The Missing File

Jessica watched the rain streak against the train window, the droplets dragging long, uneven lines across the glass. Paris was two hours away. Leanna sat across from her, arms folded, flipping through her notes, while Olivia had her tablet open, cross-referencing old Vatican intelligence records.

Leanna had barely spoken since Avignon. Olivia had started chewing the inside of her lip again. All of them moved like people who had stopped pretending they could turn back.

The weight of Iacopo di San Luca’s name hung between them. It was too much to ignore. A man, appearing across centuries, detained by Vatican intelligence in 1923. And then? Nothing.

Jessica exhaled, rubbing a hand along her jaw. She could still feel the note in her pocket.

“This is not the first time we have met.”

She had spent the entire morning thinking about it. Not just about the words, but about the possibility. Had she seen that name before? Heard it in passing? Found it in some old file she had long since buried? Or was it something worse? Something she had forgotten?

* * *

The Vatican intelligence archives in Paris weren’t in some grand, historical building with gilded ceilings. They were in an unmarked gray office, tucked in an administrative district near the Seine. The kind of place people walked past without ever noticing.

Jessica stood on the sidewalk outside, hands in her jacket pockets, scanning the front entrance. There was a small security desk inside. Two cameras above the glass doors. A side alley leading toward the back.

“Let me guess,” Olivia muttered. “We don’t have an appointment.”

Jessica smirked. “Not yet.”

Leanna exhaled. “So we’re improvising?”

Jessica gave her a look. “We’re always improvising.”

Olivia rolled her eyes but pulled out her phone, glancing at the screen.

“I might have found someone,” she said. “A low-level researcher who does off-the-books favors for the right price.”

Jessica raised an eyebrow. “And what’s the price?”

Olivia shrugged. “A little money. A little information.”

Jessica sighed. “And what information does he want?”

Olivia’s smirk was sharp. “Nothing we can’t fake.”

Leanna shook her head. “I love it when we play fast and loose with international intelligence agencies.”

Jessica smirked. “That’s the spirit.”

* * *

The contact’s name was René Dubois, a middle-aged man with tired eyes and the nervous energy of someone who had spent too long looking over his shoulder.

Jessica met him in a quiet café near the river, the kind of place where conversations were meant to be murmured, not heard. He was already waiting when she arrived, a half-smoked cigarette between his fingers, a black coffee untouched in front of him.

He studied her as she approached.

“You don’t look like an academic.”

Jessica smirked, sitting across from him. “That’s because I’m not.”

René exhaled smoke through his nose. “Then what are you?”

Jessica tilted her head. “Someone who needs a file.”

René flicked his cigarette against the ashtray, considering her.

Then he leaned in. “That depends. What file?”

Jessica slid a small folded note across the table. He opened it. His eyes skimmed the name. Then he stopped. His fingers tightened around the paper.

Jessica watched his reaction carefully. He wasn’t confused. He was afraid.

Slowly, he set the note down. “Where did you hear this name?”

Jessica kept her voice casual. “Vatican records.”

René’s jaw tensed. “You shouldn’t have come here.”

Jessica exhaled. “I hear that a lot.”

René shook his head, glancing toward the street outside.

“This is not a name you look for. Not here. Not anywhere.”

Jessica leaned forward. “But you know it.”

René hesitated. Then, finally, he nodded. “Yes.”

There was a short pause, then he added under his breath, “And if you were smart, you would forget it.”

* * *

It took time, but René agreed to help. For a price. Jessica didn’t argue. She slipped the envelope across the table, and in return, he gave them an address to an old Vatican storage site on the outskirts of the city. It was the last place where Iacopo di San Luca’s file had been kept.

René exhaled. “If you go there, you didn’t get this from me.”

Jessica smirked. “Don’t worry. We were never here.”

René shook his head. “You don’t understand. There are people who erase names from history. If they find out you’re asking about him…”

Jessica’s gaze was steady. “Let them find out.”

She slid out of the chair, tucking the address into her pocket. Leanna and Olivia followed her to the door.

Before they left, René called after them, “If you see his file, don’t believe everything you read.”

Jessica turned slightly. “Why not?”

René hesitated, then exhaled, “Because I don’t think he died in 1923.”

* * *

The address led them to a quiet industrial zone on the outskirts of Paris. The Vatican didn’t store its intelligence archives in cathedrals or ancient monasteries. It used warehouses. Offices. Anonymous locations no one would think twice about.

Jessica stood in front of the entrance, scanning the perimeter. There was a single security camera and no signs of movement.

She glanced at Leanna. “How do you want to do this?”

Leanna exhaled. “Quietly.”

Jessica smirked. “That’s no fun.”

She pulled on her gloves and pushed open the door. Inside, the air was cold and stale, the smell of old paper and dust filling the space. Rows of storage lockers lined the walls, each marked with a numeric code.

Olivia scanned the list René had given them. “We’re looking for vault C-19.”

Jessica moved ahead, scanning the rows.Then she stopped. The locker they were looking for, C-19, was already open.

Her stomach tightened, but her breath stayed steady, more from discipline than being calm. She stepped forward slowly, her eyes tracking every detail like it might shift if she blinked. The locker was empty. No file. There was only a single folded note perfectly and intentionally placed in the center.

She stared at it for a long moment before reaching out. Her hand didn’t shake, but the cold that crept up her spine had nothing to do with the warehouse air.

She unfolded the paper, and immediately recognized the the handwriting

“You are looking in the wrong place.”

Jessica clenched her jaw. Whoever had left it behind, they had been here before them. And they already knew she was coming.

Jessica’s jaw locked. Not because she was angry, but because she couldn’t afford not to be still. Her eyes scanned the edges of the locker again, then the room beyond.

Whoever had left the note hadn't just been first. They had known she was coming.

She folded the paper again, slower this time. Like it might bite.