The Spear of Destiny

Chapter ELEVEN



Natalie and Dennis ran out of St Peter’s square and onto the via Della Conciliazone road. The black Lancia was parked just in front of the square of Pope Pius XII. Bauer had the driver’s door open and was standing and leaning on it. In his hand was a police radio. Beyond the Lancia Natalie and Dennis could see a Carabinieri mini-bus blocking the road and a dozen uniformed officers setting up a cordon with police tape. Visitors to the square were being moved back away from the Vatican.

Natalie and Dennis rushed up to Bauer who looked past them to Hutchinson who, at fifty eight, couldn’t keep up with his companions. He slowed down to a fast walk.

“Just a second!” he shouted between great gulps of air.

“What’s going on?” Dennis asked when they were still a dozen paces away. Concerned looking Romans and tourists were gathering in crowds to watch at the cordon tape.

“We’ve had an officer murdered and his body dumped in the boot of his police car which was then parked on the via Di Porta Angelica road just a couple of blocks from here. We now know that his last known position was here. An old abandoned world war II airfield 45 miles north of Rome called Tarquinia. An airfield which has been purchased by Count Otto Brest von Werner….”

“Von Werner is here?” Dennis blurted out.

“We don’t know that for sure but we’ve had an officer gunned down. Presumably taken by surprise because he didn’t radio in that he was in trouble. No known associates of Von Werner’s or Von Werner himself have entered Italy with their passports but there was a private flight that used the airfield sometime between eleven and eleven thirty this morning. We are waiting for details of that flight and its origin.”

“You said something on the phone to me about a bomb,” Dennis said.

“When the crime scene investigators attempted to move Balotelli’s body to look for clues they discovered the boot of the car is packed with explosives. We are now waiting for an army bomb disposal unit to arrive. As you can see,” Bauer gestured at the uniformed police, “We are sealing off an area four blocks square.”

The uniformed officers now walked towards them and spaced themselves around Bauer and the Lancia.

“What do you want us to do?” Dennis asked.

“Miss Feltham, Mr Hutchinson, this is detective Mario Ferrara….”

Ferrara nodded at them.

“….I would like you to both go back into St Peter’s square with him and these officers and mingle in the crowds. If you recognise anyone or see anything suspicious these officers will make arrests. Can you do this for me?”

They both nodded.

“Isn’t that a little dangerous for them?” Dennis asked, “I mean they’ve already killed one policeman.”

Bauer turned as the sound of a helicopter got nearer. It swooped in low over rooftops, flew directly over them and hovered over the Vatican.

“Sonnenburg is putting snipers on rooftops,” Bauer said, “And as we can see we now have support from the air.”

Dennis looked at Natalie.

’Will you be all right?’ he mouthed silently.

She smiled and nodded.

“Aren’t you evacuating St Peter’s?” Hutchinson asked, having only just got his breath back.

“Not as yet,” Bauer replied, “The car bomb is a few blocks away and as you can see the Vatican is protected by high walls. The papal office has been alerted and his holiness’ speech for this afternoon has been postponed. We are still not sure if this is a diversionary tactic or a direct attack on Vatican city itself. We may, of course, have been wrong about the intended target.”

“And what do you want me to do?” Dennis asked.

“Mr Dennis I need you to come with me to the church of Santa Croce,” Bauer looked at his watch, “It is almost three thirty now. The church closes at four. You and I will watch it this evening. If they’re planning an attack it will come tonight. Now everyone,” Bauer continued, “You all know what to do.”

He got into the driver’s seat of the Lancia and slammed the door. Dennis held Natalie’s face in his hands.

“Are you all right?”

She nodded and smiled.

“If you think that you’re in any danger you get out of there,” he said, “Just get out. You promise me that.”

She nodded again.

“I will.”

“Don’t worry Pete. She’s safe with me,” Hutchinson added.

Dennis kissed her on the mouth.

“I love you,” he said.

She repeated it and watched as he got into the Lancia and Bauer put the car into reverse, spun the steering wheel rapidly and with tyres squealing the Lancia sped off down the now closed one way street the wrong way.



Natalie and Ferrara moved through the crowds in St Peter’s square. The hustle and bustle of the day’s tourists had begun to thin and unwind as the afternoon stretched on and the light began to fail. Late arriving tourists and those that stayed settled into tones of hushed conversation or even silence. Many formed groups that lit candles in vigil and prayer. Here and there were single people all doing their own personal thing. One tourist seeing Natalie and Ferrara, who in his suit, the man mistook for a bodyguard and the four uniformed policemen took her photograph, clearly thinking she was a celebrity. Ferrara stopped to give the man a severe talking to.

“He thought you were the prime ministers daughter or wife or something,” Ferrara apologised to her, “I told him he was lucky I didn’t confiscate his camera.”

Natalie wasn’t bothered by the incident. She had other things on her mind. She was concerned about Dennis.

“Do you think they’ll be all right?” she asked the detective.

“Who?”

“Bauer and Peter.”

“Yes of course. From what I can make of it Bauer is a very experienced police officer. We have Carabinieri swarming all over the church. I’m sure they’ll be fine. Remember it’s just a precaution. We don’t know what their true intentions are. For all we know we may have got it wrong.”

Ferrara looked up at the light coming from the windows of the papal offices.

‘Blessed father please watch over his holiness,’ he said in silent prayer.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to be looking for,” Natalie said, “I can’t imagine Von Werner’s mercenaries will be out here wandering around armed to the teeth.”

“We just need to have our presence felt. I want any would be suspects to see uniforms at every turn.”

The last rays of October sun had now left the square and were now a dark yellow on St Peter’s church.

“It’s getting dark,” Natalie said, “What time is it?”

Ferrara brought his wrist up to check his watch.

“It is almost a quarter to seven.”

“What time does the square usually close?”

“From April until September the opening times are until seven o’clock. From October until March six o’clock. We are not closing this evening because of the bomb. The last thing Commandant Sonnenburg wants is thousands of people leaving the square and taking routes that will take them close to Balotelli’s police car. We do not need a panic on our hands.”

“So how long will it stay open to visitors?”

“All night if we have to.”

Ferrara looked at faces around him.

“Everyone seems content at the extended opening. “Let us hope it stays that way.”



No more than a hundred metres from them a man glanced impatiently at his watch again. It was now six forty five. He glanced around. The crowds should have been leaving at six o’clock. Filing through Pope Pius XII’s square the crowds would continue down the via Della Conciliazone or they would take the roads to the left or right. The bomb would cause absolute chaos and mass hysteria, distraction for the police.

Twice uniformed officers had passed by very close. One group had a very attractive blonde with them. Each time he’d averted them. He held an Apple I-pad in his hands, the code for the car bomb already programmed in. He had only to hit the enter button now.

He was still wearing his dark sunglasses. Suddenly a tourist stepping back to take a photograph bumped into him. The girl apologised and the man with the I-pad replied in Russian. The American tourist didn’t understand a word of what was said and she shrank away at the cruelty in the voice. A large, heavily muscled, heavily tattooed American man rounded on the Russian.

“Hey she said she was sorry.”

The Russian stared back through his sunglasses as the American glared on. The Russian had already decided that his training gave him the tools to cut the American down in a dozen different ways. He didn’t move though, unwilling to draw attention to himself from the police. Finally, the Americans, realising there wouldn’t be an argument forthcoming moved further away. Now the Russian had a clear line of sight to the attractive blonde. That she was with a policeman, no doubt a detective, was obvious. Then the detective was holding a finger to his ear and was talking quickly into his collar. Now the blonde was looking straight at him.

Natalie stared straight at the dark sunglasses. A chill went through her. She frantically tugged Ferrara’s arm, the one up to his ear. He stopped talking into his collar to look at her open mouthed.

“Him,” Natalie said, not taking her eyes off the man with the I-pad.

Ferrara spun round and met the cold stare. He undid his jacket and reached for his gun. The man with the I-pad turned and began to walk away.

“Stop!” Ferrara shouted.

He took his Beretta out and held it up into the air.

The man in the sunglasses was charging through people barging them out of the way. The four uniformed officers began to give chase but Ferrara stopped them. He fired a warning shot into the air causing people to scream and panic.

“Everybody down on the ground now!” Ferrara shouted, firing another warning shot into the air. People dived for the ground, many covered their heads with their hands. The man with the I-pad still in his hand turned on the run and pulling a handgun out of his pocket he fired at Ferrara. The bullets whizzed past the detective as he returned fire hitting the man twice in the chest. The gun man cried out as the impact of the bullets sent him sprawling. He looked over his shoulder, his eyes wide with pain and terror as he crawled towards the I-pad. Ferrara advanced on him quickly, the gun held in both hands never wavering from the target. Ferrara realising the man’s intent shouted.

“STOP!”

Too late.

The Russian reached the I-pad which had skittered out of reach and brought his hand down onto the touch screen as Ferrara shot him dead. A last groan escaped from his lips as he collapsed to the ground.

Ferrara, Natalie and the uniformed police all spun around as a huge explosion rocked the very walls of the Vatican and a large ball of fire rose into the darkening sky.



Sonnenburg and De Luca watched the scene from behind a jersey barricade which had been put in place four hundred yards from Balotelli’s police car.

Thirty minutes earlier a black army car along with the bomb disposal truck had arrived. An elegant officer had jumped out of the car and had introduced himself to the two senior police officers as Colonel Antonio Farina, an army bomb disposal expert who had done two tours of Afghanistan and three in Iraq with the united nations. He had instantly taken control of the situation and launched a rubber wheeled robot to investigate the car.

Sonnenburg and De Luca had been invited into the back of the bomb disposal truck which was also the incident unit and had watched on a bank of computer screens as the robot had set to work. Six rubber wheels and two mechanical arms had approached the Alfa Romeo. The two policemen had watched with keen interest as the robot had investigated the boot. The live video images streaming to the computers had shown the dead body being moved to examine the incendiary device. The robot had then moved around to the front of the door and peered inside the window De Luca had smashed.

Farina had noticed wires taped to the console which housed both the parking brake and the gear stick and then disappeared beneath the accelerator pedal. The robot had cleverly reached inside and pulled the door handle, reversed back and opened the door to Sonnenburg and De Luca’s total amazement. Next the robot had beamed back images of the car’s interior.

Finally Farina had moved away from the bank of computers to address the two policemen.

“It’s a simple device which is activated by someone depressing the accelerator pedal,” Farina explained, “This is why the bomb didn’t explode when you broke the window and opened the door.”

“Can you defuse it?”

“Absolutely. This will be a fairly routine disarmament. Has anyone taken responsibility for it yet? Any demands made?”

“Not as yet. Would it make a difference if anyone had?”

Farina got up and approached one of the heavy blast suits as aides rushed to help him.

“It would of course help to know who we’re dealing with. Certain groups prefer certain methods. With no-one coming forward to claim responsibility this could be just a political statement, someone who is angry with or at the Vatican or it could be a diversionary tactic.”

“What do you mean a diversionary tactic?” Sonnenburg asked.

“It could be to divert the police’s attention away from another target, possibly a political one. There is a football match tonight isn’t there? Between Roma and Lazio.”

“There is,” De Luca replied, ”But we don’t think that is the target.”

“Then it must be just someone making a name for themselves.”

De Luca looked at Sonnenburg who read the other’s mind and nodded.

“It seems a bit ridiculous but we believe there is someone, possibly a group, in Rome who is or are intending to steal relics from the church of the holy cross of Jerusalem.”

“A terrorist group?”

“No. A previously unknown group not linked to any organisations. We haven’t got all the details yet and what we do have is sketchy. We’re not even sure of their intentions as yet,” De Luca said, not sure as to how much information he should divulge to the army officer.

“Well I’ll say one thing,” Farina said as layers of Kevlar were folded over each other in front of his throat, “They’ve gone to a lot of effort just for a few relics.”

Now Sonnenburg and De Luca watched as Farina and his Lieutenant both suited up, left the truck and began a slow, heavy walk towards the police car. They passed the robot going in the other direction.

“Why is the other one carrying pipes and a jerry can?” Sonnenburg asked.

“They’ll attempt to drain the fuel tank,” De Luca answered.

“The fuel tank?”

“Yes. The petrol in the car’s fuel tank will create a worse situation if the bomb does blow causing fire to spread.”

“Well they’d better hope there’s no more than twenty five litres because that’s all that can will hold.”

Farina and his lieutenant Gianni Sforza reached the Alfa Romeo. Farina went straight to the open driver’s door and awkwardly, because of the heavy bomb suit, knelt to examine the accelerator pedal. He flicked on a small but very intense light on his helmet to see into the dark footwell. The red and green wires were attached to a small box on the underside of the pedal, reached up to the bulkhead and disappeared under the vehicle’s carpeting, reappeared by the parking brake, ran under the driver’s seat through the back seats and disappeared again into the boot.

Sforza pushed the fuel filler flap inwards and it popped open. A modern filler flap that didn’t have a lock. He fed a dipstick into the neck of the fuel tank and pushed down gently until he felt it touch the bottom of the fuel tank. Then he withdrew it quickly and was relieved to see that the fuel tank was only a quarter full.

They hadn’t filled it to cause the maximum explosion or fire.

Farina joined him at the back of the Alfa Romeo.

“A quarter full,” Sforza shouted.

Farina heard the muted message.

“Let’s get this body out,” he said back, moving into position to take hold of Balotelli’s legs.

Restricted by their equipment they struggled to lift the body out. They settled it onto the pavement. Now Farina could see the boot of the Alfa Romeo was lined with C4 plastic explosives.

“What in the name of God,” he said out loud.

He got Sforza’s attention and pointed into the boot of the car. Farina clicked on the microphone in his blast suit and reported back to the incident unit. The monitor operator listened carefully then turned to Sonnenburg and De Luca.

“The boot of the car is rigged with C4 plastic explosives. You can’t buy this stuff. It’s for military use mainly and is impossible to get, even on the black market, especially in the EU.”

“What is C4 exactly?” Sonnenburg asked.

“C4 is a composition of explosives, odorizing taggant, Dimethyl Dinitrobutane, plasticizer and plastic binder….”

The man speaking could see that he’d already lost the two policemen. He had intended to include that the explosive was Cyclotrimethylene Trinitramine which is approximately ninety percent of the C4 mass. The plastic binder is Polyisobutylene and the plasticizer is Diethylexyl.

Instead he said.

“You take these three items and mix with a small amount of non detergent engine motor oil and you dissolve all these in a solvent, such as a thinner for example. The solvent then needs to be evaporated, filtered and dried and then you’re left with a white substance similar to clay. The type of clay a potter or modeller would use.”

“And then it’s a deadly explosive?” Sonnenburg asked.

“Oh no. It’s very stable and can take a lot of shock. Which is why it didn’t go off on its journey in the car to its current location. You can drop it, throw it into a fire. You could even empty your 9mm in to it and it won’t go off. It needs a detonator, extreme shockwaves or heat. The advantages of it are that it can be moulded into any shape. Ideal for inserting it into gaps or cracks for whatever you want to blow up, bridges, buildings, etc. Mostly it is in the form or shape of bricks. Colonel Farina just has the job of removing the detonators. He will start by disabling the device on the accelerator pedal.”

“Well he’d better get a move on,” De Luca said noting that the shadows had got long.

The explosives man didn’t answer. He was listening into his headset. He turned to the two policemen.

“The C4 is Russian.”

The two policemen looked at each other.

“Russian Mafia?” Sonnenburg said.

De Luca shrugged.

The explosives man spoke into his headset. Then he turned.

“The wires connected to the accelerator pedal are dummies. The bomb is set for remote detonation.”

De Luca’s radio suddenly burst into life. Ferrara was shouting into his.

“Sir it’s going to blow!”

De Luca turned to shout up the road as the Alfa Romeo exploded. The detonation sent the car fifteen feet into the air, blowing the fuel tank, sending burning petrol into a rain that fell onto the road as the car crashed back down onto its roof completely destroyed. In moments the Alfa was a burned out shell.

Farina and Sforza were thrown over a hundred metres like rag dolls and they crashed heavily. Farina’s bomb suit was on fire. Police and firefighters began rushing towards the scene. De Luca ran to Farina first. The inside of his helmet mask was completely red. Nothing could be seen within. Firefighters called out to him but there was no response. Gently they removed the helmet. Farina was dead. His entire face soaked in his own blood. Sforza’s helmet had been ripped off by the blast. His neck had snapped and the back of his head was caved in.

De Luca pressed the talk button on his radio.

“Bauer! Come in Bauer!”