Rome, Italy
Day Three
Angry that someone had taken out one of his men in Bikaner, the comandante stalked through Rome’s ancient tunnels, his path lit only by the narrow beam of a penlight. He’d entered via a hidden entrance five blocks away from St. Peter’s Square, in the basement of a delicatessen close to his favorite gelato shop. One of the new women had been disobedient, causing him to run a little late.
comandanteThe tunnels that led to the spider-webbed catacombs beneath the Vatican were damp and smelled of rat droppings, stale water, and old earth. It was not his favorite place, but he needed information and the Vatican’s spy service was his best option since the arrangement with the Saudis had soured. He would treat himself to a mint-chocolate gelato when the meeting was over.
