The man standing beside him nodded. “Burn them.”
“That’s three to two who’ve voted to destroy them,” Puente said. “You, sir.” He turned to Perini, who was still using Angela as a human shield. “What’s your decision?”
“Destroy them.”
“I’m very much afraid,” Puente said, “that I agree with the majority. We must think of the greatest good of the greatest number.” He looked around the room. “It grieves me even to contemplate destroying objects so ancient, and so important, but in these unique circumstances I can genuinely see no other option. Mr. Mandino, if these three relics cease to exist, will that mark the end of your interest in this matter?”
“Yes. My instructions are to ensure they’re destroyed.”
“And if that is done, what will happen to those of us who’ve seen the relics, and who know what they contain?”
“Nothing, I give you my word. Without the objects, there’s no proof of their contents,” Mandino said.
Puente nodded. He seemed, Bronson noted, to have comprehensively taken control of the situation.
Puente stepped behind his desk and removed the data card from the camera he’d used. “All the pictures on this card are of these objects,” he said. Taking a large pair of scissors, he cut it into four pieces. “Now I’ll destroy the relics themselves. I’ll do it right now, with all of you as witnesses, willing or not.”
Puente pointed across the library at the side wall near the entrance door, and every eye followed his gesture. “That red box controls the smoke detectors and the fire alarm,” he said. “Before I can burn these, somebody has to switch off the system, otherwise the sprinklers will cut in.”
“I’ll do it,” Rogan said. He walked across to the box and flicked a couple of switches.
“Papyrus burns very well,” Puente said, sorrow evident in his voice, “so this won’t take long.”
He placed a square steel plate on his desk, then picked up the scroll. He produced a cigarette lighter and held the flame to one end of it. Within a matter of seconds the tinder-dry papyrus was being consumed, and soon there was nothing left but a pile of ash. Puente opened the first of the diptychs and held the flame of the lighter against the inscribed wax until it dripped and melted onto the steel. The wood failed to catch, so he took a small hammer and with a few blows reduced it to dust and splinters. Then he repeated the process with the second diptych.
“That’s it,” he said, with a halfhearted attempt at a smile. “The world of organized religion is safe for all eternity.”
For a moment or two nobody moved, as if the enormity of Puente’s actions had turned them all to stone. Then suddenly Perini pushed Angela to one side, lifted his pistol and shot Rogan through the heart. Then he swung the weapon around and fired a second bullet straight into Mandino’s chest.
28
I
“No!” Angela screamed, as Bronson instinctively dived to one side.
Mandino staggered backward and fell to the ground in a lifeless heap. When Bronson looked up, both Perini and Verrochio were aiming their pistols straight at him. He had no option but to drop the Browning.
Perini stepped forward and picked up the weapon, then he and Verrochio holstered their Glocks.
“What the hell’s going on?” Bronson demanded.
“We were told to carry out a cleanup operation,” Perini said. “Just in case you didn’t know, Rogan”—he pointed at the body on the floor—“was responsible for killing your friends, and the capo”—he gestured at the other corpse—“gave the orders.”
“But the scroll and the diptychs have been destroyed. Why did you have to kill them?” Angela asked.
“We had orders from Rome to tie up all the loose ends. Be grateful that you’re still alive. Despite what he told you, Mandino intended to kill all three of you, and probably the handful of people in the shop as well.”
“What are you going to do with us?” Angela asked. “We’ve read what was written on the scroll and in the diptychs.”
“It doesn’t matter what you read or what you know,” Perini said dismissively. “Without the relics, nobody will believe you, and the only evidence left is that.” He pointed at the desk and the sad pile of wood splinters and ash that was all that remained of the scroll and diptychs. “You won’t see us again,” he said, then he and Verrochio turned and walked away.
For several seconds nobody spoke, then Josep Puente stepped forward and put his arms around Angela.
“It’s probably for the best,” he said. “I’m so sorry, but if I hadn’t destroyed the relics, we might all be dead by now. Come on, let’s go upstairs so I can call the Guardia Civil.”
While Puente used the telephone at the reception desk, Bronson went into the museum shop and released the staff and the two visitors, explaining that they’d have to wait in the building until the Guardia Civil had questioned them.
Four hours later, and well past midnight, Angela and Bronson were free to go. Puente’s testimony and that of the other museum staff had cleared them of any involvement in the killings except as witnesses. Bronson would still have to satisfy the British police about the death of Mark Hampton, but the senior Guardia Civil officer had been able to confirm that he was now only wanted for questioning by the Metropolitan Police, and was no longer considered a suspect.
“Will they catch those two men, do you think?” Angela asked, as they headed toward the parking lot.
“Not a chance,” Bronson said. “They would have had an escape route planned in advance, because those two killings were obviously premeditated.”
“Those men were all in the Mafia, so we’re lucky to be alive. You heard what Mandino and that assassin said.”
“Not necessarily. One of the few good things about the Mafia is that the organization has certain standards, and they don’t normally kill innocent bystanders. If you’re in their way, it’s a different matter. I think those two men had very specific orders to ensure that the relics were found and destroyed, and that Mandino and, presumably, his number two were to die. In fact, I think what we witnessed tonight was a coup d’e’tat in the Rome Cosa Nostra. If Mandino was the capo, there’s been a power shift, and another Mafioso has now taken over as the head.”
“Do you believe what that man said about Mark and Jackie? About who killed them?”
“I’ve no reason to doubt it,” Bronson replied, “and I’d have been quite happy to pull the trigger on Rogan and Mandino myself. We’ve had a hell of a time these last few days,” he added, his voice now low and bitter, “and all for nothing. Three people we knew are dead, and the relics we managed to recover have been destroyed, the secret they held now lost for all time. And the Catholic Church will just continue to preach its lies from pulpits around the world every Sunday as if they were literally the gospel truth.”
“I wouldn’t argue with any of that. But the important thing is that we’re still alive. I don’t see how we’d have got out of that basement if Josep hadn’t done what he did.”
“I know,” Bronson said, “but it still rankles with me.”
He fell silent, then somewhat hesitantly took her hand as they walked down the street. “I still can’t quite believe Mark and Jackie have gone.” His voice had softened as he thought again about his friends.
“Yes,” Angela replied. “And Jeremy Goldman too—I really enjoyed working with him. Their lives are over, and I suppose you could say that a chapter of our lives has ended at the same time.”
II