soldiers along the way.
"To use the toilet facilities, knock on your door for the guard," Borodin told them. "Otherwise, you will remain in your rooms. If you leave your room without one of my men as an escort, you will be shot. Remember your dead friends outside? That will be you if you disobey."
One of the soldiers shoved John into the bedroom. The door closed. He waited a moment before confirming it was locked.
The room was sparsely furnished with a straight-back chair and woodframe bed with carvings of winged demons in the headboard. The mattress was thin and without linens, and the air heavy with the smell of mold and damp stone.
John sat on the bed and said a prayer for the two men murdered in the courtyard below. They had been his friends, serving him faithfully for years. He knew their families. It was such a waste of life, such a tragedy. He reached to hold the small cross hanging on a chain at his neck and whispered a plea for guidance.
***
As evening fell, the priests were taken from their rooms to a small chamber adjacent to the castle's kitchen. They were provided hard
32
bread and what John assumed was the equivalent of beef jerky. But he was certain it wasn't beef. They washed the food down with water from metal cups. An armed soldier stood guard by the kitchen exit.
"They must come to their senses," Roberti said, sitting next to Father Burns and across from John at the rough-hewn wood table. His Roman nose pointed like the tip of a sword and his thick, dark hair seemed as unruly as his increasingly nervous manner. "Murdering two innocent men is beyond belief." He wheezed as he spoke. "We came here at the request of their country."
John shook his head. "Luigi, they are impostors."
"Then who are they?" Roberti asked.
"Terrorists," Father Burns said. He bore a round face with short blond hair and dark, brown eyes.
"That would be my assessment, as well," John said. "They have kidnapped us. Probably for ransom."
"Liniste!" the guard shouted from his position by the door.
"I think he wants us to be quiet," John said.
They sat in silence for a few moments. Roberti, whose back was to the guard, whispered, "Do they really expect the Vatican to negotiate with terrorists?"
"Perhaps they're tempted by the perceived wealth of the Church, Luigi," John said, covering his mouth with the metal cup as he pretended to drink.
Father Burns whispered, "And they are probably counting on the fact that, unlike most countries, we have no real army to come and rescue us. They have little to fear in reprisal."
"The Church won't negotiate," John said, taking a bite of bread. "Think what that would mean. Every priest, every church official, would become an instant target."
"They won't strike a deal," Burns said. "They can't. And if they refuse to negotiate, as I'm sure they will, there's only one choice left."
"Are you saying you think they would shoot us, too?" Roberti said.
John gave Burns a look of disapproval. The archbishop was already on edge. There was no reason to put him over. "Without us," John said, looking at Roberti, "there is no chance their demands will be met. Besides, it's too early to make predictions. As irrational as these men are, they know that we must be kept alive to collect."
"But the Holy See will never pay a ransom," Burns said.
Roberti glared at Burns, then John. "We will never leave here alive."
MISSING
Cotten stood in the middle of the dark room, the glow of video monitors
33
washing her face with soft pastels. "Advance the source video by three frames then back-time the theme music into the bumper."
"You haven't lost your touch," the editor said as he programmed the change into the computer. "Here's a preview." A moment later, the new edit appeared in the program monitor.
"Perfect," Cotten said. It was rare that she made an appearance at the edit of her weeklyRelics program. Having done so many shows, the editor usually assembled the whole program
"To use the toilet facilities, knock on your door for the guard," Borodin told them. "Otherwise, you will remain in your rooms. If you leave your room without one of my men as an escort, you will be shot. Remember your dead friends outside? That will be you if you disobey."
One of the soldiers shoved John into the bedroom. The door closed. He waited a moment before confirming it was locked.
The room was sparsely furnished with a straight-back chair and woodframe bed with carvings of winged demons in the headboard. The mattress was thin and without linens, and the air heavy with the smell of mold and damp stone.
John sat on the bed and said a prayer for the two men murdered in the courtyard below. They had been his friends, serving him faithfully for years. He knew their families. It was such a waste of life, such a tragedy. He reached to hold the small cross hanging on a chain at his neck and whispered a plea for guidance.
***
As evening fell, the priests were taken from their rooms to a small chamber adjacent to the castle's kitchen. They were provided hard
32
bread and what John assumed was the equivalent of beef jerky. But he was certain it wasn't beef. They washed the food down with water from metal cups. An armed soldier stood guard by the kitchen exit.
"They must come to their senses," Roberti said, sitting next to Father Burns and across from John at the rough-hewn wood table. His Roman nose pointed like the tip of a sword and his thick, dark hair seemed as unruly as his increasingly nervous manner. "Murdering two innocent men is beyond belief." He wheezed as he spoke. "We came here at the request of their country."
John shook his head. "Luigi, they are impostors."
"Then who are they?" Roberti asked.
"Terrorists," Father Burns said. He bore a round face with short blond hair and dark, brown eyes.
"That would be my assessment, as well," John said. "They have kidnapped us. Probably for ransom."
"Liniste!" the guard shouted from his position by the door.
"I think he wants us to be quiet," John said.
They sat in silence for a few moments. Roberti, whose back was to the guard, whispered, "Do they really expect the Vatican to negotiate with terrorists?"
"Perhaps they're tempted by the perceived wealth of the Church, Luigi," John said, covering his mouth with the metal cup as he pretended to drink.
Father Burns whispered, "And they are probably counting on the fact that, unlike most countries, we have no real army to come and rescue us. They have little to fear in reprisal."
"The Church won't negotiate," John said, taking a bite of bread. "Think what that would mean. Every priest, every church official, would become an instant target."
"They won't strike a deal," Burns said. "They can't. And if they refuse to negotiate, as I'm sure they will, there's only one choice left."
"Are you saying you think they would shoot us, too?" Roberti said.
John gave Burns a look of disapproval. The archbishop was already on edge. There was no reason to put him over. "Without us," John said, looking at Roberti, "there is no chance their demands will be met. Besides, it's too early to make predictions. As irrational as these men are, they know that we must be kept alive to collect."
"But the Holy See will never pay a ransom," Burns said.
Roberti glared at Burns, then John. "We will never leave here alive."
MISSING
Cotten stood in the middle of the dark room, the glow of video monitors
33
washing her face with soft pastels. "Advance the source video by three frames then back-time the theme music into the bumper."
"You haven't lost your touch," the editor said as he programmed the change into the computer. "Here's a preview." A moment later, the new edit appeared in the program monitor.
"Perfect," Cotten said. It was rare that she made an appearance at the edit of her weeklyRelics program. Having done so many shows, the editor usually assembled the whole program
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