The Rome Prophecy: A Thriller
Praised by critics and readers alike for his international bestseller The Stonehenge Legacy, Sam Christer continues to weave an irresistible plot of conspiracies and murder in one of the world’s most captivating cities.
A woman has been arrested in the streets of Rome. She’s young. She’s beautiful. She’s covered in blood. And she claims to be an ancient prophet in search of a mystical amulet hidden somewhere within the city. Ex-priest Tom Shaman teams up with a headstrong policewoman to unravel the mystery. But within Rome’s churches and corridors of power, stealthy enemies are conspiring against them. And soon, the woman’s deadly visions begin to come true.
Tightly plotted and relentlessly suspenseful, The Rome Prophecy is a satisfying, electrifying thriller, which will continue to build Christer’s name in the hit-thriller genre.
imprisoned and abused his own daughter underground for more than twenty years, forcing her to bear seven of his children. ‘We have to get moving,’ says Guilio, his body half turned towards the treacherous tunnel that lies ahead. ‘Now you need to follow several metres behind me and walk as close to the centre as possible. The paintings and art are designed to draw you over to them. Give in to their allure and you may well end up giving away your life.’ 127 Shooter grabs Valentina by the
Valentina turns the wheel and takes them across the Ponte Garibaldi, a fast modern carriageway that speeds traffic both ways across the Tiber. For the next half-hour or so they loop back and forth over this causeway and the Ponte Cestio, a bridge that runs to Tiber Island from the south side of the river, leading to the Ponte Fabricio, which in turn connects the island to the eastern bank. During the day it’s a walkway teeming with musicians, artists, hustlers and pickpockets. Now it’s
Within minutes, portable lamps are being brought in and men in latex gloves are unlocking silver suitcases. All of them take a second or two to stare at Tom’s strange pink shirt and baggy grey pants. Someone shouts something in Italian from the bedroom where they’ve just been, and Valentina flies in there. Tom rushes to the doorway. Everyone’s crowded around the tiny wardrobe. Inside, curled up on the floor, is a young woman. Covered in blood. 59 Louisa Verdetti is in a deep and
husband and wife, that sort of thing.’ ‘Plus the drug killings.’ ‘Plus the drug killings. Then there’s not much more on the spectrum until you reach serial killers.’ She pushes her plate away from her. ‘Where do you think sociopathic cults or paedophile gangs fit in?’ ‘Somewhere between the mentally ill and the spree killers? You want coffee or anything?’ ‘Non, grazie.’ She picks up her glass and swirls the last of her wine. Tom tries to beckon a waiter to pay the bill, but has no luck. ‘You
ring bearing the image of a woman astride some ugly wild animal. ‘Grazie.’ She drinks it in two gulps. He smiles. ‘I’ll get you some more.’ Louisa can see the room better now. It’s weird. She can’t quite think what it reminds her of. Then she gets it. It’s like a half-decorated room in a new house. The walls are dark peach, the colour of fresh plaster. There are ladders lying on the floor, dust sheets piled in a corner, and a strong smell of gloss paint. She sits up a little more. No