Chapter 84
JUSTIN AND I FLEW to Rome as early as possible the following morning to meet Kathleen and Father Rosetti. We were so close to the births now that I was anxious all the time. Rosetti’s mysterious games didn’t help.
The Italian national police and soldiers from the Italian army succeeded in diverting the paparazzi away from our arrival gate. We found a queue of chunky little Fiat taxis. Parked on one side of the taxis was our limousine.
I held Justin’s hand as the limo sped along the rain-slicked Via Cristoforo Columbo, then into the center of Rome. The driver then plunged us into the shadows of the ancient buildings of the Termini, one of Rome’s seedier districts.
“Why are they staying here and not at the Vatican?” I verbalized my thoughts, knowing Justin wouldn’t have an answer. “This whole thing makes me think of scary horror movies. Rosetti is a total control freak.”
Justin’s eyes surveyed the dismal city streets. “The image I’ve been having lately is the battle between the Archangel Michael and Lucifer with his legions, an epic battle between good and evil.”
I looked over at him. “Are you Michael?” I asked. I was only half-joking.
Justin smiled. “Not even close.”
“Well, we need Michael and all his angels. We seem to be badly outnumbered. The powers of darkness are winning.”
Our car braked at the curb of a particularly disreputable-looking street in the Termini. We got out and hurriedly climbed the steep front steps of a crumbling old building.
The front door was unlocked. Inside, stairs corkscrewed darkly upward.
Justin and I quickly mounted splintered flights to a top-floor hallway that terminated at three dirty gray doors and a wired-over skylight, dim with soot. A black cat jumped out of a dark corner and scared both of us.
Justin turned to me and said, “It gets stranger and stranger.”
“This is the part where the movie audience always screams, ‘Don’t go up there!’”
“So of course we continue up the stairs,” he said.
One of the hallway doors opened suddenly, and my heart jumped. Nicholas Rosetti stood in the white light that flooded the hall and stairs.
“Justin and Anne, thank God. Please, come in. Thank you for coming.”
Rosetti attempted a smile, but his face was incredibly haggard and drained. I couldn’t believe how thin he was. The Vatican investigator seemed to have lost nearly twenty pounds in less than a week. The skin on his face was sallow, sagging on his cheeks and around his dark eyes. Father Rosetti looked as if he was dying before our eyes.
“Are you all right?” I asked him.
“Of course, of course.” He patted my shoulder and led the way inside. “I’m tougher than I look, and I look tough.”
Across the small, bare room, Kathleen was propped on a sagging two-seat sofa. She pushed herself up and waddled awkwardly to us. She also looked ashen and exhausted.
She got her arms around me and began to cry. “I’m so glad to see you,” she sobbed. “I’m so afraid. This is so awful. Being pregnant, being here. We have to talk, Anne.”
“What’s going on?” I turned and shouted angrily at Rosetti. “What have you done to her? Why are you here? Kathleen needs to be around doctors.”
He waved away my concern as if it were too trivial to respond to. “I simply don’t have time to explain everything to you!” He spoke to me in a sharp tone that matched mine. “Kathleen would have been unsafe anywhere except with me. If you don’t understand that, so be it. And now I have to move her again. To the holy sanctuary of the Vatican where the baby must be born.”
Chapter 85
JUSTIN WAS TALL and strongly built, and he moved toward Rosetti like a great column of fury. Once upon a time he’d been a rough-and-tumble Irish footballer, and he certainly looked it now. “You risked her life — and the child’s,” he shouted.
“No, I did no such thing. I would never put a life in jeopardy. You just don’t understand the facts of the situation.”
“Tell us something factual. Tell us something,” Justin shouted, the veins bulging out in his neck. He still looked ready to punch out Father Rosetti. “What do you know? Tell us!”
I put my hand on Justin’s arm, felt his tension and strength. “I feel the same way, Father Rosetti. We’re sick of being in the dark,” I said. “You say you need help, but you never give us a reason. Believe, you say. Believe what?”
“I’m sorry,” Rosetti said, his voice ragged with fatigue. “I do trust both of you. It is a very difficult thing for me, but I do. I know how you care for Kathleen. I know you are both good. That’s why you’re here. But I can’t. I promised. Oh, God . . .”
Father Rosetti began to speak of an intensely frightened Holy Father who knew a terrifying secret. “And then,” said Rosetti, “the pope was struck dead in his sleep! I had already accepted my mission. Before then, I had been an ordinary priest in the Congregation of Sacred Rites. My qualifications for the job were that I was a thorough investigator and a good priest. I am a detective for the Church.
“If you help me now,” Father Rosetti said, “you will know everything soon. Every last twist and infernal turn and trick of the abominable Beast! Are you sure you want to know what I must do? Are you prepared to confront the Evil One? Are you both in a state of grace?”
“Are you?” I challenged Rosetti. “You look like a mad person. You expect us to do as you say because you come from the high-and-mighty Vatican, the Holy See. Tell us the truth. Tell us now!”
Rosetti sighed, shook his head, and then gave in, or at least seemed to. He whispered so that only we could hear.
“The Devil is to be born as a human child very soon. Only then can the legions multiply and take over the earth. But a savior is to be born as well. A savior will be born to one of the two virgins. Anne, Justin, I still don’t know which girl it is. You must help me find out.”
Chapter 86
EARLY THE FOLLOWING MORNING, we waited for Kathleen and Rosetti in a small, dreary café in the Termini. I was so jumpy I couldn’t keep my hands still, or my mind on the indescribable moment.
Did I really want to know what Rosetti claimed to know? Did I want to play by his rules?
Was I prepared to confront evil, whatever that might turn out to be?
The questions seemed completely absurd and melodramatic, and yet I had to know the answers. I realized that I had changed so much since the day I arrived in Newport. I believed that something monumental was going to happen, I just didn’t know what.
Our tiny metal table was jammed in between a radiator, a pistachio green wall hung with music scores, and a large man feeding tidbits to his schnauzer. It was hard to talk over the breakfast-hour din, but in a way the noise and the smells were reassuring. It seemed normal. The real world still existed.
We had just spent the night on the floor of the room Rosetti had obtained for himself and Kathleen. He had been in constant prayer throughout the night, his features contorted as if he was in terrible pain.
In the gloom, illuminated only by the faint glow of a streetlight, I imagined that Rosetti was standing watch. A lone sentry listening for the approach of . . . what? Another plague? Demons? His own death?
And then he talked to us, and it took him the better part of an hour. He told us what we had to do and why. He said we had two choices: walk away, or take our chances that he was right.
Justin looked into my eyes. “We don’t have to do what Rosetti has asked of us, Anne.”
I nodded. I knew Justin was questioning his faith, but perversely, mine had solidified. “Justin, I do. Rosetti is from the Congregation of Sacred Rites. He’s for real. And so are Kathleen and Colleen. We have to help him.”
We were both upset and frightened and very, very tired. We were to be separated in a few minutes. One of us was to go with Kathleen to Vatican City. The other had to go to Ireland, to be with Colleen. One of us might be in terrible danger. Maybe both of us.
And this wasn’t just about everyday, run-of-the-mill pain and suffering — it was about eternal pain and suffering.
Without being aware, I’d crumbled my papassino to powder. Justin pushed his plate aside and dropped some coins onto the table. We stood and awkwardly negotiated our way out of the café and onto the street.
I stopped just beyond the doorway and reached out for him. I felt someone brush past me on the narrow sidewalk, muttering “Scusi,” but I didn’t look up. This was so strange and weird and it kept getting worse, more and more intense, more and more incomprehensible.
I pressed my face into Justin’s sweater and felt his arms come around me. Tears flowed down my cheeks. I couldn’t stop them. I’d changed so much recently that I hardly knew myself. Once I’d finally allowed myself to feel, I couldn’t contain my emotions. Feelings were rushing through me in such great, dizzying waves. I wondered if I had any control over myself.
“I love you,” I sobbed into Justin’s chest. “Why couldn’t I have told you such a simple thing?”
“Maybe because it isn’t so simple,” he answered.
He held me tightly, resting his cheek on the top of my head, swaying with me gently while Italian pedestrians parted around us. He was so strong, so good. How had I ever given him up? What was going to happen to us now?
“I’ll be back,” he said. “I promise.”
Two dark blue sedans arrived at the curb outside the dismal building where we’d spent the past twenty-four hours. Kathleen and Rosetti finally appeared. I stared at her face. She still looked pale and stricken. She would go into labor soon.
Then what?
Last night she’d fallen asleep so quickly and slept so soundly that we’d never had a chance to talk. Then this morning, it almost seemed that Rosetti was keeping Kathleen away from me.
It was time to go, time for Justin and me to part.
I would go with Kathleen.
And Justin would go to Colleen.
We hugged one final time and I was struck with the awful thought that I would never see Justin O’Carroll again.
Chapter 87
AFTER JUSTIN LEFT, Father Rosetti and I stood in an anxious knot on the sidewalk. The priest took both my hands in his and the touch was surprisingly gentle. He seemed almost human.
He whispered, “Anne, what I’m about to ask will horrify you, repulse you. It will go against everything you stand for. But I have to get your promise.”
My mouth was dry as I listened. I prayed for strength. I had no idea where he was going with this, but I knew that I wouldn’t like it one bit.
Rosetti continued, “I hope that I’ll soon know the final truth about the two young virgins. The message of Fatima has provided a trail to be followed. The Bible has provided clues in the apocalyptic writings.”
Rosetti’s eyes scrunched up as if he’d suddenly received a blow. “But, Anne, I’m not certain. Ultimately, this will be a matter of faith. It will not be simple. Nothing ever is.”
Rosetti’s voice intensified. “You must watch for a clear sign. A sign at the moment of the birth was promised. We will know which child is the Beast and which is the Savior. You will know.”
I felt as if I were watching myself in a dream; everything seemed so unreal.
“I hear what you’re saying, Father. But then what do I do?”
He was resolute, unwavering. “Anne, the Beast must be killed. The child of the Devil must be destroyed. And the child of God must be protected at any cost to us. Any cost.”
Reading my shock, Rosetti made the sign of the cross. “You will know what to do when the time comes,” he whispered. “That’s why you’re here.”
I had faith; but trusting in God was one thing, killing a newborn infant was another. Could I do it? I didn’t think I could ever kill again.
“I d-don’t know, Father,” I stammered.
“I believe in you, Anne,” Rosetti said. “You are a good person. You are the strongest of all of us. You can defeat the Beast.”
Chapter 88
WAS THAT WHY I was going with Kathleen? Because I was supposedly a strong person? And why were both Justin and Rosetti going to Ireland? Why was Colleen suddenly getting the most attention?
I entered the cool interior of the waiting car. Kathleen reached for me and I hugged her. At the same time I felt sick at heart. Would I have to betray her and her child? Would I have to do much worse than that?
The car had been sent by the Vatican. It was a specially made Fiat with an official license plate. Two Swiss Guards sat in the car. One man drove while one rode shotgun. It made me wonder about Rosetti and Kathleen’s escapades the past few days, but as I had always known, the Church works in strange and mysterious ways.
As we pulled away from the curb, I was startled by a swarm of uniformed police on motorcycles. They appeared suddenly and flanked our car. In minutes, I understood why the extra security was needed. Kathleen’s whereabouts had apparently gotten out.
The sidewalks were a solid mass of pushing, screaming people — all trying to get a look at the young American virgin. Thousands of the faithful, but also curiosity seekers, were packed on both sides of the narrow roadways. They were hanging off the heavy stone overpasses.
Kathleen gripped my arm so tightly she nearly cut off the circulation. I could hardly breathe as we approached the gates of the Vatican.
“My God, Kathleen,” I whispered. “This is all for you.”
“No, Anne,” she said. “It’s not for me at all. None of it is. It’s for him. It’s for the child inside me.”
We cast glances at the great Vatican towers, the stucco palaces, and the gold crosses blazing everywhere against the vast blue skies. Banked deep in front of the small shops and trattorias on the Via Merulana, a two-mile-long column of worshipers greeted the virgin.
Our driver spoke in broken English. “They saying two hundred thousand people, and it just starting.”
Flowers bombarded the car as we drove past the huge crowd. Joyful cries washed over us in an undulating wave of emotion.
The part of me that was still a good Christian understood completely. These people wanted desperately to believe in something. The majestic, awe-inspiring scene spread before us was profoundly moving. The magnitude of the crowd, the devotion and the honest love in the eyes of the people were humbling. It gave me chills to think what effect a miracle would have in this supposedly rational but oddly susceptible age. I was tingling all over and felt light-headed.
I was entering the Vatican for the first time in my life, sitting with a young girl who supposedly would give birth to the Messiah.
Gone was my doubt, all of it.
I believed once again, and it was the best feeling I could imagine.
Chapter 89
I FELT TRANSFORMED as we looked out at the sea of faces. It was a strange, prickling feeling spreading through my body. I looked over at Kathleen.
“You wanted to talk, Kathy,” I said.
“I do, Anne. I remembered something when I was with Father Rosetti these past few days. Wait until we’re in the hospital, and settled in. I’ll tell you then. There’s still time.”
“Is there?” I asked. “Are you sure?”
“Yes, I am. There’s time.” Her eyes turned back to the street. “My God, look at all of these people.”
Kathleen undoubtedly had no idea why she’d been chosen for this, but she did know one thing: She knew her purpose. She knew why she’d been put on Earth. I was as moved as she was. Tears filled my eyes.
When the car came to a stop outside the hospital where she would deliver, I saw a colorful wall of the Swiss Guard awaiting our arrival. They quickly drew a protective circle around the car. They held back the mob of people waving handkerchiefs and jumping and bobbing to get a glimpse of Kathleen.
Rows of priests in white surplices and flowing black cassocks knelt and crossed themselves. They seemed swept up in ecstasy. I felt their love as a physical force, and it was overwhelming.
I got out of the car and gave Kathleen a hand. As she climbed out and touched her feet to the ground, a loud, thunderous roar swept up the avenue.
Tears suddenly slipped down Kathleen’s cheeks. I didn’t cry, but I was close. I remembered Rosetti’s words: You are the strongest of all of us. Why did I need to be strong?
My eyes drifted over the surging, brightly colored mass. I saw a crack in the wall of guards and police. A quick movement.
Then I saw him! My heart fell.
It was the watcher.
Over the din, I shouted as loud as I could, “Over there! Stop him!”
I was pointing to a man in a khaki-colored raincoat, slick black hair, wire-rimmed glasses. He was the man from the French countryside — the one who had disappeared before my eyes. The Devil? One of the fallen angels? An assassin?
He was pushing through the opening, moving swiftly toward Kathleen. Something in his hand sparkled in the sunlight.
“Gun!” I shouted. “Gun!” I wasn’t the only one who saw it.
My heart jumped. I didn’t have my gun — it was still packed away. The man was bent low. Coming even faster now. Then he was running toward us with his right arm extended.
“He has a gun!” I screamed again.
Then I hurled myself between the onrushing man and Kathleen. I didn’t even give it a thought.
Time elongated. My neck twisted sharply to the right. My chest bucked as it received a terrific jolting blow.
I felt the crush of falling soldiers and police. It was as if I had been sucked into a deep, dark hole.
There was a bright, white, loud explosion at the center of the thick wall of people. Kathleen screamed high and long. I screamed.
The pile of frightened policemen thrashed wildly, their batons rising and falling.
I could hear Kathleen, but I couldn’t see her. “Anne,” she wailed. “Anne!”
I was lying on the ground. I could see the man in the raincoat was bleeding from head and neck wounds. As he was dragged toward a police van, he pinned me with his eyes. He spoke in English, his mouth spewing hate.
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