Moving Target

by Christina Diaz Gonzalez

  The door creaked open a few inches, but I could only see part of a person’s face.

  “Brother Gregorio?” I asked.

  “No.” The door opened a little wider to reveal a guy, a little older than us, with light-brown hair, tan skin, and greenish-gray eyes that looked almost transparent. “I’m Asher,” he said in perfect English. “Come in. Brother Gregorio has been expecting you.”

  “He has?” I asked as the door opened wide and I stepped forward. Standing next to him, I noticed that he was six or seven inches taller than me. He was wearing loose-fitting jeans, a gray polo, and a hoodie. He didn’t match what I imagined a monk or a monk-in-training would look like.

  Simone tried to follow me in, but Asher raised his left hand and stopped her. “I’m sorry, only she comes in,” he said. I noticed the large silver ring he was wearing.

  “She’s with me,” I explained.

  He raised a single eyebrow. “Brother Gregorio didn’t mention another girl.”

  “Really?” Simone cocked her head to the side. “Maybe Brother Gregorio doesn’t tell you everything.”

  His eyes narrowed as he stared at Simone. “I’ll check with him, but you’ll have to wait out here for now.”

  “Listen, Asher—that’s your name, right?” He nodded as I stepped outside and stood next to Simone. “We’re in trouble, but either both of us come in or neither of us do.”

  Asher’s eyes darted back and forth between us.

  “Who is she and why is she here?” he asked.

  I hesitated. What was I supposed to say? That she was my best friend, and some unknown bad guys were chasing us around Rome trying to kill us, and that my father had sent me here to see a monk I’d never met before? It sounded insane.

  “That is none of your business. Brother Gregorio is expecting us.” Simone pushed Asher aside, and with me at her heels, we both moved past the doorway. “Now, are you going to do your job and go get him?” she asked, her arms crossed and impatience in her voice. I’d never heard Simone speak like that. It didn’t even sound like her.

  I could see Asher’s jaw tense, but he reached behind us to close the door, locking it with three dead bolts. “Stay here,” he commanded before rushing up some nearby stairs, taking them three steps at a time.

  Simone and I exchanged a look. Immediately, we started wandering around, checking out the place. We were in a covered breezeway that surrounded a small courtyard. The garden was full of all types of potted plants, some the size of small trees, and in the center there was a large fountain, which was covered in a mosaic of broken tiles. A large skylight above the courtyard revealed clouds tinged with hints of pink and purple.

  “Pretty good impression, right?” Simone said in a hushed voice.

  “Huh?”

  “The way I handled that guy. Totally my mom.” She crouched down to smell a yellow rose. “I was impersonating my mother. You got that, right?”

  “Well, I knew something was up,” I said, slowly walking around the fountain. Even though we’d reached our destination, I felt like a deer on high alert; all my senses were twitching, searching for anything that might be out of place.

  All around the courtyard were French doors that revealed different rooms. I peeked in as I passed, catching glimpses of a kitchen, dining room, and living room. A few other doors had lace curtains for privacy.

  “I told you both to stay put!” I looked up. Asher was leaning over the railing right above us.

  “We know what you said,” Simone answered coolly, tracing her hand along the edge of the fountain. “Just go find Brother Gregorio.”

  “Please,” I added, trying to soften things up.

  “That’s what I’m doing.” He glared at Simone. “And I’m very glad you are not Cassandra.”

  “He even knows my name,” I muttered the moment Asher disappeared into one of the rooms.

  “Yeah.” Simone scowled. “And I don’t like his attitude.” She paced around the courtyard. “My gut says that guy is bad news.”

  “Actually, Asher’s quite the opposite.” The voice came from an older man who had stepped out of an elevator at the far end of the courtyard. Unlike Asher, he looked exactly how I expected a monk to look. He had a wiry gray beard and wore a brown friar’s robe with a small rope tied around his very large waist. He walked slowly, but his eyes never left mine. He paused briefly beneath one of the breezeway arches.

  “Brother Gregorio?” I asked, my voice hesitating. I had expected him to speak to me in Italian, not in English.

  “None other.” He smiled warmly. “And you are the lovely Cassandra. At long last we meet.” His eyes shifted to Simone as we both walked toward him. “You are a friend of Cassandra’s, I gather?”

  “Um, yes, sir.” Simone did a half-bow, half-nod thing in acknowledgment.

  “Very well.” Brother Gregorio scanned the courtyard, then looked back at me. “And Felipe … where is he?”

  At the mention of my father, my lower lip quivered.

  Brother Gregorio tensed up and his face hardened into a grimace. “I see. Something has happened … as I feared.”

  Tears stung my eyes. “He was shot, and the hospital I took him to says that he’s not there.” My voice was getting squeaky. I took a deep breath, keeping my emotions in check. “He told me to find you. That you’d help.”

  “There, there.” He tapped my shoulder. “Felipe is a strong, stubborn man. He’ll be fine, and you’re safe here until we can sort things out.” He pointed down the breezeway. “Come. We’ll speak in my office.” Wobbling from side to side with each step, he led us to a door with a small gold cross hanging on the front. He reached for the doorknob, but stopped before turning it.

  “I’m sorry, child.” Brother Gregorio put a wrinkled hand on Simone’s arm. “This is a conversation for me and Cassandra to have in private.”

  “No,” I countered. “We went through this earlier when that guy Asher didn’t want to let her in. Simone stays with me.”

  Brother Gregorio shook his head. “Cassandra, that is not the way these things work. She cannot be privy to what we are going to discuss.”

  “Don’t worry, Cassie.” Simone took a couple of steps back. “I can wait out here.”

  “Yes, that would be best.” Brother Gregorio gave Simone a gentle smile. “I can see you are a good friend.”

  I faced Simone. “No, I want you to hear what is going on.” There was too much at stake for me to face everything alone. Even with Simone by my side I wasn’t sure if I could deal with whatever came next. “I need you with me. Plus, I got you into this mess. The least I can do is have you be there when I find out what this is all about.”

  “Un momento.” Brother Gregorio paused. “Please tell me you have some understanding of what is going on, Cassandra.”

  I stayed silent.

  His eyes felt like they were penetrating my thoughts, searching for something and not finding it. “Holy smoke!” He threw his hands up in the air. “Didn’t Felipe tell you anything?”

  “Well, he said to find you.” I bit my lip. This wasn’t the answer he wanted to hear. “We didn’t have much time and—”

  “Time?” Brother Gregorio shook his head in disgust. “I’ve warned him. Told him this might happen. Now look at us.” He turned to face the door, pulling out a key from under his cloak. “I must insist that your friend stay out here.”

  I hesitated. If the only way to get answers and help my father was to leave Simone outside, then I had no choice. I had to do it.

  “Go,” Simone whispered in my ear. “I’ll be right here and you can fill me in later. Just don’t trust him too much.”

  I followed the old monk into a small room with a round stained-glass window that scattered the dying sunlight into a prism of colors over the floor. Dust particles hovered in space over the stacks of books that filled the room. But more than books, there were papers, some yellowed with age, everywhere. There were piles, teetering on the edge of toppling over, on the floor,
hanging off bookshelves, and covering the large desk that was pushed to the corner of the room.

  “Have a seat.” Brother Gregorio pointed to a high-backed red velvet chair. The seat held a mound of papers on it, which left no place to sit.

  “Oh, right.” Brother Gregorio noticed the mess around him. “It looks disorganized, but I know where everything is. You can put those papers on the floor next to you.” He plopped himself down on a tattered and torn brown leather chair. “So”—he drew in a deep breath and slowly let it out—“tell me what happened today and what you know.”

  I placed the stack of papers on top of some others under my chair and sat down. “My father picked me up from school early and was freaked out about something. He mentioned the Hastati, but I’m not sure what or who that is. He said you could help me.”

  “Mm-hm.” Brother Gregorio pressed his fingertips together as if praying and tapped his lips. “Go on.”

  When I explained how we’d been shot at by the guy on the motorcycle, Brother Gregorio barely reacted, only stopping to jot down some notes, even when I told him someone had almost killed me a second time by shooting up Simone’s apartment.

  “No one got hurt there? Her parents?” he asked.

  “No. Her father died a while back and her mother is always travelling. She lives with Niurka, the housekeeper, but she’d gone out to run errands when everything happened.”

  “We’ll check on the housekeeper right away and also notify Simone’s mother,” Brother Gregorio said, his face emotionless.

  My stomach churned, and it felt like I was going to throw up any second. I couldn’t believe that other people might have been hurt because of me. I should never have gone to Simone’s house.

  “What’s her mother’s name?”

  “Sarah Bimington.”

  Brother Gregorio raised his eyebrows in surprise. “The financier?”

  I nodded. Apparently, I was one of the few people in the world who did not recognize the name when first told who Simone’s mother was. Even an old monk knew about her. Maybe that was why I was one of Simone’s only friends … I hadn’t known enough to be impressed by who she was.

  “Brother Gregorio, can you please tell me what’s going on?” I asked.

  He leaned back in his chair. “What I’m about to tell you is a secret of the highest order. People have died protecting this knowledge.” He stayed quiet for a moment, evaluating me. “There are people at the highest levels of power who will do anything they can to learn what I’m going to tell you, so you need to understand that.”

  I nodded. My father had apparently become involved with something very big.

  “I’ll begin with the Hastati.” He paused as if searching for the right words. “They’re a secret organization that for almost two thousand years has been entrusted with one important duty—to protect the spear.”

  “A spear?” I asked, thinking I must have misunderstood.

  “Not just any spear. You’ve heard of the Holy Lance of Longinus?”

  I shook my head.

  “Also known as the Spear of Destiny.”

  I gave him a blank stare.

  Brother Gregorio let out a deep sigh. “Well, it was the spear carried by the Roman soldier Longinus, before he converted to Christianity. Next time you visit the Vatican, look in the alcove to the right of the altar. There is a large statue of Longinus with his spear there. He used that spear to stab Jesus on the cross at Golgotha, and the tip of it was imbued with, how should I say this? Mystical properties.”

  “You’re kidding, right?” It sounded ridiculous. “A magic spear?”

  Brother Gregorio narrowed his eyes. “I’m most certainly not kidding. The things that have happened to you today should tell you that this is no joke.”

  I swallowed the lump in my throat. His tone had suddenly turned more menacing. I decided to go along with his story, no matter how far-fetched it was.

  “Okay, but what do you mean it has ‘mystical properties’?”

  The hardened look on his face softened a bit as he resumed his explanation. “The spear can control—no, let me rephrase, it can shape destiny. Leaders, like Charlemagne and Constantine, used it to win battles, to alter the world’s path.” He paused, allowing his words to sink in. But they weren’t. They were bouncing off me because it was all crazy talk.

  He kept going. “The Hastati Council was in charge of the spear. They kept it safe and decided which events should be influenced. However, there were problems: There was always someone who wanted this power and would do anything to acquire it—like during World War Two. Hitler was able to find the spear and steal it.” Brother Gregorio sighed. “Those were dark days, but the Hastati eventually got it back.”

  “So the spear is a bad thing?”

  “No. The spearhead is only an object. It’s neither good nor bad. It depends on how it is used to shape destiny.”

  “And Hitler used it to shape World War Two?” I couldn’t believe I was actually listening to all this.

  “No, no. Altering destiny on a wide scale is too difficult for even the most trained person to control. However, smaller events can be changed. Hitler probably influenced certain battles just as Charlemagne and Constantine did, but that is sometimes all it takes. Knowing which move to make, and at what time, can win the game. It’s like knocking over the first domino and starting a big chain reaction. It all depends on the choices you make.”

  “Choices determine destiny,” I muttered, thinking back to the gypsy woman’s words.

  “What’s that?” Brother Gregorio asked.

  “Nothing.”

  I leaned back in the chair, my arms crossed. I was sure my body language screamed out my disbelief of the whole thing. “Ok-a-a-a-y, even if all this is true, I still don’t see what that has to do with me.”

  Brother Gregorio smiled with the patience of a preschool teacher explaining the concept of numbers for the first time. “I’m getting to that. You see, while the Hastati were able to get the spear back, after seeing the emergence of nuclear powers during the Cold War and then the rise of global terrorism, a decision was made that the spearhead had to be permanently removed from society. What if it fell into the wrong hands? It was too risky. The spear was to be hidden in a remote and secret location. The plan was to have no one access those powers ever again.”

  “So, if the spear is hidden away, what’s the problem?”

  “The problem is that it was stolen before the Hastati could hide it.”

  I raised my eyebrows and shook my head incredulously. “The Hastati aren’t very good at keeping it in the right hands, are they?”

  Brother Gregorio’s eyes narrowed and his jaw tightened. “True Hastati would give up their life for the spear,” he said. “But every group has its bad apple. Their own personal Judas.”

  I hadn’t meant to insult him. I leaned forward and tried to appear to be more receptive. “So where is it now?”

  “No one knows. But at least it hasn’t been used.”

  That made no sense. Why would someone steal it and then not use it? “How do you know?”

  Brother Gregorio rubbed the back of his neck. “Let’s just say the Hastati have taken measures to prevent it from being used, but that won’t last much longer. Soon the power of the spear will become available again, and the Hastati believe they have to prevent it from being used by the wrong person. Just imagine if a madman, this one with nuclear weapons, got ahold of it.”

  “And the Hastati are after me because they think I know where it is?”

  “Not exactly.” He pressed his lips together before continuing. “After searching for it for years, the Council decided that if they could no longer protect the spear, then they would protect the world from the power of the spear.”

  “Uh-huh.” I wished Simone were hearing this, because she was never going to believe me. “But that still doesn’t explain why the Hastati are after me. I don’t have it. I’ve never even heard of the thing.”

  “
No, my dear.” Brother Gregorio leaned forward and lowered his voice as if someone outside the small, messy room might hear the secret he was about to reveal. “It has everything to do with you. Cassandra, you are what makes the spearhead work.”

  Normally, there was no way I would believe any of what this strange old man was saying, but nothing about the day had been normal. Did he think I was some kind of chosen one? I tried to remain stone-faced, ignoring the urge to laugh. I wasn’t special in any way. He had to have me confused with someone else.

  “I know it’s difficult to understand,” he continued. “But it’s in your blood.”

  “Type O?”

  Brother Gregorio chuckled. “No, but that is a sign that you are one of them.”

  He made me sound like I was an alien.

  “A true descendant of Saint Longinus,” he continued. “One of the last to carry the mark of the spear.”

  Instinctively, I touched the palm-sized birthmark on my rib cage. Whenever I complained about how ugly it was, my father would tell me the mark reminded him of a Christmas tree. I was his greatest gift, he would say, and perfect.

  Brother Gregorio nodded. “Yes, I believe Felipe told me it was on your right side.” He studied me. “You, my dear Cassandra, are one of the last people who can access the spear’s power. Not many in the Longinus line have both the mark and the correct blood type … Type O.”

  The nausea was coming back, and my expression probably showed it. I was just an average girl. Things like this were not supposed to happen to people like me. The palette of my life’s painting was gray or maybe a boring variety of beige, not psychedelic neon. “No, there’s got to be a mistake,” I said.

  “There’s no mistake. You were born for this.”

  It was taking every ounce of self-control I had not to bolt out of the chair and run from the room. Could I grab Simone and get out the triple-locked door before Asher stopped us?

  Brother Gregorio reached for a book on a shelf and wiped the dust off the spine with the sleeve of his brown robe. “Here.” He opened the book and flipped to a dog-eared page. “In these ancient writings it speaks about how if the marked descendant is ever united with the spearhead, the powers would be unleashed and the gift of seeing different paths would be imparted.”