Shout in the Dark Read Online Free Page B

think of it, Karl," Kessel said breathlessly. "The two
great Saviors of the world -- Adolf Hitler and Jesus Christ. If
that bronze head is the likeness of Jesus Christ, then we can put
an end to false teaching of his Jewish ancestry. A pure God for a
pure people. Again, the Fatherland has an opportunity to cleanse
Europe. Your father's visions in the hospital are turning into
reality at last."
    Karl pushed the handgun into his pocket.
"I don't care about religion, but everyone knows Jesus Christ was
Jewish. You're crazy, Herr Kessel. My father hated you by the time
he died."
    Kessel jumped up angrily. "Watch what you say, Karl
Bretz. I knew your father for a long time."
    Karl yawned, but it was a forced yawn.
"It's six-thirty and we ought to be going." He peeled off his
balaclava, stretched it, then pushed it into his pocket.
    " If you don't pull yourself together, I'll put you on the
next train back to Germany," Kessel snapped angrily.
    Karl laughed. "Don't push your luck, old
man. You need me to snatch the relic."
    Manfred Kessel felt his stomach go tight
at the prospect of Karl screwing things up. "There can be no
possibility of failure tonight, Karl."
    *
TV Roma
Evening
    MARCO SARTINI had decided to dress
informally for his part in the studio audience at TV Roma, but made his clerical
collar and gray shirt a little more prominent. His was one of the
special tickets that had been allocated to the clergy who were to
fill the front rows -- probably to impress the viewers with the
serious intent of the program. He was now hoping that he'd done the
right thing in leaving his clerical black suit in the
apartment.
    The studios of TV Roma occupied a large
glass-fronted building in the center of Rome. As he waited to cross
the street, his attention was drawn to two men standing in the
shelter of the trees in a small park opposite. There was something
furtive about the way they were standing, and he stopped to watch
them.
    A heavily built skinhead looked as though he
was holding a handgun, but before Marco could see it clearly the
youth pushed the object into his pocket and pulled something black
from his belt. The older man, with blond or gray hair, handed the
skinhead a piece of paper which the youth folded carelessly and
stuffed into his pocket.
    Marco was intrigued. He'd arrived too
early to go inside, so he crossed the street intending to get
closer, while remaining unseen.
     
    " I DON'T THINK you're taking this seriously enough," said
Kessel abruptly. "The studio is on the fourth floor. Just act
confidently and show the staff pass." He sighed. "Our futures are
on the line here, Karl. If we get this right we're going to be
famous."
    " You fuss too much, Herr Kessel. You brought me down here
from Düsseldorf because I'm good at this sort of thing. If I have
to kill..."
    " There's to be no killing tonight, Karl."
    Karl began to twist his balaclava in his
hands. Suddenly he poked his fingers out through the eye holes and
waved it in Kessel's face. Kessel pushed it away
angrily.
    Karl grinned. "I'm going in, Herr Kessel."
He waved the balaclava again. "I don't understand why I have to
wear this thing. How can I be famous if nobody knows who I
am?"
    Kessel tipped back his head and roared with
laughter.
    Karl ended the laughter by catching hold
of Kessel 's arm. "See
that priest over there? He's watching us."
    " Stay back, Karl," warned Kessel. "We don't want to attract
attention. At least, not yet."
    But Karl was already marching forward.
" Das geht
Sie nichts au ?" he
demanded.
    The man in his late twenties, wearing jeans
and a light gray shirt with a small clerical collar showing at the
front, stood his ground. Rather fearlessly, Kessel thought.
    " It sounds like you have a problem," said the priest
quietly.
    " Mach die Fliege, Priester! " Karl shouted in response.
    Before Kessel could intervene, Karl turned
abruptly and stormed towards the studios of TV Roma, leaving the
priest watching him go.
     
    KARL BRETZ HESITATED for a