GENESIS (GODS CHAIN) (63 page)

Standing upright
,
Francesca stretched her stiff and aching limbs.
Never had she been so thankful in her life to find herself inside
the
fifth floor communications room of the administration buildings!

Relief and anxiety all mixed together in the turmoil of her mind.
H
er face was a
pathetic sight—
cut and bruised, she appeared more like a dirty rag doll than
a
human.
She was e
xhausted,
but
she had survived!

In the past
,
the girl had barely noted th
e
indiscrete duct door
that
blend
ed
quietly
against the walls of
the room,
never
giving it
more than
a perfunctory glance. Never had she gone inside
—t
here was no need.
It had always been
locked
shut
,
and painted the same pale green paintwork as the rest of the room.
Yet
,
disturbingly
, it was evident that
someone had been inside and not too long ago
.
T
he
p
izza boxes
.
Who could it be?

Complex computer and data network diagrams hung on the walls
,
as did pictures of high performance servers.
A few humorous cartoon characters cut out of computer magazines
that
poke humour at IT management or just management
in
general had been stuck on the wall. Francesca
,
for the first time in ages
,
grinned with happiness.
Her heart lifted.
She was safe
...
.

Francesca was about to go for the exit to her right
, through
the sealed
,
metal security entrance.
Unexpectedly
,
something dropped
loudly
near the back of the room onto the floor, where the servers were located.
She stopped in her tracks
,
look
ing
perplexed
.
H
er view was restricted by the large communication data cabinets,
which stood
in the way
.

What was that
?
Maybe someone is up there
—someone who
might be able to get help
....

‘
Si,
is someone there?’
She
walk
ed
slowly on the left side of the room,
keeping
the cabinets on her right
as
she head
ed
towards the server area.
She p
ass
ed
the many large communication cabinets
which stood open, with
their cables hanging out and mixed like spaghetti in all directions.
She could not help
but
look a
t
the
humorous cartoon cut
-
outs from a newspaper called
The Popeye Chronicles
, which gave
a tongue
in
cheek look at the Vatican and
was
one that
Michaelangelo
had subscribed to.
S
he s
mil
ed
a little
,
remembering
when
Michaelangelo
had stuck
it on the wall a year or so ago.
He was always laughing at it.

I am surprised he never got the bible thrown at him!

Thinking again of
Michaelangelo
, Francesca’s smile was short
-
lived as the reality of her own situation came flooding back
.
S
he listened to a familiar voice
...
.

             
‘Hello
,
Schiavone,” a male voice spoke from the back of the room in response to Francesca’s earlier greeting only moments ago
.
‘
T
aking your time getting back here
,
then?
Has
the girl been “rescinded”?’
the man
wait
ed
for a response
without turning around,
concentrating his attention on the dedicated computer terminal.

Shit, it is
Agent
Zito, the VIA guy! They have the access rights to do
just about
anything inside the Vatican City!
Oversized auditors with big sticks
, that’s all they are.
But
what did he mean by “rescinded?”
She crouched down with great caution, creeping up slowly to see what he was doing
.

‘Look here
,
’
he said,
sensing the female behind him.
‘Those guys downstairs are transferring tender documentation onto another secure server and
,
better than that, they are using
different digital certificates
.’
For a moment
,
Agent Zito still believed that he was speaking to his younger colleague.

Francesca’s eyes widened in dismay
as she saw
his gun, a stainless steel “Beretta 92FS Inox”, originally designed for the
Italian
Army and Police.
It rested on the desk next to the keyboard.
Not exactly a computer add-on!
s
he thought.
It’s t
ime I got out of here,
and
only seconds in
...
.
Fuck, I’m too late!

The man suddenly turned around on the swivel chair.
His eyebrows lifted up in complete surprise from behind his sunglasses
,
and then
disappeared quickly below the dark frames
.

‘Ah, Miss DeRose, I was wondering about you
,
’
he began, and she felt certain
that
that
part was true
.
‘Have you seen my colleague, Agent
Schiavone?’
He
smil
ed
in a pleasant way. Agent
Zito
seemed too friendly and too collected
for having just received an unexpected guest
.
He was s
itting there as if he
owned the place in
an
unruffled pinstripe suit
,
and acting as though everything was completely normal
.
...

I
t’s a b
luff, he can’t be thinking that!
He is playing for time
...
she decided,
distrusting the agent’s overly familiar and forthcoming manner.
Studying the girl’s shocking state, he sensed
her
antagonism and so extended his hand almost without Francesca noticing.
It was a complete and smooth movement; Zito could so easily have been picking up a cup of coffee
...
instead
,
he lifted his silver Beretta!

Francesca did not flinch and
,
without thinking of the consequences
,
automatically brought down a heavy cable management arm
that
had been sitting close by on a shelf
.
She had been holding it inconspicuously
where it rested
on the data cabinet as he had turned.
Zito had not observed her
increased
sense of survival.

The “arm” was manufactured of a heavy metal alloy
and
resembl
ed
a freakish robot arm.
Instinctively
,
the girl quickly whacked it down, striking
Zito
below his elbow!
The robot arm straighten
ed
out like a solid metal bar on contact!
It then angled shut like a pincer around his arm, nipping his skin badly,
and
causing a nasty gash underneath his pinstripe suit jacket.

An instant sharp shock went through his arm and down his spine
,
followed instantly by the sickly sound of the bone snapping on impact!

‘Aaaaah!’ Zito screamed in anguish
.
He knew it was broken.
Yelling out in sheer agony at the instant jagged pain
and
t
raumatised
,
Zito managed to turn, realising
too late that
he was dealing with a mad woman
.
He d
ropp
ed
his weapon as agony
exploded through his broken arm.
Unfortunately, the man was a
dept with both hands
and
managed to grip his pistol with his other hand swing it around towards her
.