'Nope. He died giving birth. You see, it turns out John VIII was actually a pregnant woman.'

'A woman?'

'Amazing, isn't it? The head of the Roman Catholic Church lied to everyone for several years in order to get what she she wanted out of life. Her vows didn't matter. Catholic law didn't matter. The only thing she cared about was becoming Pope Joan.' wanted out of life. Her vows didn't matter. Catholic law didn't matter. The only thing she cared about was becoming Pope Joan.'

'Pope Joan? That was her name?'

'Not her actual name. That's what fourteenth-century academics named her.'

The legend of Pope Joan goes beyond Christian history. Medieval tarot cards used to honor her with the papess card (la papessa in Italian) before the Catholic Church applied enough pressure to have the card changed to the priestess card, hoping to minimize the scandal. in Italian) before the Catholic Church applied enough pressure to have the card changed to the priestess card, hoping to minimize the scandal.

'And she isn't the only one who has broken church laws. From what I've read, popes have fathered several hundred kids over the years. Plus many popes obtained the papal throne through illegal means to begin with: bribery, blackmail, extortion. And even worse, many of them committed crimes while they were the pope, everything from theft to assault to murder.'

Payne grew silent as he thought about Jones's words. Finally, he said, 'If you worked for the Vatican and you heard rumors about an ancient scroll that threatened everything that you'd dedicated your life to, what would you do to stop it?'

'Not to be rude, but I think you just asked a flawed question. In my mind a more appropriate question would be: What wouldn't wouldn't I do?' I do?'

Their truck stopped a quarter mile from the palace. Payne made his way to the driver's window, anxious to talk to Ulster and Franz about the Hofburg. He knew both of them had been there. What he didn't know was how knowledgeable they were about the security and the layout of the grounds. He asked, 'How many times have you been inside the palace?'

Franz answered. 'That is tough one. I lose count after all the years. Maybe thousand times?'

'Are you serious?'

'Ja! Didn't Petr tell you? Scholars from Vienna have been coming to Archives for years, mostly because of Petr's grandfather. The Hofburg is a national museum, several large museums all tied together. Their curators have brought many items to the Archives for us to study. Often they were too large or valuable to be moved without help. That is why we have the trucks.' Didn't Petr tell you? Scholars from Vienna have been coming to Archives for years, mostly because of Petr's grandfather. The Hofburg is a national museum, several large museums all tied together. Their curators have brought many items to the Archives for us to study. Often they were too large or valuable to be moved without help. That is why we have the trucks.'

'I guess that means you know the security guards, too?'

Franz smiled. 'Ja, ja! I know them all by name.' I know them all by name.'

Suddenly, getting inside the Hofburg wouldn't be as tough as Payne had thought.

Jones stayed in the truck with Ulster and Franz while Payne led the way across the Volksgarten, a colorful stretch of land that decorated the area near the Parliament Building. Maria followed several steps behind, her hair tucked under a ball cap, her face hidden behind a pair of movie-star sunglasses that she had bought from a street vendor.

Further back was Dr Boyd, the person Payne was most concerned for since his picture was on the front page of every newspaper in town. Thankfully, he blended in perfectly with a Scottish tour group that happened to be walking in the same direction. His pale features and bald head were buried under a red sun hat. His nose was slathered in a thick layer of zinc oxide. He objected to it at first, claiming that he'd look like an old man. Payne assured him that was the point. Everyone in Europe was looking for a ruthless killer, not a pasty-faced geezer covered in lotion.

It took several minutes to snake their way to the front edge of the Heldenplatz, the main courtyard in front of the Hofburg. Payne pretended to tie his shoe on the cobblestone sidewalk, allowing Boyd and Maria to catch up. Then, as a group, they crossed in front of a row of Fiakers Fiakers, horse-drawn carriages that have been used in the Inner City for over three hundred years.

Boyd asked, 'How are we to do this? May I walk over and examine the statue?'

Payne answered, 'I don't see why not... But when the truck arrives, we leave at once.' He pointed to an equestrian statue near the Outer Gate. 'I'm gonna hang back there and keep on an eye on you. While I do, please do me a favor and find out why that bastard is laughing.'

The laughing man statue was identical to the one in Milan. The weathering of the marble was different due to Austria's harsher climate, yet there was no doubt in Maria's mind that the two were made by the same artist, a fact that confused Boyd. Why would an artist waste his time and chisel two identical statues? Why not vary the positioning of the subject or the look on his face? And why was the laughing man grinning so broadly in every piece of art?

Maria whispered, 'Is there any way we can trace the sculptor?'

Boyd blinked a few times before her question sank in. 'It's funny you should ask, for I was thinking the same thing myself. Alas, any research we conducted would probably result in a bloody cul-de-sac. Although a great number of sculptures and paintings exist from the days of the Empire, the names of very few Roman artists were ever recorded. In their culture, art was created for viewing not for creative recognition.'

'Not even the masters?'

He shook his head. 'Tell me, my dear, who designed the Colosseum? Or the Pantheon? We're talking about two of the most famous buildings in the world, yet no one knows who designed them. That's simply the way the Romans were. They didn't value the artist.'

'Then let's ignore the artist and focus on the history of the piece instead? If the Romans cared about record keeping as much as you claim, maybe we'll determine where the statues were created or why they were placed in separate cities. Who knows? Maybe everything we're looking for is somewhere inside these walls.'

Boyd sighed. 'I hope so, my dear. Otherwise the truth about Christ may never be learned.'

63

Austrian National Library (located inside the Hofburg),

Vienna, Austria

Franz pulled their truck into the Josefsplatz, a small square on the eastern side of the Hofburg. Half a century ago, American troops risked their lives smuggling the Lipizzaner stallions out of German hands. Now he was repaying the debt by smuggling Americans into the home of the Lipizzaner stallions, past an armed guard whose father had fought for the Third Reich in World War II.

Irony, delicious irony.

From the security booth, Karl recognized the truck and hit the button that opened the security door. The massive gate, made of iron and topped with a series of decorative spikes, screeched as it inched its way across its mechanical track. Franz pulled into the narrow courtyard, making sure he didn't pass directly under the security camera.

'Hello,' the elderly guard said in German. 'I was wondering if I'd ever see you again.'

Franz climbed from the truck and greeted him with a warm hug. 'Why is that, Karl?'

'I figured one of us would be dead by now.'

Franz laughed as he pointed to the passenger seat. 'Do you remember my boss, Petr Ulster?'

'Of course!' Karl assured him. 'The Ulster family is revered in these parts.'

Ulster shook the guard's hand. 'Nice to see you again.'

The three strolled to the back of the truck, completely comfortable in each other's presence. Normally Karl was a lot more wary about deliveries, but not when it came to Franz. Their paths had crossed so many times that they had developed a casual friendship.

'You know you're lucky I opened the gate for you. I really shouldn't have.'

A number of things flashed through Franz's mind. 'Why's that?'

'They're cleaning this part of the building. It's closed to all outsiders until Sunday.'

Ulster said, 'We don't want to get you into trouble. Would you like us to come back?'

'No, Mr Ulster, that won't be necessary. We're always willing to make an exception for you.' Karl watched as Franz opened the hatch. 'Are you picking up or dropping off today?'

Smiling, Ulster answered, 'Dropping off. Definitely dropping off.'

Common sense told Payne that breaking into a facility with some of the world's greatest treasures wouldn't be as easy as Franz claimed it would. But he knew what he was talking about because Karl unloaded one of the crates without inspecting the rest of the cargo hold. So they simply waited there until Karl went inside, then slipped out the back of the truck.

The four of them entered the ground floor of the Hofburg's eighteenth-century wing, near the entrance to the Austrian National Library, home of one of the most impressive book and scroll collections in the world. The mammoth center section of the library was named the Great Hall and ran the entire length of the Josefsplatz. Measuring 250 feet long, 46 feet wide, and 65 feet high, the long gallery was lined with carved wooden bookshelves, colorful frescoes, Corinthian columns, and several marble statues. The library was closed to the public today, so it was lit only by the sunlight that streamed through the circular windows in the domed ceiling.

Payne was the first to enter the library, strolling across the patterned stone floor without a hint of sound. Head held high, eyes wide open, he traveled more than fifty feet, scanning the balconies that rose above him like an ornate opera house. The only thing that looked out of place was the large wooden crate that sat in the middle of the floor, compliments of Ulster and Franz. They said it was common procedure to place the item in its ultimate destination, where it would be opened by a scholar or facility manager. But in this case, they planned on opening it themselves. As Payne headed back to the group, he whispered, 'Where should we start?'

Boyd turned in a tight circle, gaping at the rows of shelves that stretched beyond the limits of his eyesight. More than 2.5 million books filled the library, plus 240,000 sheet maps, 280,000 geographical views, 43,000 sixth-century manuscripts, and over 24,000 autographs. 'We should search for a list of the Hofburg's sculptures or a log of Austrian artists from the time of Christ. Sadly, there's a bloody good chance that such documents won't be in English.'

'That rules me out,' Payne admitted. 'Is there anything else I can help you with?'

'Actually,' Boyd said, 'you have a keen eye for detail. Perhaps you can look for pictures of our laughing friend. Who knows? He's liable to be lurking in here.'

Payne nodded, glad he could do something that didn't involve breaking and entering or shooting bad guys. 'Where will you be?'

'Most of the older volumes are kept on the second and third floors. With any luck Maria and I shall find documents that date back to the time of Christ.'

'I'll go with 'em,' Jones added. 'Just in case the upper floors aren't clear.'

Payne watched them struggle with the crate of books but didn't offer a hand. He knew he had more important things to worry about than heavy lifting, like searching the ground floor for guards. He'd keep an eye out for the laughing man, too, but until he knew they were alone, his main concern was making sure the library was free of danger.

Safety first, success second. It's a good creed to live by.

Gun in hand, Payne crept toward the rear of the Great Hall, passing through a fresco-covered arch, supported by a series of treelike columns. Beyond it was the most spectacular feature of the National Library. Over ninety feet in height, the cupola a dome-shaped roof that allowed natural light to flow inside rose above him like a crowded theater gallery, yet none of the people that filled the balustrades were real. Instead they had all been painted on the oblique oval space by Daniel Gran in 1730. Payne walked to the center of the Dome Room, his eyes glued above, when he felt his cell phone buzzing on his hip. 'Hello?' he whispered.

'Signor Payne?' Frankie said. 'Is that you? I no sure if you gonna answer phone. I be calling every hour since yesterday. Why you no answer phone?' Payne?' Frankie said. 'Is that you? I no sure if you gonna answer phone. I be calling every hour since yesterday. Why you no answer phone?'

Payne didn't have time to explain they needed to wrap up their conversation in less than a minute or he risked being tracked so he said, 'I turned it off to conserve its battery.'

'Ah! Good thinking. Use only in emergency. That be smart!'

Memories of yesterday's conversation came rushing back. Not only because Payne hung up on Frankie before he could tell him about the dead soldiers in Orvieto but because they were attacked in Kusendorf less than an hour later. Maybe his cell phone wasn't safe after all?

So Payne said, 'Write everything that you want to tell me, and I mean everything. I'll call you later with a fax number where you can send the report. But don't send it from your personal fax. Send it from a public one that can't be traced. Got it?'

'Yes, but '

'And stop calling this phone. It's not safe.' Payne hung up before Frankie could say another word, proud that their conversation lasted only twenty-three seconds.

Alas, it didn't make any difference. Payne and his crew were discovered shortly thereafter.

Nick Dial didn't have the time or the paperwork to fly to China. But he called the NCB NCB office in Beijing the moment he figured out the riddle of the pushpins. office in Beijing the moment he figured out the riddle of the pushpins.

At first the cops were skeptical, at least until members of the media were notified of an upcoming demonstration that hinted at violence. That was all the proof the Chinese needed. Within minutes they were reassigning ground troops to protect all the major tourist sites in their city, doing everything in their power to look efficient in the eyes of the press.

Catrina Collins was part of the press corps. She stood there, transfixed, her deep-blue eyes following the giant cross as it floated across the sky. Shutters clicked and journalists scrambled, trying to figure out where the parachute would land. Soldiers with M14s aimed their weapons at the sky, waiting for orders, while their commanding officers figured out the threat level.

Was it a bomb? A terrorist? Or the fourth victim of the crucifix killer?

The news director at CNN shouted into Collins's earpiece. They were going live in less than a minute. Shawn Farley, her cameraman, was told to follow the action as long as possible while Collins described the scene she saw on a small monitor.

'Shit, shit, shit!' she cursed to herself. Her makeup needed to be touched up, and she had no idea what she was going to say. 'I'm not happy. Not happy at all.'

The director ignored her comments. 'You're on in three... two... one.'

The image of the falling cross popped onto television sets around the world. 'I'm standing outside the Forbidden City in Beijing, where a moment ago a parachute was spotted high above the city... As you can see, it appears that we are looking at the fourth victim in a bizarre string of crucifixions that has captured the world's eye.'

Graphics detailing the other cases scrolled across the bottom of the CNN broadcast.

'The victim appears to be a white male in his thirties. He's been attached to the cross with a series of spikes, similar to the crucifixion of Jesus Christ.'

The director shouted into her earpiece. 'Goddammit! Don't make this religious!'

Collins gathered her thoughts. 'Blood can be seen pouring from the victim's hands and feet, dripping down the wood like a grisly horror movie.' Farley zoomed in closer, trying to get the best shot possible. 'I can see blood pouring out of his side, gushing from his wound in little bursts like... Oh God! Look at his face! He just opened his eyes! Jesus! He isn't dead!'

'Fuck!' shouted the director. 'Don't use Jesus in vain! You'll piss off the Bible Belt.' use Jesus in vain! You'll piss off the Bible Belt.'

Collins tried to stay calm. 'Soldiers are filling the streets around me, unsure of what to do. I don't know if they realize the victim is alive, that there might be a chance to save him and find out information about the killer.' She glanced at her monitor, searching for something to describe. 'I'm scanning the sky for a plane, but I don't see or hear one. That only adds to the mystery. Where did it come from? Why did the killer choose China? What is he trying to say?'

The cross continued to fall, drifting slowly toward the inner courtyard of the Forbidden City.

'We're about to lose contact with the parachute due to our vantage point. Right now he's about five hundred feet above the great palace, a place where the media are not allowed to enter. We'll stay with the victim as he continues to fall. Troops are rushing toward the closest gate, each of them carrying rifles just in case this is an attack... Right now I don't see any medical personnel. I'm hoping they're already inside the City's massive walls, waiting for the parachute to land.'

Farley followed the chute until it fell out of view, then quickly panned back to a shot of Collins standing on the sidewalk. Her blue eyes were staring directly into the camera.

'I've been in the news business for many years, but I've never never seen anything as bizarre as this... And thanks to the magic of television, you got to see it, too.' seen anything as bizarre as this... And thanks to the magic of television, you got to see it, too.'

In his Boston hotel room, Nick Dial nodded at her comment. 'Talk about reality TV.'

He turned down the volume and walked over to his bulletin board. Four red pushpins marked his crime scenes. Four different continents, four different victims. All of them connected on the world map by two straight lines. Lines that formed a giant cross. Lines that intersected in Italy.

But where in Italy? That was the question.

The geographical cross missed Rome and Vatican City by over fifty miles. That surprised Dial, since both places fit the criteria of the other cases. Famous cities and tons of tourists meant plenty of attention. Yet as far as Dial could tell, the center point of the cross was somewhere in the Umbria region, smackdab in the middle of nowhere.

Dial leaned in for a closer view but realized he needed a detailed map of Italy to find the precise town where the longitude and latitude lines met, because something was going to happen there. Something big. He didn't know what, but he knew the location was the key to everything.

He knew that X X marked the spot. marked the spot.

64