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He heard the diesel rev and the hiss of brakes releasing. The locomotive was no more than twenty feet from the open gate and would be outside the wall in less than thirty seconds. He counted five open railcars and saw a guy near a white van toward the end of the train. One of the tall bushes offered excellent shielding and, as the train passed, he caught sight of Gallo inside the second car.
The train gathered pace.
The third car passed.
The fourth.
He had no choice.
He sprang from the path and ran toward the final car. Most of the train was now beyond the wall, the front third rounding a bend in the tracks.
He leaped up into the empty car.
Someone yelled.
Had to be one of the guards at the gate, who suddenly vaulted into the car, too. He never gave the man a chance, stepping forward and planting a fist in the guy’s right side. The man doubled over and he used the moment to shove the guard out the open door. The train was creeping along, yet to gain a full head of steam. The guard hit the ground and rolled away. He watched out the door as the train kept going and saw that the guard was okay, having landed on grass. The other guard who’d been watching the gate with him ran to the man’s aid and helped him up. Surely they’d call in all the excitement, and Stamm would learn where he’d headed.
He decided to maintain his own radio silence.
He swung himself out of the doorway and grabbed hold of a steel ladder, which he used to climb to the top. Two cars were between him and Gallo, so he jumped to the next. The tops were flat but loaded with bumps and indentations made more treacherous by the constant vibrations from the tracks. He spread his feet against the roll and felt like a sailor on a rolling deck.
He leaped to the next car.
* * *
Pollux began to feel a measure of relief.
He was away from the Vatican and only the one unsuspecting man at the train station had seen him. It was a shame that he’d not been able to complete the plan. He’d been devising it for many years and thought he’d anticipated all of the seemingly endless obstacles to a successful conclusion. His attempts to neutralize the Americans had apparently proven insufficient. But he still had the flash drive and it might be useful. Cardinals had resources that he could exploit, and taking the moral low road was nothing new for the Holy See.
The train kept moving, creating a constant groan from the warped wood and rusty metal. He’d wait a little longer before leaving.
Something thumped on the roof.
Footsteps moved from one side of the car to the other.
He reached for the gun at his waist.
* * *
Cotton swung his body out and onto the steel ladder attached to the side of the railcar. Down two rungs and he jumped into the open door, facing Gallo, who was reaching for a weapon. He lunged, pushing his weight against the other man and bracing his feet. He grabbed the gun and swung upward, wrenching the hand down, freeing the grip. The gun clattered away, then disappeared out the open doorway. Gallo rebounded, jerking away and jumping into the air, throwing a dive punch that crashed down on Cotton’s shoulder, which he absorbed as he shifted away and whirled, coming back around with a heel kick to the sternum that lifted Gallo off the floor and sent him sliding. That had to have cracked some ribs but Gallo sprang to his feet, taking a swing that was easily sidestepped.
Cotton moved in and swung, his right fist connecting with the man’s jaw.
Gallo blinked, then swung again, finding only air, the clenched knuckles swishing past without connecting.
Wheels racketed beneath his feet.
Gallo advanced.
Cotton swung again, crunching his fist into Gallo’s face. He felt his nose give way. Gallo staggered back, dazed but showing no signs of surrendering. He could not allow him to leave the car.
Brakes hissed.
Wheels screeched on the tracks.
The train slowed.
Apparently Stamm had gotten the message.
Time to end this.
Gallo swung.
Cotton parried the blow and chopped at the neck, then pounded another fist into his solar plexus. He wrestled Gallo’s arms behind his back and shoved the head and upper body into the wooden wall.
Once. Twice.
The body went limp.
He allowed Gallo to sink to the floor.
The train stopped.
He hadn’t had a full fight like that in a while. Nice to know he still had it in him. Beyond the open doors he saw shadows approaching. Then he spotted Cardinal Stamm and Stephanie standing below. They stepped close to the open doors and saw Gallo lying still.
“Seems the rat finally found the trap,” Stamm said.
Stephanie tossed him a grateful smile.
“Good job.”
CHAPTER SEVENTY-THREE
Cotton waited in Cardinal Stamm’s office, located in one of the many buildings that filled the Vatican, this one on the north side of the Apostolic Palace amid the post office, pharmacy, media outlets, grocery store, and barracks of the Swiss Guards. It was an odd location for the world’s oldest intelligence agency. Reminiscent of the Magellan Billet, which was headquartered in a nondescript government building in Atlanta.
Stamm had ordered the train to reverse down the tracks, back to the Vatican station. The loading platform had been cleared of the white van and freight wagons, no one around except two men who, Stamm had explained, worked for him. Gallo was taken into custody, hustled to a waiting car, then driven away. The conclave had been halted with the story of a mechanical failure within the Sistine Chapel affecting the air-conditioning and electrical systems. It had been deemed a possible fire hazard so the extraordinary measure of interrupting the cardinals had been ordered. Luckily, nothing had, as yet, occurred relative to voting so it was decided that the conclave would reconvene tomorrow. The press was consumed with the story, but the cardinals were sequestered inside their rooms at the Domus Sanctae Marthae, unavailable for comment, including the presiding cardinal, whom Stamm had assured would never reveal a thing.
He and Stephanie had walked with Stamm back across the grounds. The injured guard had been located and taken to the hospital. He’d been partially asphyxiated but should be okay. Both he and his company had been sworn to secrecy. Cotton still felt bad that he hadn’t been able to do something for the guy sooner, but if he’d delayed any longer he would have lost Gallo. Hopefully the guard would understand.
He was tired, his face deep in stubble and in need of a shave. Some sleep and a good meal would be great, too. Stamm’s office seemed the picture of efficiency. Nothing fancy. Just what he needed to get the job done. Which seemed to fit the man. No nonsense, but fully capable. Cotton was glad this was over. Time to head to southern France and a few days with Cassiopeia. Strange that his thoughts now included another person. He’d been a loner a long time. But not anymore. A woman was again part of his life.
Which wasn’t a bad thing.
Stephanie entered the office. “I really appreciate what you did.”
“All part of the job, and I got paid.”
“Speaking of that. James Grant’s body was found in the Ligurian Sea, with a hole in his head.”
“Gallo?”
“No doubt.”
“Lot of dead people,” he said.
“I agree. This one came with a cost.”
“What about the Churchill letters?”
“Disappeared. But the Knights of Malta are cooperating and conducting searches of Gallo’s rooms. He most likely has them hidden somewhere. They’re appalled that all this has happened. But Gallo was working rogue. He recruited his Secreti on the promise of Vatican positions. Proof positive that you can hire anybody to do anything.”
“I understand that concept fully,” he said, adding a smile.
“I know you do.”
Stamm reentered the office and walked behind his desk, sitting in a plain, high-backed wooden chair, which had to be uncomfortable.
But the guy seemed right at home.
“The situation is control. The Vatican press office is dealing with the conclave interruption. The cardinals are tucked away. The two guards at the railway gate have been told that this was an internal matter and that you were working with us.”
“The guy I tossed from the car okay?”
“He’s fine.” Stamm paused. “We were lucky today. An untenable situation has been resolved. Thanks to you, Mr. Malone.”
“And a guy named Luke Daniels on Malta,” Cotton added.
