“And if you can’t emulate him, then destroy him. What could be more memorable for an art student turned terrorist than to ruin what he most loves?” I asked.
“This room?” Angela said.
I shook my head. “Not this one, but close to it. Raza admires Caravaggio, likes the streak of rebellion as much as he does the paintings. But in his world, he’s more like Raphael, a talent who looked up to a greater talent.”
“Michelangelo,” Angela said.
“Put it in terrorist terms,” I said. “Raphael would be Raza, and Michelangelo would be Bin Laden. And that’s Raza’s goal—to topple Bin Laden. To wear the crown. What was it they called Michelangelo?”
“The Divine One,” Angela said.
“You break it down and brush talent aside, Caravaggio’s nothing more than a street thug.” I said. “Raza sees himself under a bigger spotlight than that.”
“And Raphael was a womanizer who died of an STD,” Angela said. “That won’t play well with the followers, regardless of how many wives these guys bring into the family.”
“But the Divine One,” I said. “All these centuries later, he’s still the biggest player in the room. If you don’t know square one about art, you still know his name. And that’s what matters most to a guy like Raza. To be remembered.”
“There’s that,” Angela said. “And we can’t lose sight that back when Raza was an art student he may have loved Caravaggio, but guess which artist whose work he did his best to imitate?”
“But he sucked at it, blown off as nothing more than a color-by-numbers pretender,” I said. “So if you can’t match the works, then all you’re left with is one option—destroy them.”
“He has the money and might even have the ability to plan it, but would he dare make such a move?” Angela said. “If he did, and was successful, he would be the most wanted terrorist in the world. That would mean the rest of his days on the run, hiding, moving from one location to the next, always under the scope.”
“And you don’t think he would pay that price?”
“I’m not sure,” Angela said. “From what I’ve read about him, from the reports I’ve seen, he’s a terrorist who enjoys the limelight. And he’s found himself a heavyweight banker in Vladimir. He pulls this off, the Russian drops him and cuts off funding. He would avoid any link between himself and Raza.”
“You would string Vladimir for a while?” I asked.
“Why not?” Angela said. “Pull down a few jobs that keep his attention on me and the money flowing my way and continue to build both my reputation and organization. So long as Vladimir sees results, he’ll continue to feed Raza.”
“It’s too big a risk for us to ignore,” I said, still staring at the Raphael. “It’s a big time move for a kid who sees himself a big-time player. If it were me calling the shots, the Vatican would be one of my targets. And if I really wanted to make a score, I would go for the double hit.”
Angela nodded. “Which puts us where?” she asked.
“Raphael is the pace horse in the race,” I said. “It’s Michelangelo Raza will want. That puts us in the Vatican and at the Galleria in Florence.”
“You’re swayed by a couple of sketch books found in a few safe houses?” Angela said.
“And by knowing who it is I’m chasing,” I said.
“How soon?”
“It’s height of season,” I said. “There’s no better time. He can do maximum damage to the property and take out hundreds if not thousands at the same time in two different cities.”
“Let’s walk,” Angela said, resting her left hand on my right arm.
We passed through several of the rooms of the Vatican, lost in thought, only occasionally glancing up at the art on display. The rooms were crowded as always, eager tourists pushing and prodding to get a closer look at works they had until this day seen only in books.
“So much money comes through the Vatican doors each day,” Angela said, “and not one single euro goes into the pocket of an Italian. If that weren’t enough greed for you, they also collect a tax from the citizens of Rome.”
“You’re just jealous,” I said, “because none of their theft will land any of the red hats a jail sentence. If we tried to pull something like that, we’d be serving life in some gulag.”
Angela shrugged. “We make more money than they do,” she said. “And we’ve even managed to make a few deals together.”
“You have someone in there?” I asked.
“I make it a point to have someone everywhere,” Angela said. “If there’s something brewing within the Vatican, we’ll know about it. Whether we’ll know in time to stop it is another matter.”
“You trust him?” I asked.
Angela stopped and turned to look at me. “Do you trust Jimmy?” she asked. “Because if he’s a risk, it’s not just to you.”
“His father gave up his life for him,” I said.
“What Carlo did was noble,” Angela said. “I don’t know if I would have the courage. I also don’t know if I would have let it come to that.”
“You would have killed Jimmy?”
“A traitor is a traitor,” she said.
“It was taken out of my hands,” I said. “Uncle Carlo decided and I abided by it.”
“I won’t work with Jimmy,” Angela said.
“You won’t have to,” I said. “John Loo will slot into Big Mike’s place. He’ll be in charge of cloned phone information and whatever he and the team pick up through surveillance and computer monitoring.”
“I was pleased to see Holt take the hit for Big Mike’s death,” Angela said. “A friend’s death should never be left unpunished. Nor should a traitor be allowed to walk among us, regardless of whose life was given up.”
Angela, I knew, would not have handled the Jimmy situation as I had. She would not have respected the wishes of her boss, and instead would have taken it upon herself to rid the organization of a traitor.
“I worked up a plan to deal with the Vatican and the Galleria attacks,” I said. “I’d like to run it by you and see what you think.”
“Let’s do it over a long lunch,” she said, leading me out of the Vatican. “I’ve had enough religion for one day.”
Chapter 47
Florence, Italy
Raza and Avrim stood across from the Galleria watching a long line of students, tourists, and locals make their way to the entrance and a viewing of the David. The line snaked around the corner, but there were few if any complaints about the wait, most of the visitors engaged in either animated conversations or reading up on the work that was only a short distance away.
“It’s like this every day,” Raza said with a smile.
“The guards in front let in a certain number of people at a time,” Avrim said. “They wait for word from the ones watching the exit to tell them when to let more in.”
“Don’t to be too concerned about body count,” Raza said. “I assure you a blast strong enough to destroy the David will be sufficient to cause damage outside the Galleria. Many will die. Ease your mind on that concern.”
Avrim glanced at the armed guards stationed near the Galleria entrance. “The men with the guns make visual contact with practically everyone on the line,” he said. “They are trained to pull someone like me out of a crowd. Maybe the security only seems lax, but it really isn’t. There’s never been an attack here and there must be a reason why.”
“There have been attempted attacks everywhere,” Raza said, his back against a thick old wooden door leading to a five-story apartment building. “We only hear about the successful ones. The failures are done by amateurs, men lacking the skill to pull off such difficult jobs. They go in with explosives meant to damage but not destroy, and as the moment of truth draws near, they panic. Even the most inexperienced guard in the unit can spot such would-be bombers. But rest easy, my friend. You are not destined to fail. I would not have chosen you for such an important mission if I did not believe that.”
“I am not a coward, Raza,” Avrim said, wiping his brow with the sleeve of a white cotton shirt. “But I would be less than truthful if I did not admit to fears about the mission.”
“You are the bravest man I know,” Raza said to him. “In fact, your bravery is such that it has inspired me.”
“In what way?”
“While you will be here in Florence, doing work blessed by all who have come before you,” Raza said, “I will be at the Vatican doing the same. We will be giving up our lives together for the greater good. And in doing so, we shall be remembered forever.”
“Do the others know?”
“You are the only one I have trusted with this information,” Raza said. “I can’t risk anyone in our group knowing, at least not until it is too late for them to prevent it from occurring. Not even the Russian knows.”
Avrim looked at Raza with renewed admiration. He was having serious doubts about the sacrifice he had been asked to make, unsure if it was the right thing to do or whether he had the courage to go through with it. But now, hearing that Raza would be giving up his own life in the name of their cause, Avrim felt empowered, that he too would be remembered along with his leader, each a martyr to a great and noble battle. That thought alone helped strengthen the resolve needed to strap on an explosive device and pull the pin.
Raza gazed past Avrim and stared at two men standing half a street away, pretending to look at the goods in the bins of a souvenir shop. “Those two have been following us for three days,” he said, tilting his head in their direction.
“How much do you think they know?” Avrim asked, his confidence once again sliding into concern.
“It doesn’t matter what they know or what they think,” Raza said. “They cannot prevent the inevitable from taking place.”
“They could warn the authorities,” Avrim said.
“And we would be charged with what?” Raza asked. “All we are guilty of to this point is expressing our interest in art. They need to catch us in the act and that will never happen.”
“Why do any of them care?” Avrim asked. “These places—the Galleria, the Vatican—mean nothing to them, not to the American nor to the Russian. What we do here will have little impact on what they do.”
“It’s about the money stream, Avrim,” Raza said. “If our goals are met, then the Russians will take in even more than they do now and eventually the American will bring in less. Their world is ruled by money. Our world is ruled by faith. That is why they can never defeat us. Each one of us who gives himself to the cause will be replaced by hundreds of others walking in our shadows.”
“They could kill us so easily,” Avrim said, staring at the two men, now standing by a fountain. “Foil the attack even before it is attempted.”
“They’re too smart for that,” Raza said. “They know how replaceable we are. Within a matter of weeks if not days there will be another cell, also funded by the Russian or someone who senses profits in our actions, primed to do what we are planning to do. They will not make any attempt on our lives until they know for certain when and where the attacks are to take place. And despite their best attempts at audio and video surveillance and tracking our movements, they have yet to figure that out.”
“There’s still time for them to put it together, and then they can move in and eliminate us,” Avrim said.
“I’m not concerned,” Raza said.
“Have you settled on a day yet?”
“Thursday,” Raza said. “August fourteenth.”
“Why then?” Avrim asked.
“It’s a day before a national holiday,” Raza said. “Both places will be filled to capacity. We bring ruin to what they hold sacred and kill as many of them as possible.”
Avrim took a deep breath and felt a cold line of sweat run down the center of his back. He stared across at the two men still standing by the fountain, both reading newspapers and occasionally glancing their way. “What about our friends?” he asked. “What do we do with them when it’s time for the attack?”
“We give them the honor of dying with us,” Raza said.
Raza stepped onto the street and walked toward the long line waiting to enter the Galleria. “Where are you off to?” Avrim asked.
“To see the David,” he said over his shoulder. “It’s my favorite work of Michelangelo and I’d like to see it one final time.”
Chapter 48
Paris, France
Vladimir sat in a center seat on a tour boat making its way down the river, a silk scarf around his neck to protect against the late afternoon breeze. Klaus Marni sat to his left and pointed toward the huge spires of the Cathedral de Notre Dame.
“Impressive,” Marni said. “One of the guidebooks say it was built by hand and designed with little idea whether it could even be completed.”
“This boat runs every hour on the hour until eleven tonight,” Vladimir said with a tinge of impatience. “Do your sightseeing then. This is a business trip.”
Marni leaned his back against the slants of the wooden bench. “Raza requested one more payment and it was made this morning,” he said. “That puts this week’s total at close to $1.5 million. I have no idea what we’re getting in return for all that money.”
“Have we managed to pinpoint his target?” Vladimir asked.
“Targets,” Marni said. “They are going to hit two sites at once. That is as much information as we were able to get from their end.”
Vladimir glanced over at Marni, his eyes as cold as winter. “I am sick of playing second fiddle to a common street punk. He has cost me time, millions, and a trusted hand in Holt. None of that would have occurred had we not aligned ourselves with bottom feeders.”
“On top of which, he stripped us of our contacts on the inside,” Marni said. “All communication with the young man in the wheelchair have gone dark.”
“He’s occasionally foolish, but not a fool,” Vladimir said. “He had to watch his father surrender his life in return for saving his. That will harden him in ways you cannot imagine. Never again expect him to act as a pawn in anyone’s game. Unless he’s eliminated, he will prove, over time, to be more of a danger to the Wolf than he was when supplying us with what proved to be meaningless information.”
“Our people managed to pinpoint two potential Raza targets,” Marni said. “Not nailed down but solid enough to be followed up.”
“Do I need to guess?”
Marni pulled a slip of paper from the front flap of his light blue windbreaker, passed it to Vladimir and waited as he looked down and read the two lines typed across the front. Vladimir handed the paper back and stayed silent for several minutes. “Do you think he can pull it off?” he asked.
“If he hits one, it will be all we will need to set in motion our plan,” Marni said.
“That wasn’t what I asked,” Vladimir said.
“He’ll need what we all need to succeed,” Marni said, “luck and skill. He’s had both in the past but he’s never attempted anything on this grand a scale.”
Vladimir nodded. “Raza seems to thrive when the pressure is greatest. That might well be the edge he needs.”
“He has the makings of a piss poor gangster,” Marni said.
“But the potential to be a master terrorist.”
“We’ve kept our distance,” Marni said. “Our focus has been to keep the Italians from disrupting his activities.”
“The time has come for us to ramp it up,” Vladimir said. “I want a dozen of our best hitters sent to each city. They should be put in place near the Galleria in Florence and the Vatican. I want you to monitor the teams, bring in Alexi to help.”
“Raza’s been bounding from one city to the other at a rapid pace the last ten days,” Marni said. “He practically lives at the train stations.”
“The attacks can’t be more than a few days away,” Vladimir said. “I would wager he selected his targets long before he and I ever met. It’s been his plan all along, to go out in a religious blaze
of glory.”
“What’s our plan?” Marni asked.
“Raza is to do what he does best,” Vladimir said. “The same holds true for us. Once the mission is completed, successful or not, he is to be eliminated along with anyone else that comprises what can be referred to as his inner circle. I don’t want anything that links him back to us. It is to be as if the first time we heard Raza’s name or saw his photo would be on the evening newscast.”
“We’ll still be suspected of funding his cause,” Marni said. “Especially if he succeeds.”
“Being suspected won’t do us harm,” Vladimir said, “and may even prove useful. But no one in law enforcement circles is to know for certain we were the central bank for this operation. I want our fingerprints nowhere near Raza.”
“We’ve kept the transactions between us as clean as possible,” Marni said. “I’ve secured every location whenever the two of you have met and had them swept again afterward. And the cell number he was given to initiate contact is registered in the name of a Belgian woman who passed away three months ago.”
Vladimir stood and walked toward a railing, gazing down at the swirling river below. “Give the phone to the first vagrant you find on the street,” he said, “and keep it active. The more dead ends the police have to run down, the better.”
“And what about the Wolf and the Strega?” Marni asked, stepping in alongside him. “They pose a larger threat to us than anyone with a badge.”
“They will need to keep their focus on Raza,” Vladimir said. “They are probably closing in on the two target sites by now. They have access to the same information we have, perhaps better.”
“We can monitor their activity as we keep track of Raza,” Marni said. “Sooner than later, they will all be in the same location.”
“Raza is the one we must be rid of,” Vladimir said. “But if in the exchange of fire, one or both mob bosses goes down? It would not be a tragedy.”
“They have so many men at their disposal, yet the Italians seem to be heading into this battle practically solo,” Marni said. “Doesn’t make sense.”