The Guardian

by ROBBIE CHEUVRONT

  CHAPTER 42

  The Vatican

  Wickham strolled through the courtyards and the people on his way to the papal apartment. He wore a smart smile on his face—not too jovial, but reassuring and polite. Soon he would be the one everybody relied on to get them through the crisis of a recently deceased pope. He needed to appear strong. But inside he was as happy as a schoolchild enjoying his first day of summer vacation.

  He nodded as he passed a young couple, probably on their way to the Sistine Chapel. He could see the brochure in the young man’s hand. They smiled, holding hands, and brushed past him as if he wasn’t even there. That would soon change. He would have one of the most recognizable faces in the world. The death of the pope was going to be a spectacle. And he would be in the center of it.

  He took his time walking, contrary to what he’d told the young lady on the phone he would do. He couldn’t care less about giving the old man his last rites. He slowly made his way through the maze of the buildings until he finally arrived at the apartment. He nodded to the Swiss guard standing outside the door, turned the knob, and let himself in.

  The room smelled of death. It lingered throughout, reminding him of a nursing home. He’d been to enough of them to know. Early on in his career as a priest, it was his duty, as with all young priests, to visit the elderly. He could recall the smell just by thinking about it. And now here it was again, stinging his nostrils.

  Paul lay in his bed like a statue. The color had already drained out of him so that his face resembled that of a wax figure at some museum. His eyes were closed, and a sheet was tucked under his chin. Wickham touched his forehead. It was cool.

  No one had said anything yet. There were at least ten people in the room, counting medical staff, and clergy.

  “He’s gone, Cardinal Wickham,” a young nurse sobbed. She tried to control her tears, but they just streamed down her face.

  No one acknowledged that she had even said anything. Everyone stood there with their heads down, eyes at the floor. He assumed they were all saying some kind of prayer for the old man. He knew now was the time to take charge. Any faltering, and it could cause him problems later. He needed to assert himself quickly. The only thing he could think of, spur of the moment, was to ask a simple question. “Who gave the last rites?”

  The voice he heard was not the one he expected. Actually, he hadn’t even seen him when he had walked in. But from behind him, he heard the unmistakable voice of Cardinal Joseph McCoy.

  “I did.”

  He turned to see the cardinal stepping out from behind a doctor. Joseph walked over and put his hand on Wickham’s shoulder. “Louis, I wasn’t sure if you would make it in time.”

  “No, that’s fine, Joseph. I’m glad you did.” He was still trying to figure out what in the world Joseph was doing here in the first place. As if reading his mind, the younger cardinal filled him in.

  “One of the nurses alerted me. She had heard that Paul and I were very close.” He raised an eyebrow. “I rushed in here to find him barely able to breathe. I just finished giving the last rites when you walked in.”

  Wickham readied a suitably somber expression and addressed the rest of the room. “Let’s all remember Paul in our prayers, as well as the church around the world who will mourn his loss. I’ll need to prepare a statement for the press. Don’t discuss his passing until after we’ve released that official statement. There is much to do.” He started for the door. “Joseph, would you come with me? I could use your help.”

  Cardinal McCoy fell into step right behind Wickham. Outside, the chill of the cool February air stung their faces. Joseph pulled his jacket up over his collar. He reached out and grabbed Wickham by the shoulder. “Louis, I’m nervous about this.”

  Wickham looked around to make sure no one was within earshot of them. “What’s to be nervous about? It’s done. He’s gone.”

  “What if there’s an autopsy? What are they going to find?” “Nothing.”

  “What do you mean, nothing?”

  “Just what I said, Joseph, nothing. There’s not going to be an autopsy. There’s never been an autopsy on a pope. And we’re not about to start now.”

  CHAPTER 43

  London

  Anna kept trying to spot one of her guards. She figured that they were as good as they said, because she’d been trying for the last two hours and still hadn’t even caught a glimpse of one. She had spent a good hour studying the faces in the photographs. It almost made her wonder if they were really there. Finally, while stopping for coffee at a café in Piccadilly Circus, a lady in a waitress outfit set a small piece of paper in front of her. She unfolded the note and stared at the five little words written in very neat handwriting: Don’t worry, we’re here, Anna!

  She showed the note to Jason who laughed heartily at her reddened face.

  They finished their coffees and headed back out into the craziness that was London shopping. Every street was lined with store after store carrying clothing from designer one-of-a-kinds to straight-off-the-rack-we-got-ten-more-just-like-it-in-the-back. Shops with elaborate window scenes donned every corner. A person could easily find anything here, from beach sandals to formal evening wear.

  Suddenly, Jason stopped at the corner of the street.

  Anna backtracked to rejoin him. “What’s up?”

  “Pay phone. Over there.” He pointed to the other side of the street, opposite the way Anna had started.

  “What for? Use your cell.”

  “Pay phone’s untraceable. Never know who’s listening. And we need to find out when we can go to the embassy.”

  “So you’re just going to call? And say what? ‘Hi. This is Jason. We want to come over and see some guy named Benjamin. Can you tell him we’re coming?’“

  “Ha, ha! Smart aleck.” He headed for the phone, Anna trotting after him. “No, but we need to know hours of operation. And …”

  “And what?”

  “And I don’t know. We’ll see what comes up.”

  “Well, I guess it’s better than nothing.”

  They crossed the street, and Jason stepped inside the tiny phone booth. Anna waited outside. There was barely enough room for Jason to get in.

  He dialed a number, nodded a few times, said something, and then hung up. He extricated himself from the booth. “Guess we need some formal clothes. I need a suit, and you need a dress, or a gown, or whatever you call it.” He shrugged.

  “A gown? What are you talking about? To go to the Israeli embassy? Man, are they strict!”

  “I thought you women loved getting dressed up.”

  “For a formal ball, maybe. Not just to go see some guy at a foreign embassy.”

  “Well, that’s exactly where we’re going. To a formal ball.”

  Anna just looked at him blankly.

  “It seems,” he continued, “the embassy is closed today. Tonight is some annual ball that they have. It is, from what I understood, quite a big deal. Invitation only. That’s what the lady said.”

  “And how do you suppose we get into this ball?”

  “My guess is, if your grandpa was planning to go to the embassy today, he must have been on the guest list. We just need to hope that whoever’s working the door doesn’t know what he looks like.”

  “Well then, we’d better hurry.”

  They passed in front of a men’s shop that had a mannequin standing in the window wearing a charcoal-gray suit. The suit was shiny and looked expensive. It was a four-button and was accented by a crisp white shirt and a deep red tie. The sign in the window said: CERTAIN MERCHANDISE 60 PERCENT OFF.

  Anna snagged Jason by the elbow and led him inside. “I think that would look awesome on you.” She pointed to the window. Jason said nothing. He just looked back as Anna dragged him inside the store.

  A little bell hanging above the door chimed as they stepped inside. A man in a suit similar to the one in the window stepped out from behind the counter. He was tall and skinny. He had a pointy nose t
hat had little rectangular glasses trying to fall off the end of it. He pushed them up with the tip of his fingers and tilted his head back to see who had come to visit him in his little boutique.

  “Good day. How may I help you?”

  “How ya doin’?” Anna greeted the little man. “My friend here needs a new suit.”

  “Ah, Yanks, I see!” The man moved forward and stuck out his hand. “My name is Chester Winfield, the Third.” He rolled his when he said Third. “I don’t get many Americans in here, even though it does seem that the lot of you love to shop here in Piccadilly Circus. No, I guess the little shop and rather bland sign out front don’t usually appeal to the tourists.” He had turned around and started walking back to his station. He evidently realized he was rambling on when he turned back around. “Oh! I’m sorry! Do forgive my rudeness. Now, where were we? Ah, right! Your man here needs a suit of clothes. Right! Let’s see, then. Shall we?”

  The old man extended his arm in front of him. They followed him toward the rear of the store where Chester Winfield III busied himself getting a tape measure and a piece of chalk.

  “Step up here, please.” He motioned Jason onto a wooden block sitting in front of a set of three mirrors. The two outside ones angled in to give the onlooker an almost 360-degree view.

  Anna, meanwhile, sifted through some different fabrics and looked at already tailored suits. She folded a few pieces of the fabric over her arm, grabbed two suit coats, and walked back to where the men were. The old man was jabbering away. Jason looked as though he was being held captive. His arms were stretched out to his sides, and his head was facing straight ahead. His feet were together and his legs were ramrod straight.

  “Excuse me,” Anna said.

  The shopkeeper stopped dead in his tracks. He was bent at the waist, stretching a tape measure along the outside of Jason’s leg. He tilted his head upward to face Anna. His rectangular spectacles were barely hanging on. Anna suppressed a laugh and moved a hand to cover her smirk.

  “Yes, young lady. I am here at your service.” He outstretched his arm, a servantlike gesture, and watched as the pieces of fabric and the tape measure fell to the floor.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Winfield.” Anna giggled. “I didn’t mean to interrupt you.

  “Nonsense! I’ll have none of that.” He made a stern face. “You, my dear, are a customer. And I provide a service. Therefore, you and your friend here are the most important things in my life right now. What is it you need?”

  Was this guy for real? She had heard that the English were unbelievably friendly, but this guy was over the top. Regardless, he was delightful. “I saw a suit in the window. It was very handsome. Is it available? And how much is it?”

  The man placed his finger on his chin and looked as if he were trying to recall the exact suit, despite there being only one in the window. Jason still perched, stiff as a board, on the box. He shifted, catching Winfield’s attention. “You may step down now, sir. I believe we have exactly what you need.” Then to Anna, “I love that suit. And there’s only two of them left.” The corners of his mouth softened and his brow crinkled. “Actually, come to think of it, there were only two made. Yes, I’m sure of it! Only two.”

  This time Anna couldn’t help herself. She let out a hearty laugh.

  “Now then,” said Mr. Winfield. He moved over to the side wall and slid back a panel that revealed the front window. The mannequin wearing the suit had its back to them. He leaned in and retrieved it. He stepped back out and placed it in the center of the room. He looked over to Jason. “How tall are you?”

  Jason looked at him incredulously. The man had just measured him head to toe. “I don’t know,” he said. “Six foot, six foot one?”

  “Yes,” the man smiled. “Very tall, young man. Right! That suit will never do.”

  “What?” Anna asked, disappointed. “What do you mean?”

  Winfield waved her off. “Oh, not this one, dear.” He pointed to the mannequin. “The other one. The one I was going to have this lad try on. This one”—he pointed at the charcoal-gray jacket—”is magnificent! It will look spectacular on you.”

  Anna and Jason watched as the old man went to work, undressing the mannequin. In no time, he had the suit off and folded neatly over his arm. He ushered Jason back onto the box in the rear of the room and handed him the jacket.

  “Try this on,” he said.

  It was a little short in the sleeves, but otherwise, it fit great.

  “Now the pants.” Winfield tossed them up to Jason, who stood there looking blank. “The pants, lad, try them on.”

  Anna giggled. “Don’t mind me. I’ll turn around.”

  Winfield turned around and looked startled to see her standing there. “Oh right! I forgot. In here, lad.” He opened a door behind him revealing a changing room. “Good gracious! A man deserves some privacy, doesn’t he?”

  Jason tried the pants on while Anna and Mr. Winfield discussed the price of the suit. He told her that business had been good this month and he was feeling very generous. He told her that the suit would normally sell for around 600 pounds. It wasn’t one of the items that the sign in the window suggested was 60 percent off. He then told her that he was, however, having more fun with them than he’d had all day. He told them that Americans fascinated him. He told her he would let them have the suit for 280 pounds.

  “And don’t tell your boyfriend that I gave you such a good deal,” he said in a whisper. “You can take the extra money and go get something nice for yourself.”

  Anna looked a little embarrassed. “Um, he’s not really my boyfriend.”

  Winfield looked appalled. “Nonsense! I’ve seen young couples come in here for thirty years, young lady. If that boy in there isn’t head over heels for you, then I quit!”

  Anna smiled. “Maybe you’re right.”

  Winfield was about to respond when Jason came back out. He had the pants on, along with the jacket. He stepped back up onto the box and waited for the little man to start making his marks and pinning the cuffs. It took all of two minutes for Winfield to finish.

  “There,” he said. “You may go and change, young man. I will have your suit ready for you in about an hour. Give or take ten minutes. I do have tea coming along in about fifteen minutes.”

  Jason stepped off the box and back into the changing room. Anna went to the front, waited for Winfield to write up a sales receipt, and then paid him. She thought about what Winfield had said. She remembered what she was thinking when she peeked her head into Jason’s classroom a couple of days ago and saw him for the first time. She had thought that he was one of the nicest-looking guys she’d seen in a long time. And if she were anywhere else doing anything else, she would have made a point to at least talk to him and find out if he was an idiot or not.

  Jason came out of the dressing room and met them at the counter. Anna had already picked out a shirt and tie to match the suit, the same ones they had seen in the window. She handed them to Jason and thanked Mr. Winfield. She assured him that he was the most interesting person she’d met in her entire time in England. He shook Jason’s hand and then nodded to Anna with a smirk, leaning in and whispering in her ear, “Head over heels, I tell you. Don’t you forget it!”

  Anna gave him a slight nod and moved toward the door. Jason thanked the man and hurried to catch Anna. As they left the store, Jason was fumbling with the bags, trying to get them situated the way he wanted to carry them.

  “You all right there?” she asked, giving him a hard time.

  “Yeah, I guess. What’d he say to you back there?”

  “Oh nothing. Let’s go find me a nice dress while we wait on your pants.”

  They started walking down the street. Jason was holding the bags in his hand that was between them. Anna stepped around to the other side.

  “You afraid I’m going to knock you in the back of the legs or something?” he asked jokingly.

  “No,” she said. “I just couldn’t do this from over
there.”

  She reached down and took his hand in hers. They interlocked their fingers and walked on. Jason looked over at her, and his smile met hers. They walked down the street holding hands as if they had been together like that for years.

  CHAPTER 44

  Paris

  Jonathan sat in Remy’s apartment, staring at the coffee table and what was left of the money she’d stolen. Normally he wouldn’t listen to medical advice, but this time was different. Just the short trip to the bank and back had left him feeling as if he’d run a marathon. Every square inch of his body ached, and he was exhausted. He could lie back and probably fall asleep in seconds. But he wouldn’t.

  He had to get Edmond’s lifeless body out of the middle of the floor and into the kitchen. Remy had a chest freezer in the back of the room. He spent the next fifteen minutes cleaning it out. He threw out cartons of ice cream, frozen dinners, and all sorts of meats like they were yesterday’s newspaper.

  He set his crutches aside and pulled a chair over to the giant box. He sat down so he could take the pressure off his legs. He bent over and rolled Edmond so that he was on his stomach. He grabbed him by the shirt collar and heaved his dead weight up until the front half of his body was inside the freezer. From there he just flipped his legs over, watched the crumpled body fall the rest of the way in, and then closed the lid. Now he wouldn’t have to smell the foul odor while waiting for Waukeem and his team to get there. He fumbled into the bathroom and grabbed some towels. Then he looked around under the sink for some cleaning supplies. Finding what he needed, he hobbled his way back into the other room to finish cleaning up the blood.

  If he was exhausted before, he was borderline comatose now. His heart pounded. His breathing was labored, and sweat poured from his brow. He wanted to lie down. Take a quick nap. But he couldn’t. Not yet. He still had one more thing to do. Another phone call. This one he was already regretting. He didn’t have the energy to argue with Wickham. Nevertheless, that’s exactly what he was about to do.