by R. J. Grant
Opus Dei, I hadn’t considered them! I expected Jews, Moslems, and probably this Del Cielo character, but why hadn’t I considered a source a little closer to home? Everyone else seemed to know about the Atonement Lot, so why not them, too…
Opus Dei was one of the few organizations in the Vatican that Burtuchi didn’t seem to have total control over. I remembered him passing a comment once that he would eventually put them in their place. They would certainly want to play in this arena if given the chance. They could be a nasty lot when provoked, and I didn’t want to see anyone at St. Andrew get hurt over this.
I had never taken anyone into my confidence before, and I was reluctant to even consider it now. I couldn’t help thinking that maybe it was because I really never had anyone I considered a friend before, at least not since my school days. The truth was that while I was more than often celibate physically, I was celibate socially, as well.
“It probably does have to do with me. I have ruffled someone’s feathers, someone who can call on others to do their bidding. I am afraid that I have brought trouble to St. Andrew.”
“It is the Atonement Lot, isn’t it?”
“Yes and no.”
He looked puzzled, and I wasn’t surprised. I had unintentionally given him a slippery answer. I knew he would not push his questioning further, so I made the decision to tell him what I knew. Certainly I owed him something after he remained silent with the police and hid the HK.
“Very well, here is the crux of the matter. You know I have been sent to recover the Atonement Lot. It is obvious that many others know this as well, as you have already told me yourself. If Opus Dei is involved, it is more than just the Atonement Lot. There is a power play within the Vatican, and possession of the Lot would aid them in their political intrigues both within and outside of the Vatican walls.
“Aside from the usual suspects from the Middle East, and now Opus Dei, there is one entity that is still a wild card in the whole matter, and that is Victorio Del Cielo. My superiors have reason to believe that he would want the Lot for himself. Against instructions, I have decided to seek him out, and find out what he knows for myself. My suspicion is that they fear something I may learn from him—information that I was never supposed to hear, and it is quite possible they know I intend to see him.
Dinard was busting trying to remain polite and contained. I have to give him credit for being able to control his desire to know more. What the hell, I thought, let’s let it go, and see what comes of it. I owed him that much.
“Father Dinard, what do you know about Grigori?”
By the look on his face, I could tell he almost wet his pants with excitement. I then related the whole thing to him, from the discovery of the Atonement Lot, to my meeting with Burtuchi, on through Crochi’s demise, and finally how I found Giovanni. He soaked it all in like a sponge. He didn’t say a word for a long time. I was beginning to think he was dumbfounded by the whole thing. Of course, I was wrong. That round ball on top of that round body had been thinking a mile a minute.
“Well, Adama, we know by Giovanni’s assassination that another presence has made itself known. Possibilities include Opus Dei, and even Del Cielo. We have to figure out if it’s just one or both.”
“We, Father? Who is ‘we’?”
“You and I, of course, Adama. You can’t possibly think that I can hear everything you have told me and not want to be part of this adventure.”
The little man’s eyes were as large as saucers now and sparkled like a child’s at the sight of an ice cream cone. I have to say, I should have expected it from Dinard. In the short time I had known him, I discovered that his appetite for life was as large as his considerable appetite for food. Between that and his fascination with religious artifacts, I should have seen it coming. I couldn’t say I wouldn’t appreciate a comrade, but I had always worked alone. Many of my deeds were better accomplished without witnesses.
“I’m beginning to regret taking you into my confidence, Father. Are you forgetting that several people have already died in this “adventure,” as you call it? I assure you that it is anything but an adventure. It is dangerous business, where the stakes are for keeps. I do not want to see you get hurt.”
His expression turned down, resembling a puppy dog told to stay and not to follow. To this day, I don’t know if it was just a well rehearsed act or if his feelings were that severely hurt. In either case, he had me. Very well, I thought, if you want in, you can have it!
I sighed. “Father Dinard, I will welcome your help. You have a keen mind and have already proven yourself capable. However, from this moment on you must do whatever I say. Understand that my mission is my priority, and if it comes down to it, I will sacrifice your life for its success. Please do not die on me, Father, I would be most disappointed.”
In one large movement, he stepped forward opening his arms. He was so excited that for a moment I thought he was going to hump my leg. Thankfully, it was only a strong embrace that crushed me against his massive belly.
“Thank you, Adama, thank you. I promise to do as you say. I feel that I am finally going to be involved with something larger than myself. You know, the life of a parish priest can be less than exciting at times.”
“Just please promise not to get yourself killed on me, Father.”
“I promise.”
The die was cast. I now had a new ally, seeing how the last one met his demise. I was quite serious though; I didn’t want him hurt. I had truly become fond of him, all three hundred pounds.
“Adama, are you willing to indulge me, and take a walk down into the cellar records room with me?”
“Whatever for?”
“Now that you have told me about Cardinal Burtuchi’s suspicions, I must show you something.”
“Oh no, not you, too?”
“Adama, why can’t you even consider that there is more to this world than can be seen with the naked eye? I can only suppose that you have been too caught up in the business of the faith to take notice of the spiritual world all around us. Please try not to be angry with me. I know this goes against all you have come to know and believe. If you will be patient, I will show you what I have found. If you still think it is nothing then I will not bring the subject up again.”
I tell you, it was hard for me not to turn and go out the door, but I remained seated against my better judgment.
“Very well, tell me what you have found.”
“I must show you so you can judge for yourself. There is something strange concerning Del Cielo that I want you to see. I cannot clearly explain it without showing it to you.”
I could only stare at him. I was sure he was going off into the land of superstition and legend again. I feared Dinard’s interests, or rather, fixations, on religious myths would compromise his otherwise logical and astute mind. Had I taken a dreamer into my confidence? I was regretting the action already; what had I been thinking? Damn that wine!
“Oh please, Dinard, do not go down the path I think you are. I had no choice but to put up with it from Cardinal Burtuchi, but I do not have to hear this nonsense from you, too. I am already sorry I told you anything at all.”
“Please, Adama, indulge me. I promise you will not be sorry.”
I stood shaking my head but said okay at the same time, in resignation. The little man beckoned I follow him as he started down the long hallway to the back of the church. With his shoulder, he pushed open a door that was swollen into its frame. It made a scrapping noise on the floor as it opened. Feeling for a switch on the wall, he turned on the single light bulb that hung over the worn wooden stairs. The place smelled of dampness and mold just like the cellar of other old houses. At the bottom of the stairs was a pull chain that turned on a string of single light bulbs the length of the cellar. The walls on both sides were lined with file cabinets, some appearing quite old.
“The other day when you asked me about Del Cielo, I was surprised to realize how little I knew about such a leading fami
ly in Milano, and my curiosity got the better of me. I was sure that there would be some record in our archive of their involvement in major diocese projects over the years, so I came down here,” he said, laughing.
“What is so funny?”
“I was just thinking about what difference there must be between our archive and that of the Vatican,” he replied, laughing again.
“I see your point,” I replied, looking around at the dust and tatter once more as we walked on toward the end of the room.
“Here we are—1948, the dedication of St. Andrew school. It was not long after the war, and the rebuilding of Milano was the focus of the entire city. I recalled a bit of trivia one of the old priests told me when I first arrived at St. Andrew. He said to me that the school should have been named St. Del Cielo for the funds the family had put up for the construction and purchase of books. Anyway, look at this,” he said, handing me a yellowed file folder.
I thumbed through the pages of mostly handwritten requisitions and labor accounting forms.
“What is it you want me to see? This is all just crap!”
“The last pages, Adama. The dedication ceremony, the newspaper clipping.”
I found the clipping he was speaking of and began to read the reported account.
“No, no, Adama, look at the picture!”
The news picture was badly yellowed and faded, but it was clear enough to see faces. I studied the photograph intensely—faces and more faces, but nothing unusual jumped out at me.
“I suspect you think I will find Del Cielo’s face from fifty years ago somewhere in this group picture, but I don’t even know what the man looks like.”
“Read the caption identifying those in the picture. It says that Ricardo Del Cielo, supposedly Victorio’s grandfather, is third from the left. You will not find him.”
I looked at the third man from the left. There was no face, just a splotch of white were the face should have been. I was not impressed.
“So what, missing news ink, a reflection of the flash? You think he is a Grigori angel just because his face is white in a photo? I have seen this many times in newspapers. The news print process is cheap and inaccurate. These papers roll off the press at unimaginable speeds, and print errors are legion.”
I watched his countenance drop as his bubble was burst. This was just something that he wanted to be true no matter how far he had to stretch the evidence. I slammed the folder shut and pushed it back in his chest.
“Enough of this, Father Dinard. No more talk of Grigori, demons, vampires, the Loch Ness Monster, or anything else that may come to mind!”
He seemed to be thinking deeply again, and I waited for the pronouncement of his thought.
“Father Adama.”
“Yes.”
“Just one more thing. What kind of priest carries a semi automatic pistol, and throws people out of windows?”
“I promise, I will tell you if you die.”
He actually thought about that for a moment as if he had something to look forward to.
With much persuasion, I shuffled Dinard off to his quarters, promising to discuss further in the morning what steps we would take next. He insisted we walk through the kitchen so he could ensure he had put everything away, but his real purpose was to grab a box of crackers to take up to his quarters. I resolved that we all had our sins, and if this was Dinard’s, it was nothing compared to mine.
The Invitation
6 I had a fitful night’s sleep, tossing and turning for hours. There was little doubt in my mind as to what caused it. I had taken Dinard into my confidence, something I had never done with anyone. It was dangerous to both of us on many levels, and I didn’t want to think of him being in danger. My life was expendable, I always knew that, and I accepted it when I accepted the order of Paladin. Dinard was another matter. I doubted he completely understood the grave consequences he might face. Damn the wine, I thought. I knew better than to make any decision while under the slightest influence.
I shuffled downstairs for breakfast and found myself stalling with a second cup of coffee. I was not sure where to start. For the most part, I had nothing to go on other than Dinard’s observation that Opus Dei was lurking about. I never cared for those bastards. It makes no difference—Opus Dei, Skull and Bones,11 Free Masons12—all secret societies with secret agendas. They made me feel almost clean.
For one of the few times in my life, I felt helpless. Everything seemed to be a dead end. There was nothing for it though it was time to go back to work, and the serious business of tracking down those capable of cold-blooded murder. I was sure that if I found Crochi’s killer I would find the Lot. Maybe Giovanni had found something out, and that same person had killed him. In my heart, I knew I would have preferred Dinard’s wishful thinking. Tracking down demons or the undead, I thought, laughing to myself. That would be much more fun.
I finally strolled up to the piazza, and in desperation for a destination, took a taxi to the Quadrilatero d'Oro, one of the better-known shopping areas just north of the Duomo. I had no intention of buying anything in this over-priced high fashion district, but it was a good place to walk around and think. The streets were crowded with the local upper crust, and droves of tourists, as usual. I stopped to look in a window sporting a red-sequined man’s dinner jacket. I was trying to imagine who would wear such attire when I noticed the reflection in the window of a woman standing behind me. I sensed that she was looking at my reflection and not at the jacket. I thought I would ignore her, and in a moment she would move on. After an exaggerated pause, I realized that she would not. Turing around to face her, I was confronted with the most extraordinary creature I had ever seen.
I stand six-three, and she was almost tall enough to look me straight in the eye. Her long black silk hair surrounded her perfect face, drawing my gaze into the most extraordinary eyes. I found myself unable to turn away from the large pools of dark blue that were staring back at me. I focused all my strength on breaking the trance and speaking. She was incredible, and I do not remember being so carnally attracted to a woman before or ever since. It took me a second to form the words to greet her in northern Italian.
“Salve, La posso aiutare?
“Ah, a Sicilian,” she said in English with an American accent, “the inflection gives you away. My name is Alessandra, and yes, you can help me, Padre.”
I was quite surprised that she heard a Sicilian accent. No one had ever detected it before. I showed no expression, and switched to English to continue the conversation. I assumed that she was trying to pick me up, a situation I was not totally unfamiliar with even with my collar turned around. I had no intention of encouraging her further, and remained expressionless.
“Yes, miss, what seems to be the trouble?”
“Oh, there is no trouble, Padre, quite the contrary. I would like to invite you to lunch tomorrow at my villa on Lake Como.”
I studied her momentarily, deciding what absurdity this could be. The boldness of some women always amazes me. They have no modesty or respect for themselves, let alone anyone else. I considered telling her exactly what I thought, but decided it would take too much energy. I decided to turn the other cheek.
“I do not wish to be rude, but to continue our conversation would be pointless,” I said, forcing a slight smile. She broke into a most delightful laughter that made her eyes sparkle even brighter.
“Ah, you think that I am coming on to you. Under other circumstances you may have been correct, but my motives are quite different at the moment, and my invitation is quite sincere.”
I felt myself being physically drawn to her again, and instinctively leaned back, taking a half step away from her. She smiled again and stepped forward, hooking her arm in mine as she turned to face down the avenue.
“Please, walk with me,” she said, quietly. Her action was so quick, and unexpected that I found myself stepping in pace with her down the avenue. She had a viselike grip on my arm, holding it close to her firm bo
dy. How could she have manipulated me so easily? I determined to pull away gently without making a scene when her next statement almost froze my steps.
“Victorio will be so pleased if you accept.”
“Victorio?” I repeated.
“Yes, Victorio Del Cielo, a most prominent patron of our wonderful city.”
The name set my mind racing to decide what I would say or do next. I had been trying to figure out how I might find him and arrange to meet him, but this was totally unexpected. I thought this might be the break I needed, but not under such unusual circumstances. Was the hunter now the hunted? I was not so willing to place myself at his disposal as easily as this.
“Miss, I...”
“Oh, please, call me Alessandra.”
“Very well, Alessandra. I have no idea what you can possibly be talking about, and I have no intention of having lunch with you or this, Victorio Del Cielo.”
“Do not pretend with me,” she said forcefully. Her expression changed to an almost menacing composure. I was taken aback for a moment.
“Accept the invitation, and I assure that you will not be disappointed.”
Butuchi’s instructions had been very clear. Stay away from Del Cielo—do not engage him in any way, but I had already determined to disobey his instruction, anyway.
My curiosity was now becoming even more explosive. What was it about Del Cielo that made Burtuchi so uncomfortable? I had never known him to be cautious of anyone. I had every intention of finding Del Cielo myself no matter what Burtuchi said. Besides, I was not engaging him, he had come to me. How could I resist now? There was nothing for it but to go along. It was clear that Burtuchi’s expectation of Del Cielo’s intervention was correct, and I was surprised at how easily his beautiful emissary had found me in the shopping district. Spies somewhere, or everywhere, I assumed. Just as well, I thought, better to be on with it and see what I can learn from this Del Cielo.
“Very well, I will have lunch with you and your master,” I said in a condescending tone. Her reaction to my snide remark was only discernable in her eyes that seemed to narrow and burn right through me. However, in a fraction of a second she regained her composure, displaying a broad smile.