They breezed through the airport at Palermo and took off within minutes. The flight back to Venice was uneventful, and a police boat was waiting to take them to the hospital. When they arrived at the bustling emergency room, security wheeled Scortini’s gurney through the entrance where they were met by a harried hospital administrator with paperwork ready to be completed and signed.
A hospital orderly with a peevish expression arrived and consulted his clipboard. “This is Scortini…he’s going to imaging?”
Another man appeared, looking like he’d pulled an all-night shift and could use a nap. The badge on his smock read “X-Ray Technician.” He stood beside the first orderly and asked, “This the patient for X-ray?”
The administrator spoke up, “Sì, Scortini. Get full head imaging.” She made a shooing motion. “This is a Code Orange priority. Get him out of Patient Intake.”
Lampani moved next to the orderly, who pursed his lips when he saw the patient’s restraints. He turned his peevish expression on Lampani. “You with him?” He pointed at Scortini.
“Sì. He’s in my custody.”
“Your custody.” It wasn’t phrased as a question, and the man sucked his teeth.
“I’m Detective Lampani.”
The orderly tapped his clipboard with his pen. “We’ve got him down for X-rays, and he can’t be chained up during the radiation.”
Lampani frowned and shook his head. “You can’t take his shackles off.”
“I don’t want to remove them, but I have to.” The technician looked dismayed and spoke up. “The metal will interfere with the radiation. You want a picture of his…” He looked down and consulted his chart. “Head?”
“Yeah, but he’s extremely dangerous and an escape risk.”
“Doesn’t look dangerous,” the orderly muttered. “Looks completely out of it.”
The technician said, “He’ll be secured during the procedure, it just can’t be with these handcuffs. We’ll tie him down with leather straps, and then the lead apron that goes around his body can be secured under the table. He won’t be able to move a hand, much less go anywhere.”
That sounded reasonable to Lampani. The technician motioned for him to come along with them, and then whispered to the orderly, “You stay with us. If a man is shackled for any reason, they don’t pay me enough to be alone with him in an X-ray room.”
Despite the tech being tired, the pair were brisk and efficient. In the radiation-proof room, Salvio’s restraints were removed. He was transferred to the motorized table, tied with leather straps, and further restricted by the heavy lead apron. Finally, they placed a plastic collar around Salvio’s neck and slipped a black plate of film under his head. Salvio looked around him, saying nothing. The technician joined the orderly behind a little shield next to the X-ray machine and asked Lampani to step out of the room. “It should take about eight minutes to complete the images.”
Luigi moved into the hall and the door closed behind him with a click. After ten minutes, he knocked on the door, but there was no response. He tried the handle, but it was locked, so he called for them to open up. When there was no response, he yelled down the hall for someone to open the door. His fury was beginning to boil over when another X-ray technician wheeled a young boy over to the room, whipped out a key, and opened the door. Luigi pulled the man aside, but he knew what he would see before he got his head in the room.
Scortini and the two men were gone. The restraints and lead apron were lying on the floor. Son of a bitch! Luigi whirled on the technician. “Police! Gimme your keys!”
“I only have one key, it’s to this door.” He dangled the key and pointed at the open door.
Luigi called for backup on his cell as he yelled to anyone within earshot, “Seal this area! We have a police emergency!” He was tempted to pull the fire alarm but knew causing a mass evacuation of a hospital was not an option. He ran into the X-ray room and headed for the door on the far wall. It was locked. Salvio couldn’t have gotten far, and when he caught him, Luigi wasn’t going to fall for the semi-conscious pretending. He was going to be ruthless. Two hospital security guards ran into the room.
“Seal the hospital! Scortini’s escaping. Go! Go! He’s got a ten minute head start! We don’t have a second to lose!” He swiveled on the technician who was standing protectively shielding his patient. “Where does this backdoor lead?”
“It’s the service hall that goes down past laundry, staff locker rooms, and I think medical waste pick up.”
Luigi yelled to no one in particular, “Who can get me keys to this door?”
CHAPTER
17
Salvio had been lying flat on his back, strapped to a table, when coffee-scented lips were suddenly next to his ear whispering, “Holy Son of Scortini, Son of Sinope, your church has sent us to free you. Today you’re not alone. We’re going to help you wipe out the Veronas and Peter’s bastard church.”
Salvio felt a surge of excitement so complete it snatched the breath from his lungs and his stomach did a weightless flip. Finally! Someone recognizes my holy nature! I have a church! Thank you, God!
Coffee Breath and another man helped him into a traditional Muslim kaftan that covered his filthy suit completely before guiding him into a service corridor. They didn’t pass a single person as they left the hospital. When fresh wind hit him in the face, he savored the feeling of freedom.
The three walked to a boat waiting at the pier, climbed aboard, and drove out into canal traffic without pausing. His relief at miraculously having disciples, and being free on the canals of Venice, was prodigious. It was almost too much for him as a deep shiver shook him to his bones. He’d always known God was testing him, but his faith had never faltered. Now, his time had come! Despite the effects of last night’s veleno shot, he could feel his mind and body throttling up for business.
The man who had taken a seat next to him said, “Padrone, I’m Benjamin. I’ve been an Alithinían since birth. It’s the honor of a lifetime to meet you.” He indicated the driver. “And that’s Rajim, one of your truest followers. You’ve been so illusive, you haven’t been in Venice much over the years, and since your parent’s funerals we haven’t been able to get near you. You didn’t respond to any of our signals.”
Salvio had no idea what Benjamin was referring to, so he said, “Where are we going?”
“To our safe house. We’ve been worshiping there and waiting for a signal from the House of Scortini since your grandfather’s sacrifice.”
My grandfather’s what? “Sacrifice?”
“Sì. When Salvadore cut himself off from us and signed the Pope’s treaty. By pretending fealty to Rome, he saved the lives of our faithful here in Venice. The Vatican’s inquisition was closing in on us until Salvadore convinced them we didn’t exist.”
Salvio nodded and looked out over his city as they moved up the Grand Canal. Sunlight poured through thick clouds overhead, flashing across familiar buildings like a strobe light. He sat back to think as their getaway boat kept pace with traffic on the crowded waterway. He wanted to go home, beat his wife to a pulp, and settle into his own office to find out what was going on at Verdu Mer, but the police would be there soon.
The boat approached a nondescript house near sleepy Parco Savorgnan where they eased into a water garage. Benjamin helped Salvio out of the boat, up the garage’s cement steps, and into the house. He said, “Padrone, inside is Mateo. He’s the one who orchestrated the effort to get you back.”
“Is he a priest?” Salvio asked.
Benjamin looked alarmed and then he broke into a big smile. “Ah, you’re testing me. No, we’ve stayed true to Jesus. We have no priests.”
Salvio entered a tidy kitchen. As he made his way on wobbly legs to one of the chairs at a table, a young man fell to his knees. “Padrone.”
“You’re Mateo?”
“Sì, Padrone.” He kept his clean-shaven head bowed, and the smooth skin reflected light from a lamp suspended above the squar
e wooden table. Salvio liked the look of Mateo’s head, scrubbed to a soft sheen, and wondered if perhaps it was a look he should adopt. Mateo was dressed in crisp black all the way down to the high gloss of his black shoes. Keeping his eyes on the floor at Salvio’s feet, he said. “Holiest Padrone, son of Scortini, son of Sinope, son of Paul, I am honored to meet you.”
Salvio experienced a fresh flood of relief. Sweet validation! I have no idea what some of that meant, but with each revelation, I swear I can feel my brain fog lifting.
Mateo said, “We are at your service, ready to topple the Catholic Church, and liberate our oppressed world.” Mateo was looking at Salvio’s ring so he flipped his hand over and made a motion for him to take a seat.
“I’ve been without proper food for too long. Bring me a meal. I keep to a strict diet of water, raw middle-eastern grains, legumes, small oily fish, and dried dates. No salt or seasoning of any kind.”
Mateo said, “Carlos, we have sardines and some lentils.”
Another man dressed all in black got to work in the kitchen as Mateo sat down at the table and reached for a pitcher. “Is tap water acceptable?”
“Sì. Tell me what you know of my ancestors and our work.”
“You are the last descendant of the Apostle Paul. His grandson, Marcion of Sinope gathered up all of Paul’s letters, petitioned Pope Pius to stop distorting Jesus’ teachings, and the Catholics killed him for his efforts. Your bloodline survived because Marcion put his pregnant wife, Inez, onto a boat and sent her to Italy.”
Salvio took a drink of water. He was a descendant of the apostle Paul.
Mateo continued. “In Italy, Inez changed her name to Scortini… and since then, we have worshiped in secret while the Catholics have hunted members of our Alithinían Church. When Rome came dangerously close to uncovering our Venetian members, your grandfather and father convinced the Vatican that they were mistaken, that no Alithinían sect existed in the Venetian islands, that we were all Catholics. To be convincing, the Scortinis sacrificed themselves by signing an oath of fealty and worshipping in the Catholic Church, but the Inquisition is still hunting us around the world.”
I knew it! Verona had an unholy alliance with the Pope, but it’s worse than he thought, the two of them were trying to wipe out the Scortinis and their disciples. The validation almost made him swoon.
Mateo continued, “We’ve been left worshipping in a temple dug under this safe house instead of the Scortini temple in your palazzo where we belong.”
“Scortini temple.” He clenched his teeth. My family kept me in the dark when I should have been being worshiped? I’ve been robbed of my birthright and treated like a nobody, while the Veronas were fawned over and sucked up to? He took another sip of water. “You worship under this house?”
“Sì, we had to make our own temple.” Mateo pointed to the kitchen floor. “We hope you’ll have the strength to worship with us tonight. Nejla, our orator, will be with us, leading us through our traditions. She’s the best I’ve ever heard. She was trained by Salvadore’s orator…you know, since we don’t dare write anything down.”
“How did you manage to dredge a temple?”
“It’s crude compared to what I know of your temple, but some of us are engineers and builders.”
Food was set before him, and he bowed his head. Father, bless this food and grant me the strength to wipe out my enemies. Amen. He ate for a while before saying, “I’ll need to see how you’ve been worshipping since my family has been…absent. How many members of our Alithinían Church remain now?”
“Worldwide? We’ve come back from near extinction…perhaps a million. Here in Venice, we’ve positioned ourselves in tactical occupations, ready to strike when the House of Scortini gave us a sign. We’ve got members in medicine, air traffic, key people ready for your orders—my fiancée Lydia is a police officer and she’s keeping us one step ahead of the law. Your bloodline must be preserved, so we’ve arranged for a young virgin. Her parents brought her here an hour ago to serve as the Scortini Madonna.”
“Good, I have no time to waste. I have specific requirements for preparing the girl’s body. Send someone out for rubbing alcohol, you’ll need quite a bit of it, and have someone scrub every part of her in water that is fifty-two degrees Celsius.”
Mateo looked alarmed. “But it could scald…” He fell silent when he saw Salvio’s look of displeasure.
“Mateo, if you ever interrupt me again you won’t live to apologize.” He delivered the rest of his specifications for female body preparation to the top of Mateo’s bowed head. “Now look at me.” Mateo looked up and the skin around his eyes was tight with embarrassment. “Make it happen, and I’ll spill my seed into that womb as soon as it’s ready.”
Mateo called for Benjamin, who appeared in the door, now wearing black clothes identical to the other disciples. The three hurried from the room, leaving Salvio alone to finish his meal while sorting through what he’d just learned. It sounded like heresy to Salvio, yet crushing the Catholic Church and taking over leadership of a religion sounded familiar—like hearing words to a song he’d always hummed.
When Mateo returned he said, “Even though you’d rebuffed our attempts to reach you, we knew the time had come to rise up when you started to knock the Verona crutch out from under the Pope by yourself. You’re so brave, and we’re ready to help you wipe Catholicism into the history books.”
Salvio felt energy sweeping up and down his arms and swirling in his chest. He was positively enraptured, but fought to remain outwardly cool. “Show me to my bathroom. I need castile soap and a stiff brush to scrub the filth off my body. Call me when the girl’s preparations are complete.”
Raphielli had put in an appearance at the courthouse to sign some papers for Ottavia and Leona whose hearings would last for several more hours, and as she left the building alone, a thunderstorm blew in. Instead of walking back to the shelter, Raphielli scrambled aboard a taxi acqueo and inside the warm cabin. She’d kept busy all morning, but the whole time she’d been thinking about Salvio. Was he behind bars yet? Or was he standing in front of a judge entering a plea? She checked her phone for the umpteenth time and realized she was being compulsive. Of course, Detective Lampani had more important things to do than call her with updates, but waiting was making her jumpy. She put the phone away and looked out the window. The most exclusive shops and hotels were glistening in the rain, so she sat back to admire them while her boat bobbed in the downpour.
Her phone trilled and she snatched it back out of her purse. It was Lampani.
“Detective?”
“Raphielli?” He sounded upset.
“Sì, what’s happened?”
“Salvio’s escaped! He’s loose in Venice!”
“What? No! Oh no-no-no-no-no.” Raphielli shrank against the side of the boat’s upholstered bench.
“Where are you?” The detective sounded like he was running.
“I’m in a taxi acqueo in traffic on the grand canal.”
“I’m sending units to your palazzo to try to catch him. Don’t go home! Find someplace to hide! Somewhere he’d never expect you to go.”
Raphielli called to the driver, “Aspetta! Stop here!” Into the phone, she said, “I’m checking into the Luna Hotel Baglioni.”
She hung up, handed too many euros to the driver, and scrambled out of the boat, ducking her head on the crazy chance that Salvio was nearby stalking her. What the hell have I done? How could I have been so stupid? I’ve completely underestimated him!
She rushed past the doormen while trying to hold herself together and into a sedate lobby that smelled like really expensive baby powder. Never having stayed at a hotel in her life, Salvio wouldn’t look for her in one. She approached the woman at the front desk who offered a reassuring smile.
“Welcome to La Baglioni. How may I help you?”
“I’d like a room.”
“Certamente.” She pecked at a few keys and then spun her computer screen aro
und to reveal a luxury room with a price that made Raphielli do a double take at the comma’s placement within the long number. “We have one room available.”
“I’ll take it.”
She handed over her debit card. During the check-in process, her heart was galloping against her rib cage, and she began shaking so hard that she dropped the pen while trying to sign the room agreement. In the elevator ride up to her floor, she sent a text to Alphonso telling him of Salvio’s escape, the police at her house, and asking him to come to the hotel.
When she was locked safely in her suite, she steadied herself as her senses were assaulted by modern opulence on all sides. From the lighting, to the warm gleam reflecting from every polished surface, to wood grain that appeared to be 3D, a swirl of images appearing on a cunning TV screen, that fresh baby powder scent, and somewhere there was a subtle sound of calming music. She dropped to her knees and prayed with all her might. Please God, let Lampani catch Salvio and bring him to justice before anyone gets hurt!
Next she tried calling the number Giselle had given her, but it went to voicemail where she was told that the voicemail box was full, and the call disconnected. She called the Verona palazzo but was told by the butler that no one could take her call. Desperate, she asked, “Has Detective Lampani alerted your household to Salvio’s escape?”
“Sì, Signora Scortini. The police are here now.”
“Please ask someone from the family to call me.”
“I will do as you ask, signora.”
Raphielli hung up and looked out the window. She watched people innocently weathering the storm on the canals and calles below, bundled up in their warm coats and hats, with no knowledge of the madman in their midst. She felt something in the region of her solar plexus and clapped her hand over it. Please don’t let me be having a heart attack. Focusing on the sensation, it was too low to be her heart and it didn’t feel like heartburn. This actually felt kind of good.
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