‘We don’t even know who’s behind this and where they’ve taken them.’

  ‘With that heart attack, he could be dead by now,’ said Brentano.

  ‘Gentlemen, please. Panic is our worst enemy,’ said Guadagni. ‘We must—’

  Suddenly, one of the Swiss Guards burst into the room and took Romer privately aside. A moment later, an embarrassed-looking Romer turned to Legnano: ‘We’ve found the pilot and co-pilot of the helicopter. They were gagged and bound late last night, in the garden, near the Lourdes grotto.’

  ‘Incredible,’ said Legnano, feeling the anger rise within him. ‘Tell me, colonel. How did these kidnappers get past your Swiss Guards?’

  ‘We’re looking into that, your Eminence,’ said Romer.

  ‘Did they get a description of the men?’ asked Guadagni to the Swiss Guard. ‘No, they were hooded.’

  ‘Did they see or hear anything that could help us identify them?’

  ‘Apparently, they knew exactly where to go,’ said the Swiss Guard. ‘As if they were familiar with the layout of the gardens. Oh, and they spoke French.’

  ‘Great,’ replied Guadagni.

  Legnano threw an inquisitive glance at the policeman. ‘Any news from the Italian armed forces?’

  ‘We’re waiting to hear from the Air Force and Coast Guard. Your Eminences, there is no use for you to stay here and worry,’ said Guadagni. ‘The constabulary forces are doing all they can to locate the helicopter. Meanwhile our forensics people are combing the papal apartments and grounds for any traces left by the kidnappers. Colonel Romer and I will contact you immediately once we have any developments.’

  ‘I suppose you’re right,’ replied Legnano. ‘Your Eminences, we should let the police do their work. Let’s reconvene here once they give us news.’

  ‘But surely, there is something we can do,’ said Brentano.

  ‘Yes,’ replied Legnano. ‘We can pray.’

  The other cardinals, Romer and Guadagni, left Legnano’s office and, exhausted, Legnano retired to his bedroom. Later, unable to sleep, Legnano returned to his office and tried to busy himself in his work. The specter of the Pope’s death kept creeping into his thoughts. At 9:30 a.m., his phone rang.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Inspector Guadagni, your Eminence.’

  ‘You have news?’

  ‘Your Eminence, we have an initial report from forensics. They’ve found traces of dobutamine mixed with arbutamine in the Pope’s water glass.’

  Legnano waited in silence.

  ‘They’re used in cardiac research. They induce heart attack symptoms.’

  Legnano slowly put the receiver down, and sat transfixed, staring blankly at the wall across the room. After a moment, he crossed himself slowly. Regaining his composure, he walked over towards the full length window and looked outside to the gardens below. It was raining slightly. The morning light was beginning to fade, invaded by an ominous, low-flying thunderstorm cloud.

  That evening, as Cardinal Legnano’s limousine twisted through Rome on its way to the Vatican, Dulac turned to Harris. ‘I’m curious. Why me?’

  Before he could reply, Cardinal Legnano interrupted. ‘I’m the one responsible for your presence here, Mr Dulac. Your false modesty is out of place. I need hardly remind you of your solving of the Archbishops Salvador and Conti murder cases. Rather brilliantly, I might add. Cardinal Signorelli planned your—’

  Abduction, Dulac thought.

  ‘—trip. I must say that Secretary Signorelli’s resourcefulness never ceases to amaze me. When Mr Harris told us you were vacationing in Canada, Signorelli phoned Vasari, the Italian Minister of Defense. He in turn contacted the Canadians, who gave him instant clearance for the jet. They organized the helicopter pickup. Very simpatico, these Canadians.’

  ‘You’ll find some fresh clothes in there,’ said Harris, pointing to a suitcase at Dulac’s feet.

  ‘Thanks. Wouldn’t want to breach Vatican protocol.’

  ‘You can change in the antechamber of my office,’ said Legnano, his tone gruff.

  Just then, the papal limo reached the San Pietro entrance, was waved past by the on-duty Swiss Guards and came to a stop in front of the Basilica’s steps. The chauffeur opened the door and a balding priest with a gaunt face greeted them. They followed him down a long corridor, at the end of which the priest pulled Dulac aside and showed him to an antechamber, waiting outside while Dulac changed. Moments later, Dulac was shown into Legnano’s office, where the cardinal wasted no time in introducing Harris and Dulac to the other members of the Curia.

  ‘… and you remember Inspector Guadagni,’ said Legnano.

  ‘How could I forget? Seems you can’t do without me,’ said Dulac, looking at his colleague.

  ‘Always so humble,’ replied a somber-looking Guadagni.

  Dulac sat down next to Harris and absorbed the atmosphere, a mixture of collective guilt, embarrassment and anxiety.

  ‘Mr Harris, your preliminary thoughts on who could have done this?’ asked Cardinal Signorelli.

  Harris turned towards Dulac. ‘I will defer the answer to your question to Mr Dulac. After eight years as General Secretary, my investigative skills are a little rusty.’

  ‘Your Eminence,’ said Dulac, ‘the planning alone of this abduction tells us of their degree of sophistication. That narrows the field to, let’s say,’ – he looked up at the ceiling – ‘a couple of hundred crime organizations perhaps?’

  Signorelli’s face went as red as the fascia around his generous waist. ‘Mr Dulac, this is no time for facetiousness. I—’

  ‘I wasn’t being facetious, your Eminence. Simply pointing out the odds. Gentlemen, Cardinal Legnano has briefed me on today’s events. Inspector Guadagni, has your forensic team investigated any purchase of dobutamine or arbutamine in the last two months.’

  ‘Why only two months?’

  ‘I believe that’s their shelf life. Colonel Romer, what’s the Huey’s range?’

  ‘About 400 km. We’ve contacted all military air bases and airstrips within that radius. They’re combing the area now,’ answered the tall, rosy-complexioned Swiss.

  ‘Fine. What direction did the Rome control tower see the
helicopter travel in?’

  ‘South-east,’ said Guadagni.

  ‘They may have headed for the coast,’ said Dulac.

  ‘Or Sicily,’ replied Guadagni, scratching his scalp.

  ‘In any case, they’ve abandoned the chopper, and perhaps destroyed it,’ replied Dulac. ‘Now, gentlemen, you must decide.’

  ‘Decide?’ said Legnano.

  ‘When do you go public with the Pope’s abduction?’

  The cardinals looked at each other warily, no one daring to speak first.

  Cardinal Legnano finally spoke. ‘Gentlemen, we’ve had a long, stressful day. We are all very tired. Let’s reconvene at 8:30 a.m. tomorrow morning in the Segnatura room.’

  Dulac gave Legnano an inquiring look.

  ‘We use it for video conferencing, Mr Dulac.’

  As the policemen and the five cardinals left Legnano’s office, Dulac imagined the collective outrage of a billion Catholics when hearing that their leader, pastor and beloved pontiff had been kidnapped.

  In the taxi back to the hotel, neither Dulac nor Harris spoke. Dulac felt himself occasionally nodding off, his head heavy with stress and sleep deprivation. Harris finally broke the silence.

  ‘I’m off to Lyon tomorrow morning. For the moment, there’s nothing more I can do here. Besides, all hell is going to break loose at head office when the news gets out. We’ll be more efficient if I coordinate from there.’

  Chapter 5

  Vatican, Segnatura room, 8.20 a.m., Tuesday 23 May

  Dulac entered the room and his attention was immediately caught by the huge video monitor at the far side of the room. Next to it, a technician looked up for a moment, glanced inquisitively at Dulac, who gave him a knowing nod of authority, and the technician resumed switching the video from one channel to the other, seemingly testing the audio and video functions of the monitor.

  ‘Sì, sì, no, a little sharper. Yes, OK, there,’ said the technician to his counterpart on the video screen. ‘I’ll get back to you.’