around the location of Al-Hillah.’ He looked up at Clementi. ‘And you’re not worried about that?’
Clementi said nothing.
‘Subject two: Gabriel Mann, thirty-two, son of Kathryn and John Mann. Studied modern languages and economics at Harvard until his father was murdered, whereupon he joined the army. He rose to the rank of platoon sergeant in Special Airborne, saw combat in Afghanistan and was decorated twice before mustering out and joining the family firm working as a security advisor. In this capacity he worked on a number of projects in Iraq where he conducted his own investigation into his father’s death. Three times he requested travel permits to Al-Hillah in Babil Province, and each time he was rejected because of ongoing insurgent activity and the perceived danger to civilian life.’ He looked over the document at Clementi. ‘Sounds like a man with unfinished business to me. Unfortunately, it’s in an area where we also have some business interests. And that makes us very nervous.’
‘We are all in agreement,’ Xiang said. ‘The risks these people pose is unacceptable to us. We have limited influence in Ruin, but, as you yourself said, through the Church you have plenty. We urge you to use it and use it quickly to protect your interests – and ours.’
Clementi held their collective gaze. An hour ago he might have hesitated, but standing in the file rooms of the Vatican Bank had reminded him of all he stood to lose. The survival of the Church was more important than anything, more important than his own soul. And if he burned in hell for what he was about to do, then it would be a sacrifice worth making. He reached forward and pressed a button on the desk phone in the centre of the table. Like everything in the room, the phone-line was as secure as most countries’ national security network. It could not be traced and it could not be tapped.
He quickly dialled a number from memory, his fingers shaking from the adrenalin flooding his system. He left it on speakerphone so everyone in the room could hear the conversation he was about to have. He wanted them to witness it. He wanted them to be part of it. He studied their faces as the rapid beeps of the number turned into a ringing tone; then a click cut it off and a voice answered.
‘Yes?’
‘I am the light of the world,’ Clementi said, ‘whoever follows me—’
‘—will never walk in darkness,’ the voice answered, completing the security check.
Clementi licked his dry lower lip with a tongue that was even drier. ‘I want you to silence the witnesses, for the sake of the Church.’
There was a pause. ‘All of them?’
‘All of them; how soon can this be accomplished?’
In the background Clementi heard the squeak of rubber shoes on a vinyl floor. ‘It will be done by morning,’ the voice said. Then the phone went dead.
9
Room 406, Davlat Hastenesi Hospital
Liv grabbed a bulky remote-control unit from the table by her bed and fired it at the ancient-looking TV. She had been lying on her bed for long minutes, breathing slowly, hoping that her memory might return, when a single solid fact had surfaced: when she’d arrived in Ruin, however many days ago, her brother’s death had been a big story. Maybe it still was; perhaps the news could plug some of the gaps she was having difficulty filling herself.
The set crackled and the sound faded up. Liv nudged the volume down so as not to alert the watchers in the corridor. The TV was old and the picture fuzzy, but whatever was feeding it a signal was modern enough and there were hundreds of channels available. Liv cycled steadily through them, searching for a news station. If she could just get a few solid facts to grab on to she felt sure she would be able to pull herself together. She continued through a parade of talk shows and daytime soaps until, finally, she found Al Jazeera, the Arabic news channel – but it wasn’t what she was expecting.
At first she thought the
Clementi said nothing.
‘Subject two: Gabriel Mann, thirty-two, son of Kathryn and John Mann. Studied modern languages and economics at Harvard until his father was murdered, whereupon he joined the army. He rose to the rank of platoon sergeant in Special Airborne, saw combat in Afghanistan and was decorated twice before mustering out and joining the family firm working as a security advisor. In this capacity he worked on a number of projects in Iraq where he conducted his own investigation into his father’s death. Three times he requested travel permits to Al-Hillah in Babil Province, and each time he was rejected because of ongoing insurgent activity and the perceived danger to civilian life.’ He looked over the document at Clementi. ‘Sounds like a man with unfinished business to me. Unfortunately, it’s in an area where we also have some business interests. And that makes us very nervous.’
‘We are all in agreement,’ Xiang said. ‘The risks these people pose is unacceptable to us. We have limited influence in Ruin, but, as you yourself said, through the Church you have plenty. We urge you to use it and use it quickly to protect your interests – and ours.’
Clementi held their collective gaze. An hour ago he might have hesitated, but standing in the file rooms of the Vatican Bank had reminded him of all he stood to lose. The survival of the Church was more important than anything, more important than his own soul. And if he burned in hell for what he was about to do, then it would be a sacrifice worth making. He reached forward and pressed a button on the desk phone in the centre of the table. Like everything in the room, the phone-line was as secure as most countries’ national security network. It could not be traced and it could not be tapped.
He quickly dialled a number from memory, his fingers shaking from the adrenalin flooding his system. He left it on speakerphone so everyone in the room could hear the conversation he was about to have. He wanted them to witness it. He wanted them to be part of it. He studied their faces as the rapid beeps of the number turned into a ringing tone; then a click cut it off and a voice answered.
‘Yes?’
‘I am the light of the world,’ Clementi said, ‘whoever follows me—’
‘—will never walk in darkness,’ the voice answered, completing the security check.
Clementi licked his dry lower lip with a tongue that was even drier. ‘I want you to silence the witnesses, for the sake of the Church.’
There was a pause. ‘All of them?’
‘All of them; how soon can this be accomplished?’
In the background Clementi heard the squeak of rubber shoes on a vinyl floor. ‘It will be done by morning,’ the voice said. Then the phone went dead.
9
Room 406, Davlat Hastenesi Hospital
Liv grabbed a bulky remote-control unit from the table by her bed and fired it at the ancient-looking TV. She had been lying on her bed for long minutes, breathing slowly, hoping that her memory might return, when a single solid fact had surfaced: when she’d arrived in Ruin, however many days ago, her brother’s death had been a big story. Maybe it still was; perhaps the news could plug some of the gaps she was having difficulty filling herself.
The set crackled and the sound faded up. Liv nudged the volume down so as not to alert the watchers in the corridor. The TV was old and the picture fuzzy, but whatever was feeding it a signal was modern enough and there were hundreds of channels available. Liv cycled steadily through them, searching for a news station. If she could just get a few solid facts to grab on to she felt sure she would be able to pull herself together. She continued through a parade of talk shows and daytime soaps until, finally, she found Al Jazeera, the Arabic news channel – but it wasn’t what she was expecting.
At first she thought the
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