by R. J. Grant
“Thank you, Adama, thank you. It is such a wonderful thing. To think of the Hebrew priests who have held this on each Yom Kippur in the court of the Great Temple.”
“You may carry it back to St. Andrew, if you wish, Father.”
“Oh no, Adama, what if I dropped it or lost it? No, here, please take it.”
“Very well, give it back then.”
I had just closed my hand around the Lot when someone behind us spoke and my ass immediately began to hurt.
I quickly turned to see the expected face of O’Malley smiling broadly at me. From the broken front tooth in his smile, I could see that Dinard had indeed given him his due on the street the other day.
“I thank you for finding that for me, Father Adama. I doubt that I would ever have thought of looking here. How appropriate a place for you and your little fat friend to meet your demise. May I have the Atonement Lot?”
O’Malley was not alone. The tall, lanky priest Donnelly stood next to him, and another dozen men around them. I reached for the HK, and as I drew it, something hit me in the back of the head, sending me to the ground. I was dazed for only a second, but had dropped the pistol before regaining my feet. The mob rushed us headlong with fists flailing. I know that I seriously injured four of them before several jumped on my back, dragging me to the ground. From the corner of my eye, I saw Dinard in the same predicament. The last moment I remember was biting down hard on a hand across my mouth as I received a crashing blow to my head. That internal buzzing sound in my ears was the prelude to unconsciousness, and just as the light dimmed in my eyes, I could have sworn I saw the Rabbi’s angel on the top of the Del Cielo vault…
Things Unseen
11 When I opened my eyes, Dinard was in front of me trying to get me to my feet. To my astonishment, I felt alright, and stood straight up. I immediately put my hand to the back of my head expecting to find blood or at least a lump the size of an egg, but there was nothing there.
My next surprise was to see a dozen men lying flat all about unconscious, as if they were all hit with a giant fly swatter. Instinctively, I picked up the HK pistol and put it in my waste band.
“Dinard, are they dead?”
“No, just unconscious. Come now, we must leave here,” he said, taking me by the arm.
I stole a glance back at the top of the Del Cielo tomb. There was nothing there. Then I stopped short.
“The Lot. Where is the Lot?”
Dinard stopped pulling me as a question crossed his face.
Then I felt it, still in my closed fist. I slowly opened my hand, and there it was; I had not dropped it even when knocked unconscious. A smile came to Dinard’s mouth.
“God is gracious, Adama, but now we must leave. It is not wise to tempt the Lord thy God.
He continued pulling me down the path to the exit, but I had so many questions.
“Father, did you see the angel?”
“Whatever are you talking about?” he said, still hurrying me forward.
“Never mind, it was probably just a hallucination from the blow to my head. What happened to O’Malley and the rest of them?”
“Surely I don’t know, Adama. I woke up just as you,” he said, panting as he rushed me onward. “One second I was being beaten by that mob, and the next I was on my back, opening my eyes, staring straight up at the blue sky. The men around me—they were breathing, but lifeless like rag dolls. We must be gone before they wake up. Whatever happened to them, we don’t want to be here when they come about.
Something strange had happened, but he gave me little time to think. His determination to reach the front gate was unyielding.
We passed back though the Famedio and out the gate to the Piazza. Finally, Dinard slowed down to catch his breath. He was breathing like a race horse.
“Try to breath slowly, Father; lean over with your hands on your knees, and breath slowly now.”
“I’m sorry, Adama. I…I am too fat for all this running.”
Another moment passed, and his breathing was returning to normal. I stood him up and looked to the street for a taxi. Within minutes we were on our way back to St. Andrew all in one piece, with the Atonement Lot in my pocket.
“What now, Adama? I suppose now that you have the Lot, you will be leaving for Rome. I’m going to miss you… Things will be very quiet at St. Andrew.”
“I will leave for Rome, but not right away. To be honest, I am not even sure what to do with the Lot. Del Cielo has made an accusation regarding the cardinal that I must verify. If what he said proves to be true, then the Atonement Lot must never reach the cardinal’s hands.”
I found myself in a true dilemma. I had spent all my energy on finding the object, and hadn’t reasoned out what I would do with it if and when it came into my possession. There was also the question of keeping it. I wasn’t worried about Opus Dei any longer. They had already made their play for the Lot, and were soundly rebuked. Although exactly how, none of us would ever know for sure. They would be in no hurry to repeat the episode. Nevertheless, there was Del Cielo himself to consider. He had an interest in the object, he admitted so himself, but what interest? He seemed to be in no great rush to hold it in his hand. I wondered if that were only because he knew it could be his any time he wished. Alessandra had also warned me against releasing it to him. None of this would do.
“Father Dinard, how would you like to visit Lake Como?”
“Como? Now? Whatever for?”
“We must settle the issue of the Atonement Lot before we go any further. Victorio Del Cielo…it is time to pay him a visit!”
Hearing myself speak those words, I wondered just what I was going to do when I got there. What could I possibly say to the man?
Hey, Victorio, I have the Atonement Lot. You’re okay with that, right? Good, glad to hear it. Ciao.
Lunacy, just lunacy. But what else was there to do? I had a strong notion that he already knew I had the Lot, anyway. Somehow, I didn’t think he would let it fly off to Rome without first getting what he wanted from it.
Then there was Alessandra. She went to great pains to hide it from him. However, it looked like he might have known exactly where it was all along. There was something more to whatever game these two were playing, and I was tired of being in the middle.
“Driver, we have changed our mind. Please take us to Lake Como.”
After being cursed and firmly told that it was impossible by the driver, he graciously accepted an exorbitant amount of Euros to reverse his decision. He happily announced that it would be his pleasure to take a drive along the lake. Unfortunately, he did not drive like Alessandra, and it was more than a hour before we arrived at the address.
After enduring the driver’s comments about how well the church pays, we thanked him and watched as he drove back up the driveway out of sight.
“What now, Adama?”
“We go to the front door and knock, of course.”
“I hope you know what you are doing. You just don’t go up to the front door of homes like these and knock uninvited.”
“Make believe you are a Jehovah witness, and just do it.”
“Mother of God, I hope there are no dogs. They always have big dogs in places like this,” he said, making the sign of the cross.
“I’m not worried about the dogs, Father.”
“And why in God’s name not?”
“I can run faster than you.”
We reached the front steps and the door opened while we were still at the bottom. A rather large man in a vest and white shirt stepped out.
“You are trespassing. What do you want? Oh, excuse me, Fathers, I didn’t notice right off that you were priests. How can I help you?”
“We are here to see Victorio Del Cielo. Is he in?”
The man looked quite puzzled.
“Victorio Del Cielo? Whatever do you mean? The man does not reside here. I think you have come to the wrong place.
“Doesn’t live here? That can’t be, I was here onl
y a few days ago and had lunch with him!”
Two other men appeared in the doorway behind him. Their dress was unmistakable as household help.
“Is there a problem, sir?”
“No, no, it is alright. Go on about your duties.” They immediately turned, and left the door.
“I’m sorry, Father, but I assure you that you have the wrong address. I know of Signor Del Cielo, and I believe he has offices downtown, but not here.”
“It can’t be.”
“It is. Now, please be on your way. I don’t mean to be disrespectful to you, Father, but this is a private home and you have no business here.”
I looked to the side for the path off to the garden. It wasn’t where I thought it had been. There was also a dock at the lower patio, but it didn’t look big enough to hold the Azmut yacht Alessandra had taken me on. What was going on? This is not right, but I was positive I was at the correct villa.
Dinard took my arm and slowly pulled me away to walk back up the driveway. Begrudgingly, I complied. Getting back up on via Torno road, we began walking back toward Milan. What we were thinking I could not tell you. It would take us two days by foot.
“Adama, do you suppose that…”
Just then, a tour bus pulled to the side of the road across from us. The driver opened his window and shouted out to us.
“Padres, did your car break down? Can we offer you a ride?”
“Yes, most certainly. May God bless you, my son. May your family and friends also be blessed,” Dinard shouted out.
I thought he over did it a bit, but I would have been willing to give a blessing also. We were now on a tour bus filled with American tourists heading away from Milan. However, the driver assured us that after he dropped them at their hotel at the other side of the lake, he would be taking the bus back to its garage in Milan. We were saved.
We spent the next hour and a half talking to two elderly retired couples from the U.S. My patience was stretched to the limit hearing over and over again how beautiful the churches were in Italy. Dinard made the mistake of mentioning that I was posted at the Vatican. It was now my task to suggest what they should see when they visited there two days hence, and what would be required to gain an audience with the Pope. Dinard seemed to take great pleasure in my agony. Thankfully, the ride back to Milan was quiet after we dropped them at their hotel. Americans, God those people could be obnoxious.
The bus let us out at the first taxi piazza. From there, it was a short trip back to St. Andrew. We arrived tired and hungry, the latter being remedied immediately in Dinard’s kitchen.
“Adama, I must prepare the evening meal and I am late. Will you help me?”
For me, it was a strange end to an even stranger day. From a treasure hunt to a brawl, and onto an excursion to the countryside with tourists, I was now wearing an apron, and up to my elbows in pots and pans.
“Adama, please peal the potatoes. There, wash them off; the peeler is in the top drawer of the counter.”
“Okay, Father, I’m on it,” I said, trying to sound enthusiastic.
I sat on the stool, a bowl of potatoes in front of me to peel, trying to mentally sift though all that had, and had not, happened.
Del Cielo’s villa—I was there not once, but twice, wasn’t I? There was no question that Dinard and I had gone to the right place. I had a funny feeling that if we had gained entrance, I would not have seen the same furnishings. As I have said before, I am good at picking up on a lie, and the man at the door was not lying. He did live there, and he meant every word he said.
Then, there was the Opus Dei bunch. Something very strange had certainly happened to them, and my injuries were as if they had never been made. What was that hallucination of the Angel on the top of the tomb? Maybe it was not an hallucination at all. It was easy to recall the image, but it was too brief to discern any detail. The events were all a jumble.
I am the ultimate skeptic, but I was beginning to take Burtuchi’s assessment of Del Cielo seriously. If any of that were true, then how could I just leave for Rome and not pursue conformation of such a thing? How does one confirm the presence of the unseen? If he were Gregori, he had many millennia of practice concealing it. Then I considered the practicality of the matter. If I proved to myself that Victorio Del Cielo was in fact Gregori, so what? Who would believe me other than Burtuchi? More importantly, to what end or purpose would it be? Still, my curiosity was churning. I wished I had access to the Vatican Archive right now to assimilate all that was known about the subject. The one thing I knew for sure was that I now had possession of the Atonement Lot. I checked my pocket just the same.
I stayed with Dinard after supper to help him clean up. I knew he was just as exhausted as I, maybe more. He was not used to the havoc my presence brought to the usually peaceful parish of St. Andrew.
“Thank you, Adama. I was glad for the help tonight.”
“Good night, Father Dinard, we have both had a long day, and it is time for both of us to get some rest.”
I climbed the stairs to my quarters as if my shoes were lead. Falling into bed, I was too tired to take the time to wash up. I expected to lie there rolling all the thoughts of the day in my mind. However, to my surprise, I fell asleep almost immediately.
When I awoke the next morning, I showered and went downstairs, still trying to determine what to do about Del Cielo, if anything. I didn’t want to engage in the small talk of the parish, and decided to find a light breakfast on the avenue. A street side café looked inviting with a cool, early morning breeze to complement the aroma of a cappuccino. I wasn’t particularly hungry, but ordered a cornetto, actually just a croissant, to go with it. I didn’t think the proprietor would appreciate me taking up the table just for coffee.
Milan’s fashion models were up bright and early, scurrying down and across streets to their first casting calls of the day. I thought about the exuberance of their youth, and their optimism seeking fame and fortune so far from home. God bless them, they will need it.
As I sat watching the street traffic, a limousine with darkened windows pulled to the curb, and the chauffeur got out. One of the city’s movers-and-shakers wanted his coffee for the ride to work, no doubt. The chauffeur went directly to the counter where the coffee was waiting for him, and promptly returned to the car, handing it through a half rolled down window. Just another ritual of the city coming to life each morning.
Having finished my breakfast, I was about to leave when a hand touched my shoulder, announcing the arrival of someone joining me at the small table. It was Victorio Del Cielo, dressed in casual clothing with a coffee in hand. The limousine was still parked at the curb. His, no doubt.
“Ciao, Adama. I hope this beautiful morning finds you well.”
His presence in a street side café was totally unexpected, and I am sure it showed on my face. Yesterday, it would have seemed that he and his villa did not want to be found, and yet here he was bidding me good morning. It took me a moment to respond to his greeting.
“Ciao, Victorio. I think you know how surprised I am to see you here. I tried to see you yesterday afternoon, but I got the distinct impression that you did not want to be found.”
“That is true. Please forgive me, but it was necessary so that you would understand that if you come looking for me in the future, you will not be successful. However, I promised you that we would meet once more to discuss the Lot, and here I am.”
I became on-edge knowing the Atonement Lot was right here in my pocket, merely feet away from the person I was warned would desire it above all things.
“Be at ease, Adama. I do not want what is in your pocket. It has served my purpose, and you have completed the service I desired of you.”
“How can that be? I have done nothing for you that I know of.”
“Hardly, you have given me exactly what I wanted—Alessandra to know without doubt that I do not desire the Atonement Lot. That being said, that little episode in Cimitero Monumentale yesterday was nec
essary for Alessandra’s sake. She had to see that I would not take the Seal for my own purposes. I have always known where she put it—a very clever girl—and I give you great credit for locating it yourself.
“She has been very afraid for me, fearful that I would attempt to free my brothers. The truth of the matter is that Rafael would never allow it, but she was not convinced. Your intervention allowed me to demonstrate to her that I did not desire the Seal, and at the same time, protect you and Father Dinard from a rather perilous fate. They had every intention of killing you. I could not very well have allowed that to happen. After all, Alessandra has sincere feelings for you. Oh, and your liaison with her on the lake—do not wonder about that where it concerns me. I love Alessandra, and she I, but on a nonphysical level. We are companions through time, where no other would have us.”
“Why wouldn’t she just believe you when you told her you did not want it to free Azazel?”
“Let’s just say that with Alessandra, only seeing is believing,” he said, with a smile.
“A final word for you, personally, Adama. I like you. You have a noble heart, and I would prefer not to see that heart corrupted. You walk a narrow line for a priest. Do not step over it, and you may yet be saved by grace alone.”
“What of you, Victorio, what does the future hold for you?”
“The price of complacency is much too high. The evil of this world will always be with us, and cannot be eradicated, but I can blunt its blows. In doing so, I walk the same narrow line as you, Adama.
“As for the future, my fate is yet unclear. Men have a Messiah, but not angels. We are bound by an exacting angelic law, and will be judged by it at the end of days. Those days are growing closer, Adama. Be on your guard, and remain a righteous man, for you have chosen a violent path.
“I must be going now. You decide what to do with the Atonement Lot. Do not be concerned with Cardinal Burtuchi asking you what you have done with it. As we speak, he is having a massive coronary, not of my doing, and is departing this world momentarily.