And after a full facial reconstruction and several overseas assignments in remote parts of South America, he had resumed his career in religious antiquities peacefully and quietly. His doctors warned that he might have difficulty remembering people and remembering his past might be sketchy but eventually, hopefully, his memory would return in full. The Church was delighted to have the promising young priest back in the fold.
Over time as the good priest resumed his duties even more aggressively and competently than ever before, his old guard colleagues were slowly moved out, old friends of the previously well-liked priest disappeared and others he had known in Bolivia and Chile reassigned to other remote parts of the world.
In truth, this Cardinal Bellinelli was virtually unknown to most everyone around him, except his hand- picked staff. That staff, too, was now comprised of bright young men drawn from around the globe but whose own backgrounds weren’t well known in the Vatican either. His area of expertise was arcane enough to not be noticed by the mainstream political types within the Vatican hierarchy.
This Cardinal Bellinelli and his band of religious anthropologists was largely ignored by the establishment of the Vatican Curia and left to the tedious and tiresome collection and cataloguing of ancient papers and manuscripts.
This Cardinal Bellinelli worked hard, complained little and built his own disciplined fiefdom.
But this also allowed him access to other parts of the Vatican that might not otherwise be available either to those inside or outside the Curia. For over thirty years this Bellinelli searched the Vatican and the Catholic museums and libraries worldwide for the information he sought. Priests that were moved into his orbit by other more senior Cardinals were, just as quickly, moved out. In the end, every niche of every part of his domain was populated with men he had chosen.
The good Cardinal’s reach in the expanse of global Catholicism and religious antiquities was strong. He was, however, best recognized by name and not by face. It wasn’t unusual for the Cardinal to travel by himself and be gone for months at a time.
His senior staff in Rome was devoted, largely apolitical and fanatically loyal. They stuck to the business at hand while the Cardinal went off searching for … whatever he was searching for.
***
“What have you found, my good men.” Dr. Musso was seated in his study, sipping fifty-year-old brandy from an elegant one-hundred-year old crystal snifter.
“More than we had hoped for but less than you desired,” said the man.” The young fellow now seated opposite him was smartly dressed in the most upscale business fashion and presenting a report detailing what was known of Edward St. James and his family. He had worked in intelligence for the Swiss security service, newly renamed the Federal Intelligence Service, or FIS, for many years. Having been passed over for promotion several times, he decided that government service was too confining, and that Swiss financial institutions and private industry presented greater opportunities for aggressive young men who couldn’t wait for traditional advancement and recognition.
“St. James is an interesting fellow. But not for any of the facts we uncovered.”
“Oh?”
“Seems that the good Dr. St. James is quite well connected around the world but very little is publicly known about him, even after a long academic career and some not inconsequential literary notoriety. I find that odd, don’t you?”
“Why would I?”
“Well, for one thing, he’s taken quite an interest in a matter of some note to a client outside the Curia. He contacted Cardinals Fonseca and Oviedo at the Vatican about the incident in Gensarii back before the War. Seems he wants permission to talk with Cardinal Bellinelli about what might reside in the Museum of Documentary Antiquities, if anything, about the incident.”
Musso feigned ignorance. “Has he now? Do tell.”
Chapter 37
“Three months ago, we heard from our Vatican sources that an inquiry came through high level official channels requesting any information on an incident that happened sometime in the late 30’s in Italy. Pre-war. Very remote. Sound familiar?”
“Sure. So, what? Everything the Vatican had on that incident was sealed. Our man on the inside saw to that. Nobody gets to see that dossier; I have the only copy now.”
“So, whoever this St. James guy is seems to know something about the incident. I wonder how that happened?”
“How would I know? And, once again, so what? The only account of that incident, which seems awfully thin anyway, is in my possession. Believe me, I’ve read it. There’s nothing there. Even if I faxed it to him today, it wouldn’t help him in the least and it might even dissuade him from inquiring further. I understand this request was part of a much larger request anyway.”
“Maybe so but the request raises some concerns. And the organization I work for has a couple of questions for you.”
“Really. Do tell and please make it good. In the short time we’ve been together, you’ve already found a way to try my patience. Get to the point.”
“Or what old man? There are four of us here, all armed, and one of you. I’d say you should be respectful, think carefully and answer my questions fully. Otherwise…”
“Otherwise, what? You’re going to harm me in some way? Don’t be ridiculous. The four of you will be dead in about…” Musso looked at his hand made Swiss watch. “… oh, I’d say four minutes unless I decide that you should live.”
The four men began dropping to the floor one by one. Their nervous systems were shutting down due to the toxin he had supplemented into their aged brandy. Yummy and easily able to mask the taste of an odorless, colorless liquid. Had Musso offered the young men a sip of his chaser, or a small glass of refreshing fruit juice on the tray beside his overstuffed chair, they wouldn’t have been in this predicament. But they had been rude, and worst of all, rude in Musso’s own home.
“Most unfortunate.”
Musso stood up and walked over to the young man, now paralyzed and convulsing on the floor, his muscles unable to respond to his brain. He bent down and sprayed the young fellow with an aerosol antidote on his nose and mouth, asking him to inhale the spray as best he could. He assured the speaker if he did, he still might survive the ordeal. His associates, however, would not.
Sad, but the high price to be paid for the rudeness displayed.
Musso pressed an intercom button, speaking a few words of German, then reached into the young man’s coat pocket, removing his 9 mm. He then pulled up his pant leg and removed the .22 pop gun holstered on his ankle. He calmly put one bullet each in the brain of the young man’s three companions, just for show, then sat down and waited for the fellow to recover sufficiently to begin speaking again.
Musso’s wife and two grown children appeared at the door, carrying body bags and an overlarge gurney and immediately started to work removing the three dead men. The terror in the surviving man’s eyes was palpable. His attention was focused. He hoped he would survive; he doubted he would.
Musso spoke to the fellow as the fellow’s motor functions began to revive. “Now if you wish to survive long enough to return to your employer alive, you will answer my questions. I implore you think clearly, be concise and you may yet exit your dilemma still breathing. Lie to me, on the other hand, and I count your life expectancy in minutes. Up to you.”
The young man tried to form words but was yet unable. Musso gave him a second shot of aerosol spray, which seemed to help revive him more fully.
“Now, my young friend, exactly what is it your employer wanted to know? And why? I must warn you, however, that incomplete answers count as a lie. I should remind you that would be very bad. Very bad indeed. Begin when you feel you can.”
The young fellow began, slowly and hesitantly, “My … employer wishes to know how this Dr. St. James found out about the incident in Gensarii and what his interest is in the whole matter. We … they would also like to know who at the Vatican is aware of t
he Gensarii file. Exactly who and how many.”
“Go on. You’re doing quite well.”
“We wish to know what else the Vatican has on the principals involved. What information. Numbers, locations, and identities. Or for that matter, what information do you have? What do you know?”
“Anything else?”
“What is your interest in this matter? Who do you work for?”
“Very good then. Now where is your employer located and who are they exactly. Precision will be rewarded here. We’re almost done here. You’re almost home free.”
“I don’t know who they are. I don’t know their location. I just don’t know.”
“I warned you about incomplete or misleading answers. Either you can walk away alive today or you can keep your employers’ identity secret. Unfortunately, I cannot not allow both. Now, again, who are they and where are they? You have fifteen seconds.”
“Buenos Aires, 150 Calle Agua Dulce. Third floor. The Praetors. Never been to Argentina; I was hired in Frankfurt. I know nothing about them. I work … security. I do as I’m told when I’m told. That’s all I know.”
“Very well now, that last little bit was quite well done. And as soon as we verify any of it, you will be free to go on about your business. Then you can go back to your masters and tell them what happened here. And if I ever see you or them anywhere near me, or my family, you’ll all be dead. Just nod if you understand me.”
He nodded.
“Good. Now you’ll be our guest for a couple of days while we check this all out. If it does, we’ll drop you off in Buenos Aires and that will be that. If not, well that will be most unpleasant for us all. Mostly for you though.”
***
The young fellow had been taken away, now cuffed and in leg irons. Dr. Musso’s son appeared in the study with a question for his father.
“I assumed you wanted our guest in one of the sanitarium rooms for security. I gather that he will be staying with us longer. Who is he exactly?”
Musso smiled at his son. “That’s a very good question,” he said in German. “He claims to be working for the Praetors, but I have my doubts. Our guest will remain locked up for at least a month until we determine his status.”
“Status?”
“Yes, he’s either one of us or one of them. Can’t be sure without performing tests and we don’t have adequate facilities here. So, we wait to see if he turns. Where did you put him?”
“In S1, which is the most secure.”
“Good. Make sure the tanks are hooked up and full. If he turns, I don’t want to take any chances. That’s how we lost your uncle.”
“Which gas?”
“Tetra 6. The stuff from Holland. Fast acting and powerful. Should keep our mammalian cousins sedated nicely.”
“I’ll switch it now. Any other news?”
“Events are progressing as planned. The Black Shirts are stirring the pot and our friend in San Francisco tells me that the Collective is now preparing for war.”
“What’s changed? Why so sudden? The Collective never moves quickly. ‘Quickly’ usually means decades, not weeks or months.”
“That’s a matter of conjecture at this point. No doubt she knows something but isn’t telling. But last I heard from Princeton, some key parts of the Great Library are missing, lost through accident or misadventure. The Fortizi clan is taking some serious heat and there’s talk of internal insurrection.”
“Conditions are improving for our plans, yes?”
“They are. She tells me that her scientists are making great strides in transformation formulas. We’ll have to strike before that happens. Can’t have those aberrations running around without transforming.”
“Even so, so what? We vastly outnumber them. We’d mow them down, wouldn’t we?
“Of course. That’s why I think they’re up to something else. They must reduce our numbers to have any chance of success. And, they have options.”
“Such as?”
“A dirty bomb. Bio. Chemical. A combination, who knows?”
“Are they capable of doing any of that? I mean ‘wanting to’ and ‘being able to’ are vastly different enterprises. I get that they’re well funded and capable, but can they mass produce and distribute and, more importantly, do they have the will to carry out such a dangerous plan.”
“Very good son. Very good. Do they have the will? That’s the real question. Let me tell you what I understand but consider that I may be totally off base. The Black Shirts have the requisite will, no doubt. I’ll be contacting her nibs later today for a chat. But they’re still tiny compared to the entire Collective. On the other hand, they have highly committed scientists, foot soldiers and are gaining rapidly with the transformed intelligentsia. They need many more before they can act. Sympathy is growing for action of some sort, change, but most of the Collective continues to remain on the side of the Traditionalists or, at worst, are sitting on the fence.”
Musso continued, “On the other hand, the Traditionalists have numbers, skill, money and the well-educated. But they don’t seem to have the will. Some want to come forward now. Others want to maintain the status quo, and others want action. The latter just isn’t sure what action to take and when. I’d say they seem paralyzed with indecision at present.
“Now, add in this problem that she’s been going on about …”
“The crazy one with the Black Shirts?”
“Exactly. The loss of a part of their Great Library is a blow, but only it fell into human hands, and the right ones at that. Hardly seems likely, but I understand why the Collective is jittery.”
“Even so, father, nobody will believe the truth. And the more educated and scientific types will not believe any of it at all. They’re probably safe even if these thieves could decipher their precious libraries.”
“Maybe. But, again, I’d say that depends on who has it. If it’s sitting in a warehouse somewhere, you’re right. But the loss coupled with the potential for exposure may drive will, even if you’re right about who would believe such a far-fetched tale. Then they will likely consider the consequences of exposure. And you know how they are about humans with awareness of them. They kill, kill, kill. I expect the same here.”
Musso paused. “But this time it may be a point of no return, with technology and global communication and the like. Their time to act was long ago. I sense they will now be driven to extreme measures and that brings us around again to our Black Shirt friends.”
“What?”
“I suspect the Black Shirts may try to precipitate a war; a war they cannot win on their own, but one the Collective may be forced into. Prematurely or not.”
“I see. A pebble rolls down the hill and then suddenly there’s a cascade effect. Pretty soon we’re at war. A war nobody really wants. Is she that crazy?”
“That, and then some. She’s young, hostile, and capable. We may need to do something about her to buy time and ready ourselves. If we threaten to ‘out’ them prematurely, maybe they’ll be disinclined to make a move.”
“What do you have in mind?”
“Kill her and contact the thief. Find him. Find out what he knows. Then decide. I want war too and urgently. But a war we’re certain to win and eliminate these aberrations once and for all.”
“What does the rest of the Consortium think?”
“The Church wants peace and coexistence. They’re looking for solutions under our new Pope. I would say a majority of the rest want to try peace, then go to war if the Collective is intransigent or, worse, can’t control its own populace. No matter what, the old ways are gone forever, and we enter a new phase of interaction.”
“What next, papa?”
“Let’s see what we have in our cells downstairs, and who and what he truly represents. In the meantime, we look for this chap who has the documents, follow up on this St. James character and go from there. But first, I want to give her a call and rattle her cage.
See just what dust kicks up.”
Chapter 38
Saldana Ri, firebrand and leader of the Black Shirt movement, was also a wife and mother dutifully doing the week’s grocery shopping while her husband was home working diligently on a new project for his employer. Years ago, she had met her husband in the wilds of Utah, fallen madly in love and moved to the Bay area. Three children arrived in rapid succession and her work with the Movement had been curtailed. Now the kids were growing up and her mate worked from home. Her mate exhibited the human quality of enjoying tending to the children. Much more so than she did, for sure.
He was an outdoors guy, so they frequently made family trips out to nature. As a biotech scientist herself, she was now free to travel as she had before and was gone frequently. Ostensibly on business, at least to his knowledge. Her putative significant earnings came from her Swiss bank account which held the proceeds from the company she had sold just before she met her mate.
As with her sister’s now deceased mate, Saldana’s husband was unaware of her activities and likely wouldn’t have approved either. He believed what he told his kids to resolve physical conflict: use your words. Saldana couldn’t have disagreed more.
Her sister, Calista Gold, had been involved in the demise of her hubby; he was about to blow the whistle on her political beliefs, something she couldn’t allow to happen. She urged her sister, Saldana, to likewise eliminate her own mate, take the children if she must, and move back to Chicago. The Movement had to remain the first, and only priority in her life. Calista hinted that Saldana’s kids may have become an impediment too. Maybe they too should join her mate in the afterlife.
Saldana admired and respected her sister, but Calista didn’t have children, had never loved her mate, and was turning into a bitter young widow with no prospects for happiness. Calista had the Movement; that was all. Saldana had a life, and was immensely happy. Saldana had never ‘belonged’ anywhere before, her own childhood had been a disaster, and her desire to mate an even more remote likelihood. Happiness had never been a benchmark in her clan; she was a ruthless hunter and Gens warrior. But with her mate and children she enjoyed playing silly human board games and “Go Fish”. She even occasionally joined in with preschool human activities because she loved being with him; he and the kids squealed with delight at the prospect that mom would join them with the other parents. It didn’t happen often, but when it did, it was a very big deal. Saldana noticed these “little things” and it gave her pleasure.
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