To my surprise, he explained further. “You’re right. The Vatican has a president appointed to the position by the pope for a five-year term.”
“Does the president work with a congress, or a parliament or something like that?”
“No. It’s not a democracy. The president is served by a secretary general and a vice secretary general, both of whom are also appointed by the pope for five years. The appointment is extremely delicate in terms of how the pope selects them. Often it’s to appease or strengthen certain political alliances.”
“Sounds complicated.”
“It is. Even then, the president’s actions must be approved by a commission. The pope can remove any person at any time, although a move like that without good reason would be quite dangerous politically. The president is considered the most powerful position in the Vatican behind the pope.”
I thought that over. “Okay, then. So, the fact that Lazo’s clerk is sending me a statue from the Congo is not a good thing, right?”
“It’s not. But it gives me a lot to think about.”
He sounded tired—so tired it made my heart hurt. I had no idea what was going on in his head or what was bothering him so badly. “Slash, are you okay?”
“No. I’m not okay without you, cara. But I hope to get to the bottom of this soon and come home.”
“You’re not in danger, are you?”
“Don’t worry. I can handle myself.”
That wasn’t an answer. “I know you can.” I pressed the phone harder to my ear, as if it would bring him closer. “I also know you feel like you have to keep me out of the loop on this one. But if I can help...”
“You have helped.”
“Good.” I could hear some noise in the background, as if he sat near an open window. I wondered what he was doing...what he was feeling. I’d never felt so far away from him.
“This is a difficult situation,” he finally said.
“Which is all the more reason I should be there helping you.”
“I don’t want you involved in this.”
“I’m already involved, Slash.” I closed my eyes. He didn’t get it. From this point on, when it came to him, I’d always be involved.
He said nothing, and for a moment, neither did I. I finally spoke. “Call me if you need anything, okay?”
“I will. I love you, cara. More than the decimal value of pi.”
He was clever and sweet, that fiancé of mine. “That happens to be infinite.”
“That it is.”
I glanced down at my engagement ring, rubbed it with my thumb. “I love you, too.”
“I’ll be home soon. I promise.”
“I’ll be waiting.” I disconnected and set my phone on the desk. I didn’t know what soon meant in terms of days, hours and minutes, but it didn’t really matter. I hoped that we’d get through whatever this was in one piece, and that things didn’t permanently change between us.
Although, if I was perfectly honest with myself, I wasn’t feeling terribly optimistic at the moment.
Chapter Seventeen
Cardinal Jacopo Lazo
“So, he got the message?” Jacopo leaned back in his chair, steepled his fingers together.
“Yes, Your Eminence. He landed in Rome yesterday and has now apparently gone straight to Genoa.”
Jacopo smiled, feeling more encouraged by recent developments than he had in days. “Excellent. I couldn’t have choreographed this better myself. Except I did.” He chuckled at his cleverness. “You’ll inform me of his return to Rome.”
“Certainly. We’re carefully monitoring the situation in Genoa, as well.”
“Perfect. At last, the truth will be revealed.” He sat back, satisfied. His clerk was efficient and exceptionally loyal, having served him for nearly three decades. The older he got, the harder it was to find good assistants who were both resourceful and malleable.
“Do you think the truth will come out before the Holy Father passes?” Father Koenhein asked him tentatively. “His Eminence does not appear well. Reports are that his health is failing noticeably.”
Jacopo felt a leap of excitement. “Yes, the Holy Father appears frailer by the day. But I’m confident this will play out in time. We need to move expeditiously, but without tipping our hand, so they will not see it coming. If the Holy Father passes shortly after everything comes to light, so much the better.”
“As God wills it, of course,” the priest agreed, lowering his eyes.
“Oh, trust me, my son,” Jacopo said, turning his chair to look out the window. “God wills it.”
Lexi
I took a sip of coffee, enjoying the perk of having my office in downtown Crystal City, near several excellent restaurants and cafés. This new mom-and-pop café had recently opened two blocks from X-Corp, and it had outstanding coffee and an even better selection of desserts.
“Thanks for meeting for me, Gray.”
“Of course. Why wouldn’t I?”
“I don’t know. Maybe because I’ve never invited you for coffee. I guess I should have. That’s probably what friends do to keep in touch.”
She laid a napkin across her lap and regarded me, perhaps with a little exasperation. Maybe that hadn’t been the right thing to say. “I just saw you at your engagement party, so it’s not like we’ve been strangers. Besides, it’s my day off and I can’t think of a better way to spend it, having coffee and—” she looked down at her plate “—this amazing-looking Bavarian crème éclair.”
I licked chocolate frosting off my fingers, not wanting to waste a smudge on a napkin. “I appreciate it. I just didn’t give you much lead time on this one. That’s socially inappropriate, right? How much lead time do you generally prefer when being invited for coffee? Basia usually needs three hours to get ready if it’s going to happen on the same day, but I know you’re busy and often work on the weekends, so what’s good for you? I’ll add it to my spreadsheet and then next time I go to invite you to coffee or conversation, I will give you the appropriate amount of lead time.”
Gray picked up her fork and knife and neatly cut the éclair in half. I looked at my fingers and the mashed éclair on my plate and felt like a barbarian. But we are who we are.
“I’m here, Lexi, so obviously it wasn’t a problem. I’m pretty spontaneous, so just ask when it’s convenient for you. What’s up?”
I really liked Gray and not just because she showed up to see me on her day off. In addition to her smarts and excellent analysis abilities which were well-utilized at the CIA, I was especially impressed with her research skills. We’d been through a lot together on one of my foreign assignments for X-Corp—surviving an insanely intense and life-threatening experience that had bonded us in a way that transcended normal friendship. Not that I had a lot of experience with friendship, but those I had were special, and Gray counted among them. Even with all of that in our favor, I still needed courage to work up to what I wanted to ask her.
“Slash had to take an emergency trip to Rome.”
She paused with a bite of the éclair millimeters from her mouth. After a moment, she returned it to her plate uneaten. “I see. Does it have anything to do with the firecracker show at your party?”
I wound an end of the napkin around my finger, my anxiety surfacing. “Yes, that’s part of it. Also, the church is denying his younger brother Giorgio’s request to get married in the church, and someone sent me a threatening statue from the Congo.” As her eyes widened, I gave her a quick rundown on all that had happened.
“Slash didn’t like any of it, so he went to Rome to sort it out,” I continued. “He thinks someone is trying to get to him through me and he isn’t having any of it. But—”
“But what?”
“I need to ask you for a favor. One I’m not entirely comfortable doing. I don’t like asking for help, even from fri
ends. It’s hard for me. But I need assistance and if you can’t do it, please say no. I will totally understand.”
“Lexi, just tell me what you need.”
I swallowed, hesitating. Wow, this was a lot harder than I thought it would be. There was also the mortification factor—the knowledge I couldn’t handle this on my own. Forcing myself to ignore my insecurities, I pushed forward. “Would you be willing to take a look at what the Vatican has been doing in the Congo, going back, let’s say, six to seven years? Nonclassified sources only. I’ve already done an open-source search of my own on this topic, but I don’t know what I’m looking for. International affairs, diplomatic negotiations and the subtle language that accompanies those things—it’s not my skill set. I want to know if something seems off to you or if there’s anything that stands out as being overly unusual or dramatic, or makes you wonder if there’s more to the story than is officially out there.”
She studied me carefully. “The Congo? The Vatican? Lexi, why don’t you just ask Slash? This is totally his area.”
“I know.” I glanced down at my hands. “But I can’t.”
“Because?”
“Because he doesn’t know I’m looking into this. Frankly, I’m not sure he’d approve. He wants me to stay out of his past, but there are things going on that have me really worried about him. I’m only looking for information at this point. I haven’t decided what, if anything, I’ll do when, and if, I get it. You may not find anything of interest. I want another set of eyes on my hunch. Something about the Congo is key here. Your eyes and analytical skill in this area are the best I know, so that’s why I came to you.”
She leaned both elbows on the table, rested her hands beneath her chin. I could tell she had a lot of questions and the thought of having to answer one, or any of them, was stressing me out. But I’d asked her for help, and it was only fair she knew what she was dealing with. “Are you ready for what you might find?”
It was a logical and good question that gave me cause to examine my motivations for my search. Why did I need the answers? For Slash? For me? For both of us? Things began to get murky when I really thought about it.
“Honestly, Gray, I don’t know. But right now, not knowing is worse. It’s a conundrum for me. On the one hand, I’m worried I’m overstepping an imaginary boundary by trying to help Slash. I mean, if this was an NSA job-related issue, the boundary is clear. Unless he asked, I would keep my distance and respect his work. But this is a personal issue—possibly a threat—which, by extension, is a threat against me, too. We’re supposed to be a unit, right?”
“Right.”
Feeling validated, I continued. “I know he’d respond the same way if our roles were reversed—and he has done, in the past. But here’s the thing. I don’t want to set an unusual precedent for our relationship. It’s not in my nature to force people to confide in me. Most of the time, I sincerely hope they don’t. However, a threat to him is a threat to me, and I can’t fight or help him if he won’t let me in. He can be so stubborn sometimes.”
A look of understanding crossed her face and I realized she probably had some of the same issues with her Navy SEAL boyfriend. Between his job and hers at the CIA, there was bound to be secrets. So how did they deal?
“I totally get that, Lexi. When Hands has a planned mission, meaning one of the rare few he knows about in advance, he often gets pissy a couple of days before departure.”
“Pissy?”
“Yeah, he’s grumpy and pushes me away. At first I didn’t get what the problem was. Then I figured it out. He’s putting space between us. He needs to do that to focus. But it’s more than that. It’s important for him to know I’ll be okay in his absence. He needs to know I can take care of myself, and that he doesn’t have to worry about me when he’s gone. To him, that’s a certain kind of peace that can allow him to focus on getting the job done.”
I thought about the gun Slash gave me for Christmas, the GPS-locator earrings he’d given me so he could track me if I got into trouble, the shooting range lessons and the Krav Maga self-defense moves we’d been working on for several weeks. Suddenly, things began to make a lot more sense.
“I still don’t understand why he doesn’t trust me with his past,” I said. “If it’s bringing danger to him or me, aren’t I entitled to know?”
She studied me for a moment. “Is it important for you to know it?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. It keeps coming up, coming between us. Will it always be this way?”
She pushed her plate to the side and lowered her voice. “Let me turn that around. Do you feel differently about his past now that you’re engaged?”
I had to really think about the question so I could answer honestly. “Maybe,” I finally admitted. “I feel more...protective of him—of us—as a couple. Is that strange? I mean, obviously Slash doesn’t need my protection. He’s perfectly capable of protecting himself. But somehow, his battles have become mine. We’re a unit, or at least, we’re supposed to be. I should be in Rome helping him. But I don’t think he sees it that way.” In fact, I knew he didn’t, and somehow that hurt.
“He likely thinks he’s protecting you.”
He absolutely did, but that wasn’t the point. “That’s not fair if we’re supposed to be a team in real life.”
“I didn’t say it was fair. Look, that being said, Slash does not strike me as the kind of guy who does anything without having looked at it in multiple ways. If he’s keeping something from you, I would think he has what he considers a good reason. Have faith.”
Faith.
I kept circling that word—a concept so foreign to me—to my grounding in science—and yet, it seemed to be taking a prominent role in my life. Faith in my abilities, faith in my relationships and faith in my judgment to help the person I loved, even if he didn’t want my help.
I replayed our conversation in my head—the implications, the possible outcomes and my motivations before I came to my decision. “The request still stands,” I said, hoping I was doing the right thing. “Will you help me, Gray?”
“Of course I’ll help. That’s what friends are for.”
Wow. Was it really that simple?
Relief swept through me. I’m not sure she had any idea how much it meant that she was willing to step into my mess.
I gave her a shaky smile. Even though I really liked Gray, it had been hard to ask for her help. But it was the smart thing to do, and I’d done it, so that was something—a step forward in the progression of my development as a social being.
“Thanks, Gray. I guess that’s something I’m still learning.”
Chapter Eighteen
Slash
Slash spotted his tail the moment he walked into the lobby of the expensive Hotel Alimandi Vaticano. He had expected it, which is why he’d chosen this well-known hotel, close to the Vatican and high-profile enough that he could easily be found. He strolled into the lobby and confirmed his reservation under a name that would be recognized by most people at the Vatican.
He declined the assistance of a bellhop and carried his duffel bag and laptop case to the elevator. On the way up, he ran into a lady with a seeing-eye dog. He murmured a greeting to her as he passed, mentioning she had a beautiful shepherd. She stopped to chat and they spoke for a few moments in Italian about the weather and Rome before she told him he could pet the dog if he desired. He did, so he knelt and the dog gave him a friendly nuzzle.
After he and the woman had parted, he opened his suite after tapping his key card to the opening to his suite. Once inside, he looked around. The suite was furnished with stylish, contemporary furniture, parquet floors, coffered ceilings and kitchenette with an espresso machine, table and refrigerator. He strolled into the bedroom. A walk-in wardrobe, a separate sitting room and a Turkish bath with LED lighting in the bathroom rounded out his accommodations. More importantly, the wifi
speed and internet connection were both satisfactory.
He didn’t unpack, as he had no intention on staying long. Instead, he settled into a lounge chair with his laptop, figuring he’d have an hour or two to work. He’d only been working for about a half hour when his phone vibrated. A text had arrived from an unknown number and held three names.
Lorenzo Cavallo.
Thomas Pecora.
Julian Koenhein.
His eyes stopped and rested on the third name. The same name Lexi had just given him. The clerk in Cardinal Lazo’s office. Not a coincidence.
He tapped back a quick text of thanks and continued his work. Sixty-two minutes later, there was a knock on his hotel door. He quietly approached, then checked the peephole. He recognized the person who stood there, so he opened the door, leaning with one arm braced casually against the doorjamb.
“Julian Koenhein. I’ve been expecting you.” Slash spoke in German, Julian’s native tongue.
That comment elicited a squeak of surprise and a visible flinch from the priest. While he figured out what to say, Slash took stock of him. Nervous tics. Mid-fifties. Receding hairline and a bad comb-over. He looked exactly as he had in the Vatican photo Slash had just pulled up. A vein in his neck throbbed as he studied Slash, clearly not sure what to do or say next. As his gaze fell on the gold cross that Slash had purposefully removed from under his shirt and clearly identified him as a member of the Vatican’s sodalitium pianum, the priest finally spoke.
“Y-you know who I am?” The priest answered Slash in Italian, not German, but his voice shook just the same.
Slash continued in German on purpose, remaining in control of the conversation. “Of course, I do. You sent me the nkondi.”
Color drained from his face, all but confirming his guilt. “I...don’t know what you are talking about.”
Slash tapped his fingers against the doorframe, implying impatience and boredom. “Lying, Father? Is this a new trend at the Vatican?”
No Stone Unturned: A Lexi Carmichael Mystery, Book Eleven Page 8