by Rene Fomby
Constantine rolled up the scroll again and placed it back in its niche, then walked back across the room to drape an arm over Boucher’s shoulders. “But I appreciate your concern, my young general. And you are right, the time will come soon when we must leave this fortress to retake our place in the outside world.”
Constantine turned his head to stare at the Nanteos Cup, sitting safely all by itself in its own private niche, barely visible in the dim light of the room. “New Rome rises once again, my son, as does our Lord. The day of the great reckoning is now upon us at last.” He reached over and opened the Bible on the desk, turning it to an dog-eared page near the end.
Looking down at the page, he began to read, but it was clear to Boucher that he already had the words well memorized. “Then I saw another angel flying in midair, and he had the eternal gospel to proclaim to those who live on the earth—to every nation, tribe, language and people. He said in a loud voice, ‘Fear God and give him glory, because the hour of his judgment has come. Worship him who made the heavens, the earth, the sea and the springs of water.’
“A second angel followed and said, ‘Fallen! Fallen is Babylon the Great, which made all the nations drink the maddening wine of her adulteries.’
“A third angel followed them and said in a loud voice: ‘If anyone worships the beast and its image and receives its mark on their forehead or on their hand, they, too, will drink the wine of God’s fury, which has been poured full strength into the cup of his wrath. They will be tormented with burning sulfur in the presence of the holy angels and of the Lamb. And the smoke of their torment will rise for ever and ever. There will be no rest day or night for those who worship the beast and its image, or for anyone who receives the mark of its name.’
“Then I heard a voice from heaven say, ‘Write this: Blessed are the dead who die in the Lord from now on.’”
With that, William Tulley closed the book softly, then turned and walked back into the darkness, leaving Peter Boucher to ponder his words in silence, and consider just how best to put an end to the growing FBI investigation into their preparations for the coming holy war. And to wonder, once again, just how much of this New Rome nonsense William Tulley actually believed.
97
Siena
Harry called back early the next morning, almost midnight back in Houston. Sam and Maddie had just finished breakfast, and Sam was wrapping up some of the last lingering details of her deal with the Vatican before taking Maddie and Barley on a hike, hoping to enjoy the beautiful weather.
“Hey, buddy,” Sam answered, suddenly worried sick over what might have transpired between Harry and Annabelle over the past day or so back in Texas. “You doing okay?”
“Yeah, Sammie, I’ll be fine. But listen, do you mind if I pull some extra money out of our business account to cover a few short-term living expenses?”
“Sure thing. Pull as much as you need. Now that I can finally close the sale on the tractor plant, I got all the money in the world, right at my fingertips.” As she was talking, Sam brought up her Facebook feed on her computer and saw that she had been unfriended overnight by Annabelle. Ouch. That can’t be good.
“Thanks. Sorry to have to ask, partner, but—it looks like I’m going to need to find an apartment today to move into. And maybe get stuck in a motel for a few days as well, until I can get some furniture.”
“No problemo, Hare. And … forgive me if I’m being too nosy, but is everything working out okay between you and Annabelle?”
“Naw. We kinda broke it all off earlier today.”
“I’m so sorry, Harry …”
“Hey, no big deal. It’s like you said, better to figure things out at this point in the relationship than deal with an even bigger smashup later on down the road.”
“Sure. But all the same, it still hurts. Hey, look. If you’re going to be living out of a suitcase for a few days, what would you think about coming out this way for a change of pace? I’ve been meaning to show you off to all the crowned heads of Europe for quite a while, now. Maybe we can even get ourselves invited back to a party at the Clooneys.”
Harry laughed. “That sounds really nice, Sam. I do have a few things on my legal calendar I still need to tackle, but nothing I can’t handle remotely. You sure I wouldn’t be a bother?”
“Let me check in with my boss.” Sam glanced across the room to where Maddie was reading a story on her iPad. “What do you think, Maddie? Would you like Uncle Harry to come out to Italy for a visit?”
“Would I!” Maddie jumped off her chair and started twirling around the room, throwing her hands up in the air and shouting “Uncle Harry! Uncle Harry!” over and over.
“I think we got our answer, buddy,” Sam said with a laugh. “I’ll get you booked on a flight into Rome leaving tomorrow morning, if that works for you.”
“Better make it the afternoon, so I can get a head start lining up a place to live. But yeah, I can’t wait to see you two. At times like these, it’s nice to know you have people you can count on. Other than Mom and Dad, who still can’t wrap their heads around the idea that Annabelle and I aren’t going to somehow just kiss and make up.”
Hmm. Annabelle. Can’t say I’m going to miss hearing that name all that much, Sam thought. “Okay, I’ll have my assistant Claudia chase down the details and email you within the hour.”
“That sounds great, Sam. I can’t wait. But no rush on that. I’ve just pulled into the La Quinta, so I’ll be hitting the hay in fifteen or twenty. It’s late, and I need my beauty sleep, you know.”
“Yeah, like I always say, you got a face only your mother could love. And maybe not even her. But I can’t wait to see it in person the next few days, regardless.”
“I love you, too, Sammie. But I gotta run.”
After the call ended, Sam sat quietly for a few minutes, thinking about all the changes that had recently come into her life. About how now she could finally see a dim light at the end of the tunnel, could finally start to dream about how this all might end. About returning home with Maddie.
She picked up her desk phone and got Claudia working on arrangements for Harry, then walked across the room to where Maddie had returned to her reading, completely captivated by the ageless story of Paddington Bear.
“Hey, sweetie, do you mind taking a break from that for a little while?” she asked her daughter. “I need to borrow your tablet and the bunny story one more time to make sure those nice people at the Vatican put Mommy’s money in the bank. And then let’s take Barley for a little walk down to the pond.”
“Can we get an ice cream afterward?” Maddie pleaded, tugging on her mommy’s left arm.
“Well I think an ice cream may be rather mandatory, my little princess. In fact, this might even qualify as a two scoop kind of day.”
“Yep, two scoops. Definitely two scoops,” Maddie insisted.
98
Rome
Boucher spotted his contact sitting all alone at a small table at the back of the restaurant and immediately headed that way, keeping his baseball cap pulled down low. His image was now well known worldwide—the Butcher, they called him—and even with the new beard and a cleanly-shaven head, he couldn’t afford to take any chances being recognized. Especially not right now, when everything was finally coming together.
“Good to see you,” the man at the table said as Boucher slid into a chair across from him. “I was starting to think you weren’t going to make it.”
“I had to take some—extra precautions—to make sure I wasn’t being tailed. We can’t afford to have you associated with me, not yet.”
“Right. Good thinking.” The man raised a hand to get the waiter’s attention. “Would you care for some wine? I can order us a bottle.”
“No, I need to keep my wits about me.” Boucher glanced at the table next to them. “But, on second thought, order a bottle and pour me a small glass. I don’t want to draw any unnecessary attention our way.”
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The other man nodded. “I hope it’s not too loud in here for you.”
The restaurant was dimly lit, except for the very center, where a tall, slinky torch singer was belting out lusty songs in Italian while most of the restaurant sang along, many standing and swaying to the music.
“No, it’s perfect,” Boucher answered. “No one can hear a word we’re saying. By the way, what kind of place is this?”
“La Tavernella? It’s pretty much a locals-only restaurant. Tourists would be lucky to get a table, even on a slow night. But it’s very close to the Vatican, and the owner is quite discrete, so I’m here almost every night. The singer, Lucia, she’s here every Saturday night, and also on special occasions. And I understand her voice is not her only talent …”
Boucher turned slightly to get a better look. Lucia was not so much wearing the long red dress as it was wearing her. Her obvious decision to forego any underwear was probably very wise. Six-inch black stilettos served to finish off her outfit, the perfect compliment to her long, lustrous black hair that swept off her shoulders and spread across her ample bosom.
“Yes, I think her talents are well displayed,” he agreed, reluctantly turning back to the table. “I’ll have to keep that in mind for another evening. But, back to business. Here—” Boucher pulled a fat envelope out of his jacket pocket and slid it across the table. “Inside you’ll find everything you’ll need to prepare for the meeting.”
“And everything is still on schedule?” the man asked, pocketing the envelope with a quick glance to either side.
“Yes. The first stage is set for approximately two weeks from now. That will give plenty of time for everyone to gather for the election.”
“And … you have the votes already lined up?”
Boucher smiled coldly. “Obviously, we can’t be sure at this point. It isn’t a subject we can actually broach in public, not until—” Boucher checked the table closest to them, but the two men seated there were completely enraptured by the singer and had obviously already had far too much to drink. “Not until—he—is no longer with us.”
The waiter arrived with their bottle of Chianti and two glasses. Boucher’s tablemate checked the cork, motioned for the waiter to pour wine for the both of them, then waved him away. As Boucher leaned over to take a small sip, his friend leaned in as well. “But it looks good at this point?”
Boucher sipped the wine, then set the glass down. “We have packets on about a third of the—voters—that should be sufficient to buy their cooperation. The rest should be open to bribes or similar inducements. So it looks good at this point, but we’ll have to wait and see.”
“You mean it’s all still up in the air? There’s a chance that all of this will have been for nothing?”
Boucher shook his head. “No, everything will turn out just as we planned. Every contingency, every possibility has been planned down to the last detail. It’s all in that envelope, Cardinal.” He leaned in again just as the music rose to a crescendo, the men beside them pounding out a beat on the table in front of them. “One way or another, when the election is over, you will be the next Pope. That I can promise you.”
acknowledgments
Like my first book in the Sam Tulley series, Resumed Innocent, the legal aspects of this book are based upon my own real-life cases from my criminal defense and civil litigation practice in Texas. Names have been changed, as well as some of the least critical facts, but all in all, I hope this book helps to correct some of the misperceptions people have about the real practice of law. What you see on television has very little in common with how things work in the real world, and, hopefully, sharing these stories may help to shed some light on the little tragedies that fill our courtrooms every weekday of the year. And too often fill our prisons with the broken dreams of innocent men and women.
Likewise, the portrayal of the pharmaceutical industry is fairly spot on, based upon my more than two decades of experience in pharmaceutical marketing management. Even the cis-trans incident is based upon very real—if certainly less tragic—events. And if any of you are bothered by my inside look at how the industry blatantly manipulates both politics and science, let me assure you that I have only scratched the surface of the corruption that pervades the world of big pharma. When I left pharmaceutical marketing to become a courtroom lawyer, I actually moved up the ethical ladder.
Many people have provided invaluable advice and assistance in the creation of this book. Kara Vaught, of course, remains an amazing and talented editor, as well as an even more amazing and patient mother. And last but certainly not least, my everlasting thanks to Elizabeth, my greatest cheerleader, my inspiration, my best friend forever, and the keeper of my heart.
Finally, I would like to acknowledge you, my readers. Writing can be a lonely existence, and every author I know wrestles with what our readers actually think about the words we struggle over every day. Did I go too far with this? Did I over-explain the science in that? Does the story move at a good pace throughout, or does it bog down frustratingly in places like an Ayn Rand book?
So, here’s my offer. If you like these stories, but you want them to be even better in the future, go to the book’s page on Amazon and tell me what you think. It’s free, it only takes a moment, and it really helps other readers sort through all of the millions of books out there to find one little story to help take them away from this crazy world we live in. If only for a short while.
And, while I’m at it, thank you. If you are reading this, you must have enjoyed at least some part of this story, which brings a great warmth to my heart. I would also encourage you to follow up on many of the details in this book on the Internet—with the exception of the side story about the First and Last Librarians (which quite possibly could have been true), virtually every bit of the story is well documented online, even the bits regarding the Holy Grail. Which just goes to prove up the old maxim about not necessarily believing everything you read … especially if it comes from the Internet!
Cheers, and good health to you!
Rene
other books by rene fomby
Resumed Innocent
The Game of War
Private Eyes
coming soon
New Rome Rising