James Acton 04 - The Templar's Relic by J Robert Kennedy Page B

echoed the men.
    Giasson looked around. “And for God’s sake, try not to hit any of our own people.”
    “Shoot to kill, sir?”
    It was a young guardsmen who reminded Giasson of himself when he had first joined the guards. Green.
    “Yes, son. Consider this an invasion. You’re protecting your country.”
    The young man’s jaw squared. “Yes, sir.”
    One of the guardsmen fired, and his target dropped, only to have his weapon picked up by another.
    “Hold this line, then take cover in the Palace.”
    Giasson turned and raced after the now large group of civilians making its way, far too slowly for his liking, down Piazza del Governatorato and past the Governatorate Palace that housed his headquarters.
    Not much farther.
    He saw Acton and Laura ahead, urging the people forward, and Giasson saw the silver case gripped in Acton’s hand, cursing the lost opportunity. There was no one to blame but himself. Acton tried to get it to the helicopter, but the pilot had lifted off too early. Based on the pilot’s orders, he had done the right thing. He had just been given the wrong orders. His orders should have been to evacuate His Holiness and the scroll, but they weren’t.
    And that was his fault.
    But there was no time to waste blaming himself. He took heart that there appeared to be hundreds of staff converging at the rally point, coming in from all directions, and a quick glance over his shoulder confirmed they had no pursuers.
    For now.
    How long that would last, he didn’t know.
     

 
     
     
    Chapel of the Sacrament, Saint Peter’s Basilica, Vatican City
     
    “How big a blast can we expect?”
    Ziti looked at Hassan. “Big.”
    Hassan frowned. Ziti never gave details voluntarily. One had to pry it out of him like a stubborn camel.
    “Do we need to leave the room, or leave the building?”
    Ziti shrugged. “The room should be enough.”
    Should.
    Hassan could feel his blood begin to boil as his chest tightened. His finger stroked the trigger guard of his still unholstered weapon.
    “Will it go deep enough?”
    Ziti shook his head. “I doubt it.”
    Hassan’s finger slipped onto the trigger. “What do you mean?”
    Ziti looked up, his eyes ablaze, and said, teeth clenched, leaving a deliberate pause between each word, “Let me finish with the ex-plo-sives, then I’ll answer your questions.”
    Hassan spun on his heel and walked away, a couple of his team snickering. He stepped into the main hall of the basilica, it now filled with thousands, most standing around in the middle, not knowing what to do, others filling the pews, chatting amongst themselves excitedly at what they had accomplished, and others still hacking at anything they could lay their hands on. The only thing saving the structure was that most things were too high to reach, and nobody had thought to bring anything with them.
    He frowned.
    Perhaps if I were to point out the torn apart wrought iron gate they climbed over to get in here—
    “It’s ready.”
    Hassan turned to see Ziti standing at his shoulder.
    “Good. May I ask my questions now ?”
    Ziti grinned, nodding. “Of course.”
    “Why do you doubt it will go deep enough?”
    “It’s not a shaped charge. We were supposed to blow a door open, not try to do excavation work. This will make a big bang, hopefully a big crater in the floor, but it won’t go deep. It should get through the marble though; then we dig.”
    Hassan pursed his lips. “But we could be facing twenty feet of concrete.”
    Ziti shook his head. “Concrete wasn’t invented when this was built. Eighteenth century before we’d have to worry about that. This place is so old, I’m guessing a mix of good old sand and crushed rock. Packed into place by the weight of this”—he held up his hands indicating the building—“for five hundred years.”
    Hassan stopped him with a raised finger.
    “You’re ready?”
    Ziti nodded.
    “Then let’s do it.”
    Ziti yelled for the men to leave the room, and