Echoes Through the Vatican: A Paranormal Mystery (The Echoes Quartet Book 2)

by K. Francis Ryan

  Each cardinal wore a simple black suit with a Roman collar. Both faced each other across a small table in a quiet corner. Each man knew the other well and each knew what ordinance the other brought to the field. A single tall, slender taper cast a warm glow over the battlefield.

  “Terrance, I heard some disturbing news recently. I understand you had a visitor, an American. I know of this man and must warn you against placing too much faith in him. He was, I believe, involved in some dealings with the Russian mafia in New York. Now, it seems, he is here in Rome.

  “You are blessed with a spotless reputation. I would hate to see that blemished in any way. There are rumors you may be our next pope. We have had Italians, Poles, Germans and, most recently, an Argentinean – an Irish Pope might not be such a bad thing. I tell you all of this as one friend tells another,” Cardinal Luciano said and smiled warmly. The warmth never reached beyond the corners of his mouth.

  “Ah, Antonio, Antonio, I am afraid you have been listening to the wrong sorts of people. A poor Irish priest as Pope? That will never happen. And it never happening is a good thing,” Cardinal Manning said as his face took on a furrowed, contrived thoughtfulness.

  “I have been fortunate, Antonio, blessed I might even say. I’ve risen far higher than I ever dreamed possible. I am content to spend my remaining days right where I am. I entered the seminary with every intention of serving the Church. I wish only to end my life in Her service.”

  The cardinal’s smile was a reflection of Cardinal Luciano’s. It was a smile without sincerity. It did not speak of friendship or offer sympathy or understanding. It spoke of cunning, trickery and a ravenous deceit. It was a smile on the face of artifice.

  “Still,” Cardinal Manning continued. “I do appreciate your words of advice as I appreciate your friendship.” With terrifying cordiality, both men smiled and enjoyed their dinner.

  ***

  He could almost see it. Julian had a talent for seeing into the past – sometime the recent past and sometimes the ancient past. His work with the Jesuit Book had given him the clues necessary to control how far back he could go.

  This time, he was almost there. He watched as two men approached Ailís at the express package counter. It unfolded as Califano said. Julian cursed himself. He was rooted to one spot and couldn’t get another angle on the car, the men or Ailís. Califano said Ailís went with the men willingly, but what Julian saw was different. The men approached, said something to her and she fled the express counter, but not from the men – with them. To Julian she almost seemed to be urging them to hurry.

  It was nearly time Julian had determined. He had been marking time as Fr. Soski had said, running, hiding, following clues. The time for gathering information was almost over.

  ***

  The day was bright as the inspector and her assistant walked side by side down the broad steps of the Palace of Justice. They risked their lives crossing the Piaza dei Tribunali and gained the entrance of the Ponte Umberto, all in one piece with no drastic spikes in blood pressure. Rome’s traffic was being kind today. The bridge over the Tiber River wasn’t especially crowded for noontime. A few businessmen, a couple of students and, judging by the Hawaiian shirts, some American tourists were all that were out in the Roman sunshine.

  The two police officers took their time and admired the tall trees and the sludge brown Tiber as it twitched along, too bored to do anything more energetic.

  “Enrico,” his inspector began. “If you weren’t a policeman, what would you be?” She looked into the distance as she considered her own options.

  “Well,” Enrico said, “I would be an opera singer.”

  “What? An opera singer? We have been drunk together a few times and I’ve heard you sing. You are awful.”

  “I am a policeman. Anything else would be a dream and if I am going to dream, I will dream big. Put me down for an opera singer.”

  Belladonna laughed and Enrico smiled just before the corners of his mouth turned down. She said, “I would like to be a fashion designer. It is the furthest thing there is from being in the police, no, Enrico? Enrico? Enrico?”

  Her partner was no longer beside her. She found him fifteen feet behind her holding Julian Blessing by the throat, pushed up against a light standard. The way Enrico was standing told the inspector her assistant’s weapon was drawn and probably pressed against Julian’s chest.

  She took her time, knowing Enrico would have some useful words of advice for the American.

  Enrico Marino’s eyes were like obsidian – hard, black, angry and merciless. “Do wizards die from gunshot wounds?” he hissed into Julian’s face. The barrel of the sergeant’s Beretta 9mm pressed painfully into Julian’s sternum.

  Julian’s voice was pinched and he was breathing rapidly. “Pretty sure they do,” were the only words he could choke out.

  Julian’s reading and rereading of the Jesuit Book had given him scores of metaphysical responses. The only countermeasure he could manage for this situation was to try to get oxygen into his lungs the old fashioned way.

  A chill passed through Julian as he watched the policeman say, “Let’s find out for sure, wizard.”

  “Enrico, please let signore Blessing breathe, but don’t let him go. And put your weapon away. You know how I hate loud noises and the tourists are staring,” the inspector said.

  “Signore, what is it about following two well trained and heavily armed police officers that made you think doing such a thing was a good idea?” The Inspector let a full thirty seconds pass before she said, “That’s right, nothing made it a good idea. What are you doing following us?”

  “I went by your headquarters and asked for you,” Julian said still gasping.

  “And you found someone there who just said, ‘Oh thank you for asking, signore. Bella and Enrico are at the Palace of Justice. Can we give you a lift over there?’ Is that what happened?” the young woman asked.

  Julian struggled to break Enrico’s grip on his throat. “I came away with that impression, yes – except for the lift part.” The grip tightened a fraction.

  “Enrico, please let the signore go,” the inspector said. Reluctantly, her assistant reholstered his firearm and let Julian breathe.

  “Now, signore, what is it that you wanted that would cause you to track us down and risk your life?”

  “Califano was wrong.” Julian was bent over with his hands on his knees still gasping. The police officers exchanged looks.

  “Wrong in what way?” the inspector asked pleasantly.

  “The car that drove the doctor away from the airport wasn’t from the Vatican. C08004 – diplomatic plates. Assigned to the Ukrainian embassy,” Julian gasped and began to cough. “At least, that series is assigned to them.”

  “Enrico, stand our new friend upright. He is going to take us to the other side of the bridge, buy us some gelato, and tell us how he knows what he shouldn’t – again,” the inspector said with a pointed grimace.

  ***

  “Shit, shit and shit,” the inspector said as she returned to her seat in the outdoor café and pocketed her cell phone. She looked down into her cup of melted gelato. “And shit,” she added.

  Enrico looked at Julian and jerked his thumb in the direction of the bar. Julian left to find some gelato that wasn’t melted.

  With her treat restored, the inspector said, “There is no C08004 and certainly not at the Vatican. The Ukrainian embassy has a C08001, 02, 08 and 11, but no 04. Somebody is going to a lot of trouble to put this at Bogdan Sokolov’s door or Bogdan Sokolov is that stupid.”

  “Well, that’s enough for me,” Julian said quietly.

  “What’s enough for you?” the inspector turned to Julian and asked.

  “I’m tired of screwing around. I’m going to see Sokolov,” Julian looked up and said.

  Enrico rubbed the center of his forehead to dispel an ice cream headache while his partner looked dumbfounded.

  “So you are going to go see the man who wa
nts you dead. Is that right?” the inspector asked.

  “What Mr. Sokolov wants and what he gets may be two different things. I’ve been sitting on my hands for too long. I’m going to find the doctor, then we are leaving Rome,” Julian said. “Want to tell me where Sokolov is?”

  “Enrico, is he serious?” Her assistant looked into Julian’s eyes and what he saw there disturbed him. He nodded his head once.

  “I am afraid my government wouldn’t like it if I stood around while a tourist committed suicide. They become cranky because they have no sense of humor. Sadly, we cannot allow you to do this thing.”

  Julian pushed back from the table slowly. He looked relaxed, his face serene and his manner tranquil. “Inspector, Sergeant,” Julian looked to each in turn. “I realize you have the best intentions, but I’m afraid this is something I have to do. You can’t go knock on the Russian’s door and sit down for a chat. I can.

  “Inspector, you said, you can’t allow me to do this. In fact you must allow it, because you have no choice.” Julian spoke softly and slowly, without pretense or bravado. He looked almost apologetic. His eyelids were heavy.

  “Both of you, I promise I will report back everything I learn,” Julian said and smiled.

  “No,” the inspector was emphatic. Enrico leaned forward slightly in case the American moved further than his inspector wanted him to.

  “I’m sorry,” Julian said. He took a slow deep breath and closed his eyes. When he opened them, all movement around him appeared to have stopped. He had developed the ability to step outside of linear time while working with his teacher in Ireland. The Jesuit Book helped, but he still couldn’t maintain it for long. But in a few minutes he would be a block away and the police officers would be questioning their sanity.

  Chapter Nine

  “Very nicely done, Mr. Blessing. Bravo.”

  Julian had stepped back into the normal flow of time directly into the path of Cardinal Antonio Luciano. “Your Eminence does get around,” Julian said.

  “My car is right here. Perhaps I can offer you a ride?” The cardinal posed it as a question, but it wasn’t.

  “Thank you, but walking is good exercise and I don’t do enough of it. I see you found a new driver, Eminence. Does he understand how temporary his job can be?” Julian asked.

  The cardinal smiled and shrugged. “It was my hope you and I could have a talk, signore Blessing. May I call you Julian? A pleasant drive around Rome is conducive to conversation, I find.”

  “It is a funny thing. The more you insist I get into your car, the more I am disinclined to do so. Why do you think that is? As for the whole name thing, let’s just leave it the way it is right for now.”

  “Ah, I see. My car makes you uncomfortable. Perhaps we could walk together? I suppose only your friends call you Julian and I, as yet, have not earned your friendship. Do you have many friends? I am fortunate; I have many friends from all walks of life. I would be honored if you would consider me your friend.

  “As a show of good faith and friendship, let me pass along a word of warning,” the cardinal continued. “You are newly arrived in Rome and so have no idea of whom you can and cannot trust. Currently, you count the Jesuit priest, Fr. Marek Soski, as an acquaintance, perhaps even a friend. I would not be much of a friend myself if I did not warn you. Soski is not a man to be trusted.”

  “But Eminence, Fr. Soski is one of us. Are you saying not all of us are to be trusted?” The sarcasm in Julian’s voice did not faze the cardinal at all.

  “Sadly, Mr. Blessing, it is true. Nearly all of us can be trusted. We share certain core values and desire only to enrich mankind. Soski has no such values and is interested in enriching himself only.

  “What would cause you to come to that conclusion?” Julian asked. He was beginning to ache from the effort to protect his thoughts from the cardinal. Although Julian’s barbs were not lost on Cardinal Luciano, the man wanted to know what Julian knew and everything he had ever known. If that meant Julian’s mind would be destroyed in the process, well, to Luciano, that was the cost of doing business. The two walked past dun colored shops that managed to put on display a colorful sameness.

  “Fr. Soski is a thief. He stole something from his employer and when confronted, he refused to confess or return the item. Despicable is what I call it. The man has no honor,” the cardinal said and his mouth twisted in disgust.

  “But that isn’t true, Eminence.” The cardinal spun too quickly and overbalanced, nearly falling into the priest who addressed him. In a clerical suit and roman collar, the man wore a black overcoat on a pleasant Roman afternoon. A broad brimmed fedora and dark glasses completed the wraith that stood before Julian and the cardinal.

  The priest’s dry rasping whisper brought a smile to Julian’s face and caused the cardinal to recoil with only one hissed response, “Soski.”

  “Mr. Blessing,” Fr. Soski said. “It is a terrible world indeed when princes of the Church make free with the reputations of others.”

  “The eighth commandment, Eminence?” Soski goaded. “I know you are a bit out of touch with that sort of religious thing, but you remember – that’s the one about bearing false witness. There is another one about murder, but I forget the number.” The priest looked expectant while the cardinal looked rabid. “I would be delighted to hear your confession,” Soski added.

  “Do not tempt me, Soski. Reason dictated I should have finished what I started with you.” The cardinal spat the words.

  “Oh, Eminence, you would have. If you could have. You were distracted. I understand completely. How is your limp? I’ve been meaning to ask.” Fr. Soski smiled an evil smile and continued.

  “Speaking of reason, Mr. Blessing, has the good cardinal regaled you with his ‘Soldiers of Reason’ speech. It is one of his best. You really should ask him to recite it to you. Although many find it laughable, I believe you would be more restrained and respectful. The cardinal demands respect, although he may not command it.” Soski was enjoying goading Luciano.

  “Father,” Julian said, “his Eminence did use that phrase when we first met. I must say, I had never thought of us in those terms.”

  The cardinal’s car was parked at the curb on the far side of the street. The driver left the vehicle on a run when he saw the exchange between his employer and the two men.

  As he approached, Julian saw the man reach under his suit coat. Julian’s response was instinctual and blistering. He concentrated and extended his hand slightly. The driver stumbled, slowed and stumbled again, then a look of horror crossed his face and he began vomiting. He fell to his knees and the revolver he had been reaching for dropped from his hand and skittered, vomit encrusted, to the gutter.

  Julian returned to the conversation to find the cardinal and Soski looking at him. “Cardinal,” Julian said, “your driver seems to be ill. Maybe some bad antipasto, huh? Want me to get you a taxi?”

  The cardinal smiled a narrow smile and said, “Have a care for the company you keep, Mr. Blessing. As I said to you before, I can use a man like you and your efforts would be,” the cardinal paused, “appreciated.”

  “Eminence, friends don’t use their friends, do they?” Julian said.

  “As I said, choose your friends wisely,” the cardinal said and Julian could feel Luciano probing his mind.

  “Indeed, Mr. Blessing,” Fr. Soski said as he deflected some of the cardinal’s intense scrutiny. “If you choose your friends wisely, it makes it so much easier and enjoyable to murder them later.”

  The cardinal left his attack on Julian, turned and walked to his car. He got behind the wheel and merged into traffic easily, leaving his driver retching in the gutter.

  “Shall we?” Julian asked and Fr. Soski nodded. Together, they both made their way through a small portico into a smaller piazza crowded with parked cars. Soski walked slowly, painfully, and Julian slowed his pace to match the priest’s.

  “That was nicely done with the driver. Luciano was impressed or sho
cked. I don’t know which. Can I assume the Book is helping then?” Soski asked.

  “It is helping. However, that whole driver thing, well, I was trying to trip him. I have no idea what I did to make him start throwing up like that. Looked painful,” Julian answered and winced at the memory.

  “I wouldn’t worry about it. Once, in the early days, I was learning to calm my thoughts sufficiently to be able to move a large tree branch out of the road. My teacher told me progress comes slowly. I can hear him saying that even today.”

  “Did you get the branch to move?” Julian asked.

  “No, I set my teacher’s house on fire instead. Not the whole house. Just a small shed that then set the rest of the house alight. Not the outcome I was hoping for actually,” Fr. Soski said.

  Contemplating the nature of personal growth, and the part the multilayered web of maladroitness and bold stupidity have to play in it, both men walked up the broad steps and into the cool, dark embrace of the Basilica di Sant' Agostino.

  Julian and Fr. Soski walked down the wide center aisle of the Basilica. The priest had removed his fedora. The hair Julian took to be silver, when seen in the dim light of Soski’s office, was a dull white. The skin on the man’s face was dry and withered. A network of deep lines extended from under the priest’s dark glasses along with signs of old scarring.

  The church was small, but took every opportunity to increase its grandeur. Heavily veined marble pillars ascended to towering frescoed arches. Stained glass windows grew from the arches and bathed the interior of the church in blue and red sapphire, wispy purple and ghostly white. Six naves set deeply into the outside walls hinted at treasures without lifting their veils.

  Rather than genuflect, Fr. Soski stopped next to the first pew and bowed his head. Julian watched the man and reflected this priest would bow before his god, but to no other.

  The men sat in the pew and enjoyed a companionable silence absorbing the church’s smell of pungent incense and dust.

  Julian was the first to break the stillness. “Following me Father?”