“They’re outside,” whispered Robert, tipping toward the front door.
A door slammed shut and an engine started. Robert and Thorne burst outside and spotted a van pulling away.
“Bastardo! Bastardo!” a male voice shouted to their right. “Shoot them!”
Robert and Thorne ducked to the left, firing at two men to their right who fired back. The van stopped momentarily then sped away. They both hit the ground and continued to fire. Down the road, Robert saw machine gun fire spray the wooded area where they had set up surveillance to watch the castle.
“Fuck this!” Robert heard Thorne shout.
She stood up and ran toward the two men, shooting and screaming something unintelligible. Moments later, both Italians were dead. Robert ran over to make sure his partner was okay, but should’ve known better.
She stood over the bodies and kicked them both.
“They’re gone,” she said, matter-of-fact, emotionless.
Against the night, Thorne radiated a beauty few women could achieve. At her feet lay destruction not many men could fathom. Robert shook his head. No matter how many times he witnessed her power, it always amazed him.
“I saw them shoot into the woods,” Robert said. “We better check it out.”
They ran across the compound to the woods. Robert cursed under his breath, wishing he hadn’t listened to the others and rescued Samuel earlier. He tried to remember as many details about the van as possible.
Plain white van, late model, spare tire on the rack on the back door.
48
R obert and Thorne reached the woods and found two bodies sprawled out in the brush, Sister Agnes Mary Paul and Father Thomas Raul, both Il Martello di Dio operatives.
They examined the bodies, searching for signs of life. Two packed cars sped up to the scene. Father Kong and Sister Isabella hoped out, ran over, and at the sight of their comrades, fell to their knees and assisted Robert and Thorne in trying to revive their friends, prayers spewing from their lips.
Ten minutes later, Robert and Thorne stood, watching Father Kong and the others work on the two for another five minutes. Exacerbated, Sister Isabella stormed over to Robert and Thorne.
“You lied to us! You promised not to try this without us! Now our friends are dead, and Samuel’s gone!” screamed Sister Isabella.
“It’s not our fault,” snapped Thorne. “They were moving Samuel when we got here. They stopped to shoot your people on the way out.
They knew they were there. We’d been made.”
“Thorne’s right,” added Robert. “We shot two men up near the castle. You can check it out.”
Father Kong, listening, stood and walked over, his hands bloody.
“What did the van look like?” he asked. Robert described as much as he could. Thorne added her piece.
Father Kong dialed his cell phone and put it out on their network. “If it shows, we’ll find it,” he said, calm and focused. He turned to the other six people who were standing near the two bodies, tears in their eyes, and directed them to search the castle and surrounding grounds. “Show us the men you killed,” said Father Kong.
The four quickly walked over to the bodies Thorne had laid out.
Father Kong and Sister Isabella knelt, prayed for the two, then examined them closely.
“I think I recognize them,” said Father Kong. “They’re mafia, but I can’t place who they work for.”
Sister Isabella adjusted the bodies face up and took pictures with a digital camera. “I’ll run these through our database,” she said. “I’m sure we’ll get a hit. If we find out who they worked for, we might be able to pick up Samuel’s trail.”
The four of them went inside the castle to help the others search for clues. Robert went upstairs to search the bedroom. The room was plain, and reminded him of a medieval jail cell. The trashcan was filled with soda cans, potato chip bags and half eaten fruit. Robert turned over the mattress. Wedged in between the box springs he pulled out a piece of folded newspaper. It was the front page of the Chicago Tribune, showing a distraught Alison Napier walking behind Donovan’s casket. A smile crept across Robert’s face. He’s still alive.
Screaming voices brought Robert out of his momentary bliss. He ran downstairs where Thorne met him.
“We have to get out!” she screamed. “The place is rigged with explosives!”
“Can we diffuse it?” he asked.
“No, I tried, it’s too late!”
Everybody ran out of the castle and sprinted across the compound.
They reached a safe distance near the woods, and turned. Nothing.
“I didn’t see a timer,” said Thorne. “It could go at anytime.”
“We’ll get to the city and notify the police anonymously,” said Father Kong, breathing hard.
They loaded the bodies in the trunks, piled in the cars and headed down the road. Sister Isabella’s cell phone rang. She put her head in her hands and cried out. “We’ll be there right away,” she said, hanging up.
She faced Father Kong. “It’s Cardinal Maximilian, he’s been stabbed.
It’s a heart wound. He’s in surgery at Salvador Mundi International Hospital. It doesn’t look good.”
Robert collapsed back into the car seat. Thorne’s face twisted with anger. A massive explosion detonated behind them. Austra Torre castle was no more.
49
F ather Kong slashed through the dark back roads of Italy like a seasoned pro. The car engine growled a warning to those ahead. Get out of the way. Nobody spoke as the car rumbled over dirt roads and asphalt.
Thirty minutes after the Astura Torre castle exploded, they roared into the bustling streets of Rome. Both cars reached the front of Salvador Mundi International Hospital, a six-story, tan brick building, crowded with reporters, Vatican clergy, the prayerful, and the curious.
Father Kong parked across the street, made a u-turn and eased through the driveway to the back of the main building. He ordered his people to wait in the car, while he, Robert, Thorne and Sister Isabella hurried to the fifth floor ICU ward, where a group of Vatican leaders, including Bishop Ruini, were gathered, some deep in discussion, others in prayer. The bishop spotted the four and motioned for them to follow him to an empty private room.
“The cardinal has a deep chest wound,” Bishop Ruini told them, closing the door. “The knife plunged into his chest and nicked his heart.
He lost a lot of blood, so it’s touch and go.”
“How did it happen? Who did it?” asked Father Kong, anxiousness in his voice.
Bishop Ruini placed his hands behind his back, walked to the window, and stared down at the crowd below. “We’d just left a meeting in the Sistine Chapel. The cardinal spent the evening entertaining a group of English businesspeople, and we were on our way to see the Holy Father. Two men, both Italian, were waiting in the shadows outside.” The bishop turned to face them. “They stabbed our guard in the neck. I fought one of them and the cardinal took the other. I sustained cuts and bruises to my hands and arms.” He showed them his bandaged hands.
“The cardinal hurt the other man badly, and, forgive me, but I think he broke the bastard’s arm. When the two ran away, I looked over and the cardinal was flat on his back, the knife protruding from his chest. I called out for the Swiss Guard, but by the time they reached us, the two men had sped away in a waiting car.”
“Sounds like a hit,” said Thorne. “But kind of sloppy. They could’ve just shot him.”
“Yes, but that would’ve attracted too much attention outdoors,” said Sister Isabella. “The Swiss Guard would’ve shut the place down.” Bishop Ruini lowered his head and cried. Tears filled the eyes of Father Kong and Sister Isabella.
“It happened so fast,” stuttered the bishop. “I didn’t see it coming.”
“It’s not your fault,” said Thorne. “None of us would’ve seen it coming inside the Vatican. But we don’t have time to feel sorry for ourselves, we have to plan our next move.�
�� Sister Isabella wiped her face. “Thorne’s right. Everything that’s happened tonight signals a shift. The Order’s making their final move.” Father Kong’s phone rang. The conversation was short. “We found the van. It’s empty, but our people are giving it a thorough examination for fingerprints and clues,” he told them.
Bishop Ruini walked over to Robert and stared him in the eye. “The cardinal asked me to tell you that you’re the heart of this effort now. He wants you to lead us the rest of the way. To find the boys, and stop The Order.”
Robert opened his mouth but the words wouldn’t come. The expressions on Father Kong and Sister Isabella’s faces said, we’ll follow you into hell.
“I’m not so sure that’s a good idea,” answered Robert. “You’re trying to save the world, I just want my godson back.”
“The two may be the same thing,” said Father Kong.
“I’m not one of you. I’m not a believer,” said Robert.
“The cardinal senses something in you, and I agree,” said Sister Isabella. “This is a major turn for the world, and whether you like it or not, you’re God’s man for this moment in time.” Robert felt a strong presence ease up beside him. It was Thorne. “We don’t have to believe what they do, Robert, but let’s do it, get our boy and get out of here,” she said.
Robert scanned their faces. “Okay, let’s do it. Bishop, stay here and keep us updated on the cardinal’s condition.” The bishop nodded and left the room. “Father Kong, I need you to supervise the examination of the van, and fill us in as soon as you find something. Ask around the area where the van was dumped, and see if you can dig up a witness. If they moved the kids, maybe somebody saw them.” Robert walked over to Sister Isabella, who still looked a little shaken, struggling to hold back tears. “Come on now, Sister, we need you on top of your game,” he said, smiling.
Sister Isabella smiled back. “I’m ready,” she said.
“Good, I need you to run the pictures of the two men we killed down at the castle. If you get a hit, let us know who they work for right away.” Sister Isabella nodded.
Robert’s cell phone rang. It was Alison Napier, near hysterical. “I saw the news report about the castle at Astura Torre. They said it was destroyed by a bomb blast. Is Samuel okay?”
“Samuel’s safe,” he told her. “They moved him before blowing up the place.” Robert reassured Alison then hung up. “Okay, let’s go to it.” The four of them left the room and headed for the elevators. “Thorne and I are going to check on Alison Napier,” said Robert. “We’ll meet you back at the villa in ninety minutes.”
Bishop Ruini rushed over as they boarded the elevator. “Cardinal Maximilian went into cardiac arrest,” he gasped, out of breath. “The surgery was a success, but he’s in a coma.” The elevator doors closed. Robert kicked the wall hard. When they reached the bottom floor, he and Thorne went back to the cars to retrieve their weapons. Sister Isabella and Father Kong gave them both hugs.
“God be with both of you,” said Father Kong. “We’ll be praying.” Thorne racked a shell in the Mosberg and smiled. “Amen.”
50
F ather Tolbert, hands in his pockets, blended in with the crowd in front of the hospital, listening carefully for any bit of useful information.
He gathered as much gossip as he dared, realizing he could be recognized at anytime, and eased away from the bustling press, curious onlookers, and fellow clergy. He crossed the street to where he could watch from a safe inconspicuous distance, backed into a small space between two buildings, and waited.
Almost a week had passed since he last saw Robert Veil and his partner at The Grand Hotel de Minerve, where he’d learned that Alison Napier was staying. The priest wondered how she fit into Cardinal Polletto’s hands, and if she knew that her son, Samuel, was cloned.
Father Tolbert liked Alison. She had always been nice to him, respectful.
He wondered what she’d think when she learned he was Samuel’s biological father, and a monster.
Father Tolbert had made sure he stayed out of sight, holing up in small, non-descript flophouse hotels in old Rome, where people saw everything, but minded their own business. The priest stayed off the streets during the day, and only went out for food and hair coloring at night. He frequented offbeat coffee shops and bars, where patrons shared the discreet talk of the town, but he heard nothing that would help his cause.
He was especially careful to suppress the sickness still burning in his soul, and avoided even eye contact with children who passed his way.
The hunger called to him daily, but his new purpose, the destruction of The Order of Asmodeus, enabled him to keep control for the moment.
This morning, while sipping an espresso at a coffee shop not far from his hotel, Father Tolbert overheard the owner speak of the attack on Cardinal Maximilian, a man he feared, but who had always been kind to him. He couldn’t account for his unease when it came to the cardinal, but his soul searching eyes seemed to pierce right through him, and Father Tolbert felt like the man could see his very soul.
He ran right over to the hospital, hoping that the incident would cause Samuel’s godfather to show. He had no reason to suspect a connection, but it was all he had to go on at the time. Father Tolbert was well aware of Cardinal Polletto’s hatred for Cardinal Maximilian, which made him wonder if the attack was more than a simple robbery attempt, as many were calling it, or something more. An assassination.
More press, priests, nuns, and catholic faithful, gathered in front of the hospital. Father Tolbert carefully examined each new face, hoping, praying for a break. Then, two dusty, dark blue sedans stopped in front of the hospital. After a few minutes, the cars turned around and parked across the street, not far from where Father Tolbert was hiding. He backed up into the darkness, then slowly eased forward.
Sitting in the passenger seat of the first car was a man who looked like Robert Veil, but he wasn’t sure. He slid back, then leaned forward again. In the backseat was a black woman, American, with an unforgettable face. It’s them! Father Tolbert considered rushing over and knocking on the window, but didn’t because there were others in the car.
After about two minutes, both cars pulled away and headed for the rear of the hospital. He quickly walked across the street and went to the back of the building on the opposite side, head low, eyes straight. When he reached the rear parking lot, he didn’t look around, but kept moving, careful not to walk too fast. He stopped well out of the sight of the two sedans, now parked at the back entrance. He stooped low behind a tan Volvo and watched Robert Veil, his partner, an Asian priest he didn’t recognize, and a woman he now recognized as Sister Isabella, who he knew well, rush inside the hospital.
Father Tolbert leaned back against the car behind him, keeping the back door and the two cars still parked there, in sight. The remaining men still left in the cars stepped out to smoke cigarettes, their weapons well in sight. They didn’t look like clergy, but after what Father Tolbert had seen over the last month, he was ready to believe anything.
A light rain fell. The priest closed his eyes and let the mist caress his face. Almost and hour passed before Robert Veil and the others exited the hospital. Veil’s partner, the black woman, snapped her head in Father Tolbert’s direction, sending him to the wet asphalt. He eased his head up and watched Robert and Thorne hide weapons under their jackets and signal one of the waiting cabs.
The Asian priest and Sister Isabella jumped in separate cars and sped away. Father Tolbert quickly ran to one of the waiting taxis as Robert and Thorne pulled away.
“Follow them,” Father Tolbert ordered the driver, slamming the door, handing him a fifty-dollar bill. “And don’t let them get away.”
51
T en minutes into the ride, Father Tolbert knew they were headed for Alison Napier’s hotel. Good, it’s the perfect place.
The night crowd had died down, and the taxis made good time.
Father Tolbert had to warn his driver several times n
ot to follow too close, and several more not to lose sight of the car. A block and a half from the hotel, he got out and walked, blindly bumping into several people along the way. A half block from the Minerve, he stopped to gather his confidence.
When he turned the corner, something hit him hard in the stomach.
He keeled over and landed on his face. Dazed, he felt someone turn him over and bark loudly. Dizzy and struggling for breath, he couldn’t make out a word. Finally, his watery eyes cleared. Robert and Thorne stared down at him, both with guns pointed at his head.
“Who the hell are you?” snapped Robert. “Why are you following us?”
The priest coughed hard and sucked in air, unable to get out the words.
“He tailed us from the hospital,” said Thorne. “I spotted him in the parking lot before we left.”
Robert shoved his machine gun against Father Tolbert’s forehead. “I suggest you speak quickly, we’re not in the mood this evening.”
“My name is Father Charles Tolbert,” the priest finally spewed. “I met you back in Chicago, with the Napiers.” Father Tolbert watched Robert’s face go from bewilderment, to heated anger. He put his gun away.
“Why?” asked Robert. “Why did you hurt my godson?” Father Tolbert couldn’t find the words. He didn’t have any that would suffice. Robert asked why over and over, his own eyes glassy, a tight grip around the priest’s neck, banging Father Tolbert’s head against the concrete.
“Bastard! You fucking bastard!” screamed Robert.
Thorne looked on, her own eyes red with hatred. After a moment, she reached down, grabbed her partner and pulled him off. “Robert, we need this asshole. Let him up.”
Robert backed off, then lunged forward with a punch to the jaw as Father Tolbert tried to stand, knocking him back to the ground.
The Hammer of God v-2 Page 24