Free The Cup by Alex Lukeman

license in the same name. He's got a fancy gold ring and a Rolex watch. What are we going to do about him?"
    Nick took out his phone. "He's Forsberg's problem."
    Forsberg and his team arrived twenty minutes later. Gabriel was still breathing. An ambulance carted him away. Forsberg looked down at Bergstrom's body and sighed.
    "A foolish man," he said. "He was never the same after his wife died."
    He turned toward Nick. "What are you doing here? I thought you were going to spend time enjoying our city. Instead I find you in the home of a murdered officer. Give me a good reason not to arrest you."
    Nick was annoyed. "Give me a break. You haven't been playing straight with us. That phone Selena found at the refugee center had a call to Bergstrom on it. You should've told us about it. This was supposed to be a joint operation, remember? We gave you the chance to come clean and you didn't, so we decided to follow up."
    "You accessed that phone? It was encrypted."
    "It's what we do," Nick said. "Our expertise is why you invited us here in the first place."
    "You didn't trust me to tell you?"
    "I was right, wasn't I? Look, I understand that everything about this operation is sensitive as hell. One of your ranking police officers was involved in helping ISIS fund their terror campaign. The media will tear you apart if it gets out. There are plenty of reasons your superiors would tell you to keep it away from us."
    Forsberg looked embarrassed. "For what it's worth, I was ordered to withhold the information. I argued against it. I thought it was a mistake."
    "I'll take that as an apology."
    "Bergstrom's partners must have decided he'd become a liability."
    "That's what we think. We were wondering if anyone else was involved."
    Forsberg sighed again. "If there is, we'll find them. Perhaps the man in the other room was part of it. I'll run him through Interpol."
    "We're going back home tomorrow," Nick said. "Will you keep us informed as things develop?"
    "I'll make it a personal priority."
    On the way back to the hotel Ronnie said, "Do you think he'll keep his word?"
    "He strikes me as honest," Nick said, "but it's out of his control. I'm not going to hold my breath waiting to hear from him."
    Lamont looked out the window at the snow piled on the side of the road. "I'm getting sick of all this snow. When are we leaving?"
    "We'll book a flight out tomorrow," Nick said.

CHAPTER 17
     
     
    Count Alessandro Mercurio knelt in his private chapel and prayed for the soul of Antonio Bellini, dead in Sweden. The cold stones of the floor bit into his aged knees, sending shocks of pain through his body. He was grateful for the pain, a small redemption for Antonio's death.
    Mercurio was Commandante of the Compagnia del Santo Graal, the Society of the Holy Grail. The society marched in parades and carried banners during religious holidays, performed good works and contributed to the Church. For most of its members, it was little more than a social club. For Mercurio, it provided the central purpose of his life.
    The society had been founded in the fifteenth century by a wealthy merchant named Rossini. An angel had appeared to Rossini in a vision, telling him that finding the Grail would fulfill God's plan for humanity. Rossini had spent his fortune and the rest of his life searching. He'd ended in a pauper's grave without finding the elusive cup.
    Mercurio raised his head and gazed at a renaissance painting hanging on the wall behind the altar. It was by a student of Caravaggio and depicted the crucifixion. A man dressed in the colorful robes of a rich merchant knelt at the base of the cross, looking up with an expression of terrible sorrow. In his hands he held a cup to catch the blood flowing from Christ's wounds.
    Joseph of Arimathea, holding the Holy Grail.
    Mercurio had begun looking for the Grail because a voice told him to. The first time he'd heard the voice was during a month-long retreat of silence and fasting. He'd been praying in his small