Archangels: Rise of the Jesuits

by Tavakoli, Janet M.

  He and James looked toward the square as the Vatican guards encircled Father de Aragon’s body. Everything had happened so fast, it didn’t seem real to Michael yet. He felt as if he had watched the entire shooting from a distance.

  Father de Aragon was dead. Now Michael knew who Father Miro, leader of the Archangeli, had to be. But he didn’t have a shred of proof. He looked down at his gore-spattered jacket and saw a tiny patch of violet. He touched it. It felt soft, silky and warm.

  He looked out again at the corpse of Father de Aragon, who had protected him at the cost of his own life. He saw a deformed hand, twisted awkwardly next to the body. He remembered what de Aragon had said about those hands: “The thumb and first two fingers are especially important to me. I can still hold the host to properly say the mass."

  Again Michael touched the small patch of violet. Grief struck then, sudden and overwhelming as he realized it was de Aragon’s eye.

  ***

  “We must deal with Michael Visconte,” Father Miro said. “Our bad luck that he’s involved. His family is old money, and he married into another. We don’t have our usual leverage.”

  The Franciscan gave him a sidelong glance. “We have a picture of his wife. We can pick her and the boys up.”

  “His wife is a Barone. Another powerful family.” Father Miro said. “I’ve kept my name out of things so far, luckily. Still, the Jesuits can prove too much. We have to stop Visconte now.”

  Selfish bastard, the Franciscan thought. Miro looked out for himself, and to hell with everyone else. “Pintozzi was always a liability,” the Franciscan muttered. “For sale to the highest bidder. He sold us information in exchange for a fat position in the Archangeli. He probably turned right around and sold us out for a higher position in the Society.” He paused. “If we move quickly, our contacts can put so much pressure on the Viscontes and the Jesuits that they’ll back off.”

  Father Miro nodded. “Once we have his wife and children, Visconte will see the wisdom of leaving things be.” He eyed the Franciscan. “Take care of the details.”

  As always, the Franciscan thought.

  CHAPTER XX

  Ostia

  Thursday, June 20

  Helena decided it wouldn’t be much of a risk if she drove into Ostia and picked up some fresh fish. Hadn’t Michael said the danger was almost over? She liked to choose the fish herself, and she’d just dash in and out. The nanny was watching the children, and she wouldn’t be gone more than half an hour. Lorenzo was checking the grounds somewhere, and she hadn’t been able to find him after a five-minute search.

  She opened the garden gate. Beyond it in the parking area were her BMW, an unmarked car used by the Specialists guarding the house, and a service vehicle for the staff. She was about to close the gate when she heard running footsteps behind her. She turned and saw Susan, hand in hand with Anthony.

  “I hope you don’t mind,” Susan said as they reached her. “Anthony saw you at the gate and said he’d like to go with you. I wouldn’t mind a little drive myself. May we come along?”

  Helena smiled. “Come along and let your hair down for a while. You always seem to be so busy working.”

  She’d done her best to be polite to Susan, and was surprised to find she actually enjoyed talking with her the way she enjoyed talking with her young nieces. It was strange to see the woman her husband was attracted to up close. She was curious, and she felt less threatened with the competition safely in her backyard.

  Helena put Anthony in the front seat and made sure he fastened his seat belt before she fastened her own and started the car. The tires crunched on the gravel path as they turned toward the access road into Ostia proper.

  They reached the first three-way intersection a few minutes later and drove past a dark green Mercedes. It pulled out of the cross-street and fell in behind the BMW.

  “I like this countryside,” Susan said from the back seat. She rolled down the window and took a whiff of the air. “Mmmm, I can smell fresh-cut grass.”

  “Haven’t you ever smelled grass before?” Anthony asked, with the cheekiness of smart six year-olds the world over. He looked out of the rear window. “That car’s following us!”

  Helena glanced in her rearview mirror and briefly watched the dark green Mercedes. The car dropped back and its right turn signal flashed. It turned off at the next road.

  “False alarm,” Anthony said.

  “Young boys,” Helena said, by way of apology. “They have overly active fantasies.”

  Anthony corrected her. “Imaginations, mamà.”

  “Yes, imaginations.” Helena said it good-naturedly, knowing Anthony wouldn’t give her peace until she repeated it. “If you like the countryside, Susan, wait until you see the beach. I’m going to the fish market there. The water is beautiful, a deep blue-green like a jewel.”

  “I’m looking forward to it,” Susan said.

  They arrived at their destination five minutes later. Helena parked the car at a fresh fish stand on the edge of a pristine beach, its beige sand still crowded with late-afternoon sunbathers.

  They got out and Helena said she would take Anthony in with her to the fish market. “I don’t want you wandering off to play,” she told him. “It would take forever to find you in this crowd.”

  Susan smiled. “I’m not much for fish. I’ll just stay near the car and enjoy the view.”

  ***

  Susan strolled down the beach for a hundred yards or so, listening to the chorus of Italian voices and observing the etiquette of the beach. Most of the sun worshippers set down blankets and beach chairs under huge vinyl umbrellas. Some were reading magazines or books, eating fruit and exchanging gossip. The beach appeared to be a major social gathering place in Ostia.

  Bathing suits were skimpy, she noted; they looked maybe a third the size of those worn on U.S. beaches, and caught the eye with their bold colors and splashy designs. Coconut vendors walked among the noisy crowd plying their wares, and Susan heard the call of “Fresca Coco” up and down the beach. The vendors occasionally stopped to accept a euro note and fish a small piece of cut coconut from a bucket of fresh cold water.

  Susan watched the beachgoers for a while, and then wondered if Helena might need help carrying her purchases while keeping an eye on Anthony. She turned toward the fish market and froze in horror. Two men in dark clothing were bundling Helena and Anthony into the dark green Mercedes.

  Susan ran back to the parking area, but the Mercedes was pulling away as she reached Helena’s BMW. As the car sped off, she glimpsed a man in the back seat holding a smartphone to his lips. In his other hand he held a gun on Helena and Anthony.

  Susan jumped into the BMW. The keys were still in the ignition. She belted up and screeched out of the parking lot in pursuit.

  ***

  The man with the gun looked past Helena, out the back window of the Mercedes, and swore. He kept his aim rock steady as he fished a smartphone from his pocket.

  “Please don’t hurt my son,” Helena said, never taking her eyes off the gun while their kidnapper punched numbers with his free hand. “If you let him go, I’ll do anything you want.”

  The gunman leered at her. “You’ll do anything we want anyway. Just shut up and you won’t get hurt. If you annoy me, I’ll take it out on the boy.”

  Helena went quiet, but continued to watch him warily. Anthony looked from his mother to the gunman and back again with wide eyes, but stayed silent.

  The man put the phone to his ear. “We have the wife and one boy,” he barked. “Another woman was with them. We couldn’t find her when we picked up the wife and the boy, so we took off without her. Now she’s following us in a BMW. What do you want me to do?”

  He paused, as if listening for answer. “All right,” he said, and ended the call.

  His smug expression deepened Helena’s fear. “What are you planning?” she whispered.

  He said nothing, merely tightened his grip on the gun.

  ***
>
  Susan kept one hand on the wheel and groped across the passenger seat. She didn’t dare take her eyes from the road, but after a few sweeping motions, she felt what she was seeking: Helena’s forgotten cell phone. She opened it and glanced down, then tried the speed dial numbers.

  The first number reached the villa. The nanny picked up and Susan asked for one of the Specialists guarding the house. “I’ll try to find one,” the nanny said, sounding doubtful. No good, Susan thought, and tried not to panic.

  She hung up and tried the second number, which got her to Michael’s office desk in Rome. The man on the other end spoke halting English, and Susan hung up again with her panic mounting.

  She tried the third number, and a man answered in Italian. A familiar voice.

  “Michael?” she asked.

  “Yes,” he responded in English. He sounded wary.

  “I’m on Helena’s mobile phone,” she said. “We’re in trouble. We went to the fish market in Ostia, and Helena and Anthony were kidnapped. I’m in Helena’s car, following them. A dark green Mercedes, license plate EN145. There are two men in it. One of them has a gun.”

  There was a pause. Then Michael spoke. “All right, Susan.” He sounded professional and reassuring. “I’m very near the villa, so you can’t be far away from me. I can get to you in no time. Describe the scenery where you are.”

  She did the best she could. “There’s a fruit stand with some writing on it. I couldn’t read what it said; I’m going too fast. There’s a gas station coming up on my left…”

  “Susan,” Michael broke in. “Listen carefully. Let me know if you turn off. Don’t follow the Mercedes too closely. Keep them in sight, but don’t take any risks. They may have accomplices who could make trouble for you. I’m going to hang up now and call my office for help. Don’t worry. I’ll call you back in a minute and stay on the line with you.”

  ”All right,” she said. Ahead of her, the Mercedes sped down the road. No turning off yet.

  The phone went dead in her ear. She tightened her grip on it and the steering wheel, and kept driving.

  ***

  Michael hung up, heart hammering against his ribs. Anthony and Helena. What had his wife been thinking, to go out like that with no protection?

  He turned to James, who sat next to him in the passenger seat of Michael’s car. “I’m going to drop you off on the side of the road,” he said. “I’ll come back for you later.”

  James shook his head. “Not on your life. If you’re going after them, I’m going with you.”

  “This is police business,” Michael said. “You can’t get involved.”

  “I already am,” James said vehemently. “There’s no time to lose. Let’s go!”

  There wasn’t time to argue, either. Michael called his office and left short, sharp instructions, then hung up and drove faster.

  He wound around the back roads and came out on the main road again, then turned left at a three-way intersection headed into a more sparsely populated area. The BMW and the green Mercedes were nowhere in sight. He dialed Helena’s mobile. “Where are you now?” he demanded when Susan answered.

  She described the countryside and said the green Mercedes was turning right onto a dirt road.

  He knew where she was, he thought. “I’m only a minute or so behind you now,” he said. “You’re headed to a small stone farmhouse. It’s been empty for the last couple of years. They must have set up their headquarters there.”

  “I see it,” Susan said. “There’s another dark green Mercedes next to the house. I can’t tell if anyone’s in it.”

  ***

  Michael came around the corner and sped past the BMW. Susan was dimly visible inside. He stopped his car about ten yards from the house and threw himself out, Smith and Wesson in hand, using his open driver’s-side door as a shield. He didn’t intend to get into a gunfight, but he had no idea what he was up against.

  “Hide the gun,” James said from behind him. “If they see it, Helena is a dead woman. Our only chance is to look harmless.”

  Michael eyed the scene in front of him with a sinking heart. James was right. Through the back window of the green Mercedes, he saw a man with a gun pointed at Helena’s head.

  Michael holstered his weapon and stood. He and James walked toward the farmhouse. The gunman forced Helena and Anthony out of the back seat ahead of him, and Michael saw he carried a snub-nosed .38. As the gunman spotted Michael and James, confusion washed across his face. Clearly, an unarmed male stranger and a priest were the last thing he’d expected.

  The driver got out and stood by the car. Michael tensed, then relaxed slightly when he didn’t see a gun.

  He stepped closer to the gunman, James a few paces behind him.

  The farmhouse door opened. Two more men came out, both carrying handguns. They strode toward the cars.

  Helena saw Michael then, and her eyes widened. He gave her and Anthony a look of reassurance, but he knew it was a fraud. Four men now, three of them armed, against Michael with his holstered Smith and Wesson. They didn’t have a chance.

  James stepped between Michael and the two men from the house. The thought of Father de Aragon flashed through Michael’s mind; he wanted to scream at James to step aside, but didn’t dare make a sound or a move. The men looked surprised to see a priest in their driveway and two extra cars in the entry lane.

  As they hesitated, the gunman near Helena let out a piercing scream and clutched his right knee. His weapon slipped from his fingers.

  Michael swung into action. He darted forward and pulled Helena and Anthony from the gunman’s grasp. He was dimly aware of a scuffle nearby and shouts from the farmhouse, but kept his focus on his wife and son. “Run!” he said, pushing Helena toward the BMW. She grabbed Anthony’s hand and they dashed away.

  The gunman staggered half upright again, weapon back in hand, and squeezed off an awkward shot. The bullet stung as it grazed the side of Michael’s head. Fueled by adrenaline and terror, Michael swept his feet from under him and stomped on the man’s face. The gunman’s head snapped back with a sickening pop, and Michael heard bones crunch. He wrested the gun from the man’s hand and saw the gunman was unconscious, his face a shattered mess.

  Michael touched the side of his head. It felt warm and sticky, and his hand came back bright red.

  He looked around in time to see James disarm one of the men from the farmhouse. The luckless driver lay sprawled in the dirt at James’s feet. James trained the weapon on the second armed thug, who fled toward the parked Mercedes. James fired a couple of rounds at the fleeing man’s his legs, but missed. Lousy shot, Michael thought. He reached for his Smith and Wesson, then stopped as he realized James was in the line of fire. He lowered his weapon. Michael’s own men would eventually pick the bastard up.

  The first thug had gotten to his feet, and he threw himself at Michael. The driver staggered up and went for James, who dropped the gun and decked him. It was over in seconds, Michael and James fighting side by side until both their attackers were pinned to the ground. James retrieved the discarded handgun and trained it on the two men. The original gunman, battered by Michael’s earlier assault, remained out cold.

  Michael stood, wiping mixed blood and sweat from his face. He heard the roar of an engine and looked over toward the cars, in time to see the BMW peel out toward the road. The second green Mercedes, with the remaining thug behind the wheel, sped off after it. Michael swore, drew his gun and fired off a few shots at the retreating Mercedes. He saw at least one bullet hit, but the car didn’t slow down.

  “Go,” James said. His hold on the gun he’d taken never wavered. “I’ll keep watch over this bunch.”

  Michael ran to his own Mercedes and sped off after Helena and her pursuer.

  ***

  Helena saw the green Mercedes bearing down on her. “Hang on,” she told Susan and Anthony. “We’re going to lose him.”

  When she reached the turnoff to the main road, she threw the wheel
to the right instead of going left. The Mercedes drew up alongside and bumped the BMW. Helena swerved, then bumped back.

  Anthony screamed.

  Helena downshifted and took the next right turn. The Mercedes screeched behind her, bumping her car’s rear. They were fast approaching a narrow bridge, wide enough for only one car. She sped towards it.

  As she started over the bridge, she heard a loud bang. The BMW swerved wildly. Shot out a tire, Helena thought, choking down panic. She fought for control, but the steering wheel didn’t respond. The BMW crashed through the wooden guardrail and plunged toward the stream below.

  They hit the water hard. Helena braced herself against the wheel as the car began sinking. Thank God the water wasn’t too cold.

  “Kick off your shoes,” she screamed, and fumbled at her seat belt. The belt gave, and she willed herself to calm down as she climbed into the back seat. Crouching in front of Anthony, she quickly undid his seat belt, then groped under the water for his feet. His shoes were still on, so she pulled them off. Tiny red sneakers.

  Anthony was pale, his round eyes brimming. “Mommy, I’m scared,” he said in a small voice. He hadn’t called her Mommy since he was three years old.

  She answered with a calm she didn’t feel. “That’s all right. I’m here.”

  Susan, thank heavens, had managed to free herself. “Can you swim?” Helena asked.

  “Yes.” Susan sounded uncertain. The water had reached her waist, and she looked frightened.

  “Don’t worry,” Helena said firmly. “We’re getting out of here. Shoes off?”

  Susan nodded mutely.

  ”All right.” She looked Anthony in the eyes. “Take a deep breath and hold it while Susan and I roll down the windows. The water will gush in, but just keep holding your breath. It won’t be far to the surface.”

  Anthony bit his lip. “What about jellyfish?”