TWENTY
TONITA SCREAMED, “STOP!” Her arms raised high above her head, with the heel of Dominic’s dress shoe, once so carelessly tossed to a corner of the room, at the ready to strike. She had already leveled the heel of the shoe into the monk’s head once, and she was prepared to do it again, both hands clenching the toe of the shoe—precisely aiming the heavy black heel.
The monk, however, did not move. He lay where he had fallen. The only movement was a thin steam of blood that flowed from his right ear, down his cheek and slowly dripped to the floor.
“Is he dead?” Tonita asked, with shoe still at the ready.
Dominic looked up at her from his prone position on the floor. “I don’t know. You see, I’ve got this little problem of my own.” He glanced to the crucifix dagger still embedded in his chest.
“Oh, Dom!” Tonita started to lower the shoe, then decided a quick kick into the monk’s side wouldn’t be uncalled for. She kept the heel of the shoe aimed at the monk, lifted one foot, and kicked, landing her foot powerfully into his side.
The monk moved and inch or so forward from the force of the kick, but did not make a sound.
Tonita slowly lowered the shoe, all the while keeping an eye on the slumped body of the monk.
The sound of a groan had the shoe back up over her head in an instant, ready to strike again. Still the monk did not move, and he made no sound.
Another groan of pain, followed by a cough, then the breathless sounds of someone desperately trying to catch their breath, then Dominic too, was on his feet. A slight dizzy feeling swirled in his brain and he closed his eyes until his legs steadied.
“Dom,” Tonita whispered. “A priest?”
Dominic opened his eyes as the swirling motion in his brain, calmed. He stepped in the direction of the sounds, and winced. The crucifix dagger pierced into his pectoral muscles and sent a searing pain up his shoulder. When he stood still, the pain ceased. But once he stepped forward again and the muscles in his chest expanded and contracted, a white hot fire shot through his chest up to his shoulders, causing his entire left side to convulse. He steadied himself once again, sucked in a breath of air and held it. He pulled on the crucifix dagger, gritting his teeth at the feel of the metal dagger pulling through his skin. Once its length slid completely out of his chest, he allowed himself to breathe, letting air out slowly. The dagger left a small hole in his shirt and in the pectoral muscles underneath. Pumped once again with adrenaline, Dominic stepped forward. He turned the weapon around, intending to use it on whoever this older priest was.
Tonita kept the shoe and its deadly heel poised and ready, but let Dominic step around her.
The priest had pulled himself away from Dominic’s struggle with the monk, taking a slight refuge by the old leather chair. His breath was returning and his voice rasped, “Dominic. Thank you,” he said, between repeated coughs.
Tonita lowered the shoe, and after one quick glance to the monk, tossed it aside. “Who is he?” Tonita nodded in the priest’s direction.
Dominic shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know.”
“Well, he knows you.” Tonita turned to the priest. “Apparently you know who he is. Mind if I ask who you are?”
The old priest used the arm of the chair to steady himself and pushed himself up to his feet. “My name is Bill.” He paused as he caught Dominic eyeing his clothing. “Bill, to my friends. William Celent is my proper name. ”
Both Dominic and Tonita watched, studying the movements of the man as he struggled to gain his footing. Neither offered help.
Tonita turned to the monk on the floor. “Okay, we know your name. Now, who is he?”
“A brother of the Society.” William Celent said.
“And what is he doing here? Dominic said with a bit of irritation. He held the crucifix dagger between his fingers ready to push it into the flesh of the old priest, should he need to.
“I’m afraid he was here to kill you.”
“And you were here to help him do that?” Tonita moved slightly closer to Dominic.
“No.” William Celent stood up straight. “I was here to protect you.”
Dominic lowered the dagger to his side in a conscious effort to appear at ease. “Protect me from what?”
William Celent reached out a hand, “I’m afraid I have much to explain.”
“All right,” Tonita said, trying to take control of the situation. “We know your name, so, what do you want? What are you doing here?”
“As I said, protecting you.”
And is that why this monk was trying to kill you?” She paused giving the priest a chance to respond.
“I have every intention of answering your questions, my dear, and I’m sure there are plenty more...”
“Oh, you’re right about that,” Tonita said, interrupting the man.
“But, I believe our good man here, needs some medical attention first.” William Celent turned his gaze toward Dominic.
Tonita followed Celent’s gaze to Dominic.
Dominic’s skin had grown pale in color. His eyes were glazed and the bloodstain from the wound to his chest had spread. He was losing blood quickly. Only the adrenaline that pulsed through his body had kept him standing.
And its effects were beginning to fade.
TWENTY ONE
FEBRUARY 1945
Roosevelt Aviation School
Roosevelt Field, Naval Air Facility
The Time Room
Unlike the damp, dimly lit hallway, the Time Room was state of the art. It was well lit and naturally cool, being well-below ground, with walls painted a clean white, leaving the drab government green and gray to those above ground. The floor was covered in a tapestry of area rugs, giving it a Caspian feel. Soft, big band music played static free over a radio in the corner.
Ray Scott slid the glass door closed behind him and stepped into the Time Room. He was greeted by a slight nod from a technician who barely looked up from the control panel he was tinkering with and a “Hey,” from another technician on the other side of the room.
Ray traversed the room, going straight to a glass walled office on the far side. He could see a man inside the paper-strewn office in a rumpled shirt, sleeves rolled up, leaning unevenly onto his forearms. The man inside pushed one sleeve up higher in the unconscious movement of a habit. He continued to write, erase, and write again, onto a column of numbers on the sheet of paper in front of him.
Ray pushed on the door, sliding it on the tracks into a pocket in the wall. The man at the desk barely glanced up, and only minimally acknowledged Ray’s entrance into the office. Ray closed the pocket door by pulling on it until it slid out of the space created for it within the wall. It moved smoothly along its track and clicked into the latch on the frame. With the door closed, the room was soundproof. “Don’t you think it’s ironic that in a secret room, well-below ground, filled with high security clearance men and women, there would still be need for a soundproofed office?” Ray said.
The man at the desk looked up, put his pencil down, and for the moment stopped his furious calculations. “There are secrets even among those who keep the secrets,” the man punctuated the statement with a raised eyebrow.
“How right you are, Vern.” Ray sat down in the chair on the opposite side of the desk from the man. “The young instructor will agree to join us. I just need to convince him.”
“That is very good news,” Vern said, as he attempted to refold the rolled up shirtsleeve of his left arm.
“Good in a way.” Ray watched the man opposite him with curiosity. Ray stood. “We don’t have much time, Vern.”
“Time?” Vern said with a grin. “Not to worry, I’ll make more.”
Ray reached into the pocket of his suit coat and pulled out a thrice-folded sheet of paper. He tossed it onto the sea of papers already covering Vern’s desk.
Ray watched Vern’s face take on a concerned look as he reached for the paper, picked it up, unfolded it and read it aloud.
The Secretary of War has approved a project, whereby certain understanding German scientists and technicians are being brought to this country to ensure that we take full advantage of those significant developments which are deemed vital to our national security.
Interrogation and examination of the documents, equipment, and facilities in the aggregate are but one means of exploiting German progress in science and technology. In order that this country may benefit fully from this resource, a number of carefully selected scientists and technologists are being brought to the United States on a voluntary basis. These individuals have been chosen from those fields where German progress is of significant importance to us and in which these specialists have played a dominant role.
Throughout their temporary stay in the United States, these German scientists and technical experts will be under the supervision of the War Department, but will be utilized for appropriate military projects of the Army and Navy.
War Department
Bureau of Public Relations
Press Branch
Tel. RE 6500
Brs.3425 and 4860
For Immediate Release
October 1, 1945
Vern looked up from the press release. “This date is wrong.” He quickly dug out a small calendar from under the pile of papers. “It’s February. This release is dated for October, seven months from now.”
Ray pushed on the door to the office sliding it once again along its track into the pocket in the wall. “That should give you plenty of time to complete the project here, and then join your team from Germany.” Ray stepped out of the office, then turned back to Vern. “And, of course, to join your family.” He traversed the room and exited through the same doorway he had entered.
A moment later, the technician that gave a “hey” to Ray Scott as he walked by, stepped into Vern’s office. “Mr. Von Braun?” he said, then waited for the man to look up. When he did, the technician continued, “I could use your help.”
TWENTY TWO
DOMINIC’S PALE COLOR turned completely white as he attempted to remain standing.
“Dom!” Tonita screamed and lunged for him. She was too late to catch him and break his fall, and too small to be of any real help should she have made it in time.
His eyes rolled back into his head and he collapsed with a thud onto the old wooden floorboards. His head bounced as it hit the floor—a double thud. The red stain of blood on his shirt, where the crucifix dagger had pierced his flesh and muscle, was spreading rapidly.
And to make matters worse, the monk—Brother Salvatore, let out a long moan and began to move.
“Help me,” Tonita looked quickly to Celent, then stole a glance back to the monk. She was afraid to take her eyes off the monk for too long, lest he spring back to life.
Celent, who was only now beginning to recover from his own struggle with the monk, stepped around the heap that was Brother Salvatore, and began tending to Dominic by pulling open Dominic’s shirt, attempting to wipe away as much blood as he could with the tails of the shirt. “I’m not a doctor.”
“Forget it.” Tonita looked one again in the direction of the monk, then decided that the he wasn’t going anywhere, and pushed her way between Celent and Dominic. “Let me,” she said, as she slid her hands onto Dominic’s chest and pushed, watching as the hole from the crucifix dagger opened and closed. “As far as I can tell, the dagger went in just above the heart. I think it only sank into the pectoral muscle. If it had gone any deeper, it would have caused some damage to a major organ or artery, and there would be more bleeding.” She applied pressure to the wound with booth of her hands. “Watch what I’m doing.” She gave Celent a moment to observe. “Now move your hands in, where mine are, and keep a steady pressure on his chest.”
Celent leaned in and eased his hands in place of Tonita’s, all the while maintaining pressure on the wound. He straightened up onto frail arms, pushing down as hard as he could. He could feel the beat of Dominic’s heart, and despite the blood loss and the bumps to his head, it remained strong. Dominic may have a concussion, but his heart was in good shape. “His heart is beating strongly. I don’t think that dagger did any damage to the heart or lungs,” Celent said, as he looked up at Tonita.
Tears welled in Tonita’s eyes as she looked from the Celent to Dominic.
“He’ll be all right. We’ll be all right,” Celent said.
“What about him?” Tonita looked to where the monk had fallen.
A low guttural voice stopped her from further questions. “No! The Key must die!” Brother Salvatore jumped up from his prone position on the floor and rammed into Celent with surprising speed and strength, then fell once again to the floor.
Celent’s hands, already covered in blood, gave way and he lost his balance, as his hands slipped on Dominic’s torso.
“No! La chiave deve morire. The Key, the Key must die!” Brother Salvatore, still half dazed, adrenaline charged, dragged himself, like a wounded animal, toward Dominic, using the last bit of strength.
Celent struggled on the slippery, bloodied floor. He threw his body on top of Dominic’s.
The monk pushed Celent away, then reversed the action and pulled at Celent’s clothing, dragging him closer, until a piece tore away from Celent’s jacket, throwing the monk off balance. Brother Salvatore fell forward, nearly dislodging himself from the position he had taken straddling Dominic.
Celent regained his balance and grabbed onto Dominic’s arm, holding tightly, pulling Dominic toward him in a weak attempt to get Dominic’s body away from the monk.
The monk grabbed on to Dominic’s opposite arm and a human tug of war ensued, as both Brother Salvatore and Celent pulled in opposite directions on Dominic’s arms.
Dominic’s body stretched out like those hung on a cross.
Brother Salvatore smiled at the sight.
“Let him go or you will surly suffer the wrath of God,” Celent said as he noticed a quick blur of movement from the corner of his eye.
“You fool! I am the wrath of God!” Brother Salvatore said. He stared into Celent’s eyes, daring him.
For a moment the two stood with Dominic stretched between them. Neither one giving.
Then Brother Salvatore’s eyes glazed over. The sick smile replaced by shock. His knees buckled and he fell to the floor. He tried to regain his stance, pushing up on arms that would not support him, and fell back again. His legs kicked out and his body shook.
Then a scream.
This time Celent heard the pop, and smelled the undeniable scent of sulfur.
Brother Salvatore slumped to his side, a slow wheezing sigh escaped through his lips.
The first shot had only grazed the monk, burning his flesh, as though coarse sandpaper had been rubbed vigorously against his skin. The second shot hit him hard. The bullet plunged into his side, tearing through his rib cage, cracking and shattering any bone that happened to be in its path, then continued through a lung before exiting Brother Salvatore’s body through his back. The wheezing sound of escaping air continued, coming from both the monk’s mouth and through the gaping hole in his side, as his bullet pierced lung discharged its once life giving breath into the room.
Celent raised his head, turning to Tonita. “You have a gun?”
It was a redundant question.
Tonita clearly had a gun. She was holding it, pointing it at the now dead body of Brother Salvatore. She lowered the gun to her side.
“I don’t,” she said, in answer to the Celent’s question. “Dominic does.”
TWENTY THREE
TREPUZZI, LECCE, ITALY.
The Novice immediately shot upright, bending at the waist, looking as though a corpse had raised itself from a coffin. He had lapsed into a semi-conscious state, lying on the blood wetted, cold stone floor of the Oath Chamber, waiting for the Jesuit to return. Left alone and without direction, the Jesuit had administered the Oath of Induction, and then, vanished. Now, a deep stinging and penetrating bu
rn to the Novice’s shoulder roused him from his self-induced hypnotic trance.
For the past several hours the Novice had stood where he had been, unmoved by the cold and pain that crept up from his bare feet to his calves, creeping into his abdomen and finally to his back and neck. When he could bare it no longer, he begged forgiveness from God for his weakness and lay down on his back. He spread his arms out to his sides, then crossed his legs at his ankles in imitation of Christ on the cross, and began to pray.
“Show me the way, Lord. Show me the way,” the Novice began in Aramaic, the language of his Savior. He had studied the language, now seldom spoken, and had become, like in all that he did, a master of it. Speaking in Aramaic, he was certain that his prayers would be heard first. “My life was given so that I may serve you, Lord. Show me the way. You have led me to the Jesuit and to the Order. I am ready. Show me the way.”
The twenty-three years since his birth had been spent preparing his mind, soul and body for any task that the Lord might ask of him. The hours in the gym worked every muscle to perfection. He was ripped. Not a gram of fat on his body. Gluttony was not a sin of the Novice. His body was God’s work, and he worked it to perfection.
His mind too, had become taut and lean. He thought only about the work that the Lord has asked of him, and built his life around his calling. He spoke English, Italian, Spanish, Hebrew, German, and Russian flawlessly, and often carried on conversations with himself speaking in one language and responding in another. He studied the history of the Church to such detail that there was not a single Cardinal or scholar who could debate him and win. He knew the Church’s strengths and weaknesses. And he would defend them both.
The Third Hour Page 9