The Third Trumpet

by Anthony R. DiVerniero

  “Trivette used the events in Paolo’s journal to capitalize on the tragedies. He realized the terrorist routine was fruitless, as it only unified the people.” Arnaud’s face was swollen with pent-up anger. The rage seethed from his lips. “I heard him say the way to abolish democracy is to build upon man’s greed—his selfishness—then take away their wealth and come back as the savior.” Arnaud’s voice escalated to a fever pitch. “That is what he will do.” With a sweeping arc of his hands, he said, “You’d better be on board and realize the man is evil. He’s out to destroy us!”

  “Dad, calm down. If what you said is true, then he didn’t sanction the assassinations. Believe me, another person is behind this.” Giacomo sat back, astonished at his own words. Another person is behind this.

  “What you’re saying, Giacomo, is that he’s a puppet.”

  “Yes.”

  “He’s no puppet.”

  Arnaud stood in disgust. He mumbled a few words concerning Emily and left the room.

  “Excuse my father-in-law. Trivette masterminded Emily’s kidnapping. Dad didn’t like him to begin with, and now . . .”

  “He wants justice.”

  “You’re right, Sergio. I’m sure you can understand that.”

  Sergio lowered his head. Arnaud came back. An awkward silence filled the room. Giacomo was surprised by his father-in-law’s outburst, but it was understandable. What else was bothering him? He couldn’t pinpoint the issue. Why did I say another person was behind Trivette? Is it just a hunch, or something to do with that brief vision? He tried to remember.

  Arnaud interrupted the contemplation. “Giacomo, tell him your plan against El Diablo.”

  “The devil . . . a strong term, Arnaud.”

  “Yes but true, Your Holiness. He is from the devil.”

  “I hope not.”

  “Arnaud’s theories—to him, Trivette is the Antichrist.”

  “The book of Revelation.”

  “Really, Andrew.”

  “Why not? It’s going to happen.”

  “We’ve gone on a tangent here. Let’s get back on topic.” A plan formulated in Giacomo’s mind as he glanced at Arnaud. “Dad, if you agree?” Arnaud gave a silent nod. “Okay, you and I are going to Washington right after Christmas . . .” Giacomo explained the strategy. The men listened. “The biggest problem for us is securing safe passage to and from the States.”

  “Sounds dangerous. Can you implicate Trivette?”

  “In time, Andrew. We need Essex to fill in the pieces. He’s a threat because he can manipulate Richardson, and we must stop that. I’m confident he knows Rio is alive. I caught her talking to someone the other day on her cell. I’m sure it was him. We tried to trace her calls but failed. To be honest, I haven’t figured a way to get her phone without her going ballistic on me. Once we have Essex, we can get some answers. I’m sure his responses will lead us to Trivette.” Giacomo paused. His face changed color as his tolerance diminished. “What he did to Rio . . . I can’t wait to see him face-to-face.”

  “Did you tell her about Dean?”

  “No. She’s still so unstable. You saw how she was tonight. I don’t believe she can accept the betrayal. We are taking a risk that she’ll continue to speak with him, and that’s fine for now. But let’s be honest. There’s no way he’s stupid enough to try anything while she’s in Vatican City.”

  “I hope you’re right,” Andrew said.

  “Our thought, Holiness . . .”

  “Arnaud, please, you can call me Andrew.”

  “Thank you, Your Holiness. Once Tom Maro becomes president, the four countries will unite and work together to get rid of Trivette.”

  “Providing he isn’t assassinated?” Sergio said.

  “Yes,” Arnaud said.

  “You can count on the Vatican’s help. Gentlemen, it’s been a big day. I’m exhausted and need to go to bed.”

  The four men embraced Andrew. He blessed them as he called upon the Holy Spirit to guide them.

  Chapter 91

  The Next Morning

  Giacomo dialed Tom Maro’s private number.

  “Good morning, Giacomo.”

  “Morning, Tom. Sorry for the early call.” There was a no-nonsense tone to Giacomo’s voice.

  “I’m used to it. What is it, ten thirty your time?”

  “Yep. Sergio and Arnaud Chambery are here.”

  The speakerphone crackled. “Good morning, gentlemen. Arnaud, I spoke with your president yesterday. I share their concern. I’m sorry that you’re the scapegoat.”

  “Merci, Monsieur Maro. We must stop this.”

  “We will.” Maro yawned. “Sorry. I didn’t sleep much after I read Giacomo’s email last night.”

  “Neither did we.”

  “Who’s the traitor?”

  Giacomo took a deep breath. “Dean Essex.”

  “What? Can’t be. Are you sure?”

  “Yes—he’s collaborating with Richardson.”

  “Richardson? I . . . I don’t understand. I’ll have him arrested.”

  “No, Tom, you can’t. What about due process?”

  “What do you mean?” Maro’s voice filled with anger. “Him—Richardson—why, damn it? Tell me.”

  “Essex is blackmailing Richardson. He’s able to manipulate the president. Tom, we’re confident he’s behind the assassination and the shooting down of Rio’s plane.”

  “The bastard killed my cousin.”

  “Tom, listen . . .”

  “Son of a bitch! I could kill him.”

  “I understand, Tom, but you gotta relax. Please listen. We have a plan.”

  “Give me a moment.”

  “Sure.”

  The three men eyed one another. Giacomo sat back in the chair.

  “What’s he doing?”

  “Let’s hope he’s not making any phone calls. If he is . . .”

  A knock on the door. Two Swiss Guards in business suits entered, followed by Pope Peter Andrew. The three men rose. “Your Holiness.”

  Andrew addressed his protectors. “You can leave us now.” The men left the office and took positions on either side of the door to stand watch outside. The new pope wore the ordinary black clothing that denoted his priestly status.

  “Andrew, where’s the white outfit?”

  “I’m the pope. I decided to wear this.” In his hand, he held a nine-by-twelve manila envelope.

  The crackling of the speakerphone interrupted the conversation. “I’m sorry, Giacomo.”

  “No problem, Tom. His Holiness Peter Andrew the First is with us. Andrew, President-elect Thomas Maro.”

  “Allahu Akbar—God is great, Mr. President.”

  “The peace of Christ be with you, Your Holiness. Congratulations.”

  “Thank you. Please call me Andrew, for I am only a man.”

  “Call me Tom, for I too am only a man.”

  “Yeah, I’m a man too . . .” Giacomo shook his head as he chuckled. “Sorry, I forget who I’m speaking with.”

  “That was funny, my friend,” Andrew said.

  “Tom, I briefed His Holiness on the situation.”

  “Yes, I’m aware of the danger that exists. I take it, Tom, they told you.”

  “Yes, I’m disgusted.”

  “Be strong in your faith, my friend. God will guide us through this.”

  “I shall, Andrew. This world we live in—I can’t put it into words.”

  “I know what you mean.”

  Giacomo noticed a gaze of concern on Andrew’s face. The pope squinted in concern as he spoke. “Giacomo, I have doubts about you traveling to the States. Why do you need to go?”

  Giacomo grimaced for a moment. “I’m confident that when we leave Rome, we will be followed. I’m hoping that our people will be able to
trace our pursuers.”

  “So, you’re going to offer yourself up as targets? Or is there something else?”

  Giacomo was silent.

  “My friend, pride can be a killer . . . and revenge even more destructive—it kills the soul.”

  “Okay, so you caught me. I want to see Essex face-to-face. This might be my only time before he’s handed over to the authorities.”

  “Promise me you won’t cause him harm.”

  “I won’t. I just wanna see his face.”

  “All right.” His Holiness reached inside the envelope and pulled out two booklets. “In my hand are two passports. One for you, Giacomo; the other for you, Arnaud. You both are now citizens of Vatican City with the titles of emissary of the Holy See. This will ensure safe travels in and out of any country without reprisal or arrest. These passports carry complete diplomatic immunity throughout the world.”

  “Tom, this is the second time that Giacomo has been speechless.”

  “Truly a miracle. Are you sure he didn’t pass out?”

  “Very funny, gentlemen. Andrew, I can’t believe you did this.”

  “I did it more for your wife than for you. Emily doesn’t need to be a widow.”

  “Not gonna happen, Andrew.”

  “Tom, I hope after your inauguration you’ll pay me a visit.”

  “I look forward to it, Andrew.”

  The door to the conference room opened. A Swiss Guard in a three-piece suit entered. “Your Holiness.”

  “My time is no longer my own, gentlemen. We’ll get together soon.”

  The three men rose.

  “One more thing, Giacomo. Vatican bodyguards will be with you when you travel to the States—standard protocol between our countries.”

  “Thanks, Andrew.”

  The Swiss Guards snapped to attention as the pope stood by the door. He exited the makeshift office.

  “Tom, you still there?”

  “Yes. Appreciate the introduction—his voice sounds so familiar. All right, so what’s the plan?”

  “Arnaud and I are traveling to the States the day after Christmas.”

  “Isn’t that risky? I share the concern of your friend.”

  Giacomo didn’t want to have another discussion about his reasoning. He simply replied, “Maybe . . .”

  “What’s your plan?”

  “We’ll explain when we meet with you.”

  “What do you want me to do with Essex? I don’t want him here.”

  “You need to act as normal as possible. Tom, can you do that?”

  “I can. But why?”

  “Trust me, Tom, I’ll tell you when we meet. Sorry for the unwelcome news.”

  “No issues. Essex was getting on my nerves. Giacomo, Merry Christmas to you and your family.”

  “You as well, Tom.”

  “Thank you.” The phone conversation ended.

  “He celebrates Christmas?” Sergio asked.

  “Yes. His wife and children are Catholic. He believes in the one true God. Tom is well versed in Judaism, Christianity, and Islam.”

  Chapter 92

  Christmas Eve

  Four days had passed since the conversation with Tom Maro. Security arrangements were being made for Giacomo and Arnaud to travel to the United States as diplomatic envoys of the Vatican See. The family would attend Christmas Eve dinner with the pope and then midnight Mass.

  “Giacomo, where’s your mother’s present?”

  “Under the tree,” Giacomo yelled from the bedroom. “Dinner in fifteen minutes.”

  “Yes, my dear.”

  Giacomo exited the bedroom dressed in a navy-blue suit with a tie adorned with pictures of Santa Claus. His hair had grown, and the mane now covered his ears. With his trimmed beard, he looked more like an Italian national than an American general. Emily was by the Christmas tree—the colored lights reflected off her radiant face. She wore a blue dress with white snowflakes around the hem.

  “You’re beautiful.” Giacomo approached his wife, wrapped his arms around her, and whispered in her ear, “I love you, Em.”

  “I feel fat, but I love you too. I can’t wait for these little guys to come into the world.” She gave him a playful push with her tummy and stepped back.

  “Em, I want to make sure you don’t have a problem with me going to the States.”

  “Giacomo, I already told you I didn’t. Now come on, or we’ll be late for dinner.”

  “We don’t want to keep His Holiness waiting.”

  “Giacomo.”

  “I know, honey. He’s the pope.”

  The couple gathered their gifts, left the Christmas tree lights on, and walked out of their apartment. The customary Italian dinner of seven fishes was served in the papal dining room. Presents were exchanged. Emily was tired, so husband and wife went back to the apartment and skipped midnight Mass.

  * * *

  Rio’s Room, Later That Night

  “It was nice, Dean—thanks for asking. What time is dinner at your sister’s house tomorrow? . . . Seven thirty? You should be on your way . . . I’m exhausted, I need to go to bed . . . It could be the time zone change, but I doubt it . . . Rome—I’m not supposed to tell you that, though . . . Stop, I can’t tell you . . . Yes, Giacomo was at dinner. Why? . . . You’ll meet him when I get back . . . No, I have to go. We’ll chat tomorrow . . . What? . . . Oh, I love you too! Bye.”

  The tracer pinpointed the call—Vatican City.

  Chapter 93

  Giacomo lay awake as his wife slept. His heart filled with dread, he was overcome by fear. He jumped out of bed, not able to breathe. He trotted into the living room barefoot. The cold floor eased his distress.

  His heart pounded. Giacomo could feel his blood as the liquid pulsated through his arteries. He plugged in the lights of the yuletide tree and sat in a high-back red upholstered chair. Giacomo tried to calm himself; he placed his hands on his face, trenched in deep sorrow, and wept. A vision erupted in his mind’s eye, taking him to an unfamiliar place. Volcanoes scarred the planet. Earthquakes broke the land masses in two. Cities were darker than black. Throngs of people packed into churches, synagogues, and mosques. The evilness of humanity invaded the synaptic structures of his brain. Thrown back in time and then forward, he witnessed the sin of humankind. His body panicked, convulsed at the horrific images. When he could take no more—peace. The awfulness vanished.

  Chapter 94

  “Merry Christmas, Em.”

  Giacomo leaned against the window. The day was cloudy. Throughout Christendom, the birth of Jesus was being celebrated. He gazed outside.

  “Up early?” She kissed her husband on the cheek.

  Giacomo was distant. “I couldn’t sleep.”

  “How come?”

  “I don’t know . . . stupid stuff in my head.”

  “Do you want to share?”

  “Our world makes no sense to me. Our life? This is not what I wanted, and this is not what you want. We’re hidden away from life.” Emily placed her hand on Giacomo’s arm as he continued. “I remember Dad told me life should be simple, filled with peace and love. I think he was delusional. Love—yes. Peace—how? Simple—shit, nothing is simple anymore. I don’t understand why. Dad had this knowledge, yet why didn’t he do anything?”

  “He couldn’t, mi amore.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Because no one would believe him. Did you ever consider that maybe this is meant to be?”

  “Andrew said the same.” Giacomo shook his head. “Meant to be—this craziness?” Giacomo turned to Emily. “Remember when Dad and Sydney got married in Ottati?”

  “Of course. It was beautiful.”

  “Dad and I were standing by the railing. We didn’t speak. The smell of the fresh air added to the brilliant hues of the green
trees, the orange and red rooftops. He spread his arms out over the valley. ‘Giacomo, this happened in God’s time.’ I was puzzled and asked him what he meant, and he said, ‘In God’s time, everything is created. God is the ultimate timekeeper, not us. Though we would like to control our lives, we can’t. We make the choices, yes, but for us, if it’s not in God’s plan, we get redirected.’ I said, ‘So we’re puppets?’ ‘No, we are gifted with unique gifts to be used according to the will of God for the betterment of His people. We can always say no. I happened to say yes.’ He grabbed my shoulders, looked me square in the eyes, and said, ‘One day, you’ll be asked to say yes.’ You and Andrew are right, Em. This is meant to be; it’s part of the plan.” He forced a smile, gave his wife a kiss on the lips. “You’re the best.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Let’s go to the Piazza Navona. What do you say?”

  “Do you think it’ll be safe? Can we do that?”

  “Why not? We’ll have a security detail with us.”

  * * *

  Giacomo and Emily trudged through the throngs of people in St. Peter’s Square. The crowd gathered to listen to the new pope’s Christmas message. The clouds swept by as the late-morning sun cast its brightness on Rome. The temperature was mild. The afternoon sun would warm the city of seven hills to a mild sixty-three degrees.

  “Do you remember how to get there?”

  “Sure. Do you?”

  “Barely.”

  “Em, it feels good to be in the fresh air—free to walk wherever we want.”

  “Well, almost free.” Emily tilted her head behind her.

  “Oh, the Swiss Guards. Well, all right—almost free.”

  Giacomo grabbed Emily’s hand as they crossed Corso Vittorio Emanuele II. Their bodyguards followed. As they entered the piazza, they were greeted by a man who sold warm chestnuts. His pan full, they roasted on an open flame. Children played with their new toys. The centuries-old courtyard was surrounded by small restaurants and outdoor cafés. Italian Christmas music filled the air. Life’s problems were erased by the merriment of the season.