Apocalypsis 1.03 Thoth Read Online Free Page B

Simple rule: If you try to drown me, you are my enemy. It was all quite straightforward.
    The American screamed out and fell to the ground.
    »You, over there, go! … The key, Alessia! Empty your purse.«
    The American with the broken arm crawled over to his colleague, while Alessia Bertoni emptied her purse on the ground and fished the car key out.
    »Leave it. Move back. Further. Stop!«
    Without leaving the agents out of his sight, Peter snatched the key and walked around the van. He expected backup to arrive any moment now and there was only a single access road to and from the parking lot.
    While still keeping the three in his sight, Peter started the car,
    »You don’t have a hope, Peter!« she shouted. »You’re a murderer. The whole country will go after you. The whole world!«
    »I am not a murderer,« Peter said, and then he stepped on the gas.
    »SHIT, SHIT, SHIT!«
    Peter was yelling and screaming as he pushed the pedal to the metal, driving through the barely lit street without having the slightest idea whether he was even still in Rome.
    »Fucking hell!«
    The swearing was helpful. Cleared his head and swept away the last doubts that all this might have been just another of his migraine dreams. When he reached the first main road with traffic signs, he knew where he was. In Rome! He was still in Rome, in the Eternal City, in the city he loved. Peter knew that he had to get rid of the car as quickly as possible, but right now this was not an option. He threw a brief glance to his right. At the cold, black, deadly gun that lay on the passenger seat. Reflections of the golden light from the sodium streetlamps were glistening on its barrel. The last time he had shot a gun, someone had died. That person had been an enemy, because he had also shot at him. Simple rule, but what did it help? On that day, Peter had sworn to himself that he would never again touch a gun and that he would never kill again.
    Well, look how great that worked out.
    »What a fucking, fucking mess!«
    Peter slowed down – he didn’t want the police stopping him for speeding. He opened the glove compartment and found a cell phone. Probably with a secure line but they would, of course, be able to trace back whom he had called.
    Who gives a rat’s ass?
    »Peter, thank God! I’ve been trying for hours to reach you. Where are you?«
    »Up to my neck in trouble, Don Luigi. Where are you?«
    »In my car, on my way to the Santa Croce church in Gerusalemme. I was attacked. By a woman. Peter, she took the documents.«
    Loretta!
    »What about the amulet? Have you heard from Maria?«
    »Where are you, Peter? Is everything all right with you?«
    »Where is Maria?«
    »I can’t reach her. By the time I was free again, she’d left me a message on my cell phone saying that she was on her way to this pilgrim church to meet with someone who is allegedly acting on my behalf. I am terribly worried.«
    »Shit! … Be careful, Padre! I know the church, I’m on my way.«
    He hung up and looked again at the evil black beast by his side. It was laughing at him. The gun knew what he didn’t want to know.
    That he would need it again.

XXVIII
    May 12, 2011, Santa Croce in Gerusalemme, Rome
    A s Maria entered the old pilgrim church from the 12 th century, the nave was almost in darkness, only lit by the glow of the votive candles by the entrance and a few candles in the sanctuary.
    Maria knew the church. Santa Croce in Gerusalemme was one of the Seven Pilgrim Churches of Rome, famous for its passion relics, among them the panel with the inscription »INRI,« which had hung on Christ's Cross. It was said that Saint Helena, the mother of the Emperor Constantine, had brought it from a pilgrimage to Jerusalem in 326 AD, together with small wooden pieces and nails from the True Cross. During the Late Middle Ages, the place was considered so holy that women were forbidden access to the church.
    Maria entered the Chapel of St. Helena, to which the church owed its