Adrian was pacing the floor of his room, frantic that he had not heard any news about his father since he had been airlifted to a Paris hospital following his apparent stroke. Peering from his second-story window, he could see guards with dogs patrolling the grounds below, and to make matters worse, his mother Colette had grown strangely quiet since his father had left.

Over the past few days, a growing sense of rage had begun to replace the uncertainty and fear that had crept into his dreams and enveloped his every waking moment. It was a new sensation to a boy who had only felt joy in a simple life spent with parents who loved him. For all he knew, his father could be dead by now. Why was everyone refusing to talk about it? Maybe he was already dead and they were trying to shield him from the truth. But why? He would have to be told sooner or later. One way or another, he had to find out. He had a right to know ... and he was going to exercise that right.

At least he had his computer-his only link with the outside world, and nothing had been mentioned in the press about his father's death. For now, the only news of his father's stroke had been replaced instead with stories about how the Acerbi empire was now being controlled by his mother and her hand-picked cadre of top echelon executives; men of fierce determination who had been his father's closest associates and had his best interests at heart when they made decisions in his name. The Acerbi fortune had to be protected at all costs until Eduardo regained his place at the head of the financial table, but if he was unable to return, the burden of control would fall to Colette until Adrian came of age.

But things were different now that his father was out of the house. Vehicles full of strangers came and went at all hours of the day and night while Adrian had been kept away from entire sections of the palace. Why would they do that?

Infuriated by circumstances and the inability to see his father, Adrian threw open the door to his room and began running through the palace. He would have his answers today, no matter how many toes he had to step on, including those of his mother.

Bounding down a long winding staircase two steps at a time, he ran down a long hallway beneath huge crystal chandeliers that seemed to be floating above every open space in the cavernous palace. The echoes of his running footsteps over the marble floors announced his presence to the sleepy security men stationed around every corner, and a few even tried to stop him to ask him if he needed anything, but the look in his eyes made them shrink back in fear, for they saw something in his glance they had never seen before. If looks could kill.

All around the compound radios crackled with the news that the young Acerbi was on the move and that he was in no mood to be trifled with. Running through a banquet-sized dining room, Adrian burst through the doors to a bustling kitchen, only to find his mother bending over a simmering pot of one of her famous stews. For a moment everything looked normal, his mother the picture of domesticity, but it was all an illusion carefully orchestrated to placate him-he was now sure of it. He had never been so sure of anything in his life.

His father had told him that there was a time for waiting and watching, and then there was a time for action. Now was the time for action. Something inside the young man had snapped. His questions would be answered now ... or there would be hell to pay. He felt powerful, as if there were an electric charge coursing through his body. Colors suddenly seemed more vibrant and he could hear the muted whispers of staff members standing hundreds of feet away down the hall and even in other rooms. He could hear everything. It was unnerving. He held his hands over his ears in an attempt to drown out the voices, but it was no use. The room was spinning and his breathing was coming in short, shallow gasps as the sweat began to roll down his face. What was happening to him?

"Adrian! What are you doing?" It was his mother's voice, but it seemed far away even though she was standing right in front of him.

"I want to see my father, and I want to see him now!"

Colette stood frozen in place next to the steaming pot of stew. Her eyes narrowed with a sudden flash of realization. Adrian's time was fast approaching, but these changes were coming too soon. Something was wrong. Was this his human side, the normal angst of a sixteen-year-old, or was something else trying to break free before it was time? She had to do something. Or rather-the thing inside her did!

"Come now, son, stop shouting." Her eyes flashed as she pointed to a chair. "Sit and eat."

"No, Mother. I want to see my father, and if you won't take me to him then I'll call the airport and order our pilots to fly me to Paris on the corporate jet."

"It is your father who has forbidden us to leave this place, my son. I am only following his wishes. The last thing he would want is for you to fly to Paris by yourself. He has some of the finest doctors in the world caring for him. There's nothing you can do for him there."

"At least I can be there for him. I can look into his eyes and speak to him ... let him know I am there." Adrian pierced his mother with a questioning stare. "Why aren't we there, Mother? Why aren't you there? Father needs family around him now. There's something you're not telling me, and if I don't get the answers I want to hear in the next few minutes, I'm leaving for Paris to see for myself."

"Come now ... calm yourself. That's impossible."

"No, Mother. You seem to be calm enough for both of us. I have to say that I find it very strange that you seem so detached from the whole situation. There's something you're not telling me, and you have exactly one minute to do so before I walk out that door and drive myself to the airport."

"Take him to his room and guard the door."

Adrian spun around to see two armed guards standing behind him. "What are you doing, Mother?" Adrian began to back away, then turned and started to run. He made it as far as the kitchen door before he was quickly subdued by the two hulking guards who gently lead him away as his mother looked on passively. Looking back over his shoulder as he was being led away, he shouted at the top of his lungs. "You're not my mother!"

CHAPTER 18.

The storm-tossed seas off the coast of Normandy greeted the two black Peugeot SUV's as they drove through the French town of Avranches and headed west toward the mouth of the Couesnon River. Driving along the windswept shoreline, John and Ariella looked out across the glistening tidal flats at the misty signature of Mont Saint-Michel and the fabled monastery that had sat upon its granite perch, separated from the mainland by the sea for over a thousand years.

"Is this it, Mr. Acerbi?" Alon asked as the SUV's rolled to a stop.

"Yes. Come ... we don't have much time."

Led by the Israeli security team and followed by John and Ariella, Alon and Eduardo stepped from the back seat of the lead vehicle into a heavy rain that was blowing sideways off a turbulent sea. Leaning into the storm, they turned their collars up against the salt spray and slid down a sandy embankment before making their way across the rippled sand toward a stone causeway, the only link between the distant monastery and the French mainland.

After checking the road behind them one final time to see if they had been followed, the group stopped at the end of the causeway and stared out across tidal flats that hid pockets of quicksand famous for trapping those who were unaware of the rapidly rising tides that swept in from the sea every day.

"I don't like the looks of this," Alon said. "The tide is coming in and the waves are already starting to wash over the center of the causeway."

"We have no choice, Mr. Lavi," Eduardo shouted over a wind that had begun to howl. "We have to go, and we have to go now!"

"Then we'll have to go fast, sir. Do you think you can make it?"

Eduardo looked up at Alon's hulking form and smiled. "If not, I'll ride piggyback."

Alon grinned back. "OK, sir ... let's go."

Without waiting, the group leaned into the wind and began trudging across the causeway into the building maelstrom. In the driving rain, the outline of the island faded from view just as a tall wave slammed against the side of the causeway and foamed over the smooth stone. A few seconds passed before the causeway drained, allowing the drenched and shivering group to continue their slow and agonizing pace to the halfway point of no return. Unable to go on without assistance, Eduardo leaned against Alon as they made their way forward into the swirling mist, until finally they could see the shrouded image of the monastery rising above their heads, its turrets now beacons that guided them through the arched stone entranceway where they collapsed behind the thick protective walls surrounding the main gate.

"Is everyone here?" Alon asked, wiping the salt water from his eyes.

"I count eight heads, sir," a security man answered.

"Good. We need to get out of this weather and find some dry clothes."

"We have everything you need," a voice called out. Peering up toward the main gate, the group saw a tall man walking straight toward them, his white robes flowing out behind him. It was Pope Michael, and he was smiling.

Led by the pope and his accompanying entourage of solemn-looking monks and Swiss Guards, the dripping group shivered in their wet clothes as they made their way up a winding ramp and through a grated portcullis into a grassy courtyard filled with trees. Finally separated from the howling winds, the sudden peace of the garden-like scene lay in stark contrast to the storm raging outside the thick walls of the soaring medieval structure.

Wringing the water from her hair, Ariella stared up at the tall figure of the pope. "Is that who I think it is?"

"Yes," John answered. "That's Pope Michael himself. The only question is ... what is he doing here?"

Followed by at least a dozen monks, the pope opened a small wooden door and motioned for the group to follow. Once inside, they continued down a darkened hallway to a large circular area that was surrounded by massive columns and contained a shallow stone pool that resembled a Roman bath.

The pope pointed across the steam rising from the clear, greenish water. "Through those doors on the other side of the pool you will find showers with hot water. There are also dry clothes inside the lockers against the wall. Please ... make yourselves at home. Once you are warm and dry we will talk." With that, the pope and his entourage turned and disappeared down another hall as the group circled the pool and entered an area that resembled a health club locker room. Immediately, John pulled off his drenched sweater and began ringing the seawater out over a drain in the floor. "Well, that was certainly a surprise."

"He's not much for words, is he?" Alon ventured.

"He is a man who carries a great burden," Eduardo said, taking a seat on a long wooden bench. Looking up at Ariella, he smiled. "I believe we should let the lady go first."

Ariella placed her hands on her hips and frowned. "It looks like the showers are all private, and you're turning blue, Mr. Acerbi. We need to get you into a hot shower right now."

Reluctantly, Eduardo struggled to his feet and they all made their way into individual shower rooms where the steaming water began to bring the feeling back to their numbed skin. Thirty minutes later, dressed in the black monk's robes they had found hanging in the lockers, the now-warm group was rounded up by a silent monk who led them up a steep stairwell to an arched hallway where more wooden benches lined the walls outside the abbot's study. Moments later, another monk opened a thick wooden door and motioned to Eduardo. "His Holiness would like to speak with you now, sir."

For another thirty minutes the group outside sat in the hallway and stared at the stone walls.

"I sure would like to know what they're talking about in there," John said, his eyes fixed on the ancient wooden door.

"So would I, little brother," Alon answered. He had called John little brother ever since their days together in the Negev Desert when the hulking Israeli commando had taken John under his wing. "I feel a little silly carrying a pistol under these monk's robes."

One of the Israeli security men smiled. "This is the strangest mission I've ever been on. I mean, you have a Catholic pope meeting with a Cathar billionaire, and a Jewish security team guarding a group of Christians. It doesn't get much stranger than that."

"Yeah," Alon laughed. "Throw in some Hindus and Buddhists and we could really have a party."

Everyone burst out laughing until a monk poked his head through the door and held his finger to his lips.

"What's with those guys?" Ariella asked. "I feel like we're all back in grade school."

"You're in the monastery's cloister," John whispered. "They frown on loud talking and laughing."

"Oh ... sorry."

"I think we can forgive you this once," Pope Michael's voice boomed from the doorway as he exited the abbot's study with Eduardo Acerbi at his side.

"Good evening, Your Holiness," John said, trying to keep from tripping over his long monk's robes. "It's a great honor to see you again."

"The honor is all mine, John. Cardinal Leo has had great things to say about you and your lovely wife, Ariella." The pope paused for a moment and studied the mystified faces staring back at him. "I suppose you're all wondering why Mr. Acerbi has asked you to deliver him to an isolated monastery surrounded by water."

"The question had occurred," Alon smiled.

"I promise you all of your questions will be answered in due time. Until then, dinner is being served downstairs, and I'm sure all of you could use some hot food right about now. I'll join you in a few minutes after I change."

After being led back downstairs by the same unsmiling monk through a maze of corridors, the group entered a beamed dining room lined with beautiful stained glass windows and seated themselves around a long wooden table filled with steaming platters of food. After a few welcome sips of warming wine, the pope entered dressed in a black sweater and jeans and took his seat at the head of the table.

"First of all," the pope began, "I want to thank all of you for making sure Mr. Acerbi made it here safely. I know all of you have a lot of questions, and I assure you that they will be answered once we're in a secure location."

"I thought this was the secure location," Alon said.

"No, I'm afraid this is just a way station," Eduardo answered. "Now that Pope Michael is with us, we'll be boarding a nuclear submarine in a few hours before the sun comes up."

Alon practically dropped his fork. "Did you just say nuclear submarine?"

"Yes, Mr. Lavi. It will be transporting us to the secure location I was speaking of. Unfortunately, you will all have to trust me a little while longer, because what I have to say cannot be discussed until we reach our destination. At this point all I can tell you is that Pope Michael and I both agree that the world is now entering the first stages of a war."

"A war!" Ariella's eyes grew wide. "What kind of war?"

"A war that will soon cover the entire world, my dear."

Alon stared open-mouthed across the table. "If I didn't know better, I would think you were talking about World War III, Mr. Acerbi."

"No, my friend, I'm afraid I'm taking about something much worse. Now, would anyone like some more wine?"

CHAPTER 19.

Sitting in the underground communication center beneath the villa, the lack of communication from the team on the ground in France was becoming almost unbearable for Leo and Lev. It had been over twenty-four hours since they had heard anything, and every imaginable scenario was running through their minds. The satellite phones they used contained the most secure encrypted software in the world, yet John and Ariella weren't using them for some reason. Either they were playing it very smart, or something had gone terribly wrong.

"I just called Danny Zamir at Israeli Intelligence Command," Lev said to Leo. "He's looking into it. He says the agents he sent with Alon haven't reported in either. He's just as stumped as we are. He didn't want to say it, but I could tell by the sound of his voice that he was worried. If we don't hear anything in the next twelve hours I'm flying to Paris with a team of my own to find my daughter."

"Excuse me, Professor."

Lev looked up to see a pretty young woman from the villa's security force standing in the doorway.

"Yes, come in my dear. What is it?"

"There's a priest at the gatehouse. He says he's from the Vatican and asked to speak to you and the cardinal right away."

"Have the security people escort him to the house," Lev said, casting a puzzled glance in Leo's direction. The two men quickly made their way upstairs just as three youthful members of the villa's security force arrived with a muscular-looking priest who was carrying a sealed envelope in his hands.

"Who are you?" Leo asked.

"My name is Father Alberto, and I have an urgent dispatch from the Holy Father." The priest handed a sealed envelope to Leo. After removing the wax seal, Leo opened the envelope and read the short letter inside before turning to Lev with a bewildered look on his face. "Come with me. We need to speak in private."

Lev's short legs barely kept up with the tall cardinal as they made their way outside behind the villa. "Our people in France are at Mont Saint-Michel with Pope Michael. They're all safe."

"Thank God!" Lev looked like he was about to cry. "What in the world are they doing in a French monastery with the pope?"

"According to this, in a few hours the world press is going to break the news that the pope is missing. Apparently he's discovered a plot against him within the curia and was forced to go into hiding. Although he didn't say so, I believe he fears for my safety as well because he also wants me to disappear so that I can't be summoned back to the Vatican to take his place. He wants the priest who delivered this letter to remain here at the villa as your guest while Bishop Morelli returns to Rome to keep an eye on things."

Lev's face was turning pale. "What in the world is going on, Leo?"

"Believe me, I have no idea. I think we need to pump the priest who just delivered this letter for more information." Leo folded the paper and walked back into the villa to confront the large priest. "Who else knows about this?"

"Knows about what, Your Eminence?"

"Have you read this letter?"

"My orders were only to deliver that envelope, which was sealed." The man remained rigid as he looked Leo right in the eye. "I was sworn to secrecy before they shoved me into an Italian fighter jet. It was quite a ride ...

"A fighter jet?" Leo's eyes widened. "I'm sure it was quite a ride. Was there anything else?"

"No, Your Eminence ... just that letter."

Leo tried to manage a tight smile. "Would you like something to eat ... you must be starved by now."