by R. J. Grant
“In this particular instance, Cardinal Burtuchi’s doings have come within my sphere of influence. I cannot sit idle and allow his purposes to succeed without an attempt to obstruct them. I believe I was clear before—all should be brought into the light. If it must be done in secret, then it should not be done at all. For Burtuchi, the Atonement Lot is a form of currency to be placed in safekeeping. However, I tell you that it is much more than political currency, it is also a spiritual currency.”
Now he was beginning to sound like Dinard. What is it with these otherwise intellectual people that draws them into myth and superstition? I saw the corners of his mouth draw down. My face must have betrayed my thoughts to him. It didn’t stop him, though; he was going to finish his dissertation, so I just listened.
“At some point in time, it is likely that one of the players in the Middle East, America, or even Europe will be more than willing to provide him and his associates some accommodation in return for possessing such an explosive artifact. Whether they would exploit it or destroy it really makes no difference to the cardinal. As a Bilderberger, his only care is that a “New World Order” be brought into being. Imagine, if you will, an entire planet subjugated by thousands of elite—the ultimate plantation system.” He paused a moment, and then continued, “As for my reason for telling you all this…”
A Mona Lisa smile transitioned across his face, and the dark blue of his eyes deepened to almost black. His satisfaction with the thought was obvious.
“Adama, you are my Trojan Horse. Who better to place in the belly of the beast?”
“Okay, so you have told me a tall tale of Cardinal Burtuchi and the Bilderbergers. Don’t you think it is presumptuous to expect me to believe you? Even if I did, what makes you think that I would sabotage or disrupt the cardinal’s activities in any way?”
“Adama, you will verify all that I have said. Then what you do with the information is entirely up to you, is it not? However, we have met face-to-face, and I know your heart and spirit. Neither will allow you to ignore the truth of the matter once the truth is known to you.”
I felt my anger rise. He knew nothing about me; what made him think that he knew what I would do? I was just about to tell him so when he made me freeze.
“Do not be angry, Adama. You are a bloody man, it is true, but remember that King David was also a bloody man. Regardless, he was a man after God’s own heart. I have great hopes for you, Adama.”
I didn’t know what to say. Was he guessing? What did he know? I decided on a bold front.
“How dare you accuse me. I don’t know what you think you know about me, but you have no right to make such accusations.”
“As you wish, Adama.”
“Very well, tell me where to find the Atonement Lot, and I will be on my way.”
“Not yet. Your presence is needed in Milano for a time longer.”
“And why is that?” My patience was on a very short fuse by this time.
“Be satisfied when I tell you only that your presence will do me a great personal service. In return, you shall have the Atonement Lot you seek. For now, leave me, consider what I have said, and in a short time we will talk of the Atonement Lot again.”
“Leave you? Oh no, not without knowing who you think has the Atonement Lot.”
“I think not, Adama. I am quite content with the way things are for the moment. That is enough for now. Be satisfied knowing that we will discuss it again.”
Well, I was fit to be tied! The son of a bitch knew he had me. There was no way I was going to get any names out of him at this point. I would have to be patient and see what would come next. I would not have guessed that he already tracked it down if he had not told me.
“When will we talk again?”
“Soon, Adama, soon. The next time we meet, I am sure you will have developed a different perspective of many things.”
That was as far as I got that afternoon. I didn’t yet have the Lot, but I sure knew more than I did when I arrived. Moreover, he was right about me confirming his story. I am not a particularly trusting soul to begin with, and a revelation of this magnitude bears much scrutiny. If there were anything false in his allegations, he would find me on his doorstep in a very bad mood.
I was not concerned with the “bloody man” comment—he was probably just reading my anger in my body language. I myself often used it to discern other’s thoughts. I dismissed it as any true knowledge of my vocation. He did admit to having direct or indirect knowledge of the Lot. Certainly, the assistance of a man with his influence would be invaluable in the recovery. On the other hand, his obstruction of the Atonement Lot’s recovery would be just as difficult to surmount. I would have to play along.
What if what he said about Burtuchi’s involvement in the theft from the Duomo were true? His plan, whatever that was, had gone south with the murder of Crochi. Had Crochi been on his way to deliver it to Giovanni? If all that were true, then Burtuchi had sent me to Milan to clean up his mess. At this point, I wasn’t sure what the truth was anymore.
Then there was this personal service he expected me to render him. I don’t think so, Del Cielo, I thought. The only thing I was sure of was that he was just a man. Oh, he was eccentric as hell and a condescending son of a bitch, but what person of wealth and power isn’t?
The New World Order
8 Alessandra drove me back to the rectory at the same break-neck speed that she employed on our drive to the villa. Little conversation passed between us. My anger with her boss made it impossible for me to indulge in pleasantries with his surrogate. My mood must have been written on my face, as she also seemed willing to pass the time back to Milan in relative silence.
While I tried to indulge my anger and focus my thoughts on Del Cielo, I couldn’t keep my mind from drifting to the Bilderberg Group and their conspiracies. Compared to other secret societies, they were relatively new—not yet fifty years in existence—but maybe that was an illusion. The little that was known about their membership indicated that many of them were already members of other secret societies dating back hundreds of years. Even that was not a certainty, as there was speculation that these organizations stretched to antiquity in various forms and names to assimilate into the social fabric of each time period.
Their objectives always take the same paths. Their first goal is to cooperate with and advance their own members—the ultimate “good ’ol boys club.” The next two are intertwined, inseparable in many respects—homogenize religion by removing its absolute moral authority, and destroy social order and family, to be replaced by members of the state. Examination brings about a grim picture of their “New World Order.”
In their vision, there would be no war, no perceived social injustice, and most of all, no freedom. To assure the continuation of the order, there would be a single form of world government and religion to complement their brave new world. The religion would be based on the heavens, cloaked in the worship of Isis, but ultimately the hopeless veneration of angels.
The leaders of this new world would not have to be concerned with rebellion or international conflict, because there would be only one voice. Their utopia would be smooth sailing forever for them and their decedents. The rest of humanity would face a different sort of forever. They would be reduced to the lowest common denominator in terms of living standards. Karl Marx would have been thrilled—one level of income, healthcare, housing, and morality. Social injustice for all. It would be impossible for anyone to excel beyond the common condition. Any dissension would quickly be silenced by the paramilitary police state. The policeman on the corner would slowly be replaced by the storm trooper, complete with body armor and automatic weapons.
Then, a little closer to home, there was Opus Dei. I had long been suspicious of them. They are the super-secretive organization of the Catholic Church. It seemed they had strong connections into the Vatican Bank and may have access, if not control, of vast sums of money. Rumors of their evils were plentiful both outsi
de and within the Church. They outwardly spoke of promoting the spiritual life and doing the work of God, but then why all the secrecy? I never trusted anyone who said he or she did the “Work of God.” I think He is quite capable of doing His own work, and those individuals just want someone else to blame for their actions.
Just who, or what, gives Opus Dei their power, I could not say. I had never heard of Burtuchi being connected to them; in fact, I recall a comment he passed once about putting them in their place sooner or later.
Was there a connection between them and the Bilderbergers? Both had ties into the Masonic Lodge, or Free Masons, if you will. The more I thought about it, there was little doubt that all these secret societies shared a common thread. Someone, somewhere tugged that thread at will without any of the rank and file of these organizations ever being aware of the manipulation.
In a cynical way, I imagined the small businessmen and community organizers at the weekly meetings thinking that they were just networking with their peers. They acted out some silly ritual to solidify the group in the belief that they were only reinforcing social cohesion. All the while, their money and small acts of cooperation sifted up the line, growing in strength as it rose into the movement of governments. After all this time, one would think that their objectives would have been reached.
Strangely enough, something always seemed to stand in the way of their ultimate goal of a “New World Order.” Recently it had been Islam; before them, the communists and the fascists. The monarchies of Europe had not gone quietly into that good night either. Ultimately, scripture tells us that there will be a one-world government, but not now. I was sure that God had not removed his hand from the world just yet.
I was just about to let my mind drift back further into history when ancient Egypt expressed similar goals, cloaked in their religion. Suddenly, the car roared to the curb in front of the rectory in the same manner it had when Alessandra picked me up. Several pedestrians actually jumped as the vehicle lurched to a stop.
“Adama, please do not be too judgmental of Victorio. I assure you that he means you no malice.”
For the first time since I reentered the car, I looked directly at her. I must admit that her beauty was still hard to ignore, even in my dark state of mind. Damn those eyes and hair, it was happening to me again. Was she doing it intentionally? I just wasn’t sure.
“Malice? Maybe not, but he has certainly gone out of his way to irritate me to no end. He says he is content to leave the Atonement Lot where it is for the time being. He is dangling the information in front of me.”
“Adama, he has his reasons.”
“Reasons? He only wishes to cause discontent between my superiors and I for his own purposes, whatever they are.”
“Did he lie to you, Adama?”
I took a long pause, never looking away from those eyes. I wanted to say yes, but in my heart I knew it to be otherwise. I resented the answer that came from within me.
“No! He did not lie, damn him.”
“His purpose will become known to you eventually.”
I slid from the seat and unconsciously slammed the car door. I regretted the action, knowing she was not the cause of my discontent. She showed no reaction, only turning away to lurch the car back into the traffic of the street with tires squealing until the car disappeared on the busy avenue.
Alessandra
9 I was up early the next morning and had just finished dressing when the phone rang. It was the house keeper.
“Father Adama, there is a…young woman here to see you.” Her voice reeked of disapproval, and I felt my heart leap. There was only one woman I knew that could put that kind of venom in an old woman’s mouth.
“She says…her name is Alessandra.” The house keeper almost spit the name through the phone. I imagined the faces the old witch might be making to convey to my guest her disapproval and loathing.
“I’ll be down in a moment.” The phone slammed in my ear with a crash of finality.
What was I doing? I was not supposed to allow myself these feelings anymore. I had found out all there was to know about women long before my ordination. Had I not placed such anticipation behind me a very long time ago? I had always been able to appreciate the beauty of a woman without the accompanying lust, but it was different with Alessandra from the very first moment I set eyes on her. I was physically drawn to her, and I was finally admitting it to myself. I hurried downstairs like a schoolboy on his first date.
The moment I saw her, it was apparent why the house keeper was put off. Alessandra was magnificent in high-heeled spikes, painted-on blue leather pants, and a white buttoned blouse tied beneath her ample breasts. The house keeper stood at the inner foyer door resembling a gargoyle forbidding further entrance. Her arms were folded and she leaned forward, looking over the crook of her nose with hooded eyes that screamed “abomination.”
I froze at the bottom of the stairs when I saw Alessandra. Pull it together, Adama, I thought. She is probably here on some unpleasant Del Cielo business. Try not to give away your disappointment when her calling is not what you hoped for. However, to my inner embarrassment, and great relief, she was here for me.
“Ciao, Adama, I thought I might invite you for a sightseeing ride on the lake.”
“I would be pleased,” the words just spilled out.
That was it for the house keeper—she stormed out of the reception area mumbling in a language I hadn’t heard since traveling on a Greek freighter. I was sure she would scrub the floor where Alessandra stood the moment we left.
Without another word, Alessandra turned out the door and down the steps to that same Mercedes Roadster. I took a deep breath before getting in, knowing we would probably break a land speed record again.
“Where exactly are we going?” I asked, just as she slammed on the gas pedal, knocking the wind out of me. I swear, the woman never looked as she pulled onto the avenue.
“We are going to the villa. I have access to the Star.”
“What is that?”
“The craft you saw tied to the patio dock. It is the most beautiful yacht on Lake Como,” she said, pressing down even further on the gas pedal.
I thought of giving myself last rights, but there was such confidence in her driving that I soon ignored our swerving between traffic.
“Does Victorio know you are with me?”
“I expect that he does.”
“Is that a problem between you and him?”
“No, Adama, certainly not, or I would not be here.”
An interesting response, but I wasn’t entirely sure if either statement were true. The only thing I was sure of was that she knew exactly what she was doing, and she also knew exactly what I was doing.
Well, all I can tell you is that celibacy is not all it is cracked up to be, particularly in the presence of this woman. I instinctively removed the black jacket and collar, throwing them behind the seat. I received a warm, gentle smile, and the touch of her hand on my cheek. There was little more to say as the car raced towards Como. For the first time in as long as I could remember, I felt my spirit and soul in unison.
I don’t think she touched the break once before reaching the villa. She drove to a side road off the main parking area that led directly down to the patio below. Being on the same level as the yacht, I could now appreciate the size and true beauty of the craft. She watched me admire it.
“It is an Azmut, manufactured in Lucca. It is a stunning design, is it not?”
“I’ve seen these from a distance out on the water, but never like this. I never imagined the uncompromising beauty of such a thing.”
“Come,” she said, taking my hand. “It gets even more exciting when you step onboard.”
She pulled me almost running up a short gangplank and motioned for me to help her pull it aboard, even though it seemed she was most capable of doing it herself.
“Stay on the main deck, and throw off those lines when I shout.”
With that, s
he was up two flights of curved stairs to the bridge. The engines came on line in moments and the shout of “cast off” followed at once. With the lines off, the vessel came to life.
“Adama, come up! Come up!”
She operated the yacht the same way she drove a car. I lost my balance and fell into the stair rail as she backed out, swinging the nose hard to the open lake. I had to grab the rail to stop from being thrown backwards as she pushed the throttles forward with purpose. As soon as I reached the bridge, she placed my one hand on the wheel and the other on the throttles.
I had never driven anything this big before, but I was having the time of my life. In front of me, coming up fast, were ferry boats crossing the lake in different directions, and a number of small private pleasure boats. I weaved through the smaller boats, receiving angry arm gestures and words unintelligible over the engines. Before me now was the open lake, miles of it, and I wanted to cover it all. I pushed the throttles as far forward as they would go. The yacht surged forward again, lifting itself higher in the water as she reached her plain.
I looked to Alessandram standing next to me with the wind blowing her silken hair straight back from that perfect face. Michael Angelo would have wanted to preserve her image in marble, but even he could not have captured such beauty.
The open lake provided a sense of freedom that I had not known. The scenery pasted on either side revealed the twists and turns of mountain roads and small restaurants in villages donning their route. The shoreline held the larger resorts and the town of Como itself with its terracotta roofs and church steeples reaching skyward.
I turned in a long sweeping arch, coming closer to the shoreline. I was now able to see the people, cars, and buses that gave life to the panoramic view. I was mesmerized with the combination of sun and wind in my face, complementing the beauty all around me. I couldn’t tell you how long the elation went on before I felt two hands on my shoulders and her lips in my ear.