As they walked toward it, Payne considered overpowering one of the guards and stealing his gun but decided against it since the rope was tied around all their waists. Any quick movement on his part would've resulted in a knot that even a boy scout couldn't untangle. Besides, Payne had a feeling that there'd be a better opportunity to strike in a little while.

The soldiers lowered the tinted visors on their helmets as they entered the tent. Once inside they forced everyone to their knees, then turned on the floodlights. It had been pitch-black outside except for the occasional flash of lightning, so the sudden glare was too much for them to take. Payne shielded his eyes for several seconds, blinking and squirming until he could see shadows, then shapes, and finally enough details to function. Still, due to his vantage point near the ground, he wasn't able to see what was in the pit, although he could tell it was several feet deep.

Dante said, 'I must admit I'm surprised you made it this far. My family has taken great pride in protecting our land and the secret it possesses. In fact, I I wasn't even aware of this site until recently. And that probably wouldn't have happened without Mr Payne's assistance.' wasn't even aware of this site until recently. And that probably wouldn't have happened without Mr Payne's assistance.'

Jones gave him a look that said, What is he talking about? What is he talking about? But Payne shrugged, unsure. But Payne shrugged, unsure.

Thankfully, Dante explained. 'If you hadn't killed Roberto, my father never would've told me anything. That's how it works, you know. The eldest son keeps the secret alive.'

Secret? What secret? They had stumbled onto this place through a combination of good luck and timing. Nothing more. Yet Dante assumed that they had figured everything out. And Payne wasn't going to shatter that illusion, not with so many questions running through his mind.

So he said, 'Man, your brother loved to talk, especially when I was torturing him. He was like, my father this, Orvieto that my father this, Orvieto that. Just one secret after another... Isn't that right, Maria?'

As if on cue, she said, 'He couldn't shut up. It was embarrassing.'

Dante studied her face to see if she was lying. 'You mean, you watched Roberto get tortured and didn't stop it? How could you? He was your brother.'

'My brother? He stopped stopped being my brother the moment he tried to kill me... Just like you'll no longer be my brother after being my brother the moment he tried to kill me... Just like you'll no longer be my brother after this this.'

The comment hurt Dante, Payne could see it in his eyes. A mixture of shock, heartbreak, and betrayal. Payne wanted to tell her to take it back, that she had said the wrong thing, but it was too late. Any chance of playing the family card had just been eliminated.

'Cut her loose and put her on the chopper.' Dante practically spat the words as he said them. 'Same thing with the professor. I need to debrief them before we visit my father.'

One guard cut the rope in two places, while the other guards kept an eye on Payne. The severed end fell against Payne's leg when the guard yanked Boyd to his feet. The same thing happened to Jones when they got Maria. An engine roared to life outside the tent, and Payne watched as Boyd and Maria were marched through the storm toward the waiting helicopter.

Meanwhile, Dante stood still, staring into the pit, contemplating what he should do next. 'Wait until the weather clears then load this onto the next chopper. We can't get this wet.'

Curious, Payne inched forward and tried to see what was down there until one of the guards raised his rifle and aimed it at his head. Payne said, 'Sorry. Had a cramp.'

Dante smiled, knowing full well Payne was lying. 'It's remarkable that this is still intact after all of these years, considering all the digging that has gone on around it. In that regard I guess it is very similar to the Catacombs. Some might say divine intervention protected it, yet I know the truth. It is my family that guarded it, that did everything they could to protect this secret, including turning their backs on me and Maria... But all of that is about to end. It's time to tell everyone the truth about Christ, whether they're ready for it or not.'

Payne hoped that meant he was about to show them what was in the pit. Instead, he grabbed a black tarp and covered the hole like a father tucking in a newborn.

'Keep it dry and safe,' he told the guards. Then almost as an afterthought, he motioned toward Payne and Jones. 'And you know what to do with them.'

His men nodded as Dante left the tent and climbed onto the chopper. Seconds later, the noise increased 300 percent as the pilot revved the turbines and prepared for a difficult takeoff. Payne knew the rain coupled with the lightning and the wind was going to make things a bitch, not only for the chopper but for the soldiers on the ground, too. The air would start whipping, and the water was going to start stinging, and before long every man on the mountain was going to be shielding their heads and eyes from the ruckus.

How did Payne know this? Because he'd seen it several times before. Even if you're wearing a helmet, visor, and earplugs, it's natural to protect your face in harsh conditions. That's just human nature. And human nature was something that could be taken advantage of.

'Jon!' Jones shouted, although it sounded like a whisper next to the engine. 'On three?'

Payne hid his hand on his hip, keeping it there until the wind and noise were at their worst. Then, when the moment was right, he counted down on his fingers so only Jones could see.

Three... two... one... go!

In unison they leapt to their feet and ran toward the exit. Jones was a half step quicker and beat Payne to the tent's edge by less than a yard. Still, Payne lost track of him the moment they stepped outside. His eyes had grown accustomed to the bright lights, and now that they were back in darkness, he couldn't see a thing. Combine that with the wind and rain and roar of the chopper, and Payne felt like Dorothy in the tornado from The Wizard of Oz The Wizard of Oz.

A flash of lightning proved he was headed in the right direction and Jones was still in front of him. It gave the guards the same advantage, too, so Payne immediately cut several feet to the left in case they opened fire. The chopper was now overhead, preventing him from hearing gunshots or Jones or anything else. Darkness stole his ability to see, while the rain and mud threw off his other senses. All he could rely on were his instincts, and they told him to keep running straight.

A blinding beam of light appeared in the sky and unlike before, it wasn't a flicker. This time it was the chopper's spotlight, and it gave Payne a view of the upcoming terrain. A boulder to the left, a crevice to the right, Jones directly in front. For an instant he feared that they were going to track them with the light like urban cops in L.A., but they ignored them, using the beam to get around the surrounding peaks and to slip through the storm unharmed.

As the roar faded, Payne heard footsteps behind him. And shouts. Lots of shouts. Men seemed to be appearing out of nowhere; their camouflage outfits kept them hidden until they were on top of Payne. He dodged one and then another, knocking down a third with a vicious forearm to the face. He was expecting to get shot at any moment, waiting to feel the sudden burn of a bullet tearing through his flesh, but the darkness saved him. No way they could risk shooting a target that they couldn't see, not with this many soldiers running around.

'This way,' yelled Jones from ten feet ahead. Then like magic he disappeared. First his legs, then his chest, and finally his head. One second they were there, the next they were gone, hidden by the edge of the plateau as he hit the ramp running.

Payne wanted to follow his lead but was cut off by a guard with a rifle. He pointed it at Payne and shouted something in a foreign language that Payne couldn't understand. That left Payne with two choices: he could stop for a quick explanation, or or he could lower his shoulder and run over him. Option two seemed wiser, so he planted his head in the guard's chest and knocked him off the hill. Somehow the guy wrapped his arms around Payne and held on as they hit the ramp hard. he could lower his shoulder and run over him. Option two seemed wiser, so he planted his head in the guard's chest and knocked him off the hill. Somehow the guy wrapped his arms around Payne and held on as they hit the ramp hard.

A crack of lightning allowed Payne to stare into his face while he surfed down the hill on the guy's back. The guard was young and scared Payne could tell that from one look but it didn't bother him. He was the enemy, and Payne needed to get rid of him as soon as possible.

He got his chance as they approached the first turn in the ramp, a turn the guard couldn't see. Payne knew it was coming well in advance and launched himself backward just before they hit the stone wall. With a sickening crack, the guard smashed into it headfirst, cushioning Payne's blow like a shock absorber. Five seconds later Payne had his helmet and rifle and was sliding down the next slope, trying to catch up to Jones before anyone caught him from behind.

The scenery whizzed by at a dizzying pace. Payne's eyes had adjusted to the lack of light, but the rain and wind and splashing mud left him flying blind. He quickly adjusted to the length of the ramps and before long he was anticipating the turns so well that he was practically running across them parallel to the ground. He felt like a swimmer in a dark pool who performed flip turns at the perfect moment even though he couldn't see the walls. This continued the whole way to the bottom, where he found Jones waiting for him in the Mercedes, the engine running.

'Need a lift?' he asked as he pushed the passenger door open. 'Please keep your feet on the mats. I don't want to get the interior dirty.'

Payne climbed in, oozing mud and blood yet feeling remarkably refreshed. Escaping death will do that to you. 'Where to now?'

'Italy,' Jones said, tramping on the gas. 'We've got a chopper to catch.'

70

Saturday, July 15 Leonardo da Vinci Airport (nineteen miles southwest of Rome, Italy)

Nick Dial was greeted by the head of airport security, who walked him through customs and gave him a ride in an oversized golf cart. They screeched to a halt in front of the security office, where Dial was given a quick tour. The first room was equipped with dozens of screens, all of them showing different views of the airport, everything from baggage claim to the parking lots.

Marco Rambaldi, the security chief, placed his ID in front of an electronic eye and waited for the next door to unlock. He was a handsome man with jet-black hair that didn't quite match his gray eyebrows. Dial guessed him to be in his mid-fifties, probably a former cop with a background in terrorism. Someone brought in to prevent a 9/11 from happening in Italy.

'We don't talk about this room much,' Rambaldi said as the door buzzed open. 'The less criminals who know about it, the better.'

Dial walked in and saw a computer network that was very similar to security systems he had seen in Las Vegas a combination of live video feeds, data uplinks, and the latest in ID technology. The instant someone walked into the airport, their picture was taken, broken down into digital data, then compared to terrorist databases from around the world. If they got a hit, the suspect was tracked until the proper authorities were notified.

Rambaldi took a seat at one of the computers. 'We can focus our attention on departures, arrivals, or anywhere you'd like. Your associate, Agent Chang, told my people that the cross murderers will be arriving in Rome today. Is this so?'

'We're under that assumption.'

'Yet you're unaware of their names, what they look like, or when they'll be visiting?'

Dial grimaced. He knew his case sounded flimsy in those terms. 'You're going to have to trust me on this one. I'm not the type of cop who overreacts to '

Rambaldi signaled him to stop. 'Who am I to argue with your methods? You're a division leader at Interpol. You must be doing something right... Tell me, what do you need me to do?'

Dial squeezed his shoulder, appreciative of the respect he'd given him. 'We're looking for mercenaries, soldiers for hire. Anyone with a high-end military background.'

'Why?' Rambaldi asked as he changed some configurations. Instead of focusing on terrorists, one system was now going to search for mercs. 'What's the connection?'

'The murders were done with precision in foreign locales. We suspect killers with military expertise, people who know their way across borders, people with local connections.' Dial waited until Rambaldi stopped typing. 'And since all the victims were young and strong, I'd bet we're looking for men, probably between the ages of twenty-five and forty.'

'Great. That helps a lot. The more specific you can be, the easier it is to search. If you think of anything else, just let me know. We can update the search at any time.'

Dial nodded. 'Tell me, do they have a similar system across town?' Roma Ciampino was a major airport on the other side of Rome.

'Yes, very similar. We can send them these search parameters if you'd like.'

'Sounds good. I'll let my agents at Ciampino know.'

'And what about smaller airfields? We have several scattered across the region.'

'We're sending men to as many locations as possible, but my guess is these guys will show at a major airport. With all these planes and people, it'll be easier for them to blend in.'

Payne and Jones had no choice. They had to fly to Italy. That was the only way they could catch up to Boyd and Maria. They calculated how long it would take to get to Rome and figured they could beat them there since jets fly much faster than helicopters if they found a direct flight that was leaving immediately. But that was just one of their problems. They were covered in mud, driving a stolen car, unwilling to use a credit card, and had no idea where they were going.

Other than that, things would be a snap.

Anyway, Jones knew they needed some assistance, so he called Randy Raskin to see what he could do for them. If anything.

'D.J.,' Raskin said, 'what a pleasant surprise!' Jones could detect his sarcasm from halfway around the world. 'You realize I'm at work, don't you? And that I don't don't work for you?' work for you?'

Time was precious, so Jones got right to the point. He explained their situation everything except the religious aspects and asked for help. Raskin must've heard the desperation in Jones's voice because he stopped giving him a hard time and started pounding away on his keyboard.

A few minutes later, Raskin said, 'There's a Marine cargo plane leaving Vienna within the hour. I'm talking military transport. No frills, few seats, fewer questions. They're headed for Madrid, but I'm sure I could persuade 'em to stop in Rome if you're interested.'

'Very,' Jones assured him.

'Not a problem... And I'd imagine you'd like some clean clothes waiting for you. Are you two the same size you were with the MANIACs? I can access your files and get a perfect fit. You'll look like you just came from the friggin' tailor.'

The hangar was in an isolated part of the airfield far from the public terminal. Raskin called the pilot and told him what Payne and Jones needed, probably making it sound a lot more official than it actually was. When they arrived, he had everything waiting for them, including clean boxers. The plane was still being loaded, so they had time for a hot shower and a quick meal. The weather had delayed everything takeoffs, departures, cargo, etc. and they were thankful for that. Planes could get above the clouds, so they handled storms much better than helicopters, meaning inclement weather was to their advantage.

As far as Payne and Jones were concerned, let it rain, let it rain, let it rain.

The flight itself was eighty minutes, which gave them more than enough time to figure out where they were headed. Jones called one of the detectives on his payroll and had her track down some information on Benito Pelati. She found an office address in the middle of Rome, two nearby apartments where he probably kept kept girlfriends (a common practice for wealthy men in Italy), and a palatial estate on Lake Albano. Dante made it clear that they were going to talk to his father, and Jones assumed that he'd want their conversation to be as private as possible. That ruled out all the city addresses and led him to believe that they were headed to the lake. If Jones was wrong, he figured they could always torture er, girlfriends (a common practice for wealthy men in Italy), and a palatial estate on Lake Albano. Dante made it clear that they were going to talk to his father, and Jones assumed that he'd want their conversation to be as private as possible. That ruled out all the city addresses and led him to believe that they were headed to the lake. If Jones was wrong, he figured they could always torture er, question question Benito's staff and find out where he was hiding. Benito's staff and find out where he was hiding.

Anyway, once their plane was airborne, the pilot called in a fake mechanical problem and asked the Roman Air Authority for clearance on one of their auxiliary runways. Not only did that bump them up in the landing order, but it also allowed the pilot to taxi their plane to one of the service areas where Jones and Payne could slip into the country undetected.

Thankfully, his plan worked without a hitch. Or so they had hoped.

They were in the middle of bribing one of the ground crew to take them to Lake Albano when they heard a beeping noise behind them. A security cart drove out of the sun and into the shadows of the hangar. They did their best to look busy as the security guard listened to instructions on his headset. He mumbled a word or two, then listened some more. Finally, he pulled his cart over to Payne and Jones.

'Please come with me,' he said with a thick Italian accent.

'Why?' Payne asked, feigning ignorance. 'We just got here.'

Nodding, the guard pointed to a small camera in the corner of the hangar. 'We know.'

Within minutes Payne and Jones were herded into an airport security room where they were forced to sit at a metal table that was bolted to the floor. They'd been in enough interrogations to know where this was going. Lots of questions, lots of scare tactics, horrible coffee.

Jones glanced around the room and grimaced. 'Feels familiar.'

Payne nodded. 'If Manzak and Buckner walk through that door, I'm gonna shit.'

Well, those two didn't show up, but Payne almost shit himself anyway because he wasn't expecting to see the face that came into the room. Or the massive chin. Because that's the thing Payne always noticed when he talked to Nick Dial. That huge speed bump of a chin.

Dial walked into the room, unsmiling, and whispered something to the guard who'd been watching Payne and Jones. Dial gave the guard a moment to leave, refusing to say a single word until they were alone. The instant the door clicked shut, Dial shook Payne's hand. 'How long's it been? Five, six years?'

'Maybe more.'

'Well, you look like hell... And so does your sister.'

Jones laughed at the jab. 'Look who's talking, gramps.'

The three of them went way back, back to the days when Payne and Jones were in the MANIACs and Dial was still paying dues at Interpol. American bars are scattered all across Europe, places for homesick tourists or overseas businessmen to get a brief taste of home. Soldiers frequented these joints more than most, hoping to stave off the loneliness that most of them never quite get used to.

One night Payne and Jones were shooting pool at a place called Stars & Stripes when they overheard a heated debate about football. One of the guys, Dial, mentioned his dad used to coach at Pitt, and that's all Payne needed to hear. Before long they were drinking beer, swapping stories, and having a grand old time. The three of them kept in touch over the years, occasionally having dinner when they were in the same town. Unfortunately, due to the secretive nature of the MANIACs, they never got together as much as they would've liked.

Anyway, the fact that they bumped into each other like this was kind of surreal. For each of them. Dial had no idea why Payne and Jones were sneaking into Italy. And they had no idea why Dial stopped them.

When they finished exchanging pleasantries, Dial got serious. 'Guys, we have a slight problem here. Right now we're flagging everyone at this airport who has any hardcore military experience, and, well, we have film of you two entering this country illegally.'

'There's a good reason for that,' Payne assured him. 'I know this is going to sound crazy, but two of our friends were just taken at gunpoint in Vienna, and we flew here to get them back.'

'You're right. Sounds crazy. Why didn't you just call the cops?'

'Couldn't. Not with these two. Too many questions.'

'How so?'

'You're already looking for them.'

'Is that so?' Dial leaned forward, slightly pissed. 'What are their names?'

'Nick, I can't. We can't.'

'Jon, if you want them to live, tell me their names. Otherwise, they're going to die while we're in this room playing Q & A.'

Dial had a point, so Payne and Jones debriefed him for the next several minutes, skipping as much about Christ and the Catacombs as they could but giving Dial all the background information he needed. Payne showed him the notes they had taken on Pelati's addresses and explained why he thought they were headed to Lake Albano and not to the city.

'So let me get this straight, the Pelatis are responsible for everything everything the murders, the violence, the kidnappings and Dr Boyd is nothing more than a pawn?' the murders, the violence, the kidnappings and Dr Boyd is nothing more than a pawn?'

'Yeah,' Payne said. 'Something like that.'

Dial leaned back in his chair and smiled, a reaction that would've been much different if not for their history together. As it was, Payne could see Dial was still having a hard time with what he had told him. 'OK, guys, here's my dilemma. I can't just call the local PD and say one of the most powerful men in Italy is guilty of something this serious. Especially without proof.'