Metzler increased the distance to twenty meters.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake. Run the damn thing to the end of the range.”
Metzler did as Gabriel asked.
“Where would you like me to shoot the poor chap?”
“Center mass.”
“What if he’s wearing body armor?”
“He’s made of recycled paper. Now get on with it already.”
Gabriel rammed the magazine into the butt and racked the slide. Then his arm swung up and fifteen rounds poured from the SIG Sauer in a steady stream. The result was a single large hole in the center of the target’s chest.
Metzler handed Gabriel a box of ammunition. “Do it again.”
Gabriel thumbed fifteen rounds into the magazine and charged the weapon. “Where would you like me to shoot him now?”
“Center mass.”
“Eyes open or eyes closed?”
Receiving no answer, Gabriel raised his arm a second time and fired fifteen shots in quick succession. Metzler reeled in the target. There was a single hole in the center of the target’s forehead.
“I don’t suppose you’d like to carry a spare magazine.”
“No,” replied Gabriel. “I’ve never really needed one.”
***
The boarding of the motor coaches took place in the Piazza Papa Pio XII at the ungodly hour of 6:45 a.m. The first coach was reserved for the red-and-purple-sashed Curial traveling party and the plainclothes Swiss Guards and Polizia di Stato officers who provided close protection whenever the pope set foot in public. A delegation of important Catholic VIPs filed onto the second coach, along with theVaticanistiand a couple of minders from the Press Office. Gabriel spotted a few familiar faces, including an impeccably sourced American from a respected Catholic news service. His colleague fromLa Repubblica, who made a habit of exposing Vatican scandals, boarded the coach last. He did so with a phone to his ear and a hand over his mouth, never a good sign.
By seven thirty the coaches were on final approach to Fiumicino Airport. Only then did His Holiness Luigi Donati emerge from the Casa Santa Marta, resplendent in his white cassock and a white overcoat, the large goldAnello Piscatorioon the third finger of his right hand. A step behind was Father Mark Keegan, who was lugging a pair of heavy papal attaché cases. A shuttle bus delivered them to the helipad, where they boarded a Boeing Grey Wolf on loan from the Italian Air Force. Gabriel ducked into the passenger cabin a moment later, unobserved by any member of the Roman Curia, and settled into the seat next to the supreme pontiff.
“That tie doesn’t match your blazer,” observed His Holiness as the helicopter floated over the Vatican wall.
“I suppose you never have that problem.”
“No,” replied Donati. “But I have plenty of others.”
“Including theVaticanisti. They no doubt noticed that Cardinal Bertoli wasn’t part of the Curial delegation this morning. It’s only a matter of time before one of them finds out about last night’s meeting.”
Donati sighed. “Have you any good news?”
“The Polizia di Stato just released the name and occupation of the man who was killed in Ostiense last night.”
“Was that fake priest really the gunman?”
“That is my suspicion, Holiness.”
Donati frowned. “Must you call me that?”
“I shall today, if you don’t mind.”
He squeezed Gabriel’s hand. “Don’t worry,mio amico. Everything will be fine.”
“I’d feel better if you used the bulletproof popemobile.”
