The Machiavelli Covenant (48 page)

Seven minutes later, at 3:31, the tunnel veered left and they followed it. At 3:37 exactly a thundering explosion rocked the entire mountain. The tunnel ceiling fifty feet behind them collapsed and in seconds the entire shaft filled with a rolling cloud of choking dust.

Immediately they dropped to the floor, hugging it, fearful even to breathe. Then, hands clamped over noses, coughing and spitting and still following the ore-car rails, they crawled off in the only direction they could go.

By 3:50 most of the dust had settled and they got to their feet and moved on, one following the other, the one behind holding the belt of the man in front so as not to get separated in the inky darkness, ready to pull him back in the event the ground suddenly disappeared beneath his feet.

At 4:32 they heard the sound of dripping water and stopped. Another match showed the tunnel continuing on around a bend and at the same time revealed a small pool of collected groundwater where the tunnel wall touched the floor. Water to drink and to wash the dust from the face and eyes.

"You first, Cousin," the president coughed.

Marten grinned, "Sure, get the peasant to test for poison before the king tries it."

Marten saw the president smile just as the match went out. The moment was fleeting but in the awful black that followed it was a moment of humor shared. Not much but something.

Afterward they drank and washed out the dust and then sat down to rest.

•
5:10 P.M.

Hap Daniels sat on the edge of the bed watching the young doctor finish bandaging his shoulder. They were in the cramped upstairs bedroom of a small house near the Llobregat River and on the outskirts of El Borràs, a town in a valley north and east of Montserrat, that belonged to Pau Savall, Miguel's uncle. A stonemason and house-painter, it was Pau who had lent Miguel the motorcycle and behind whose home the Limousines Barcelona Mercedes was now hidden.

A final layer of bandage and the doctor was done. Standing, he looked at Hap through rimless glasses.

"Usted ha tenido mucha suerte,"
he said quietly.
"Las dos heridas son leves, del tejido blando. Tendrá que descansar esta noche, pero mañana podrá irse."

"He says you are very lucky," Miguel said from where he stood at the foot of the bed. "You have taken two wounds. Both are in the soft tissue. The bullets went all the way through. You will be quite sore and stiff but alright. He wants you to rest for tonight, tomorrow you may go."

"You have much luck, mi amigo," the doctor said in a halting mixture of English and Spanish. "God only knows the reason for it. That is why you have un amigo like this," he nodded toward Miguel, "he is God's helper. Now, if you will permit me, my children await me at supper." With that he said something in Spanish to Miguel and the two started across the room.

Hap saw them stop briefly at the door and the doctor handed Miguel something, and then they both left.

•
5:20 P.M.

Hap took a breath and ran a hand over his bandaged shoulder, remembering the painful ride down from the monastery in the cramped sidecar of Miguel's motorcycle. It had seemed to take a lifetime but in truth had been little more than twenty minutes. Twenty minutes after that the doctor had come.

By that time he'd had a couple of solid hits of local brandy, learned who Miguel was, who the men he had called his "cousins" were, and that the reason Miguel had helped him was because he had identified himself as a Secret Service agent and risked his life to save the man he thought was the president. He learned too that Miguel was the limousine driver who had brought the president
and Marten to Montserrat from Barcelona and how he had come to have the keypad combination that allowed him to enter Foxx's office.

Miguel had gone to the monastery's restaurant to find his "cousins." The headwaiter had seen them leave with Merriman Foxx and gave him directions to Foxx's office. He'd been almost to the door when the ops had come and he'd quickly stepped back into the nearby shadows. When Broad Nose used the keypad, he'd watched carefully. The numbers were 4-4-4-2. Remembering numbers came easily to him, the result of too many days playing the national lottery, of too much money spent, of too many numbers remembered out of sheer hope.

It was then Hap had learned it was Foxx who had been the slumped white-haired figure the ops had carried out. He'd known him only by reputation and because of the secret subcommittee hearings on terrorism. He'd never seen him or even seen a photograph of him until that moment when Miguel charged the ops thinking they had the president, and the jacket came off, exposing him.

Why the president had enough interest in Foxx to risk coming all the way to Montserrat he had no idea until Miguel confirmed some of what he already suspected; that the president's Washington "friends" had planned an action the president refused to take part in—a mass genocide against the Muslim states—and that Merriman Foxx was the prime engineer of it. The president had no details of the plan and that was the reason he and Marten had gone to the monastary: to force Foxx to reveal the plan's particulars in an effort to stop it. Whether they had been successful or not, there was no way to know.

•
5:35 P.M.

Miguel came back into the room carrying a glass of water and a small envelope. "Take these," he handed Hap the water and slid two white pills from the envelope. "For pain. The doctor gave them to me. There are more in here." He set the envelope on the bedside table.

"After the ops left and before I blacked out, you went through that door in Foxx's office," Hap took a drink of water but ignored the pills. "I would guess to look for the president. You didn't find him or we wouldn't be here like this. Was there any sign he had actually been there?"

"Please take the medication."

"Had the president been there?" Hap pressed him forcefully. "And if he had, where the hell did he go that the ops didn't find him?"

"My uncle is downstairs with his wife," Miguel said quietly. "Only they and the doctor know you are here. They will check on you before they go to bed. They can be trusted. Anything you want or need they will provide." Miguel started for the door.

"You're leaving?"

"I will see you when I get back."

"You have my BlackBerry."

"Yes," Miguel took it from his jacket pocket, then came back and handed it to Hap.

"What about the guns? There were two of them."

Miguel opened his jacket, slid Hap's Sig Sauer automatic from his waistband, and set it on the table next to him.

"Where's the other one, the machine pistol?"

"I need it."

"For what?"

Miguel smiled gently. "I think you are a good man who must rest."

"I said, for what?" Hap pressed him.

"Age nineteen to twenty-four, Fourth Battalion, Royal Australian Army, Special Operations Command. I know how to use it."

Hap stared at him. "I didn't ask for your résumé, I asked why you need the machine pistol!"

"Good night, sir," Miguel turned for the door.

"You don't know if the president was even there, do you?" Hap barked after him. "You're guessing!"

Miguel turned back. "He was there, sir." He took a step, lifted something from a dresser top, then walked over and set it on Hap's lap. It was Demi's big floppy hat.

"He was wearing it when I left him, part of his disguise. I found it in one of the laboratories beyond the office we were in. The door and part of the wall leading from the laboratories to whatever was beyond them was crushed. Blocked by a huge wall of stone. Probably the result of the earthquake or whatever it was that knocked us to the floor. In a day or two people with heavy digging equipment might be able to break through it to the other side. Even then there would be no guarantee of what they might find.

"Somewhere on the far side of that mass of stone, inside the mountain and those surrounding it, caves connected by old mining tunnels run for miles. If he is alive he will be in one of those caves or tunnels. A storm is coming but for a time there will be moonlight and there are ways in from the top. That's where I'm going. To me your president and Nicholas Marten are family. It's my duty and choice to find them, whether they are alive or dead."

"Your limousine, it's parked out back under some trees."

"What about it?"

"You bring people up into the mountains a lot?"

"Yes, I bring people to the mountains quite often." Miguel was impatient, time was everything, this questioning wasting it.

"Keep an emergency kit in the trunk?"

"Yes."

"A large one?"

"Señor Hap, I am trying to get to your president. Please excuse me," again Miguel started for the door.

"The kit. It has those small, folding survival blankets, the kind that have a reflective side? You know, Mylar, like the firefighters use?"

Miguel angrily swung back. "Why these questions?"

"Answer me."

"Yes, we have them. It's a company regulation. One for each passenger and the driver. We keep ten."

"What about food? Emergency rations?"

"Some health bars, that's all."

"Good, bring the whole damn kit." Abruptly Hap stood up. Then immediately put out a hand to steady himself.

"What are you doing?"

Hap grabbed the 9mm Sig Sauer, stuck in it his belt and put the pain pills in his pocket. "I'll be damned if you're going alone."

•
PARIS, HOTEL BEST WESTERN AURORE, 5:45 P.M.

"Good evening, Victor."

"Hello, Richard. I've been waiting all afternoon for your call."

"There was a delay, I'm sorry."

"I saw the story on TV about the shooting at the Chantilly race course. They talked about the two dead jockeys. But there wasn't much more."

"You haven't been approached by the police, have you?"

"No."

"Good."

Victor was in his underwear, lying on the bed, the television on in the background. He'd come that morning by train from Chantilly and taken a cab from the train station, the Gare du Nord, to the hotel where he was now, opposite another railroad station, Gare de Lyon. There he'd had a room-service breakfast, then showered and slept until two. After that he'd waited, as instructed, for Richard to call. As in Madrid, he'd grown more anxious as the hours passed, worrying that Richard would not call, maybe not ever. If the night went by without hearing from him he didn't know what he would do. He honestly didn't. In fact the idea of killing himself had crossed his mind more than once. It was certainly an answer. Something he could do. And very possibly would do if Richard had not called by—he set the time—eight the next morning. But then
Richard had called and it was alright and he felt warm and wanted and respected again.

"Again I apologize for the delay, Victor. It took some time for the final arrangements to be made."

"It's alright, Richard, I understand. Some things get complicated, don't they?"

"Yes, they do, Victor. Now here are your instructions. Train number 243 leaves the Gare du Nord for Berlin at 8:46 tonight. There is a first-class ticket being held in your name at the customer service window. You can be on the train, Victor, can't you?"

"Yes."

"Good. You will arrive in Berlin at 8:19 tomorrow morning. At 12:52 in the afternoon, train number 41 will leave Berlin for Warsaw and arrive at 6:25 in the evening. A very nice room has been reserved for you at the Hotel Victoria Warsaw. I will call you there before midnight. Is that satisfactory, Victor?"

"Yes, of course, Richard. I always do as you ask. That's why you depend on me, isn't it?"

"Yes, Victor, you know it is. Have a safe trip, I will call you tomorrow."

"Thank you, Richard. And good night."

"Good night, Victor. And thank you too."

•
LA IGLESIA DENTRO DE LA MONTAÑA,
THE CHURCH WITHIN THE MOUNTAIN, 5:55 P.M.

Demi's room was like that of a convent, sparse and very small. A simple dressing table was near the door, a hand mirror and washbasin resting on it. To the right was a commode with a fold-down top. A view of the sky through the tiny window near the ceiling told her it was still daylight. The single bed was hard and had no sheets, only a pillow and two blankets. On it she had set her two cameras and small equipment bag in which she had packed a small plastic bag containing her toiletries and another that held her camera accessories—extra memory cards and battery charger for the Canon digital and two dozen rolls of color film for the 35mm Nikon. What was not there, and what she was certain she had brought with her when she left the Hotel Regente Majestic in Barcelona that morning and had checked again when she arrived at Montserrat, was her cell phone. Somewhere along the way it had vanished, thereby severing any private communication she might have with the outside world.

Or so whoever took it undoubtedly thought.

Taking the phone was an action that earlier would have served as a harsh reminder of the warnings of her father and Giacomo Gela and raised an anxiety level that could easily have run away with her because of the monks, the extreme isolation of the church, and the fact that she had been drugged for her hallucinatory journey to it.