21
St Peter’s Basilica. Vatican City, Italy. May 22, 8.40am
Morgan and Jake stood on the Ponte de Castel St Angelo, looking over the Tiber towards the cupola of St Peter’s.
Neither had slept on the plane from Iran to Italy, not after Marietti had sent them the video. Morgan’s mind was still filled with the images of the flames consuming that body, petrified it had been Faye and then seeing her, terrified, tied to a chair and gagged, the reflection of flames flickering in her eyes as the madman Everett ranted at the screen.
They both held steaming cups of black coffee, deep dark circles under their eyes. Morgan cradled her cellphone under one ear, listening as David cried and then screamed at her, venting his rage and helplessness.
She turned away so Jake couldn’t hear their conversati
