by R. D. Brady
“It really is a school,” Laney said.
“Either that or those are some very short and compelling spies. Shall we try the front door now?”
Laney nodded, not sure what to make of it. Cain had mentioned that the copy of the tome Patrick had gotten in the mail had come from a school in Rome. It seemed too much of a stretch that this was not the same place. Did that mean these guys were allies?
They made their way back to the metal gates at the front. The gates were locked, and there was a bell, an actual old-fashioned bell, next to it. Drake pulled the cord, and they waited.
Two minutes passed. Laney was reaching for the cord again when the front door opened. A nun in a white habit with a white wimple stepped out of the building. A large dark rosary hung around her neck and swung with her movements as she hurried to the gate.
Her movements were of a young, energetic woman, but as she approached, Laney could see the lines in her olive complexion and wrinkles around her eyes. Her hands were curled from arthritis but still slim and strong, although her skin had taken on a parchmentlike quality. Laney would be shocked if she were any younger than sixty, although she was probably closer to seventy, maybe even eighty. The nun stepped to the gate, peering up at them.
“Can I help you?” she asked in a thick accent that took a moment for Laney to place because it wasn’t Italian. Spanish, maybe.
“Good afternoon,” Laney said. “We were asked to meet our friend Father Sebastian Gante here.”
A smile burst across the woman’s face. “Bas. Oh, how wonderful. We did not know he was back in the country. Come in, come in.” She opened the gate, waving them forward. “I am Sister Cristela.”
“This is Drake, and I’m Delaney McPhearson.”
The woman gaped, her hand flying to her throat. “Oh my. I’m so sorry. I didn’t recognize you. I left my glasses inside.”
“That’s all right. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“Oh, and you as well. Please follow me.” She hustled toward the building, and Laney had to practically jog to keep up with her.
Sister Cristela moved much faster than a woman her age should. Laney recalled an article she’d read about aging nuns. A study of almost 700 nuns, ages 75–102, followed over a period of thirty years, found that nuns often were able to stave off the effects of Alzheimer’s if they had what was called idea density—a great number of thoughts packed into a writing sample. Nuns with positive outlooks lived significantly longer than those with less positive outlooks. The nuns in general lived longer than most women. The nuns who read more and intellectually stimulated themselves seemed to do a better job of staving off dementia. After their death, it was found that these nuns had all the physical signs of Alzheimer’s in their brains but had demonstrated no symptoms.
Sister Cristela certainly seemed to live up to the study’s findings. “Is there a phone we can use? Our cell phones died.”
Cristela stopped, taking Laney’s hands. “Oh, of course, your brother. You must be so worried.”
Laney stared down at the small woman, dread coiling in her stomach. “What do you mean?”
“I just saw it on the news. Your brother’s home—it was raided by the government. Warrants have been put out for all of them.” She paused. “And for you as well.”
CHAPTER 44
Baltimore, Maryland
The dream was strange. Everything was covered in a low-hanging, thick fog. Mary Jane kept running, but she couldn’t see anything or anyone. Just more and more fog. Where was everybody? She ran faster, but it made no difference. There was nothing. Her foot caught on something. She tripped, flying forward. She braced her hands but knew the impact was going to be—
Mary Jane’s eyes flew open. She reared up, her arm pulling painfully. A metal cuff was wrapped around her wrist, the other half around the metal bars of a hospital bed. She stared at it, trying for a moment to figure out some medical reason for a handcuff to be around her wrist because she could not fathom the reason she normally saw people cuffed to their hospital beds being applied to her. As a nurse, she knew unruly patients often had to be restrained, but those cuffs were padded to keep the patient from hurting themselves. This cuff was metal, and that was only used by law enforcement. Why would—
Her gaze caught the bandage on her other arm, where the soldier had cut her to see how quickly she would heal. And just like that, everything that had happened came rushing back to her. The soldiers, the zip ties, Joe getting hurt, Jake trying to protect them, and Molly.
Oh my God, where is Molly?
The door opened. Mary Jane’s gaze snapped to a silver-haired man walking in. He wore a dark gray suit and had a coat slung over the arm that also carried a briefcase. He looked more like a lawyer than a doctor or soldier.
The man placed his briefcase and coat in a chair and walked to the side of the bed. “Mary Jane McAdams, I’m Brett Hanover. I run the legal department of the Chandler Group.”
Mary Jane said nothing, studying the man. He looked like a lawyer, and she’d heard his name before, but her trust was nonexistent at this point. She’d trusted the government, and they’d beaten her, her son, Jake, and shot Molly. She crossed her arms over her chest. “Prove it.”
He smiled. “Jake suggested you would not believe me. He wanted me to tell you that Shaun cheats at checkers, and something about a racist sundae?”
Mary Jane’s shoulders slumped with relief. Shaun did cheat at checkers, and the racist sundae was a joke about Mary Jane’s boring sundae choice: vanilla ice cream, marshmallow topping, whipped cream, no cherry. “How’s Jake? And the boys? And Molly? Have you seen Molly?”
Brett pulled up a chair, sitting next to the bed. “I’ve seen Jake. He’s fine aside from some bumps and bruises. The boys are not in custody. Jake suggested that Henry may have had something to do with that, but I have not had any word on them, or Henry, for that matter.”
“And Molly?”
Brett’s mouth turned down. “I have no information on your daughter, I’m afraid. I have been able to get in to see you and Jake because you are not Fallen.”
“Not Fallen? Why does that make a difference?”
“The President’s executive order removed the constitutional protections guaranteed to all American citizens if they are proven to be Fallen. Similar to how the PATRIOT Act removed protections for individuals accused of terrorism, individuals identified as Fallen do not have the right to an attorney, and the government can refuse to divulge any and all information regarding where they are being held. They don’t even have to admit they are holding her.”
“But she’s only thirteen.”
“I know. And I believe this order is unconstitutional. I submitted a case against the government, as did a few other civil rights groups. The case will be heard tomorrow by the Fifth Circuit Court in D.C.”
“Tomorrow?” She glanced at the window. The sun looked like it had barely been up. “So they can just hold my daughter, torture my daughter, for at least one full day, and there’s nothing we can do?”
“I’m afraid right now, that is true. The Chandler Group is trying to find out where they took Molly and Zane, but so far they’ve had no luck.”
Mary Jane couldn’t absorb what he was saying. She was locked in a nightmare, and she was powerless to do anything.
“I have managed to get you and Jake released.”
But not Molly. Mary Jane couldn’t get the image of Molly falling out of her mind.
“The government is digging in its heels about Molly, but I think they will be changing their tune soon.”
“Why? They hold all the cards.”
“Not all of them.” Brett glanced at his watch, then pulled out his phone. His fingers danced over the screen as he spoke. “Jake wanted me to remind you that he said they were going to fight them with everything they had. And that one of the first weapons they were going to use was truth.”
“What does that mean?”
Brett looked up and smiled. �
��Henry prepared in many ways for the siege. One was making sure that every inch of the estate was being recorded. He caught everything the government did last night on camera. And this morning, it was released to the media. I’m just waiting on word for who’s going to show it first.”
“You think that will help?”
“Oh, I can guarantee no one involved in last night’s raid is going to be happy.”
CHAPTER 45
Rome, Italy
“Come in, come in.” Sister Cristela waved Laney and Drake in through the large metal doors before leading them across a marble floor, cracks showing its age. Ahead, a large four-foot statue of a Pope stood in an alcove. The walls were plaster, showing attempts at patching them over the years. But otherwise, the space was spotless. A small waiting room sat off the foyer. Sister Cristela turned on the TV, switching it to an American news channel.
Laney’s eyes focused on the TV and the armed soldiers guarding the Chandler gate. She barely heard Sister Cristela as she spoke. “There’s a phone there if you need to call anyone.”
“Thank you.” Drake headed for the phone, but Laney couldn’t pull her gaze from the TV.
She slumped into a chair, staring in horror at the sight of the estate looking like a militarized zone. What had happened? On screen, the anchor recounted the raid.
Drake came and sat next to her.
“Did you reach anyone?”
Drake shook his head. “No. Henry, Jake, Jen, Cain, Lou—no one’s answering.”
A different anchorperson appeared on the screen, reading a statement about the raid. “Last night’s raid was conducted by the Committee on Enhanced Individuals Retrieval Force. A dangerous Fallen who was hiding at the Chandler Estate was apprehended and is now in government custody. We do not know at this time who the individual is—all the government would say was that the Fallen was a danger to society. We now go to our—”
Laney sprang to her feet. Who did they take? All the possible candidates flew through her mind. “It had to be an adult, right? They wouldn’t take one of the kids, would they?”
“I don’t know, Laney,” Drake said softly before crossing the room and turning off the TV.
Laney jumped forward, reaching for the controls. “What are you doing?”
“You are tying yourself in knots. You can do nothing about what is happening there. So let’s figure out how we’re going to get back there and what exactly Bas has been up to.”
Laney felt her anger deflate. “You’re right. I can’t do anything from here.”
“No, you can’t. But there’s another mystery for you to solve. Come take a look.” Drake walked to the alcove built into the wall directly across from the main doors and led her to the statue of the Pope. The Pope held a book and a child.
Laney studied the statue. It was very well crafted, but she couldn’t understand why it was important. It was just a statue of a Pope. She’d seen dozens if not more of them since coming to Rome. “I don’t get it. What am I looking for?”
“What do you see?”
She glanced at the name at its base but couldn’t quite make it out. “John Anglicus. I don’t recognize him. Is he one of the early ones?
“Indeed, she was one of the early ones.”
Laney started. “She?”
“Look closer, Laney.”
She turned back to the statue, inspecting it a little more closely this time. The features on the face were soft, almost feminine, but the same could be said for many statues. But closer examination of the body revealed a swell of breasts.
Her gaze flew back to the face and the long lashes on the eyes before they turned to the child in her arms. “It’s Pope Joan.”
Pope Joan had been a Pope sometime around the ninth century, although debate raged as to when or if she even existed. Her legend dogged the Church for centuries before Pope Clement finally declared that she had never existed.
But all traces of her were harder to remove. She had been killed by a crowd when she gave birth to a child on her way from St. Peter’s to the Pope’s residence at Lateran Palace. For a century, the papal processions avoided the street where it occurred, even though it was the most direct route from the church to the residence.
Her legacy had endured in other ways as well. In ancient tarot cards, the card for hidden knowledge depicted a female Pope. At the basilica in St. Peter’s Square, Bernini, one of the most famous artists of the 17th century, carved eight images of a woman wearing a papal crown. The images seemed to tell the story of a woman giving birth.
“Why would they place a statue of her here?” Laney asked.
Drake shrugged. “This is the School of the Holy Mother. Perhaps it is a different mother they revere.”
Steps hurried down the hall toward them. Laney turned, expecting to see Sister Cristela. But it was a different, more familiar face that made their way down the hall to them. “Bas?”
Bas smiled. “I am glad to see you made it, Laney. And you as well.” He nodded at Drake.
“What are we doing here?” Laney demanded.
Bas indicated the building with a sweep of his hand. “This is my home. I grew up here.”
Laney stared at him, stunned. Bas grew up here? And then he showed up in the United States.
“There is much to explain”—he nodded to the statue—“for what her death began.”
Laney growled, she was so annoyed. “I don’t care about a long-dead Pope. Do you know what is happening in the States? I need to get back. I don’t have time for a history lesson. Now where is my uncle?”
“He’ll be here.”
“If the Brotherhood is targeting Laney, they would be smart to target him as well. Would you know if they had him?” Drake asked.
“Not immediately. But—”
Laney headed for the door.
“Laney, wait.” Bas darted in front of her.
Clouds blocked the sun. Thunder rumbled. The first traces of fear dashed across Bas’s face.
Laney locked eyes with him. “I suggest you get out of my way.”
He put up his hands. “Laney, I am trying to help. I swear, I am on your side.”
The clanging of a bell sounded outside.
“That’s the front gate,” said Bas.
Drake headed for the door. He didn’t slow down as he approached Bas. Bas wisely leaped out of the way just in time, because Laney was pretty sure Drake was going to go right through him. Laney was right behind him. She blurred out the door to the gate. Sister Cristela shrieked as wind blew her skirt as she came around the side of the building.
Laney did not stop to apologize. Through the gate, she could see her uncle sitting in his wheelchair. She stumbled to a run, bending over and gulping in breath.
He’s okay. He’s okay. The fear she had been holding at bay crashed into her with the force of a semitruck. Ever since they had entered the tunnel, she had forced herself not to think of her uncle. Short of storming the Vatican and creating a huge international incident, there was nothing she could do. But the fear had been a constant. She had nearly lost him a few months ago. Ever since then, his mortality and the fact that one day she would lose him had been the thought constantly taking up residence in the back of her mind.
Drake put an arm around her, helping her straighten. “He’s all right, ring bearer. He’s all right,” he whispered before hurrying to the gate.
Laney followed behind him, trying to get her emotions under control. The last thing she wanted to do was worry her uncle. Drake had the gate open by the time she reached it.
Laney hurried through, throwing her arms around her uncle. “Thank God. I was so worried.”
Her uncle patted her back. “It’s been a bit of an adventure. Luckily, I had some help, although I’m not exactly sure how he fits into everything.”
Laney studied the tall, dark-skinned man next to her uncle. He smiled. “It is a pleasure to finally meet you, Dr. McPhearson. I am David Okafur.” He extended his hand.
She to
ok it. “Thank you.”
He smiled again, inclining his head. “Now I believe I have lost any attempts to follow us, but perhaps we could move this conversation inside just in case?”
Laney placed her hands on the handlebars of her uncle’s chair. She gave David a pointed look. “Yes. I think we need to chat.”
David inclined his head in agreement. As David stepped through the gate, Sister Cristela gave a happy little cry. David hurried over to her, lifting the tiny nun up and twirling her around.
He placed her down, smiling down at her. “I believe you have shrunk since I last saw you.”
She whacked his stomach with the back of her hand with a grump, although her eyes still sparkled. “Always with the insults, this one.”
David offered her his arm. She tucked her ancient arm through his. “Sister Cristela, you know you are my favorite Salvadorian nun.”
“And you know your flattery does not work with me,” she replied even as she held his arm a little tighter.
Laney watched the exchange in confusion. She leaned down to her uncle. “Who exactly is he?”
“I was introduced to him as the United States representative at the Vatican.”
“He’s a U.S. envoy?” Drake asked.
“That’s what I was told. But when some priests tried to abduct me, he defended me and got me out of the Vatican. I would not have been able to do it on my own.”
Laney’s hands tightened on the wheelchair. “I’m sorry, Uncle. I never should have let you go in there alone. I should’ve—”
He reached up and patted her hand. “You couldn’t have known. I still don’t truly know what any of this is about.”
Ahead, Bas stepped out of the front door, a smile crossing his face at the sight of David. David extricated himself from Sister Cristela and quickly hurried over to Bas. Their hug was filled with warmth and familiarity. These two weren’t just casual friends. They were family.