“Not on the third floor. There is a way below on the second floor to cross,” Stamm said. “Keep going. You can traverse over at the end, past the Room of Biga ahead. There’s also a stairway down to ground level.”
He entered the dome space of the Biga room. Four niches between pilasters and four arched bays formed the walls of a small rotunda. In the center stood a triumphal chariot. Definitely Roman. Complete with wheels, shaft, and horses. But no Gallo.
“I’m beginning to think I went the wrong way,” he said.
* * *
Pollux came to an intersection where another shorter loggia to his right led across to the other side of the palace. The library continued on there, as it did ahead, through a series of smaller collection rooms. His view through them was unobstructed. There had to be a way out at the end of those rooms, where the palace ended. Forward seemed the shorter and smarter play than heading for the other side. He could not afford to take any wrong turns. He needed to leave this building, and the Vatican, too.
Quickly and unnoticed.
The crowd out in St. Peter’s Square would provide more than enough cover. Becoming lost within tens of thousands of people would be easy. But getting to them not so much. Every gate out would be manned. Surely soon the word would be passed by radio to be on the lookout for a wayward cardinal. He kept going, walking through a series of galleries with familiar names. Pauline. Alexandrine. Clementine. Beyond them he came to the entrance for the Vestibule of the Four Gates and a stairway that led down.
He started to descend.
On the landing he turned, but quickly halted.
At ground level he spotted a uniformed security guard manning the doors that led out. He assessed the situation and decided on his next move. Steeling himself, he continued down the wide marble staircase, his hands tucked into the roomy sleeves of his cassock. The guard had his back to him, staring out the glass doors, which made it easy to approach.
The man turned.
“Eminence—”
No hesitation. Move. Fast.
He removed his hands and grabbed the guard, wrapping his right arm around the man’s neck. He clamped his left hand to his right wrist and tightened the vise into a choke hold, cutting off the man’s breathing. The guard was younger but thirty pounds heavier and never anticipated a cardinal attacking him. Apparently, no arrest or detain order had yet been issued.
The man went limp.
He allowed the body to slump to the floor.
Immediately he removed his mozzetta and rochet, then unbuttoned the cassock. Beneath he wore an undershirt and trousers. They were dark, like the guard’s. Blue, not black, but they would do. It was the shirt and cap he needed, along with the radio and gun. He slipped on the shirt, a little big, but a tuck of the tail into his pants handled the excess. He clipped the radio to his belt and popped in the ear fob. The microphone he stuffed into a pocket. He doubted he’d be making any transmissions. He buckled the holster to his waist. Grabbing hold of both arms he dragged the guard out of the vestibule and through an open doorway, leaving him stretched prone behind a statue that filled one corner of the nearest gallery. He rushed back and retrieved his robes, which he tossed over the guard’s body.
He stepped back to the exit doors and smoothed his clothes.
Then he left the palace.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-ONE
Cotton stood in the Room of Biga considering his options. The word meant “chariot” in Italian, pretty much the only name for this space considering the huge one that dominated it.
He took no comfort from the sacred, the prodigious, and the miraculous that engulfed him. He had a job to do.
And it wasn’t going all that well.
He walked over to a large, twenty-paned window and gazed out at the sunny afternoon. Beyond was the dome of St. Peter’s, the Vatican Gardens, and an assortment of other buildings set among the trees. Below stretched a street with little to no activity. Understandable given the conclave. A couple of vehicles moved about and a few people walked the concrete. The Vatican wasn’t shut down. Far from it. Business went on. On the other side of the palace tens of thousands of people filled St. Peter’s Square waiting for a new pope. Media outlets from around the world had also set up shop.