The Third Trumpet

by Anthony R. DiVerniero

  A simultaneous gasp from the press corps silenced the room.

  “Mr. President?”

  “Yes, Becky?”

  “Mr. President, how many terrorists were involved?”

  “At least half a million, of which two-thirds were from other parts of the world; the rest were American citizens. This number does not include the ninety thousand plus from the FFB.”

  “How did they enter the country?”

  “Here’s the irony.” Waldron’s tone was bitter. “These murderers entered our country through our Mexican, Canadian, and southern Florida borders. We allowed the intrusion of the enemy into our nation while we high and mighty politicians argued over the rights of illegal immigrants. Guess what, my friends?” POTUS grasped the front of the podium, leaned forward, and sneered. “The terrorists laughed and danced as they waited for their moment.” He stopped suddenly, took a gulp of air. “Our investigation proved that these monsters have lived here for the last twenty years, if not longer. They had the time and the money; all they had to do was wait for the right moment—when Israel attacked Iran. Yes, Rachael?”

  “Since the Mexican wall didn’t work, are you able to share with the American people how we are protected from further intrusion?”

  One of the corner fans squealed to a stop. A technician tried in earnest to repair it as Waldron undid his collar. Arthur removed his arms from the podium. “The northern and southern borders of the country are closed. They are monitored using high-tech satellites with remote-controlled armed drones. We can now prevent any unauthorized interdiction within minutes. I say this to anyone who contemplates crossing into the United States: There will be no questions asked. You enter our nation illegally, you will be apprehended.”

  “Mr. President? What about their rights?”

  He squinted at the reporter with disdain. “What about the rights of our dead, our injured, our people? I refuse to allow our people to become the victims of these murderous acts.”

  Another reporter raised his hand.

  “Yes, Cameron.”

  “Mr. President, India was struck by two of the largest cyclones ever recorded. The newswires are now reporting a magnitude 9.2 earthquake has destroyed Delhi. Do you have any information?”

  Arthur Waldron exhaled a deep sigh as he stared out at the gallery. He noticed a change in the faces of the press corps—a look of despair, a lack of hope. He had seen the look before in the eyes of many Americans. A troubling contentious feeling between spirit and self. Were hope and faith gone from the American character? Sadness gripped the president’s heart. His gaze moved to the ceiling as he composed himself. “The devastation is horrific. I spoke with Prime Minister Rasva. The loss of life is expected to top seventy million people.”

  Another gasp erupted from the crowd. A reporter from the Times of India exited the room and could be heard retching in the hallway. Waldron waved over his chief of staff. “Send the doctor to him.”

  “Mr. President?”

  “Yes, Rene.”

  “The presidential election is five weeks away, and the United Nations has recommended financial sanctions against Israel. Should we leave it up to the voters to decide?”

  “First, let me say I deplore the action of the Israelis and the attempted retaliation by Iran. Over two hundred thousand innocent Iranian lives perished in an instant. World War III beckons, so if the sanctions prevent the deaths of innocent people, then yes, I agree. I don’t believe we should vote on this issue.”

  “In an interview, you were asked . . .” The reporter flipped through his notes. “Had you ever read the writings of Paolo DeLaurentis? You answered no and that you wished you had. Why is it you wish you had?”

  “I wish I had read what he wrote earlier than a month ago. For if I had, we wouldn’t be talking about the enormous loss of life today.” Waldron studied the reporters. “Years ago, Paolo spoke before the UN and said our world had gone to hell and a time would come when events such as what we are witnessing now would happen. A reporter from Time magazine asked if he was a messenger from God. Today I wonder where God has gone. There is a hell—because we are living in it today.”

  “Are you saying there is no hope?”

  Waldron pondered for a moment. “We must have hope; we are the people of America, the home of the brave, a hodgepodge of immigrants who built this great nation. We lost our way as a society, as a country, and as a people. I pray and hope Americans fall on their knees tonight and pray to our God for mercy.”

  A reporter chuckled and then apologized when he saw the fury in the president’s eyes.

  * * *

  That night, the president exited his private residence to read a congressional brief at the Oval Office. Two Secret Service agents followed him. He walked along the west colonnade, the lights casting an eerie shadow across the Rose Garden. The White House had been unscathed in the attack, although Pennsylvania Avenue was pockmarked with blackened buildings. In time, the private sector would repair them.

  One of the agents stepped forward as Waldron approached the entrance to the Oval Office. The other removed a syringe from his pocket and jabbed the president in the neck. Waldron collapsed into the arms of the waiting man.

  A cocktail of drugs entered POTUS’s bloodstream. When he awoke, he’d remember nothing of the assault. His rational thought process would be destroyed.

  Chapter 50

  Giacomo awoke to the first light of dawn. The rays of the Roman sun swept the room. Emily slept with her arm wrapped around his waist. After the president’s news conference, the two had gone to bed. The attack on the United States was over; Waldron was still in office. The issues that remained continued to cause Giacomo consternation: Rio’s coma, the people who wanted him dead, and the status of his father’s writings.

  Emily stirred; she rolled to the other side. The father-to-be smiled for a moment. The anticipation of being a dad excited his heart. He crept out of bed so as not to wake her. Unclasping the band, he removed his wristwatch as he entered the bathroom—six fifteen. The warm, soothing shower relaxed his body. He allowed the water to flow down his neck. He pictured what life would be like with his two sons. A brilliant white flash forced him to close his eyes. He froze, his senses suspended.

  “Dad, Dad . . .” Giacomo heard the voices of two young boys—but they were nowhere to be seen. His mind’s eye saw blue, red, yellow, and green. A scene developed—a dark gray cloud rolled overhead, and the day turned to night. Light rain began to fall—small drops of water made their imprint on a portico. The intensity of the rain amplified to a pelting downpour. Giacomo was unable to move as the water ran down his face, his hair flattened to his head. The wind howled through the trees. The crackle of thunder, then a flash of lightning—the sound almost unbearable. He stood steady as the winds churned around him.

  “Giacomo—Giacomo, are you asleep?”

  He felt his wife’s hands and was confused more than startled by the touch. His eyes opened.

  “I hope you don’t mind me taking a shower with you?”

  He turned and faced her. “Of course not.”

  “Were you sleeping?”

  “I must’ve been because I was dreaming.”

  “When did you come in here?”

  “Six fifteen.”

  “Really? It’s seven thirty!”

  “No . . .”

  After they dressed, he checked his watch. Puzzling. How could I fall asleep in the shower for over an hour? Giacomo attributed the loss of time to the stress of the last several weeks. He sat on one of two blue upholstered chairs in the living room of the Vatican apartment.

  “Giacomo, breakfast is ready.” Emily placed two plates of scrambled eggs on the kitchen table.

  “I’ll be right there.”

  The television was on, the sound muted. News of an earthquake in China scrolled across the bottom of
the screen. A reporter was interviewing the president of the European Union, Eten Trivette.

  Chapter 51

  Two Days Later

  Eten Trivette sat at his desk in a black leather chair and pressed a number on a nine-digit keypad. A monitor rose from the floor, followed by a file cabinet. The New York Stock Exchange had reopened today. Trading had ceased while the United States government stabilized. Trivette had anticipated this day; the businessman expected a substantial profit.

  One hour before the opening bell, and Trivette would once again be a hero. He focused on the impending financial calamity in China. Today the Asian superpower would tumble. Three massive magnitude 9.8 earthquakes would destroy the giant’s economic center; Hong Kong, decimated by a tsunami, would never recover.

  Trivette opened one of the two file drawers. He reached for a red sealed envelope marked SHRED. Placing the envelope on the desk, he said, “I’ll open you later.” He then pulled out a journal and flipped to a tabbed page. As he read the words of the impending Chinese tragedy, he smiled and said, “Thank you, Paolo DeLaurentis . . . you schmuck.” Trivette had the confirmation he needed that China’s reign as an economic power would now falter.

  A sound warbled from the speaker of his computer. The Chinese premier appeared on the screen. Eten laughed at the unassuming man who couldn’t see him. Today, Eten Trivette and the European Union would become a tyrannical dominant world power without a country. He pondered the enormity of his realm. He had entire nations in the palm of his hands. No one would keep him from his destiny.

  Chapter 52

  Giacomo finished reading the New York Times. He shook his head in dismay.

  “Sergio, can you believe the EU bailed out the Chinese?”

  “They’re going to control the world.”

  “Arnaud must be going out of his mind over the news.”

  “I’m sure he is. According to Alessio, he dislikes Trivette,” Sergio said.

  “Really? How would Alessio . . .” Giacomo eyed his partner. “Sorry, I forget who your son works for. Control the world? An interesting thought.” He stared out the window. Two priests roamed the Vatican Garden. Three caretakers trimmed the hedges. “Could Trivette be responsible for this? The assassinations, the helicopter pilots? Or is he capitalizing on the current state of events?” Giacomo leaned against the wall and crossed his arms.

  “Trivette is just taking advantage of the situation. The Frenchman would be stupid to be involved. He’d lose his power base and financial influence.”

  “Who’d be stupid? I hope you’re not referring to me.” Alessio stood in the doorway.

  “No! Trivette,” Giacomo said.

  “The China bailout?”

  “Yeah but more than that.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “We’re making no headway in the investigation into the attempt on Rio’s life and the assassinations, plus being followed . . . the pieces don’t fit. What am I missing?”

  Sergio interrupted the conversation. “Giacomo, you haven’t had the time. We’ve been consumed in defeating those who betrayed your country.”

  “You’re right, Sergio.” Giacomo’s eyes glanced at the ceiling as he said, “We should investigate Trivette.”

  “Not a good idea, Giacomo.”

  “Why, Alessio?”

  The AISI agent pulled out a piece of paper from his inside jacket pocket. He unfolded the handwritten document and placed it on the conference table.

  “Familiar?”

  “My father’s note. Where did you find this?”

  “In a villa, south of Erchie. The helicopter pilots lived there. Our investigation revealed that the men belonged to a fanatical sect that wanted to destroy the wealthy elite.”

  “So, what you’re telling me is that it was a random attack on a one hundred-million-dollar jet?”

  “I’m sorry, Giacomo.”

  “What was all that stuff we heard from the prisoners?” The tone of apprehension in Giacomo’s voice grew noticeable. “Those two killers knew certain aspects—”

  “Giacomo, the Italian investigation is over. The final report will show they were a terrorist cell with ties to those who wished to destroy the wealthy and powerful.”

  “Bull! And you know it. You saw the interrogation.”

  “The video was destroyed in the explosion. I never got the opportunity to review the damn thing.”

  “Sergio, tell him—”

  “Alessio, that’s crazy—”

  “Papa, enough. The case is closed.”

  Giacomo, his eyes ablaze with fury, pushed Alessio against the wall. The eyes of the two men locked on each other. “What the hell is going on?”

  “Nothing.” Alessio grabbed Giacomo’s arm, twisting it away from his body. “I’m doing what I’m told.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Giacomo, don’t you understand? The Italian government doesn’t want to get involved.”

  “Fine. I’ll do it on my own.”

  “At your own peril, General.”

  “Alessio, my son. He’s our friend.”

  “Papa, those are my orders. The defense minister informed me this morning.”

  Giacomo turned away. His father’s words echoed in his mind: “Be careful of who you trust.” Alessio?

  “I’ll make a couple of calls.”

  “Papa, no . . .”

  Giacomo turned. “He’s following orders. We have the ability. No government or person will stop me from finding the answers.”

  “Be careful, my friend.”

  “Yeah, I’ll be careful, Alessio. Don’t worry. Have a good day, my friend.”

  The AISI director took the hint and left the office.

  “I’m sorry, Giacomo.”

  “Don’t be, Sergio.”

  “Maybe I shouldn’t take my vacation. I’ll stay here.”

  “Don’t be foolish. Go enjoy the Italian countryside. I can handle this.”

  Giacomo moved to the window and rested his arms on the sill. His eyes followed Alessio as he rambled toward the exit of Vatican City, his mobile phone cupped to his ear. He stopped in his tracks and made an about-face, placing his handset in his pocket and striding back toward the administrative building. Giacomo watched Alessio shaking hands with someone, the second person hidden by a tree.

  “Giacomo, I’m gonna leave. I’ll make those inquiries, and maybe I can get some answers.”

  “Yeah . . . sure. If I need anything, I’ll call you. See you in a couple of weeks. Enjoy your vacation.”

  Giacomo was more interested in Alessio and who he was speaking with. His friend was no longer in a conversation but an argument. Alessio’s hands were flailing, his face contorted with rage.

  Giacomo’s cell phone rang. The caller ID showed the private number of Arthur Waldron.

  “Mr. President.”

  Chapter 53

  The doctor turned the door handle with deliberate caution. His patient rested, still in a coma. He approached Rio’s bed. Stethoscope in hand, he listened to her heartbeat, then pulled the chair closer. He was surprised her mother was not here. Victoria seldom left her daughter’s side.

  “Hello, Rio. I know you can hear me. What a terrible fate for you to be a prisoner in your body. Soon you will awaken and remember nothing of our conversations. Or, I should say, nothing of me speaking to you. You must be curious as to why.”

  The doctor touched Rio’s face; with his thumb and forefinger, he opened one of her eyelids. “A shame you can’t see me.” With a penlight, he tested her pupils. “Very good, my dear.” He whistled as he exited the room.

  * * *

  The door to the Vatican administrative conference room squeaked as it opened. Giacomo’s back was to the window. His phone call with the president had ended, and he stared at the door as Cardinal A
ngeloni entered.

  “Giacomo.”

  “Hello, Andrew.”

  “You seem distracted.”

  “A little. Come on in. Sit. How are you today?”

  “Fine. Anything I can do?”

  “No. Do you think God is pissed off?”

  “Interesting question. What do you mean?”

  “Isn’t it evident? The natural disasters, the attacks, the deaths . . .”

  “Scripture says that all that you mentioned will happen. Doesn’t mean God is admonishing us.”

  “How can He let this happen?”

  “We’re not puppets, Giacomo. We have the free will to choose. Mother Nature . . . life runs in cycles.”

  “Humph. Well, I guess our choices suck.”

  “We do at times make bad ones.”

  “Yep.”

  “You need a vacation?”

  “The president suggested that as well.”

  “A couple of days in Ottati might do you good.”

  “But there are so many unresolved issues. And Rio is still in a coma.”

  “Your mother is here, and Rio is safe. The issues can’t be resolved if your thoughts are muddled.”

  “You’re right. It might do me well to clear my mind.”

  “Go to Ottati. The world with its problems will still be here.”

  Chapter 54

  The Weekend of the Second Week of October

  Giacomo jogged the curved dirt road from the Church of the Madonna de Cordanato toward his ancestors’ village of Ottati. The smell of fresh mountain air filled his lungs. He wore a bright orange T-shirt with dark blue shorts. A pasture was to his left, and to his right an olive grove. The scenery changed as he traversed upward. A stone wall he could step over held back the wild oleander bushes. Cyprus trees were scattered throughout the meadow. Opposite was a rising cliff of granite.

  The sky was bright blue, and the sun hung in the east. Rolling meadows with lush green trees calmed his nerves. His daily morning exercise did not ease his troubled mind. Giacomo struggled with the circuitous thoughts. He felt betrayed by Alessio. He assumed his friend would have fought for him more and not just accepted his government’s position.