Sanctuary of Sins

by Roger Kazanowski

  On one knee, Charlotte kissed the papal ring. “I will, your Holiness.” With tears running down her cheeks, she turned and left, knowing she would never see Peter Paul again.

  ✽✽✽

  Upon her return to Detroit, Cardinal Kotlinski was greeted by a swarm of parishioners and diocese staff. Smiles and congratulations smattered with many hugs lasted for hours at The Sacred Heart of Mary’s reception building located across from the church. Charlotte was happy to be back, but she was looking forward to a quiet night at home. The past few days had left her drained.

  At home, she reached back to pull the clip from her hair. Her curls fell onto her shoulders, and she shook them loose with her fingers. As she sunk into the sofa, alone at last, she felt oddly unsatisfied. Some peace and quiet was what she’d been looking forward to for days. So why did the silence feel so empty?

  CHAPTER six

  Anne had identified two bishops she considered suspicious and reported her findings to Bishop Sanchez. Her initial goal was to acquire any information possible about their plans. She knew her method of choice, individual interrogation, wouldn’t be accepted by U.S. politicians, but she wasn’t hired to question targets without acquiring information.

  The top priority right now was saving the two missing priests. Anne’s plan for the next couple of days was to bug the two suspicious bishops’ apartments and acquire incriminating evidence. Once she had something, her own method of interrogation would begin. The two bishops were both in their early 40s and sponsored by Cardinal Sibico. They reported directly to him, each with obscure job titles. Sibico seemed to have inspirations to be seriously considered for the papal office once Peter Paul passed away. He continuously worked his fellow cardinals, promoting himself and making political promises to each one. His negative feelings about female priests were well known. If Cardinal Sibico was in fact involved, Anne had to be particularly careful about how she handled things going forward.

  Tonight, she was enjoying dinner at the Antica Stabia Pizzeria, known for their thin, fire grilled pizzas. As she enjoyed a glass of Tierre Di Capitani Rosso 2012 at the rear of the restaurant, a handsome man strolled in wearing jeans and an open shirt. His jet-black hair was slicked back in the Italian style; his bright green eyes scanning the area around him. He took a seat two tables away, crossed his legs casually and picked up a menu. Anne tried to focus on her reading, but she found herself uncharacteristically distracted—perhaps her work could wait for a few hours.

  As she peered over at him, he caught her eye and smiled. Anne’s pulse quickened as the man stood and strode toward her.

  “Good evening, my name’s Anthony. Are you expecting anyone to join you?”

  “No, I’m not,” she managed, slightly shocked. She was not used to these things. Work had always taken precedence.

  The man chuckled softly. His bright smile was dazzling. “Then may I join you for dinner?”

  “I’d like that,” she said, reaching forth a hand. “I’m Anne.”

  Anthony took a seat next to her. His hair flowed down to his neck, one blade dangling like a dark scimitar over his chiseled face, eyes pearlescent in the candlelight.

  “What brings you to Rome, Anne? You don’t look particularly Roman,” Anthony grinned.

  “Actually, I’m a consultant for the Vatican.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “No kidding?”

  “No kidding. And what do you do?”

  “I’m an investment banker for Intesa Sanpaolo Bank. Boring stuff.”

  “Oh? Where is that?” Anne asked.

  “There are thousands of locations—I’m the executive vice president for mergers and acquisitions in Turin, Rome, and Florence.”

  “Wow, that’s impressive!”

  “Not nearly as impressive as you, Ms. consultant for the Vatican,” he laughed.

  As dinner arrived and they finished their first bottle of wine, the chemistry between them grew undeniable. Anne found herself stealing glances of Anthony taking sips of wine; at the way he carefully dabbed his lips after each sip, stained violet.

  “I’d love to see you again,” Anne said toward the end of the dinner, her head fuzzy from the wine. “I’d really love to. But I just have so much work to do while I’m here.”

  Anthony reached across the table and touched Anne’s hand, making her fingers tingle. His emerald eyes held hers. “Let me call you tomorrow. I’m sure we can agree on another night.”

  “Okay,” she stammered without even thinking. Of course we can.

  As Anne hailed a cab, Anthony wrapped his arms around her waist. She stumbled, expecting perhaps a peck on the cheek. Instead he kissed her passionately, igniting an intensity that burned hot between them. Anne forgot about her work, forgot about malicious bishops and colluding cardinals. There was only this handsome stranger and his buttery lips.

  Rome was beginning to feel pretty good to Anne.

  CHAPTER seven

  John and Maria made their way to Dr. Jim Brindt’s office for a consultation and CAT scan. Jim was an old friend of the family’s, and John trusted him more than any other doctor. He was eager for confirmation that Maria was fine—perhaps she’d need some painkillers for her pesky headaches, but she would still be Maria, his bold, hardworking, loving wife.

  As Maria was taken down the hall for the scan, Jim spoke to John in a low voice.

  “John, by what you’ve explained, I’m concerned Maria could have a serious problem. I’m hoping I’m wrong, and if you weren’t such a good friend I’d be holding off with my thoughts. But just be prepared for a problem in the brain itself. Okay?”

  John’s heart felt like an anvil had suddenly fallen on it. His eyes instantly welled with tears. “You don’t mean a tumor?”

  Jim placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Let’s just see what the tests tell us.”

  John sat in an itchy green chair while he waited for Maria. What would he do if she had a brain tumor? He didn’t have the strength to carry her through something like that, and he certainly didn’t have the strength to care for himself and his children alone. He’d been through that already. Maria… she’d saved him. They needed her.

  After the tests concluded, Jim suggested the couple go out and get a bite to eat while the radiologist diagnosed the results. As they sat down at a quaint diner, Maria was especially quiet. John reached across the table to hold his wife’s hand.

  “Let’s just enjoy our lunch,” he said.

  “Honey,” Maria said suddenly, her eyes full of fear, “I’ve been doing my own homework about the type of headaches I’ve been having, and my other problems like vomiting and memory loss. This could be really serious. I mean, we have to be realistic, you know? It’s good to be prepared for the very worst, as with all things, and I—”

  John lifted her hand and kissed it. “Maria.” He leveled his eyes on her. If she kept talking, he might start to cry. “Let’s enjoy our lunch, love.”

  The hour away from Jim’s office felt like an agonizing eternity, their lunch spent mostly in silence. Finally, it was time to head back and hear the diagnosis.

  As they entered, Jim was waiting with a calm smile. “Well Maria, the results have come back.” His smile faded slightly. “I have no other way of saying this. You have a tumor located behind your right ear. It’s about the size of a walnut. We don’t know if it’s malignant, but the good news is the vast majority of these tumors aren’t.”

  Tears welled in both Maria’s and John’s eyes. John wrapped an arm around her shoulder and tried to steel himself. Be strong, be strong, be strong, he told himself. It was time to become something for his family he’d never really had to be.

  “I recommend the Mayo Clinic. I can make an appointment for later this week if you’d like to move ahead.”

  “Move ahead?” John asked.

  “Well, surgery is really the next step.”

  “Is… is this something that should be operated on immediately,” Maria began tentatively, “or do we have some
time to think?”

  “I recommend you go home and talk about this, certainly. But due to the severe headaches and loss of memory, I highly recommend we set up an appointment ASAP.”

  ✽✽✽

  The ride home was painfully quiet. John stared at the road, disoriented. Most weren’t, but what if it was malignant? How would they tell their daughters?

  Their first call was to Maria’s parents. As they explained what Dr. Brindt had said, an astonished silence filled the line.

  “Honey,” Tony said at last, “we have the best contacts at both Mayo and the Cleveland Clinics. I’ll make a few calls and see who they recommend.”

  “Oh, this is no problem,” Maria’s mother said, her voice full of phony optimism. “I’m sure it’s nothing so serious!”

  “What are you talking about?” This voice wasn’t from the telephone. Maria and John turned. Kayla stood peering up at her tearful parents.

  John quickly wiped his eyes and glanced at Maria, sniffling. “Not much.”

  Maria looked at him in silent agreement. “Nothing at all,” she said.

  CHAPTER eight

  Anne entered her agreement with the Church thinking she’d be monitoring issues within the Vatican itself, but quickly found herself in a quagmire of serious problems that seemed to be developing outside of Paris.

  Her contact instructed her that if things continued the way they were going, she was to take a leave of absence and handle the Paris issues. Things had continued, and now it was time to use her knowledge and skills to find the priests, if they were even still alive, and eliminate their captors. Word was sure to spread soon about their disappearance—Anne hoped to find them before that could happen.

  The two priests went missing in the village of Morigny, south of Central Paris. The city of 4,400 was home to the Notre-Dame-du-Fort, a cathedral built in the 12th century. Both had attended a conference there, along with 23 other female priests. They were last seen having dinner together at a small outdoor cafe. At the moment, this was all the information Anne had to work with.

  It was time to go to Paris.

  Because of the type of gear she was packing, she was escorted to a small nearby airport where a plane was waiting for her for a private one a.m. flight. No one, including any French law enforcement, was going to be made aware of her entrance into the country. The Church didn’t want to cause any more controversy. She was to work as quietly as possible.

  While on her flight, Anne made a secure call to her former boss Brett Paterson at the International Terrorism Agency. As the ITA had no headquarters, Brett’s house could be considered the central office, facing the Gulf of Mexico. If only his neighbors knew who he was and what he really did for a living. Most thought he was an author of children’s books.

  “I hope you and your team haven’t had to find yourselves too active over the past year,” Anne said, smiling.

  Brett laughed on the other end of the line. “Well Ms. Lawrence, it’s nice to hear from you. I wish I could say that’s the case, but as you know, bad guys don’t sleep. Of course, sometimes they require permanent resting places. Could use one of my best back with us, but I know we can’t afford you now. How’s the Vatican?”

  He can’t afford me now? Anne couldn’t help but smile—indeed, her new position at the Vatican was going to be very good for her career. “Actually, that’s why I’m calling,” she said. “You’re aware of the two Catholic priests that were last seen in Morigny, France? That’s my assignment, but I don’t have much to go on. I was asked not to contact any French authorities for fear of leaks. Can you offer any information through your sources?”

  “Hm. Give me a few hours and I’ll see what I can dig up. Should have a few tidbits for you soon enough.”

  “Thanks boss, you’re the best. Now go enjoy some wine and a sunset with your friends.”

  Brett laughed. “Try and stop me.”

  ✽✽✽

  Anne checked into a small bed and breakfast in Morigny. She enjoyed small cities like this, with their winding cobblestone streets, climbing grapevines and suntanned natives strolling about the markets. But for now, Anne reminded herself, this was work. She had to meet with some local priests to discuss the missing women and their possible kidnappers. She would be attending a mass at which all 25 female priests of the area would be present.

  As Anne peered out at the service during morning mass, she spotted some dark characters in the pews. Muscle-bound men in black coats and sunglasses didn’t look like what Anne considered traditional Roman Catholics—they didn’t sing the hymns or recite the prayers. As in all Catholic churches in Europe, there were external and internal cameras in place to record all activities. Anne also knew that the French DGSI (General Directorate for Internal Security), specializing in counterterrorism and espionage, had been there two days prior asking for any surveillance tapes.

  After the worshippers had filed out of the building following the conclusion of mass, four of the female priests met with Anne in the back of the building. Because the priests were aware of Anne’s position, they provided her with photos of three suspicious men. The photos were clear enough to identify the suspects were of Middle Eastern descent.

  “Hm.” Anne peered at the photos. “Do you know anything about these guys?”

  One priest, a woman with olive skin and thick black eyelashes, raised a hand nervously. “They were speaking Turkish.”

  Anne looked up. “Turkish? How do you know?”

  The woman glanced at her peers, who nodded encouragingly. “I’m familiar with a number of languages. I overheard them talking in Turkish about a train leaving that afternoon to Brussels.”

  “When was this?” Anne asked quickly, scrambling in her purse for a pen.

  “The same day the two priests disappeared.”

  Because of the large Turkish population in Brussels, this made sense. Not only could the men easily disappear, but the two priests could be well hidden—that is, if they weren’t already dead.

  “Thank you… fathers,” Anne said awkwardly to the women, offering a polite nod as she hurried toward the door. She knew the European counterintelligence agencies would all be involved in the case, but that could put the priests’ lives at a greater risk. Her time was precious; she had to find her way to Brussels immediately.

  She sent copies of the photos to Brett back in the States. If the men could be identified, Brett’s contacts would be the ones to do it. While heading to the train station for her short ride to Brussels, she received a call from the Vatican. It was her contact, and they sounded disturbed.

  “Ms. Lawrence, we have another problem that arose this afternoon. The two bishops you’ve been investigating were found murdered just outside of town by the Roman police. Their hands were tied and throats slashed. We were informed that whoever the assassins were, they purposely left the bodies out in the open to be found.”

  Anne had experienced grisly crimes; she was more concerned with how this affected the case of the missing priests. “The murderers were obviously professionals and probably connected to the men that have our two priests here in France. They’re leaving a message for us to stay away, or more will die. Please don’t follow up with the police. Stay low. I’ll make the appropriate calls.”

  “What are you saying?”

  Anne sighed. She didn’t have time for this. “I’m saying the bishops were set up from the beginning. Decoys. There’s someone outside of the Church or at a much higher level who has bigger plans. The other bishops involved are at great risk.”

  There was a long pause. “I see.”

  “Sorry, I have to go now.” Anne hung up hastily and boarded her train to Brussels.

  Who would have the most interest in creating a front with the deaths of those bishops and the search for the missing priests? She’d heard rumors about a cardinal planted by outside influences who would promote his votes for the papal office. Apparently other religions wanted to plant their own man and give him the ability to manip
ulate future decision-making policies of Catholicism. But was that really the case?

  Anne had to track down the kidnappers in Brussels. She only hoped the two missing priests were still alive.

  CHAPTER nine

  John’s one-man exhibit in London would have to take place without him. An appointment was made for Maria at the Mayo Clinic the next week. Though he knew the girls would be suspicious as to why they were going to Minnesota, they weren’t going to identify the problem until it was time for surgery. They were just kids. He couldn’t bear the thought of their puzzled faces as he told them their mom was terribly sick.