“What happened?”
“Apeloko enjoyed matching wits with the bishops and the Vatican delegations that came to broker the deals. He threw lavish parties and dinners, and, at some point, he took a special interest in a young Italian priest with whom he used to fiercely debate matters of the world. Apeloko apparently found the priest witty and interesting. The Vatican noticed the budding interest and asked the priest to cultivate a friendship in the hopes that one day that priest could convince Apeloko to agree to a peaceful transition.”
“But it didn’t work,” Lexi said.
“It didn’t work. First of all, the young priest wasn’t a priest, although he was forced to listen to Apeloko’s horrific, gleeful confessions. The priest was a Vatican operative and Apeloko was his mission.”
Lexi inclined her head to show she was following, but said nothing.
“Despite the operative’s best efforts,” Slash continued, “Apeloko refused to sign any agreement and escalated his murderous reign. It became quite evident he had no intention of stepping down. The discussions with the bishops, with the Vatican, it was all a distraction. In the meantime, his people remained locked in unimaginable poverty and suffering while Apeloko lived in grotesque wealth. He killed indiscriminately and tortured millions of men, women and children. The Vatican was helpless to bring about change, to stop the suffering.”
Her hand tightened on his knee, but she remained silent. He kept his focus on the sea and the waves that crashed against the shore.
“There was a rebel leader by the name of Joseph Jakande,” he continued after a minute. “He’d united most of the rural tribes against Apeloko. The Congolese bishops, and by extension the Vatican, were supporting him. Jakande was powerful and charismatic. He was poised to take control of the country from Apeloko. He promised to lead the people to a democratic society, if Apeloko would step down peacefully. But it was clear that was never going to happen. So, a decision was made in the highest echelons of the Vatican. Apeloko had to go.”
He risked a sideways glance at Lexi. She was looking at the sea, just as he had been, her expression calm and thoughtful. Her hand stayed reassuringly on his knee, waiting for him to get through it. If he could.
“As is true with most despots, Apeloko was extraordinarily paranoid. He had food tasters and bodyguards near him constantly. He’d installed his eldest son, a boy barely nineteen, as head of the national army. The boy was as sadistic and cruel as his father, but he made sure his father was well protected. The only time Apeloko was without his guards present was at night while he was sleeping and after dinner when he retired to his study to drink and read. Guards were always posted outside of his locations, even if he wasn’t in actual sight. So, one day, while the Vatican was figuring out the best way to conduct the assassination, a heaven-sent opportunity fell into their laps. One evening, Apeloko invited the young priest to accompany him to his study to play chess and continue their discussion on worldly matters.”
He glanced at Lexi. She sat so motionless, he wondered what she was thinking.
“The session lasted several hours and the guards did not enter the study once,” he continued. “After the priest reported back, a tightly held group of bishops at the Vatican made the difficult decision to save many more people, if the priest was invited into the study again. So, he was given orders to assassinate Apeloko if he could. The operative resisted, as this was not normal protocol. Options were discussed and alternative scenarios evaluated. But there was no other way, so in the end, the operative agreed to move forward if an invitation to the study came again.”
“How long until that happened?” Lexi asked, her voice so soft it was almost a whisper.
“Nearly three weeks. That night, as the others watched the young priest disappear with Apeloko into the study, their plan was put into motion.”
Slash leaned forward more, his hand inches from hers, but not daring to touch her. “It was easier than expected. Trust had been built, so Apeloko was careless. When Apeloko went to the bathroom, which was located inside the study, the operative slipped poison into his drink. It was a fast-acting agent, so Apeloko began to die with seconds of ingestion. He slipped from his chair, clutching his throat and foaming at the mouth, gasping for air as the blood coagulated around his heart and lungs. The operative knelt over Apeloko, ensuring his heart had stopped, when he heard a sound from behind him. It was Apeloko’s nineteen-year-old son, Thako. He’d come in from a hidden entrance behind a bookcase.”
Slash exhaled, willing himself to finish. He didn’t dare to pause for long. “Many things rushed through the operative’s mind at that moment, but first and foremost was the absolute certainty that the boy would have to die as well.”
Lexi clenched her hands together in her lap so tightly the knuckles were stretched pale. He waited until a couple walked past and resumed speaking. “The operative stood with an anxious look on his face, and waved Thako over. ‘Something happened to your father,’ he said. When Thako bent over his father, the operative hit him from behind, knocking him to the ground. The operative rolled him over and pressed a hand over his mouth and nose. For what might have been a minute or perhaps only seconds, the operative and the boy locked eyes. Thako lay helpless on his back, barely conscious, outmatched and outweighed. Tears leaked from the boy’s eyes as the operative’s hand pressed harder. At that moment, he didn’t look more than twelve years old.”
He swallowed, then continued. “The operative racked his brain for a solution that would save this boy’s life. He pleaded with God to let him spare this boy, to escape the unfairness of the situation in which they both found themselves. But God was silent, so the priest took another vial from beneath his robe and forced the poison down the boy’s throat, holding his nose until he had no choice but to swallow. When the boy died, the operative flushed the small plastic vials down the toilet, washed his hands and popped a harmless foaming pill and sedative into his mouth. The operative staggered to the door and flung it open, collapsing in the hallway. The guards rushed into the room to find their leader and his eldest son dead. The Vatican quickly collected their gravely injured priest and whisked him back to Rome for medical treatment. Mission complete.”
He stopped, waited for her to say something, but she was silent. The silence stretched on for so long, his stomach churned with anxiety.
“So, the operative was never actually poisoned. It was an act.”
“It was an act,” he confirmed.
“He was never near death or brain damaged?”
“No. That was a cover story. He was examined by a so-called Vatican doctor, who was actually just another operative.”
She fell silent again. He had no idea how much time had passed before she finally spoke again. “Is this the information I would have found in the CIA file?”
“Yes, although it was largely speculation on the CIA’s part. Obviously, the Vatican would never admit to sponsoring an assassination, and, as far as I know, the pope at the time was never told. But it would have been enough for you to figure out the truth.”
A pensive look crossed her face. “Was the mission considered a success?”
Slash shook his head. “I wish it were that simple. Joseph Jakande took power as expected, but within weeks, he’d shelved the idea of a democracy. Instead, he became a worse despot than Apeloko. Hundreds of thousands of additional innocent people were murdered, while countless others were starved and tortured. It was all for nothing. The negotiations, the plans, the assassination—everything was a failure. We simply replaced one despot with another, and that blood is on our hands. Jakande remains in power to this day, still subjecting people to horrific atrocities, while we do nothing and let the people suffer.”
Another heavy silence ensued, but Slash waited. He had no idea what was going through Lexi’s head.
“This operative—the priest who wasn’t a priest who killed Apeloko—what hap
pened to him after the mission?” Lexi asked.
“He requested, and was permitted, to go abroad to use his other talents to protect people in ways he hadn’t been able to before.”
She considered that. “Okay. So, that operative, the one who went abroad, did he use his talents to help others? Save others even?”
“He did. He is.”
“Good.” She turned on the bench to face him. “Because here’s the thing, Slash. We don’t live in a black-and-white world, as much as I wish we did. I used to be that person who saw only black-and-white. But you, more than anyone, taught me about the gray. The gray isn’t logical or linear or fair. Most of the time, it doesn’t make sense. But at some point, the operative who killed Apeloko and his son has to make a decision. Let go and stop reliving the past, or continue to punish himself and never move forward.”
The tightness in his chest was suffocating. “This was not the only isolated incident, cara. This operative has worn many faces and hurt many people. How much more can you stomach?”
To his surprise, she neither flinched nor shied away from him. “I can stomach them all, if you want to tell me.”
To this point, he’d been unable to refer to himself as the operative. It was a protective mechanism, something he’d had to learn early. Detachment. Dispassion. Distance. The three cardinal rules for this kind of work.
Yet, she’d known, perhaps all along, the operative was him and she hadn’t bolted. How could she be willing to stay and listen, knowing the kinds of things he had done?
“Why aren’t you appalled?” He needed to understand. “How can you just accept those things about me?”
She turned and framed his face with her hands. “Because, Slash, when you trust someone, love someone, you believe in their integrity.”
He’d never wanted anything more than for her believe in him—to be worthy of her. But he feared she didn’t understand. “Did you hear what I said?” He looked at her incredulously. “I killed a child with my own hands.”
Her voice remained calm. “The church asked you to protect the people of the country, who were suffering greatly and had no one else to stand up for them. If anything was unjust, it was what was asked of you. They had to know it would hurt you. But apparently they felt there was no other choice. They must have had enormous trust in you to ask you to do that. Why can’t I, who love you even more, have that same trust?”
Disbelief swept through him. “You still don’t get it. It wouldn’t have mattered if Thako were nineteen and the head of the army or if he’d been ten and completely innocent. Whoever entered the room at that moment would have died. I would have killed them regardless of age.” He could hear the self-loathing in his voice. “I didn’t know how long Thako had been watching or if he saw me slip the poison in his father’s glass. I couldn’t have risked it. He was a liability the second he walked into that room, and I had to preserve the integrity of the mission. That’s what I was thinking. That’s all I was thinking. If I’d been thinking about the people I was saving, it might have been different.”
She dropped her hands and shook her head. “You can’t keep doing this to yourself, Slash. It’s nothing short of torture. You were tasked with an exceptionally difficult job that, if successful, might have saved thousands, maybe millions, of lives. It was an incredibly complicated choice that had to be made in a split-second in the course of a dangerous mission.”
“I don’t know how else to say it to you, cara. I’m good at killing people. It’s a talent, a skill that, even now, despite my new position at the NSA, I’m still occasionally tapped to use. I didn’t want you to know that about me. I never wanted you to know.”
She flinched at the vehemence in his voice, but she still didn’t back down or back away from him. What the hell was he doing? Was he trying to drive her away?
She kept winding and unwinding the ribbon of her hat around her finger without saying anything, so he had no idea was going on in that mind of hers. Yet no matter how many different ways he viewed it, he couldn’t see how she could come to any conclusion other than he was monster.
His head snapped up when she finally spoke. “Why do they tap you, Slash? Surely the CIA has its own cadre of assassins. Why would they risk someone as valuable as you on dangerous missions? I don’t get it.”
He was grateful she hadn’t leaped to any conclusions and had given him the benefit of the doubt. He took a moment to put his thoughts in order, to explain it to her without divulging anything he shouldn’t.
“It’s a different world out there, cara, and it’s changing every day. You know better than most that our wars are moving from the physical to the virtual. Today, everyone, from the terrorist on up to the worst despot, has a computer, a smartphone and highly evolved security systems surrounding their homes and offices. Unfortunately, those people who are the most dangerous are often funded by those who can afford to give them those items to make them impenetrable. The hard truth is you can’t just send in an assassin anymore to take care of things. It has to be someone who has skills on multiple fronts, including language and cyber skills, and is able to execute those skills on a moment’s notice while in the field, and usually while completely isolated.”
She closed her eyes. “Oh, Slash. No wonder they come to you.” She sounded sad, but not horrified.
He leaned forward, trying to ignore a headache that felt like an ice pick stabbing him behind the eyes. “I came to the US thinking this was behind me. But it’s not. I don’t think it ever will be.”
“So why do you keep doing it?” she asked him quietly. “Why don’t you say no?”
He considered a number of different answers, but settled on the truth because he loved her. “Because I can’t stop making amends. If I think it will help people, make up for what I’ve done, I’m in.”
She sighed and sat back on the bench, resting her head against his shoulder without speaking. He didn’t know if it were a good or bad sign, so he waited to hear her thoughts.
The silence stretched on before she spoke again. “Look, I understand why you do what you do, Slash. That’s part of why I love you. I also understand that inner conflict better than you might think, having made some unpleasant choices of my own while in Somalia.”
He didn’t know why that hadn’t occurred to him before, but now he realized that mission had taken a significant toll on her, too. He frowned, looking at her in a different light. A fiercely intelligent woman who had taken on one of the most brutal cyber mercenaries in the world and won. She’d seen her share of what happened on a battlefield and understood the difficult choices. That bullet he’d put through Broodryk’s head on her behalf wasn’t one he regretted.
She did understand.
“For people like us, it’s in the details,” she continued. “I struggled with this myself. Hands once told me after every mission he asks himself: Did I do right by that person, by that situation, by the mission? Was my heart in the right place? Did I do everything in my power to save or help as many people as I could? There are no right or wrong answers. If you believe there’s a Judgment Day, then you will have to atone, because what’s done is done. No one can change the past, not even you, Slash. All you can do—all any of us can do—is to try to make each day count moving forward.”
She was correct...about all of it. He put his arm around her, pulling her close and seeking the comfort that was her. “I just want peace. But I don’t know if I deserve it.”
“You do.” Her voice caught as she said it, twisting his heart in his chest. “But you have to forgive yourself first. I can forgive you. Father Armando can forgive you. Even the pope can forgive you. But you won’t move on unless you forgive yourself. Forgiveness isn’t a sign of weakness. It’s simply acknowledging that sometimes bad things happen to good people, and we’re faced with impossible choices.”
He wanted that to be the end of it, but it wasn’t. “I wish
it were that easy. It’s more complicated than that. There’s a dark part of me, cara, a cold, ugly piece that isn’t going away. When it comes to that which is mine—my family, country or innocent people—I won’t play nice. I can’t be nice. I need to be clear about that. It’s not something that can change about me. It’s how I’ll ensure Lazo—or others like him—go down...one way or the other. The only question is whether or not you can live with that.”
Her fingers started nervously winding and unwinding the hat ribbon again. He’d never been this honest with anyone before. She knew more about him than anyone ever had, than anyone ever would. It was both liberating and terrifying, because he believed it was the final test for them as a couple. He tried to calm the pressure building in his gut by reminding himself of the principles of tai chi. Be mindful of the present. Embrace the calm, accept the outcome, whatever it may be.
“I may not be entirely comfortable with that part, but I appreciate your honesty,” she finally said. “I have one request. If you’re going to accept missions that will put you in those kinds of situations, then accept self-reflection as part of the deal and be sure your conscience is in the right place with the mission and the possible outcome. You can’t save everyone, Slash. You just can’t. Don’t let the guilt and pain become your identity, because you’re so much more than that to me.”
For a moment, he just stared at her, stunned by her words. She wasn’t condemning him. She wasn’t pushing him away.
She’s not going to leave me.
After a moment, he pulled her close and buried his face in her hair, his throat thick with emotion. She was both his comfort and strength. “Thank you, cara,” he murmured.
The lines of a letter written by F. Scott Fitzgerald ran through his mind.
No Stone Unturned: A Lexi Carmichael Mystery, Book Eleven Page 24