Free James Acton 03 - Broken Dove by J Robert Kennedy

He surveyed the bustle of activity about him as everyone did their jobs like the professionals they were. Emotions streaked their faces, but they continued to work, despite a part of their core having been cleaved from them.
    Francesco Greco, sitting next to Iannuzzi, hung up his phone and spun in his chair. “Sir, all gates are sealed. All entry and exit logs are being brought here. Also, no one has reported anything out of the ordinary, and they are all contacting their earlier shifts to confirm.”
    “Very good. Review the logs when they come in for anything unusual, and match them against the security footage. I want to know if anyone entered or left without signing, and if the names match the faces.”
    Greco nodded, turning back to his desk and hammered away at his keyboard.
    Adriana Esposito, the fully qualified security professional working the front desk tonight, waved her hand from her desk, her pale face suggesting she may be too shaken to make the walk over. He nodded.
    “Polizia Municipale have been notified.” She looked down at a notepad, apparently not wanting to miss anything. “They are sending a contingent of unmarked cars to help in the search, along with dogs. They also will be reviewing all footage, tickets and reports from outside the walls to see if anything unusual was reported or can be spotted, and a point man, sorry, woman, Yvonne Peori will be here any minute.”
    “Excellent. Tell the front gate to let them in when they arrive, and to notify us so we can coordinate the effort from here.”
    She nodded and grabbed her phone.
    “Sir, look at this.” Iannuzzi looked up at the young Swiss Guardsmen who held out a sheet of paper, his face covered in sweat from the run he had apparently just undertaken.
    “What is it?”
    “It was found taped to the northern wall.”
    Iannuzzi flattened the page on his desk and stared at it. “What does it mean?”
    “I have no idea. I’ve never seen that symbol before.”
    Iannuzzi examined the page, running his hand over what appeared to be ancient parchment, but felt new, not hard and dry as he would expect something truly old to feel. A large red X covered the page from corner to corner, almost as if applied with a heavy brush. But it was the symbol that puzzled him the most. Two straight lines, with a third, heavier line, curved slightly upward, underneath them.
    What could it mean? And is it connected to His Holiness?

 
     
    Via della Conciliazione, Vatican City
     
    Reading flashed his badge for the umpteenth time, making his way through the cordon of security blocking all of the entrances to the holy city. He had asked a few of the officers what was going on, and all had shrugged their shoulders or waved him on without answering. He had the distinct impression that no one knew. Crowds of the faithful, along with curious onlookers and pissed off tourists, had already gathered by the time he arrived. And so had the media.
    This is turning into a carnival.
    He finally made it to the security station at the main gate and flashed his badge. “Agent Reading, Interpol. Monsieur Giasson is expecting me.”
    The man scanned a list, nodded, and picked up a phone, requesting an escort. “Please wait over there for your escort to arrive.” He pointed to a cordoned off area, devoid of people except for two of the Pontifical Swiss Guard in their clown outfits. If the bobbies had to wear those, we’d never get anyone to join the force. He nodded to the two guards who ignored him, standing at attention, their eyes staring straight ahead. Disciplined. He always got a kick out of the tourists trying to annoy the Queen’s Guards at their posts as if they were mascots at Disney World. Don’t you nutters know these are highly trained soldiers? He smiled at the memory of one tourist nearly soiling their drawers when the soldier had suddenly moved for the changing of the guard.
    He glanced through the fence and into St. Peter’s Square. The sight wiped the smile