Death Logs In

by E. J. Simon

  The table was set for three. In a gesture of divine faith, Petrucceli thought, as soon as he sat down, Cardinal Lovallo had ordered three Bellinis. The cardinal finished his, Petrucceli was still nursing his, and the third, which was to be Frank Cortese’s, sat undisturbed. Petrucceli sensed that the cardinal wanted to drink that one too but was reluctant to show any lack of faith that Cortese would arrive soon.

  With the absence of any official reports on the identities of who was killed, injured or arrested by the New York police, the cardinal and monsignor could not be sure whether Cortese was, as planned, on the Delta flight from Kennedy airport to Venice. The plane should have just landed and the Cipriani’s awaiting sleek mahogany speedboat would have Cortese at the restaurant in just minutes.

  “Dominick, finish your Bellini, it will calm your nerves,” Cardinal Lovallo said as he sat, apparently calm and serene. He looked like a man who had survived many crises.

  For Dominick Petrucceli, this was as close as he had ever come to catastrophe. “I’m sorry, my stomach is in turmoil. I won’t be able to digest anything until Frank walks through the door.”

  “God willing, Dominick, he will arrive momentarily.”

  Finally Petrucceli saw the speedboat in the distance making the turn from the water lanes toward the dock, which was just out of sight. But he couldn’t tell whether there was a passenger on board in the cabin below the deck. As the boat disappeared from sight, the low roar of the inboard motors could be heard inside the bar, although only Lovallo and Petrucceli actually heard it.

  The next three minutes—roughly the time required for the boat to dock and for the captain and any passengers to disembark and walk the short distance into the bar—seemed like an eternity. Petrucceli nodded to the cardinal, who continued to sit motionless, “Now we will know God’s will,” he said, not even turning around to glance at the entrance.

  Finally, the two narrow wood-and-glass front doors swung open. The boat’s captain, dressed in his formal white uniform, held the door open, allowing a tall, athletic woman with long, dark hair to enter before him. He placed her large, wheeled carry-on behind the bar nearby. She nodded to him and tried to discreetly slip him some type of currency as a gratuity, which he appeared to reject, holding up his hands in a defensive type of gesture.

  Seeing no one else enter the bar, Monsignor Petrucceli and the cardinal looked at each other, searching for the words to measure the depth of their peril.

  The cardinal gave a sigh of resignation. “I will contact Cardinal Sardino,” he said, referring to the pope’s chief of staff, or consigliere, formally known as the Vatican secretary of state. “He will not be pleased. But whatever has transpired, we must ensure that there are no surprises for the Holy Father.” Likely seeing the look of distress on Petrucceli’s face, he added, “We will deal with this as we have dealt with many other problems. There is a solution for everything, Dominick. Some are more expensive than others.”

  But just as they had blocked out the rest of the world, they were startled by the approach of the tall, confident, powerfully built woman who stood over them at their table. It was the woman who entered the bar with the captain. Neither of them had any idea who she could be. One horrible possibility crossed Petrucceli’s mind. It’s not possible, he thought.

  “Gentlemen, I believe you were waiting for Mr. Cortese. Unfortunately, he’s dead.”

  Neither moved nor said a word. They both simply stared at this attractive stranger. Petrucceli wondered whether his worst fear had yet entered Lovallo’s mind.

  “Perhaps I should introduce myself,” she said as she sat herself down in the empty seat. “I believe I spoke with one of you on the phone just the other day. Actually, I have it recorded. I’m Sindy Steele.”

  Petrucceli was speechless. He looked over at the cardinal, suddenly appearing to age before his eyes, his mouth dropped open. As the stunned, speechless men continued to watch, she took a sip of the untouched Bellini, smiled broadly and proclaimed, “I think from what I’ve seen so far that we’re going to work well together. I just love Bellinis.”

  Chapter 87

  Rome, Italy

  Sharkey was awakened by the metallic ring of his bedside telephone. As he reached for the receiver, he wondered whether this would be the call letting him know that, finally, Michael was dead.

  As he hoped, it was Petrucceli. “Joseph, I have news.”

  Sharkey caught a grave quality in the monsignor’s voice. Priests always get that way when someone dies, no matter how much the guy deserves it, he thought.

  “Is he dead?”

  “There have been developments. You must—”

  Sharkey bolted up from his bed. “Developments? What the hell are we talking about now? Just tell me he’s dead—and how long it took him to die. That’s all I want to know.”

  “There was a difficulty at the Yankee Stadium. I’m afraid our work is unfinished.”

  Sharkey couldn’t believe his ears. “I should have let Rizzo—”

  “Joseph, I don’t have much time to speak. You must listen to me.”

  “Listen? What the—”

  “The polizia will be at your door. They will—”

  “The police? At my door? What’s going on?”

  “You must listen carefully. They will arrest you. This is temporary and cannot be avoided. Trust me. I will have you released very soon—”

  “Released? You gotta be kidding me—I’m not going to any damned jail—”

  “It is unavoidable. It is for you own protection. I promise you that I will have you out quickly, but you must cooperate and, most important, you must keep our secrets to yourself while you are there.”

  “What’s going on? Are you guys screwing me? Is that what’s happening here?”

  Sharkey didn’t wait for an answer. First, he had to get out of that hotel, then he’d figure out where to go. He dropped the phone on the bed and as he began to dress, he could still hear Petrucceli speaking, “trust me, we will …” his voice trailing off as Sharkey moved around the room.

  But before he could even get his pants on, he heard the pounding on his hotel door.

  “Polizia—open this door. Mr. Shark, polizia …”

  Chapter 88

  Alex Nicholas was online seeing how far he could go. A year ago, that would have meant checking out hundreds of porn sites—now it meant researching what other connections and valuable information he could access in cyberspace. Quickly switching screens, one by one he watched the faces of Michael, Donna, Skinny Lester and Jennifer Walsh as they gazed back into their own computers. He logged into his special directory—a list of every person to whom he had over the past few months sent a special email greeting card. Each recipient, once they had opened their electronic greeting, had unknowingly surrendered their computers to him, providing Alex with a one-way mirror, where he could not only monitor all their email activity and track their precise location but also watch and listen as they gazed into their computer monitor or cellphone.

  As he clicked onto “Jennifer Walsh” he watched her, half-naked in a black bra strolling around her bedroom. She must be looking for her blouse, he thought. I wonder where Catherine is?

  She came closer, apparently within inches of the screen, she was leaning in, bending down and looking into her laptop screen. Alex watched as she reached behind her, releasing her bra.

  “Oh yes,” he said, fixated on her breasts now seemingly just inches away. “Jennifer, you still have the best tan lines.” And it only got better as she poured a moisturizing cream onto her hand and rubbed it into her now glistening chest and breasts. He paid special attention to the contrast and clear line separating her skin’s lush dark tan and the stark white encompassing her breasts. He could feel her skin quiver … And then she reached lower …

  I think she knows I’m watching her. … She was, he remembered, one of the few people he had shown the artificial intelligence program to, although at an early stage in its development. She’s doin
g this for me, I know it, he thought. She knows.

  But then Alex’s attention was suddenly drawn to a notification popup: “Sindy Steele,” indicating that she had just opened her computer. Reluctantly, he quickly clicked onto her screen. He checked her location; she was in Rome, apparently in a hotel lobby. Steele had a drink in her hand and was sitting across from a man in a clerical collar; despite his old-fashioned, frameless eyeglasses, he looked to be in his forties or early fifties. Alex recognized the face from some of his earlier surveillance. It was Monsignor Petrucceli.

  Neither one of them was smiling. After a minute or so, it appeared that Steele reached over and shut the lid of her laptop. Alex lost the picture except for a narrow sliver at the bottom of the screen. He could still see the table and the lower part of their wine and cocktail glasses. He could also see two pairs of hands, each one either on the table or gripping a glass. When either of them leaned in close across the table, he could again see a face. But he could hear their conversation perfectly.

  “I wish we could meet in a more private place,” the man said. “We have access to discreet locations, more conducive to discussion.”

  “I’m sure you do, but after your friend tried to put holes in me at Yankee Stadium, I prefer a hotel lobby. Actually, I used to come here to the Intercontinental with my parents when we visited Rome many years ago.”

  “You must believe me, Mr. Cortese went rogue. He was to be at the ballpark as a backup, to observe and, if necessary, to help you escape. But he was infatuated with Mrs. Nicholas and when a man gets that way, he becomes like a woman—totally irrational—”

  “Excuse me? Did I just step back into the Dark Ages?”

  “No, please forgive me. You are correct. I spend my days with eighty-year-old bishops. I misspoke. Often I find that my humor suffers from a lack of fresh air.”

  “That’s OK, how about if we just move on? I’d guess that your perception of women is the least of your problems.”

  “Perhaps. Nevertheless, Cardinal Lovallo requested that I meet with you today. We need to bring this entire affair—and our relationship—to a satisfactory conclusion, Miss Steele.”

  Alex noticed movement under the table. Someone’s hand was shuffling about. At first he couldn’t make out what was happening. Everything on top of the table seemed normal, almost still. He tried to zoom in and enlarge the area on the lower part of his screen. The quick movement and low light level made it difficult for him to figure what was going on. And then the hand stopped still. Alex saw the gun. He was unsure who was gripping it—until he zoomed in further and watched the long slim fingers and manicured nails wrapped around the handle. The elongated barrel indicated a silencer—and it was pointed right at Petrucceli’s groin.

  “She’s going to shoot him in the balls,” Alex whispered as though afraid Steele could hear him.

  “Miss Steele, I may be able to assist you in rebuilding your life.”

  “You’re going to help me rebuild my life?” Steele finished whatever remained of her drink. She was shaking her head. “Maybe you should worry about rebuilding your church.”

  “Believe me, I do worry about that too. But at this moment, I am prepared to make you a very generous offer—one that will permit you to comfortably pursue a life of leisure, without financial worries.”

  Alex could see the man pushing a document across the table toward Steele. She picked it up and began reading it.

  “You must be kidding. This is a fortune. Much more than we agreed upon. What do I need to do? What’s the hell is going on here?”

  “It’s very simple. My superiors want to end this. We need it to go away. Quickly.”

  She looked up from the paper, “What if I don’t accept this—what if I—”

  “Please, Miss Steele. I can only present this offer as a token of our goodwill. But remember, there is no one else who can verify any of the truly remarkable conversations or arrangements you will claim to have had with me. But, of course, the decision is yours.”

  Petrucceli appeared to be checking the time as he strained to read his wristwatch in the darkened room.

  “I don’t believe this.” She was shaking her head.

  “Miss Steele, do yourself a favor. Take the money, sign the document, and enjoy the rest of your life in peace. If not, I believe you have a good idea of what we are capable of doing.”

  “Let me ask you something. Why pay me off? Why not just get rid of me the way everyone else involved in all of this seems to have been eliminated?”

  “My dear, the Church works in mysterious ways. It was decided that a line had to be drawn somewhere and perhaps a beautiful, intelligent woman was the place where it was deemed that it all had to stop—for now, anyway. Nevertheless, I would not tempt fate any longer. The waters here are cold, even this time of year.”

  She said nothing at first. Alex tried to guess what she would do. It seemed like she had no choice but, he reasoned, she wasn’t the type to fold.

  “How do I know that after I sign this you’ll actually give me the money?”

  After punching something into his phone, Petrucceli placed it close to Steele’s face. “I believe you will find that this is your bank account information. Once you sign the document and I press this button indicating ‘transfer funds’—half the money will be in your account.”

  “Half? What about the other half?”

  “Ah, there is one other matter requiring your assistance. It’s not mentioned in the document, for obvious reasons.”

  “And what would that be, pray tell?”

  Alex could see Petrucceli nervously looking around him.

  “We have a final loose end to be eliminated. Mr. Cortese would normally have fixed this for us but since he is no longer—”

  Alex couldn’t believe his eyes as the screen went dark. He waited impatiently for the transmission to return. … Seconds later, it did. Sindy was speaking.

  “Actually, I’d do him for free.”

  “We thought you wouldn’t be adverse to the assignment.”

  “No, I look forward to it.”

  “Not to tell you how to do your job, but we prefer that there be no undue suffering.”

  “Nothing undue, I assure you.”

  “So, we have an agreement, yes?”

  “Where do I sign?”

  “I need to remind you, Miss Steele, that in the event you decide to seek some safe haven, perhaps home in the U.S., and reveal anything of this arrangement, there is the small matter of our esteemed Bishop McCarthy, whom you left hanging in a garage in Connecticut. The local police there were, perhaps, too easily deceived. We were not, however. I believe that some of our followers there can provide enough new information to reopen that investigation and ensure that your role in his murder is revealed. Once the investigative files from your unfortunate past in medical school at Stanford are unsealed … I think you can see the difficulties you will face. I believe that even you, my dear, will recognize the problems that can occur. In short, you will likely spend the rest of your life in prison, although I must say, that with your quite impressive looks, you will be very much in demand there.”

  “Don’t worry about me, I’ve given you what you want, just transfer the money. In just a few days, I’ll complete the last part. ”

  Alex could hear Steele shuffling the documents that she had apparently signed and was handing back to Petrucceli.

  “There,” the man said, showing Steele his phone again. “It is done. Congratulations. You are a wise and now wealthy woman.”

  Alex could see Steele tuck the gun slightly under her thigh as she placed her right hand back on the table. She got up from her chair and the screen went blank.

  Alex could only wonder what he missed in those few seconds.

  Chapter 89

  Paris, France

  “Where are you?”

  “I’m at Place Vendome, in front of the Ritz. Samantha’s shopping nearby.”

  “Actually, I know where you are. I do
n’t know why I asked. I have news …”

  Alex filled Michael in on what he’d witnessed—and the missing conversation when the connection lapsed.”

  “So we don’t know who Sindy’s after?” Michael’s heart was racing. He needed to find Samantha. He looked up and down the street looking for her—and fearing he’d see Sindy Steele instead. At least, he thought, she’s so tall, she’ll stand out.

  “It’s a guy, we know that. Which means she’s going to kill either you or Sharkey.”

  “Oh well, we have it down to two. Unfortunately, I’m one of them. Is that the best you can do? What happened to computers overtaking the human mind?”

  “Who said I was a computer?”

  Alex was playing with him.

  “Don’t you have a help desk or something you can go to?” Michael knew his sarcasm usually covered up his anger or his fear.

  “I’ve just discovered something else too,” Alex said.

  “It can’t get much worse, can it?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Alex—tell me—”

  “Sharkey’s been released from prison. They let him out.”

  “What do you mean—how?”

  “It looks like the same guys who set him up and put him in jail—just got him out. It’s Italy—not New York, you know.”

  “At least while he was in prison, we knew where he was. Can you track him? Do you know where he is now?”

  “No, he doesn’t even have a phone … Listen, this is frustrating for me too.”

  “Not as much as it is for me. Don’t forget, you’re already dead.” As soon as he said it, he wished he could take it back.

  “You’re the one who keeps saying I’m dead. But how many dead people do you talk to regularly?”

  “OK, you know what I meant. What about Sindy?”

  “I told you, I had her earlier—but I can’t find her now. She may have everything shut down. Or, she’s just out of reach of any signals.”

  “Out of reach—what’s even out of reach these days?”