The Fallen by Tarn Richardson Page A

escape.”
    Almost at once, lightning appeared to flash in the heart of the gathering clouds and a rumble of thunder rolled across the city moments later.
    â€œWho?”
    â€œWe don’t know. We never got a look at them. We can only suppose it was one of the group to which Inquisitor Cincenzo was affiliated.”
    â€œThey are proving to be troublesome.”
    â€œWe will continue to hunt them. They will not affect your work.”
    â€œThey had better not. Our masters would be displeased if anything were to derail what has so far been achieved. Have you identified your targets?”
    Georgi threw a barbed look in the Priest’s direction. “Of course I have! I have prepared long for this moment. My training has been endless, the application of my study unyielding. I know what I must do and againstwhom. The one with the power of ‘sight’ and the one with the power of the ‘flesh’ shall commence the ritual. Just make sure I am allowed to work unmolested.”
    â€œWe shall.”
    He looked across at the Priest. “Sister Isabella. She will play her part yet, for ours, and his, gain. It is time now to complete the work and prepare the world to welcome their return. When the third and final act must be done, I will hunt Isabella down and ensure that Tacit does what has long been required of him.”

PART TWO
    â€œChildren, it is the last hour, and as you have heard that Antichrist is coming, so now many Antichrists have come. Therefore we know that it is the last hour.”
    1 John 2:18

SEVENTEEN
    T HE V ATICAN . V ATICAN C ITY .
    Monsignor Benigni had never in his life expected to be involved in a murder case.
    He knew he shouldn’t be here. The usual business of the Sodalitium Pianum was to weed out attempts to modernise the timeless fundamental values of the Catholic faith, a far cry from dangerous inquisitional work. But no matter the task, Benigni knew that if the work brought him closer to God, then he would be happy. After all, he was a devoutly God-fearing man. Anything he could do to gain favour from his Lord would be comforting to him.
    When he had established the Sodalitium Pianum in 1907, he had done so to help root out and censor the teaching and distribution of condemned doctrine within the faith, to stamp out the threat of modernist thinking within the sound traditional values of the Church.
    However, he had accepted the request by the Holy See to investigate the murder without hesitation. The Inquisition, more adept and experienced at handling such a case, was stretched, its ranks overwhelmed and strained by recent events within the city and further afield. The Devil’s grip upon the earth seemed to be tightening, and Monsignor Benigni knew that his work here might perhaps not only help in some small way to loosen his scaly-taloned hold, but would undoubtedly win him greater admiration and respect from many within the upper echelons of power. And, with this admiration, Benigni knew he would be enabled to further expand the remit of the Sodalitium Pianum’s work.
    Monsignor was a simple, earnest man, but he had big plans for his own secret organisation.
    An overweight bear-like figure, dressed in stern starched black save for the square of white at his neck, he stood at the apex of the bridge and looked down into the Tiber. They’d found Inquisitor Cincenzo’s body nearly a mile down river from here, snagged on rocks where the river bed rose and the waters ran quicker. He’d been shot, clean through the head. Death would have been instantaneous.
    Benigni turned his notes in his short stumpy fingers and pushed his glasses back up his nose, absently humming a tune he had recently heard. It was a waltz by an American arranger called Frederic Knight Logan, a most offensive tune, and Benigni forcibly caught hold of himself and shook his head to remove the song, dragging a hand across his forehead to mop his sweating brow. Clearly he needed