The Three Most Wanted (32 page)

“Ah.” The Holy Father slipped the coat on and sat again to change his shiny red shoes for the plain black ones Eduardo set in front of him.

Slipping the red shoes into a bag, Eduardo shepherded the whole lot of us out and across the platform to a carriage near the middle of the train—which was much longer than the platform. A Vatican policeman stood at the door, checking off names as we got on.

Inside were the gutted remains of what’d once been a luxury car, the interior clearly ripped out a long time ago to make room for supplies. When the EuroGov allowed the use of their tracks—an increasingly rare occurrence—there was no space to be wasted.

Crates had been arranged as seats, made soft with priceless tapestries, carefully folded. Eduardo followed us on to say, “Seats for the elderly. Standing room only for everyone else.”

He put the bag down beside the Holy Father and out he went again. The bus quickly filled up with most of the people from the aborted debriefing, including, to my relief, Kyle and Father Mark. A stretcher was maneuvered in whilst there was still space, and laid along some more boxes.

“Jon!”

“Oh, Margo, there you are. Somehow I didn’t think they’d leave you behind.”

“They should just shove me through the gates—problem solved.”

“Don’t be stupid!” said Jon, unusually harshly. “Stupidest thing I’ve ever heard!”

“You don’t feel the teeniest bit bad we’ve just brought down the Vatican State?”

“It’s not
brought down
, it’s relocating.”

“This has been expected for years, Margaret,” said Father Mark.

“Yeah, ever since I got here it’s certainly just been considered a matter of time.” Kyle had worked his way over to us. “So you three were the catalyst—so what? Something was going to be.”

“Hmm,” I said.

Swiss Guards climbed aboard now, packing into what little space remained around the doors.

“How far to Ostia?” I clung to Bane for balance as everyone shuffled up again.

Bane put his hand to his pocket, stopped, shrugged. “Not far, I think.”

“I wonder what’s happening out there.” The Holy Father was sitting nearby.

“I’ve got a portable TV here, your Holiness,” said a layman. “Shall I turn it on?”

“Yes, please do.”

The man perched the little set on someone’s shoulder and fiddled with it until it was persuaded to ignore all the people and pick up a signal. Doors slammed along the train and the floor started vibrating. Ready to go. A
grinding-squeaking
sound—the wall portal opening?

“…and we can see the rail portal into the Vatican opening for the first time in almost two years,” confirmed the newscaster on the TV. “The last time the EuroBloc allowed the Vatican train the use of their tracks was in December the year before last. Relations since then have only deteriorated. To bring anyone joining us up to date, in response to the Vatican State granting asylum to the EuroBloc’s three most wanted fugitives—Margaret Verrall and her two companions—the EuroGov have issued an ultimatum that if by six this evening the fugitives have not been handed over to EuroBloc justice, the Vatican State will be occupied.”

“Justice, hah!” said someone. Snorts of derision from around the carriage.

“Half an hour remains before the deadline and events are taking an unexpected turn. The Vatican’s rail portal has just opened and it appears the Vatican train intends to come out onto EuroBloc track. Bafflingly, the EuroGov seem to be making no response to this. One moment…”

Silent footage of the open track portal, then the newscaster was back…

“We’ve just heard that EuroTrac control have received orders to clear the tracks and change the points to allow an unscheduled priority train to pass from Rome to Ostia docks. This is most surprising… wait, I’m getting another report…”

More silent footage of the open track portal. I clutched Bane harder in mingled hope and fear. Any moment now we’d be going through that wall—but the points
were
set for Ostia…

Our coach door slammed and Eduardo appeared, easing his way through the crush. His eyes fell on the TV.
“Turn that off!”

The layman looked taken aback. “The Holy Father…”

“I’m watching it, Eduardo,” said Pope Cornelius mildly.

Eduardo scowled. “No need to frighten everyone with sensational EuroNews, surely?”

“Well, for some reason Veritas TV and Radio has temporarily stopped broadcasting.” The Holy Father smiled slightly. He might well be sitting on some of the smaller transmission equipment.

The train jolted and began to move. I gulped in a breath and wrapped a hand over my mouth to try and keep any cowardly noises from escaping. Bane held me close.

“Yes, it’s confirmed… this footage just in…” the newscaster was back again. “The Head of the Vatican Free State appears to be sitting in his vehicle in the middle of the Forbidden Square, holding some sort of switch in his hand.”

“What?”
bellowed Pope Cornelius, lurching to his feet and clutching the TV, staring at what it showed.

A little white popemobile parked in St. Peter’s Square; inside it, a figure in white.

***+***

25

THE ALTERNATIVE

“Hans!”
moaned Pope Cornelius, even as the camera zoomed in close enough to show the shiny red shoes—and the lined old face. He spun around to face his Head of Security. “Eduardo, you… you
heartless
…”

“All his idea,” said Eduardo expressionlessly, spreading his hands. “Someone had to stay and hold the button—we’ve no way to detonate the charges from the middle of the Mediterranean. And letting them think they’d get
you
just sweetened the bitter pill of their losing Margaret.”

Some people looked at me—my eyes were glued to the tiny screen. I was shaking again. The tally of lives laid down for mine was about to total one helicopter pilot, one dismantler, one commandant, a shift of bridge guards, two brave New Adults, an old man and his sons—and one cardinal.

One cardinal. It would be Conscious Dismantlement. Shudders shook me and I began, unstoppably, to cry. I buried my face against Bane’s chest and clung to him and couldn’t stop. Selfish, cowardly wretch that I was, I couldn’t speak. Yet… he was dying in
my place
…

Somehow, somehow I unstuck my tongue from the roof of my mouth.

“
Stop
…” I cleared my throat and tried again. My voice was ragged. “Stop the train! I’ll…
I’ll
hold the switch…” My voice almost died away to nothing, but I got the words out. Getting down from the train to act on them might be another matter.

No one made any move to stop the train, anyway.

“Calm down, Margaret,” said Eduardo. “Cardinal Hans was adamant he should do it. He has a very serious heart condition, if it makes you feel any better. He said and I quote, ‘As for me, I fully intend to drop dead the moment the dismantler’s needle touches my skin.’ While laughing in their face, I imagine. I’m certainly quite confident that the imminent prospect of Conscious Dismantlement will be more than enough to bring on a nice fatal heart attack. So don’t torture yourself. He’s not doing it for
you
, anyway, he’s doing it for the whole state.”

It didn’t help. Nothing would help ever again. Misery overload. Choking back a moan, I huddled deeper into the circle of Bane’s arms. Bane clutched me tightly and made a snarling sound that said if I’d not been almost beyond reason distraught, he’d have words with me about my offer, and that anyone taking me up on it would need to go through him.

The Holy Father and Eduardo were arguing... the Holy Father wanting the train stopped so
he
could take Cardinal Hans’s place...

“It’s too late,” I heard Eduardo reply. “Look, we’re going under the wall. So let’s not waste a brave man’s sacrifice, right?”

The wall… EuroBloc territory… I clung tighter to Bane, shaking.

When Bane turned some time later to perch on the edge of Jon’s box-bed and settle me on his knee I caught a glimpse of the pontiff, sitting again, his face twisted with grief. Old friends? And then I was sobbing again as if I’d never stop.

“Sedative?” suggested Kyle anxiously.

“Oh, shut up!” snarled Bane.

“She’s my sister, I’m worried…!”

“She’s my fiancée and I think I…”

Even in my choking world of tears I sensed the explosion of testosterone in the air and was glad to hear Father Mark’s voice cut in, rather sharp. “You two, act your age. Kyle, she needs hugging not drugging, you twit. And Bane, could you even
try
to keep your temper?”

Kyle was right about one thing though, I was quite beside myself. Bane held me and held me until I’d cried myself into a stupor... Vaguely aware of him lifting me and laying me beside Jon, tucking the blanket over me and perching again to stroke my hair and rub my back. Jon’s scent in my nostrils was almost as calming as Bane’s and his hand closed gently around mine...

...The train stopped with a jolt. I sat up, my mind reeling and panic stirring.

“Where are we…?”

“Ostia, Margo.” Bane’s arm slipped around me at once. “Ostia. Everything’s okay.”

Swallowing my heart back down into my chest, I looked around, head aching, eyes gritty with sleep and throat raw with weeping. But the fog of misery and unreason was gone. Through the people packing the carriage I glimpsed warehouses outside the windows. Ostia docks. There should be a ship here. We were getting on it. Don’t think about the fact you’re on EuroGov territory and they know where you are…

Father Mark slipped out of the crush and placed a pile of clothing on Jon’s legs. “Put these on over your things, Margo. The press’ll be looking for you above all others, you need a better disguise.” He saw my inquiring look and smiled slightly. “Oh, no one’s tried to
deny
you’re here, it’s just that matter of bulls and red rags, again. Come on.”

I swung my legs off the boxes and picked up the top item. Spread out a peculiar shaped garment. What...? Oh… a wimple. A nun’s habit, the oldest type.

“I can’t wear this. I’m not a nun.”

“The Holy Father said to put it on.”

“Oh. That’s allowed, then.”

“Pretend you’re a Jew in the Great Wars,” said Bane. “Went on all the time, didn’t it?”

“I don’t know about
all
the time, but there was certainly quite a bit of it going on,” said Father Mark. “Especially in Rome.”

“Yes, um, okay,” I agreed. “I’m just not quite sure
how
…”

Laughing, a young sister with the wimple-style veil eased her way across the carriage and started to help me.

“Is your sister here, Jon?” I asked suddenly.

“Been and gone,” said Jon happily. “One of the doctors found out for me.” His face fell slightly. “’Course, I’ve no idea how she is by
now
. She made it, though.”

“Well, that’s good.” I squeezed his hand and carried on dressing, then paused to enjoy the sight of Father Mark yanking a friar’s habit over the head of a protesting Bane.

“Trust me,” he told him, “This is as weird for me as it is for you.”

“I doubt it,” snarled Bane.

Father Mark just laughed at him. “Hood up, Bane. Take these…”

He handed us both a pair of glasses. Plain lenses, I discovered, obediently slipping them on. The wimple and veil covered my forehead completely, coming up to my chin below and minimizing how much of my technicolor face showed. A laywoman crouched in front of me, took the glasses off again and began smearing makeup over my bruises.

From the expression on Bane’s face as he looked me up and down once the glasses were replaced, the disguise was quite effective. “Don’t go getting any ideas.”

I hugged him but couldn’t quite bring myself to kiss him with us both dressed like that.

“Ready?” Eduardo’s voice came from the doors.

“Yes.” Father Mark pulled the blanket up so it half covered Jon’s face and plumped the pillows to hide most of his hair.

“Let’s go. Persons of special interest to the EuroGov,
stay in the middle
. Jack, stick with them.”

I found myself next to the Holy Father, the young agent who’d been put in charge of the anti-aircraft thingies hovering near us. Still wearing the coat, Pope Cornelius had added a hat and a pair of glasses.

“These are my reading specs,” he told me, in an obvious attempt at cheerfulness, “so I’ll probably trip and break my neck.”

“I hope not,” I said, just as falsely light-heartedly.

“Not on my watch,
please
,” murmured Jack, half fervent, half joking.

“Hey, you’re British!” His accent was unmistakable. Very upper class, in fact.

He flashed me a grin, giving me a glimpse of a pair of very blue eyes, then went back to professional-mode, those striking eyes never still. No time now for chit-chat.

We moved forward with the crush, Bane’s hand clamped under my arm as though I were elderly and he assisting me. Once through the doors we buried ourselves deeper in the middle of the crowd as we moved across pavement. I hardly dared to look up, but I glimpsed a police barrier further up the dockside and a throng of people, many cameras… I looked at the ground again.

A gangway appeared before me. Head down, I started up it. Only room for one person on each side of me. The prow of the ship reared to the left, with a name,
Freedom II
. Did it belong to a safe town in some Free State? Jon hissed in pain as his stretcher was jolted behind us, the bearers muttered apologies, he quickly murmured reassurances…

Then we were moving over a deck, through doors into dimness, down stairs that clanged under our feet... Finally we were directed along a corridor and into a poky cabin with bunks up each wall.

“Think I’m off to the sick cabin…” winced Jon, as he was borne past our door.

“Okay, see you,” said Bane after him.

“We’ll find you,” I called.

Father Mark, Kyle, the sister who’d helped with my veil and the laywoman who’d done my makeup were all directed into the cabin, then the door was shut. The young British VSS agent had followed the Holy Father.

“For now, I think they just want us, er… stowed… as quickly as possible,” said Father Mark, climbing up to a top bunk.

“That’s all right.” The sister took a bottom bunk.

I sat on the other, since the laywoman wore trousers—she took a middle one. Bane sprung up into the one above me, leaving Kyle the other high one. All quickly and amiably enough decided. There simply wasn’t room for everyone to stand.

“Will they really let us go?” said Sister Mari, after we’d made introductions for those who didn’t know each other. Hard to tell with her dark skin, but she looked pale to me.

“’Course they will.” Kyle shot me a worried look. But I was all out of tears for the moment.

“I think they will,” said Father Mark, more convincingly. “Or they wouldn’t bother letting us get this far. Unless something goes wrong, they’ll let us sail away.”

Unless something goes wrong. Such as Cardinal Hans dropping dead of the stress a little too soon? I swallowed.

“Was it actually a… what do they call it? A dead man’s switch?”

Father Mark snorted.

“Heavens, no. It will take us hours to steam out of EuroBloc waters: he couldn’t hold a switch in for that long. Just a button he could push. But he’s got it hanging around his wrist, tucked under a nice long, wide sleeve, so they can’t be sure what it is. Just in case they’re tempted to get a marksman to try to penetrate that glass.”

“Or just bazooka the vehicle,” muttered Bane.

“They won’t dare,” said Father Mark. “Could easily set off the charges.”

“That’s okay, then.” Bane leant over the side of his bunk to hold hands with me.

A tremor ran the length of the ship. The engines had started.

“They’ve transferred the stuff already?” Sister Mari sounded surprised.

“There wasn’t that much of it,” said Kyle. “If everyone who wasn’t acting as camouflage picked something up…”

But it was about another ten minutes before the slight movement of the ship deepened and changed and Kyle and Father Mark, who could see through the tiny, high porthole, announced we’d undocked. I tried to breathe slowly and deeply, but I was too drained to be very anxious. They reported on the dock and the coast dwindling behind us and finally disappearing from sight, then there was just the sound of the engines and the motion of the waves.

Someone announced on the intercom that anyone unhappy with their bunking arrangements should go and see Sister Eunice in the canteen where dinner would be served in half an hour and that, Lord willing, we’d be in Africa in twelve hours.

We’d no complaints about our bunking arrangements, so we said a rosary for our safe landfall in the morning and in thanks we’d got this far, and went to eat.

I woke with someone’s hand over my mouth—drew breath to scream...

“Hush, it’s Father Mark…” The hand was removed.

“What’s wrong?” My heart pounded painfully.

“Nothing wrong. Eduardo wants you and Bane. Quietly.”

Prudently, he let me wake Bane. We slipped from our bunks and eased the door open. I couldn’t see Kyle in his bunk. Where’d he gone? It was deep night. The ship still steamed steadily on its course.

Father Mark led us to another, slightly larger cabin. The only people inside were Eduardo and Pope Cornelius, both calm-faced. My heart rate slowed a little more.

“Ah, Margaret, Bane, sorry to disturb you,” said the Holy Father. “This can’t wait until morning.” He waved us into two seats—Father Mark hadn’t followed us in.

“Margaret Verrall,” said Eduardo seriously, “am I under the impression you wish to carry on doing everything in your power to undermine the EuroGov?”

I swallowed. Nodded.

“Bane Marsden, you feel the same?”

Bane nodded. “Wanted to speak to someone about that, actually. But I expect now’s not the time.”