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The camerlegno turned. "Are you attempting to give me an order?"
"No, I am giving you advice. If you are concerned about the people outside, we can announce a gas leak and clear the area, but admitting we are hostage is dangerous."
"Commander, I will only say this once. I will not use this office as a pulpit to lie to the world. If I announce anything at all, it will be the truth."
"The truth? That Vatican City is threatened to be destroyed by satanic terrorists? It only weakens our position."
The camerlegno glared. "How much weaker could our position be?"
Rocher shouted suddenly, grabbing the remote and increasing the volume on the television. Everyone turned.
On air, the woman from MSNBC now looked genuinely unnerved. Superimposed beside her was a photo of the late Pope. "... breaking information. This just in from the BBC..." She glanced off camera as if to confirm she was really supposed to make this announcement. Apparently getting confirmation, she turned and grimly faced the viewers. "The Illuminati have just claimed responsibility for..." She hesitated. "They have claimed responsibility for the death of the Pope fifteen days ago."
The camerlegno's jaw fell.
Rocher dropped the remote control.
Vittoria could barely process the information.
"By Vatican law," the woman continued, "no formal autopsy is ever performed on a Pope, so the Illuminati claim of murder cannot be confirmed. Nonetheless, the Illuminati hold that the cause of the late Pope's death was not a stroke as the Vatican reported, but poisoning."
The room went totally silent again.
Olivetti erupted. "Madness! A bold-faced lie!"
Rocher began flipping channels again. The bulletin seemed to spread like a plague from station to station. Everyone had the same story. Headlines competed for optimal sensationalism.
Murder at the Vatican
Pope Poisoned
Satan Touches House of God
The camerlegno looked away. "God help us."
As Rocher flipped, he passed a BBC station. " - tipped me off about the killing at Santa Maria de Popolo - "
"Wait!" the camerlegno said. "Back."
Rocher went back. On screen, a prim-looking man sat at a BBC news desk. Superimposed over his shoulder was a still snapshot of an odd-looking man with a red beard. Underneath his photo, it said:
Gunther Glick - Live in Vatican City
Reporter Glick was apparently reporting by phone, the connection scratchy. "... my videographer got the footage of the cardinal being removed from the Chigi Chapel."
"Let me reiterate for our viewers," the anchorman in London was saying, "BBC reporter Gunther Glick is the man who first broke this story. He has been in phone contact twice now with the alleged Illuminati assassin. Gunther, you say the assassin phoned only moments ago to pass along a message from the Illuminati?"
"He did."
"And their message was that the Illuminati were somehow responsible for the Pope's death?" The anchorman sounded incredulous.
"Correct. The caller told me that the Pope's death was not a stroke, as the Vatican had thought, but rather that the Pope had been poisoned by the Illuminati."
Everyone in the Pope's office froze.
"Poisoned?" the anchorman demanded. "But... but how!"
"They gave no specifics," Glick replied, "except to say that they killed him with a drug known as..." - there was a rustling of papers on the line - "something known as Heparin."
The camerlegno, Olivetti, and Rocher all exchanged confused looks.
"Heparin?" Rocher demanded, looking unnerved. "But isn't that...?"
The camerlegno blanched. "The Pope's medication."
Vittoria was stunned. "The Pope was on Heparin?"
"He had thrombophlebitis," the camerlegno said. "He took an injection once a day."
Rocher looked flabbergasted. "But Heparin isn't a poison. Why would the Illuminati claim - "
"Heparin is lethal in the wrong dosages," Vittoria offered. "It's a powerful anticoagulant. An overdose would cause massive internal bleeding and brain hemorrhages."
Olivetti eyed her suspiciously. "How would you know that?"
"Marine biologists use it on sea mammals in captivity to prevent blood clotting from decreased activity. Animals have died from improper administration of the drug." She paused. "A Heparin overdose in a human would cause symptoms easily mistaken for a stroke... especially in the absence of a proper autopsy."
The camerlegno now looked deeply troubled.
"Signore," Olivetti said, "this is obviously an Illuminati ploy for publicity. Someone overdosing the Pope would be impossible. Nobody had access. And even if we take the bait and try to refute their claim, how could we? Papal law prohibits autopsy. Even with an autopsy, we would learn nothing. We would find traces of Heparin in his body from his daily injections."
"True." The camerlegno's voice sharpened. "And yet something else troubles me. No one on the outside knew His Holiness was taking this medication."
There was a silence.
"If he overdosed with Heparin," Vittoria said, "his body would show signs."
Olivetti spun toward her. "Ms. Vetra, in case you didn't hear me, papal autopsies are prohibited by Vatican Law. We are not about to defile His Holiness's body by cutting him open just because an enemy makes a taunting claim!"
Vittoria felt shamed. "I was not implying..." She had not meant to seem disrespectful. "I certainly was not suggesting you exhume the Pope..." She hesitated, though. Something Robert told her in the Chigi passed like a ghost through her mind. He had mentioned that papal sarcophagi were above ground and never cemented shut, a throwback to the days of the pharaohs when sealing and burying a casket was believed to trap the deceased's soul inside. Gravity had become the mortar of choice, with coffin lids often weighing hundreds of pounds. Technically, she realized, it would be possible to -
"What sort of signs?" the camerlegno said suddenly.
Vittoria felt her heart flutter with fear. "Overdoses can cause bleeding of the oral mucosa."
"Oral what?"
"The victim's gums would bleed. Post mortem, the blood congeals and turns the inside of the mouth black." Vittoria had once seen a photo taken at an aquarium in London where a pair of killer whales had been mistakenly overdosed by their trainer. The whales floated lifeless in the tank, their mouths hanging open and their tongues black as soot.
The camerlegno made no reply. He turned and stared out the window.
Rocher's voice had lost its optimism. "Signore, if this claim about poisoning is true..."
"It's not true," Olivetti declared. "Access to the Pope by an outsider is utterly impossible."
"If this claim is true," Rocher repeated, "and our Holy Father was poisoned, then that has profound implications for our antimatter search. The alleged assassination implies a much deeper infiltration of Vatican City than we had imagined. Searching the white zones may be inadequate. If we are compromised to such a deep extent, we may not find the canister in time."
Olivetti leveled his captain with a cold stare. "Captain, I will tell you what is going to happen."
"No," the camerlegno said, turning suddenly. "I will tell you what is going to happen." He looked directly at Olivetti. "This has gone far enough. In twenty minutes I will be making a decision whether or not to cancel conclave and evacuate Vatican City. My decision will be final. Is that clear?"
Olivetti did not blink. Nor did he respond.
The camerlegno spoke forcefully now, as though tapping a hidden reserve of power. "Captain Rocher, you will complete your search of the white zones and report directly to me when you are finished."
Rocher nodded, throwing Olivetti an uneasy glance.
The camerlegno then singled out two guards. "I want the BBC reporter, Mr. Glick, in this office immediately. If the Illuminati have been communicating with him, he may be able to help us. Go."
The two soldiers disappeared.
Now the camerlegno turned and addressed the remaining guards. "Gentlemen, I will not permit any more loss of life this evening. By ten o'clock you will locate the remaining two cardinals and capture the monster responsible for these murders. Do I make myself understood?"
"But, signore," Olivetti argued, "we have no idea where - "
"Mr. Langdon is working on that. He seems capable. I have faith."
With that, the camerlegno strode for the door, a new determination in his step. On his way out, he pointed to three guards. "You three, come with me. Now."
The guards followed.
In the doorway, the camerlegno stopped. He turned to Vittoria. "Ms. Vetra. You too. Please come with me."
Vittoria hesitated. "Where are we going?"
He headed out the door. "To see an old friend."
