No Stone Unturned: A Lexi Carmichael Mystery, Book Eleven Page 31

  “You make a good agent, cara,” Slash said from the bed where he sat with his back against the headboard, typing on the computer balanced on his lap.

  “If we hadn’t practiced ad nauseam what I should say and do, it would have been a disaster.”

  “You only needed a little training.”

  I put the books down on the desk and carefully peeled off the gloves. “He was surprised by the gloves, but he swallowed the whole psoriasis thing. You know, it’s kind of sad, but I don’t think Father Koenhein is a bad guy. He’s likable, just misguided.”

  Slash threw me an exasperated glance. “Do I need to review Operative Rules 101 with you? Do not become attached to the target.”

  “I’m not attached. Just sympathetic. The Vatican is his dream job, something he worked hard at for his whole life, but he ends up a clerk to a guy like Cardinal Lazo.”

  “We all have our crosses to bear.”

  “I suppose. So, how’s the break-in going?”

  “Most of the initial work is being done automatically at this point. I’ll need to collect the data first, and see what’s in there. I’m almost done with your student ID, however.”

  “Excellent.” I took off my shoes, grabbed my laptop and sat down next to him on the bed. “How can I help?”

  “I could use some specific penetration testing. I want to find some vulnerabilities to exploit. You up for it?”

  “I’m always up for hacking.” I stretched out my legs. “I’ll take the keyboard over medals any day.”

  A crooked grin crossed his face. “Damn, you really are the girl of my dreams.”

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  Lexi

  I slipped the student identification Slash handed me into my purse, along with the thumb drive, and slipped the strap over my shoulder. I felt the best I had in days. I’d had a long bath, a solid ten hours of sleep, and my body was finally adjusting to the time change. No residual headaches from the concussion, and while the burns on my hands still hurt, they were improving with regular cleaning and application of ointment.

  Slash carefully put the gloves on my hand. He tugged a little too hard on one side, and I winced.

  “Sorry,” he said.

  “It’s okay. I just hope this works.”

  “It will,” Slash said. “It only needs to be plugged in to any port for ten seconds.”

  I glanced in the mirror and adjusted my wig. Slash secured it with bobby pins, but I had loosened it by tugging on it. I had to keep my hands off it or the whole thing would slide off. “I can manage ten seconds.”

  “Yes, you can. But be careful, cara.”

  “I will.”

  Slash walked me to within a block of the security check near the Apostolic office building before we parted ways. I approached the guard, letting him know I had a meeting with Father Julian Koenhein. One guy took my ID, checked his electronic tablet and made a phone call. After a short conversation, he hung up and handed me the ID.

  “Father Koenhein will meet you on the front steps of the building. I’ll have to check your purse, please.”

  “Of course.” I handed him my bag. While he searched it, I walked through a magnetometer, and I was in. He returned my purse to me and motioned I was free to walk toward the building.

  I thanked him and headed out. By the time I got to the steps of the building, I saw Father Koenhein coming out. I waved cheerfully at him, and he came over to greet me.

  “Hello, Lara,” he said, taking my hand and shaking it. “It’s a beautiful day in Rome.”

  “Yes, it’s not as hot as usual. Thanks for agreeing to meet with me on your lunch hour.” I held up a paper bag. “I brought you some fresh bread, salami and cheese. I appreciate you taking the time to help me out.”

  He took the bag, grinning. “Sounds delicious. It’s my pleasure to help you with your school project. Let me know what you need me to do.”

  “Well, I’d like to get your photo in a variety of shots so I have a lot of photos to choose from.”

  “Of course.”

  We walked around and I took several pictures of him in different spots on the grounds of the Vatican. After about thirty minutes, I asked him if we had time to get a few quick shots of him in his office.

  “I’d also like to make a short video with you introducing yourself,” I added. “You could sit at your desk and talk. These days, videos are worth a hundred words. Would you mind? It’ll add another dimension to the online version.”

  He brightened, stood straighter. “I don’t mind. Let’s go.”

  “Thank you. This is going to be great.”

  We went into the same building I’d been in yesterday for the meeting with the pope. The guards were different and no one seemed to recognize me. Regardless, I was sweating beneath the wig. Despite my confidence back at the hotel, I was nervous as heck. This spy stuff was not intuitive for me.

  Father Koenhein got me an exception to keep my cell phone for interview purposes, but I was told I could not move around unescorted. He agreed to keep me in his sights at all times. We walked through a series of corridors until we reached his office, where he opened the door and ushered me inside. It was a small, unpretentious room with a desk, two filing cabinets, a bookshelf and a couple of well-watered plants. Several pictures of various cardinals and a portrait of Jesus hung on the wall, alongside the Vatican shield. His desk held a landline phone, an inbox and an old desktop computer connected to a printer that sat on a small adjoining table. Holy crap, how was it possible that the administrative assistant to the president of the Vatican was working on such antiquated technical equipment? On the other hand, it would make the hacking a lot easier.

  “Could you sit at your desk and pretend to be typing on your computer?” I asked.

  He perched on the edge of his chair and hovered his fingers over the keyboard. I snapped a picture and then shook my head. “It looks funny because the screen is blank. Can you log in and pull up a document, or a website, so it looks like you are really doing something?”

  “I can.” I made a big deal of looking away as he typed in his login and password. He pulled up a website, so I snapped a couple more and then asked him to arrange his chair so that his back was to the computer.

  “Let me adjust the settings on my phone,” I said. Instead, I sent Slash a quick text with a single word.

  Now.

  I took two more pictures when Father Koenhein’s phone rang. “Excuse me a minute,” he said.

  “Of course.”

  As he scooted his chair forward to pick up the receiver, I slid over to stand next to the printer. I dipped my hand into my purse and palmed the thumb drive. Once I had it secure, I withdrew my hand and set it on the desk, the thumb drive safely beneath.

  “Si?” Father Koenhein said and then stopped to listen to what was being said on the other end. He glanced over his shoulder and saw me standing there patiently, so he turned his attention back to the phone.

  While his attention was elsewhere, I slid my hand with the thumb drive behind the printer, searching for open ports. When my fingertip found the port I was looking for, I slid the thumb drive in. Once it was in, I took out my phone and texted to Slash again.

  In.

  Father Koenhein said something else in Italian. He sounded irritated, annoyed. I clenched my teeth together in full-on anxiety mode, hoping he would stay on the phone for a few more seconds.

  Six, five, four, three.

  Father Koenhein said something and moved to replace the receiver. I snatched the thumb drive, pulling it out and pretending to itch behind my shoulder as he swiveled around in the chair.

  “I apologize,” he said. “The computer people know better than to call during working hours, but sometimes it’s an emergency.”

  “I totally understand. I know you’re busy.” I shifted the thumb drive to my palm a
nd brought my arm down by my side. “I think I’ve got enough material to work with and have taken up quite enough of your time.”

  “What about the video?” he asked.

  Oops. I totally forgot about the video.

  “Of course. The video.” I reached into my purse, dropping the thumb drive inside and grabbing my phone. “Please tell our audience a little about yourself and what it’s like working at the Vatican.”

  I set up the camera and he spoke for a few minutes. I intended to end the interview after the first question, but when he finished, I impulsively blurted out another question.

  “How does it feel to come to work every day when your boss is the pope?” I asked.

  He thought about the question and then answered, “It feels great to be a part of history. The new pope is quite refreshing in many ways. He is a man of the people. He does not desire the wealth or status of this position. He lives simply and treats all of us who work at the Vatican as equals. We’re never just the butler, the janitor, the driver or the clerk. He’s trying to bring about change in the Vatican, but...” He paused, considering. “But change is hard. It takes a lot of courage to stand up to beliefs and standards that are centuries old.”

  He fell silent for a long moment, then abruptly stood. “Is that enough?”

  I lowered the camera, feeling like we’d had a moment. It unnerved me more than I thought it would. “Yes. Thank you.” I clicked off my phone and stuck it in my purse. “I’ve taken up more than enough of your lunch time.”

  “It was my pleasure. Will you send me a link to your article?”

  “Um...sure. I can do that.”

  As we were walking out of the building, he mentioned the crucifix around my neck. “Do you mind if I ask where you got that?” he asked. “It’s beautiful.”

  I reached up to touch it with my gloved hand. “It was a gift from someone special.”

  “I’ve only seen one crucifix like that before. It, too, was special.” We stopped on the stairs in front of the building where he made the sign of the cross over me. “Bless you, child. May your heart always be in the right place.”

  “Thank you, Father. I sincerely wish the same for you.”

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  Slash

  Slash was already neck-deep in a review of Cardinal Lazo’s email account when Lexi walked in. He looked up, giving her a smile and a thumbs-up.

  “Did it work?” she asked him as she set her purse on the bed and took off the wig and gloves.

  “It worked. It was close, but you did it. Good work, Agent Carmichael.”

  “Ha, ha. Thank goodness, because I don’t think I could do that again. Way too much talking and smiling. I know I said it before, but I kind of liked him.” She came over and stood behind him, one hand on his shoulder, looking at his screen. “Can I help?”

  He reached behind him and pinned her hand beneath his. “You already have. The emails are all in Italian. I’ll take it from here.”

  “Okay, if you need me, I’ll be on the balcony doing a little work of my own.”

  He didn’t know what she was doing or how many hours passed as he worked steadily, ruthlessly, methodically. Lexi brought him coffee and food, but otherwise didn’t interrupt. He appreciated the ability to stay singular in his focus. She understood that was what he needed, and he valued her discretion highly.

  When he finally pushed back from the desk, he realized it was dark outside. Lexi had fallen asleep in the balcony chair, a light blanket draped over her torso, the laptop open and running on the small table beside her. One arm hung loosely from the chair, the white bandages on her hands in stark contrast to the night. Her brown hair was loose and spread around her, the slender column of her throat open and vulnerable. His heart stumbled in his chest.

  God, I love you.

  Not a love of convenience or lust, but a love built on trust, respect and friendship. For a man who had never imagined himself saying, let alone meaning, those three words to anyone in his lifetime, saying it to her had become all too easy...and all so true.

  She must have sensed him standing there, because her eyes fluttered open and she smiled at him. “Done?”

  He lowered himself into the chair next to her and carefully took her hand. “You won’t believe what I found.”

  “Please tell me it’s a smoking gun.”

  He liked when he could please her. “Even better.”

  She straightened, pushing the blanket off her lap. “Spill.”

  “Cardinal Lazo’s ego knows no bounds. He’s been secretly forming a coalition to take control of the Vatican as soon as our current pope passes. While this is nothing new or illegal given Vatican politics, he made it a priority—at any cost—to discredit the one man he sees as his biggest threat.”

  “Father Armando.”

  “Si, and he will stop at nothing. Yet, he has gone about this with such a disregard for his position and the law that it is sickening. It’s all there in his account, a trail that leads directly to his demise.”

  “I can’t say I’m surprised,” she said, picking up a water bottle and taking a sip. “His actions toward us have been pretty despicable.”

  “That, they have. Anyway, this coalition, led by Lazo, has given cartoonish names to all those cardinals who oppose him. For example, he refers to the pope as Slow White. Father Armando is Dopey, Father Tunneli is Sleepy, and so on.”

  “He wanted to get at Father Armando through you.”

  “He did. But he’s not nearly as smart as he thinks he is.”

  Lexi drew her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around her legs. “So, what’s the plan?”

  Satisfaction and anticipation coursed through him. “Roughly translated, I’m going to sink his ship.”

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  Cardinal Jacopo Lazo

  Jacopo was holding a round table discussion with six other cardinals in his office when the knock on his office door sounded.

  Irritated at the interruption, he called out, “Come in.”

  Father Koenhein shuffled in, head bowed, and Jacopo frowned. “I said I didn’t want to be disturbed.”

  “I’m sorry to interrupt, Your Eminence, but there’s an important call for you.”

  “Who is it?”

  “Cardinal Tunneli. He says it’s very important.”

  Jacopo looked at the other priests, who suddenly looked overly interested. “This will only take a minute.” He walked over to his desk and punched the flashing red button on his phone. “Hello, Father, how can I help you?”

  “Jacopo, I was stunned this morning when I received copies of the emails and your subsequent confession and request for forgiveness. I admit I was personally aghast and humiliated by your words. But when I realized your regret was sincere, and after considerable prayer, I reconsidered my stance. I found your willingness to confess your character weaknesses uplifting and inspirational. I want you to know you have my full forgiveness. Godspeed to you.”

  Before Jacopo could say a word, Father Tunneli hung up. Jacopo looked at the receiver for a long, puzzled moment before he set it down on the cradle.

  “What’s wrong?” Cardinal Bartini asked.

  Jacopo didn’t answer, but strode across the room and threw open the door, storming into Julian’s office. “That was very strange. Cardinal Tunneli mentioned something about emails, confessing to character weaknesses and forgiving me. What’s going on?” he asked between gritted teeth.

  Father Koenhein sat in front of the computer, typing madly. “Your Eminence, I don’t know. Let me check your email account.” He pulled up the account and scanned the documents. “I don’t see anything from Cardinal Tunneli, but there is an email from Cardinal Russo.”

  “What does he say?”

  “He appears quite distressed at how you have addressed him and other cardinals in th
e emails you forwarded to them. He appreciates your humility and transparency in coming clean, but he finds the entire affair sordid and unbecoming of an individual of your stature. The email he is referring to is one from several weeks ago that you sent to Cardinal Bartini discussing what you saw as a character shortcoming among the new cardinal from Portugal. Somehow, it has been forwarded to all of the cardinals.”

  Jacopo froze, as his brain was having a hard time processing the information. “Forwarded? How is that possible?”

  “I think your account has been hacked.”

  “Hacked?” A frown set to his features. “I thought the Vatican is supposed to have the highest level of information security.”

  “It is, but Your Eminence, you’ve now received multiple emails from other cardinals or their staff members. Several are asking me to confirm you sent the email and they are real. What should I tell them?”

  “Tell them that they aren’t real, of course. It’s all a lie and I’m being framed.”

  He paused, then looked skyward turning slowly. Father Koenhein’s computer dinged several times indicating the arrival of more messages.

  “How has this happened?”

  “I—I don’t know how. I’ve only begun to sort through your account now. It will take me some time to figure out which emails went out, to whom and how it happened.”

  Fury swept through him. “Slash,” he spit out. “He’s behind this. What did Cardinal Tunneli mean by he accepts my request for forgiveness?” His voice raised significantly. “Father Koenhein, I’m waiting for answers.”

  The priest pointed to the printer. “You may sort through them yourself, Your Eminence. I’ve printed out what I’ve discovered to this point. The one on top is the most recently sent email issued from your account. It’s supposedly written by you and asks the other cardinals’ forgiveness for your pettiness and treatment of them, including assigning them derogatory nicknames and disparaging their contributions to the church. You admitted that the guilt over your actions had become too much to bear and that you are begging their forgiveness for your transgressions.”