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“How do you know about what Mussolini said that night?” Stephanie asked.
Good question. He, too, was skeptical.
“We worked with American and British intelligence during the war,” Gallo said. “Our nation status gave us a diplomatic presence worldwide. We provided medical services in every combat theater, but we also passed on information about the Axis to the Allies. And we were a conduit to both of the Pius popes. In the course of that, we learned that Mussolini had blackmailed the Holy See into complacency, convincing the Vatican that he possessed Our Trinity. Both popes demanded proof from us that we still possessed the Trinity. Of course, we could not supply it. So they capitulated and stayed silent about all of the fascist atrocities. Pius XI had planned to break that silence, but died before that happened. Pius XII chose to maintain that silence. Historians have argued for decades why the Vatican did not do more to stop the evil in Italy and Germany. The answer was simple. The church was threatened by something important enough to command its attention.”
“Did Mussolini have the Nostra Trinità?” Stephanie asked.
Gallo shook his head. “We have no idea. Il Duce killed three knights, one a Secreti, to obtain whatever he found. That we know for a fact. So we’ve spent the past seven decades gathering all we could.” He motioned to the room. “This is the result of those efforts. Mr. Malone, you asked how Mussolini is important here. This is how.”
“Is the church currently aware of any of this?” Stephanie asked.
“Archbishop Spagna certainly is. Perhaps a few cardinals know of the Constitutum Constantini. Within the order a handful know the history, I being one of those. But this certainly is not a subject of common knowledge. The pope dying so sudden has apparently aroused the ambitions of the archbishop, the Secreti, and my brother. All three want to take advantage of the situation.”
“Aren’t you the lieutenant ad interim, thanks to your brother,” Cotton asked again.
“I agreed to serve as a way to try to heal the rifts within our ranks. But the petty infighting and ridiculous egos of the most senior of our officers has taxed my patience. Even so, my allegiance is to my brothers. And only to them.”
“Over your own brother?”
“Even over my own brother.” Gallo hesitated, then said, “I foolishly thought I was the only one who could keep Kastor in check. I know him. Perhaps even better than he knows himself. I apologize again for what’s happened to you, Mr. Malone. I’m trying hard to rectify the situation.”
He decided to cut the guy a little slack. “My apologies, too. I’m just trying to understand the lay of the land.”
“I appreciate that. So what I’m about to tell you has remained within our ranks, as a cherished secret, for a long time. But I need your help, so I’m going to break protocol and tell you both a secret.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Luke listened to Spagna as he explained.
“In the early 1930s Mussolini wanted to show the world that Rome had returned to all of its imperial glory. So he started a massive urban redevelopment project. Neighborhoods were razed, buildings leveled, grand boulevards cleared and paved. People come to Rome today from all over the world and marvel at the architecture. What they don’t realize is that most of it bears the imprint not only of emperors and popes, but also of a cruel fascist.”
He and Laura listened as Spagna told them how Mussolini had wanted to attract a World’s Fair and even the Olympics. To do that he appropriated a tract of swampy land north of the city, adjacent to the Tiber, and constructed a grand complex.
The Foro Mussolini.
“Like the Forum Caesaris and the Forum Augusti. But in the ancient world those were places of commerce and religious worship. This one dealt only with sports, games, and politics. There were gyms, running tracks, swimming pools, and a garish twenty-thousand-seat travertine stadium, ringed by sixty marble statues of nude males wielding clubs, swords, and slings. It became a Black Shirt playground, home to the Fascist Academy of Physical Education, used for training and competitions. Mussolini himself worked out there regularly, and even more incredible, the place still stands.”
That surprised Luke.
“The complex is used for international competitions,” Spagna said. “The buildings house the Italian National Olympic Committee, a television station, a museum, a fencing academy, even a high-tech courthouse where terrorists and Mafioso were tried. The site has adapted, but there’s one part that has remained exactly the same.”
He waited.
“The obelisk.”
* * *
Cotton had never heard of the Foro Mussolini and the obelisk that Pollux Gallo had just described.
But he was intrigued.
“The obelisk is fifty-five feet tall,” Gallo said. “The largest single piece of marble ever quarried at Carrara. A perfect slab, free of cracks and imperfections, topped with a tip of gilded bronze. On it is inscribed MUSSOLINI DUX.”
He silently translated.
Mussolini leader.
“It was dedicated on November 4, 1932, to great pomp. Behind it stretches a huge piazza, paved with mosaics of muscled athletes, eagles, and odes to Il Duce. It’s all so repulsive, so grandiose. Like the man himself. But the obelisk is one of the last remaining monuments that still bears Mussolini’s name.”
Cotton knew the significance of obelisks, symbols of imperial power for centuries. Egyptians, Romans, emperors, and popes all used them. A natural that the fascists would turn to one.
“But it’s what lies inside the obelisk,” Gallo said. “That’s our real secret.”
* * *
Luke had to admit, the whole thing sounded fascinating. But he had to keep telling himself to not get caught up with the story and pay close attention to Spagna. This man had an unknown agenda.
“By any standard, the forum and the obelisk were grand gestures,” Spagna said. “But Mussolini went one better. He commissioned a codex to be written by an Italian classical scholar. A fanciful account on the rise of fascism, its supposed achievements, and its place in history. One thousand two hundred and twenty words of pure propaganda, which, on October 27, 1932, he sealed inside the base of the obelisk.”
Spagna explained how objects were routinely placed inside monuments, first done as an offering, a superstition. Eventually the practice of foundation deposits was used to carry forward the memory of the builder or the people who produced the structure. Mussolini particularly enjoyed the custom, filming the ceremonies for the newsreels. He would sign a dedication document with great flourish, seal it within a metal tube, then cement it himself inside the prima pietra, the first stone.
“The story goes,” Spagna said, “that in order to free the codex and read its grand fascist message, the obelisk would have to come down. For future generations to know the greatness of Mussolini, his monument would have to fall. Ironic, wouldn’t you say?”
“Is that obelisk still standing?” Laura asked.
Spagna nodded. “In all its glory.”
“And why is that important now?” Luke asked.
“The British learned that Mussolini sealed something else inside that obelisk, along with the codex, something that has become quite important of late.”
Spagna reached into his pocket for an object.
And tossed it over.
* * *
Cotton focused on what Pollux Gallo was saying.
“In the 1930s Mussolini managed to infiltrate our ranks,” Gallo said. “He did that, at first, simply to know what we were doing, just as he did with the church. We watched him, too. From those efforts Mussolini came to learn some of our most precious secrets, and one in particular. How to find the Nostra Trinità. Supposedly a map was created. A way to locate the hiding place. We’ve searched since 1798 for that map, but it was Mussolini who may have succeeded in finding it.”
* * *
Luke examined what Spagna had thrown his way.
A coin.
No. More a medal.
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Its obverse featured Mussolini in profile, his head sheathed in a lion skin. The reverse showed an obelisk and bore a legend.
FORO MVSSOLINI A.X.
“What does it mean?” he asked Spagna.
“By wearing the lion skin, he linked himself to Hercules and the first of his twelve labors, the killing of the Nemean lion. Mussolini was obsessed with mythology.” Spagna pointed. “The obelisk on that medal is the same one at the foro, with the same inscription. Then there’s one other piece of information. At the base of the obelisk is a stone that has ANNO X carved into it. That coin you’re holding was found in Mussolini’s pocket the day he was killed. One of the Secreti was there and retrieved it before they took the great leader and his mistress back to Milan and hung their corpses upside down for all to see.”
Luke motioned. “Mussolini created this medal?”
Spagna nodded. “It was specially commissioned for the dedication of the Foro Mussolini. Several were placed inside the obelisk with the codex. Those were made of gold. The one you’re holding is bronze. Made just for Il Duce, and it being in his pocket was significant. As was what Mussolini called out just before they shot him at Lake Como. Magnus ab integro saeclorum nascitur ordo. The great order of the ages is born afresh. Meaningless at the time. But not when you consider the text of the codex that Mussolini commissioned. The one inside the obelisk. It has an epigraph at its beginning. A quote from Virgil’s Eclogues 4.5. The great order of the ages is born afresh.”
“That’s too many coincidences to be a coincidence,” Laura said.
“You’re correct,” Spagna said. “Which means what we need is waiting inside that obelisk, and it’s up to Mr. Malone to find it.”
* * *
Cotton waited for Gallo to finish.
“We’ve suspected for some time that the obelisk served as Mussolini’s hiding place for what he might have located. Probably behind a stone at the base, marked ANNO X. The time has come to see if that’s true. And quickly.”
He caught the urgent tone. “You think the men who just tried to kill me are headed that way?”
“I do.”
Which might explain the fake Gallo’s hasty retreat. He checked his watch. “They have less than an hour’s head start. It’s a long drive back to Rome.”
“Three hours,” Stephanie said.
“I can get us there faster,” Gallo noted. “We have the helicopter, which is still at the villa.”
