Robert eased his head out of the water and looked around as they floated quietly, listening, looking around the dark cave. He signaled all clear, surveying the left side of the cave. Thorne checked their right, and they quickly pulled themselves out, removed the scuba gear, slipped on a pair of rubber-soled shoes, and loaded their weapons. Robert screwed a silencer on one of his nines, as did Thorne.
To his surprise, Thorne had managed to bring along her signature Mosberg pistol grip shotgun. He smiled as she jammed in the shells and hung if from her shoulder.
“I see you brought her with you,” he said, attaching his radio and ear piece.
Thorne checked her other weapons, never looking up. “Bitches fair better in pairs.” She racked in a shell. “And this bitch is my favorite.” Robert shined his light around the cavernous, dark cave, focusing the beam on a concrete stairwell to their right. The stairs led up to a heavy steel door that Robert initially thought was locked, but cracked open when he and Thorne leaned hard into it with their shoulders. The door opened up into a dusty basement filled with old artifacts, canvas covered paintings, tools, and other maintenance items apparently untouched for quite some time.
Thorne located another set of stairs that led up to another heavy steel door. When they reached the top, Robert pressed his ear to the cold steel and heard the faint sound of voices and footsteps. As far as he could tell, there were four men on the other side, all Italian speaking, probably natives. He and Thorne turned off their lights and readied their weapons.
Robert gently tested the door, pushing on it softly with his shoulder.
It didn’t move. He tried again, this time a little harder, but the door still wouldn’t budge.
“Hit it hard. I’ll cover us when we get inside,” said Thorne.
“High, low,” said Robert, meaning he’d shoot from the top, and she from a crouched position.
He whispered a three count and rammed the door hard. Thorne rolled inside and came up on one knee, Robert stood above her. Two men, armed in black hooded robes stumbled backwards. Thorne caught them both with headshots. Robert spun around and shot two more with one shot each to the chest and forehead.
Robert checked his kills, pulled off their robes and handed one to Thorne. They put on the robes and folded the hoods down over their heads and picked up the Mac-10 machine guns the guards were carrying.
Robert radioed Father Kong.
“We’re inside,” he told the priest. “They’re definitely armed, so stay sharp.”
“We read you,” Father Kong answered. “We’re moving up to the next position, and will wait for further instructions.” Robert and Thorne made their way down a long, dim hallway, the Mac-10’s in their hands, and their other weapons secure under the robes.
As they reached the end of the hall, Robert heard voices around the corner. He listened carefully, and held up two fingers. Thorne nodded.
They folded their hoods down further over their faces and turned the corner, heads low, and headed for a large wooden door in front of them that looked like it led outside.
“You two!” a voice shouted behind them.
Robert fingered the trigger on the Mac-10, ready to fire. He saw Thorne do the same. They turned around slowly, heads low, eyes looking upward. A fat, bald, small-eyed man wearing the same black robes approached them.
“Are the other two still guarding the back?” the fat man asked.
“Yes,” answered Robert. “We’ll go back and give them a break in about fifteen minutes.”
“Fine, but you know weapons aren’t allowed in the stadium, cardinal’s orders.”
Robert apologized, and he and Thorne handed over the machine guns.
“I’ll put them in the weapons room upstairs. Pick them up on your way back.”
Robert and Thorne nodded, turned abruptly, and headed outside, where more black hooded followers of The Order milled back and forth from what looked like metal grandstands erected in front of a large wooden stage. They quickly made their way to the stands, checking to make sure nobody was watching them. As they approached the seats, a tall black man with hard, almost yellow eyes, stopped them. In the black robe, the man looked like a seven-foot death angel.
“There are no more seats up close, you’ll have to sit at the top,” he told them, in a creepy whisper.
Robert and Thorne nodded and walked up through the middle of the crowd. On their way up, Robert caught a glimpse of a familiar face sitting up front. Alison! He looked over at Thorne, whose angry eyes said she’d already seen her.
They sat down on the top row. Out front in the middle of the stage, behind a long table, stood Cardinal Polletto. To the left, tied to a wooden board, lay Father Tolbert, looking half out of his mind, and close by, stood the bulldog priest, Father Ortega. Three small black coffins, guarded by six men and a woman, were lined up behind the cardinal, and behind the coffins, on the widest part of the deck, was a sight that horrified Robert to the depths of his soul. A crowd of children, bound and gagged, some shaking and whimpering, others laying still with their eyes pressed shut, were piled on top of each other on a wooden deck.
Robert looked over at Thorne. “Do you see Samuel?”
“No, but he could be somewhere in that crowd of children,” she whispered, through gritted teeth.
“We can’t move until we see him,” said Robert. “This is going to be our last chance.”
“Tonight, the old will give way to something new. A new way the world will grasp as its lifeline,” said Cardinal Polletto. “And we, the ones chosen to serve and lead, will tonight bear witness to this rebirth.” The cardinal began to chant something in Latin, his hands high in the air, his face toward the sky. Soon, the crowd in the stands chanted too, standing to their feet, jubilant, celebrating.
“Sicut erat in principio, et nunc, et semper, et in saecula saeculorum.
Amen.”
Robert and Thorne lowered their heads and mumbled in unison with the crowd. Robert stuck his hands in his robe and chambered a round in his gun. Cardinal Polletto continued to chant as two men raised the board Father Tolbert was tied to, so that the priest’s feet were in the air and his head low. Father Ortega approached Father Tolbert with a large, glimmering knife.
“No, get away from me!” Father Tolbert cried.
Father Ortega moved closer to the bound priest, who screamed louder when he saw him. Robert continued to scan the stage and deck for Samuel, but there was no sign of his godson.
Cardinal Polletto turned around and said something to the woman standing next to the caskets. Each of the small black boxes was opened, and to Robert’s amazement, Samuel was lifted out of the first casket and stood up on the deck.
“It’s him,” whispered Thorne. “And there are the other two.” They continued to watch as Samuel’s twin brothers were placed on the deck. Robert focused hard on Samuel, recognizing the boy, but not the hard look in his eyes. What have they done to you?
Cardinal Polletto raised his hands and everyone fell silent. Robert watched as the cardinal poured water over what looked like black dirt on a silver plate, and walked over to Father Tolbert, who was screaming and kicking. The cardinal smeared mud all over Father Tolbert’s face.
“From earth you came, the father of our savior, to earth you shall return,” said Cardinal Polletto, in a loud commanding voice. “Your name will forever be written in our hearts and mind. Your blood, your seed, gave birth to the savior of this world, and in him, you shall live forever.” Robert and Thorne eased down the middle stairs toward the stage.
Father Tolbert flailed and kicked until one of his hands tore free, just stopping Father Ortega’s blade from finding his throat. Soon, the rabid priest was free and on his feet, slashing the knife back and forth. Robert kept a fix on Samuel, who stood on the deck, unmoved by the events.
Father Tolbert stabbed Father Ortega then rushed Cardinal Polletto.
Robert pressed the small transmitter to his lips.
“Move in!” Robert b
arked. “Go, go!”
The tall morbid man, who had showed them to their seats, rushed toward them. Robert pulled his gun and dropped him with one shot through his mouth, and one to his forehead. The giant hit the ground with a loud crash, as the crowd fell into a crazed panic. Thorne rushed the stage, the bitch in her hands shooting down anyone who stepped in their way.
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E lbows in front of his face, Cardinal Polletto tried to fend off Father Tolbert, now out of his mind with rabid rage, spitting and spewing like a possessed demon.
The cardinal grabbed at the crazed priest, but got tangled up in the oversized sleeves of his vestment. Father Tolbert sliced at the cardinal’s arms and hands, a menacing grin on his face. Cardinal Polletto looked toward the stands. Alison Napier was frantic. The Black Pope was gone.
Down the middle of the stairs, two of his people were rushing toward the stage. When they snatched off their hoods and pulled weapons from under their robes, the cardinal gasped. Robert Veil!
Cardinal Polletto felt a hot piercing pain in his stomach that quickly spread like an uncontrolled inferno. He looked down. Father Tolbert had plunged the knife into his stomach, pulled it out, and stabbed him again.
I…must… pull… the lever. Everything around him slowed to a crawl.
He heard voices, but they sounded muffled, hollow. He stumbled over to the large wooden lever, looking toward Samuel, who was no longer standing in front of his casket. He looked over at the other two boys and saw Samuel, hands free, untying his brothers. No!
The cardinal, dizzy and weak, grabbed the lever, and with all he had left in him pulled. “Arrrrrrrh!” He collapsed to the floor. Everything went black. Cardinal Polletto heard the deck give way and the splash of water. He smiled as hell opened its doors, blood pouring from his mouth.
“It is done,” he whispered.
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T he door to the casket opened. Samuel was lifted out of the coffin, his vision blurry, and his feet touched the deck. His eyesight cleared and quickly surveyed the area. Behind him, he saw a horrifying sight.
Children, around his age, were tied up, mouths taped, piled up on the backside of the deck, wiggling like fish out of water.
Samuel looked over at his brothers. They looked as terrified as he felt. Be brave! Stand strong! Eduardo and Felipe’s backs straightened.
Samuel felt his stomach churn. He took several deep breaths through his nose, fought it off, and looked around the stage. They were exactly where he imagined. His eyes landed up front. Cardinal Polletto was staring straight at him.
Samuel kept his eyes firmly on the cardinal, who looked away and raised his hands in the air. The stadium fell silent. Samuel surveyed the crowd in the stands, not able to see everyone clearly. The faces he could make out had their eyes glued on him. He let his gaze fall down to the front row, and almost collapsed at the disturbing sight of his mother in the front row wearing a black hooded robe like all the others, standing next to a frail old man with scary yellow eyes. Alison saw him looking, smiled and blew him a kiss.
Samuel’s hearing fell hollow, his eyes watered. Cardinal Polletto walked over to Father Tolbert with a tray in his hand, but Samuel had stopped paying attention. Mommy, how could you?
Samuel looked over at Felipe and Eduardo. Both looked down at their hands, signaling that their bounds were loose enough to make a break for it.
A commotion brought Samuel out of his stupor. Father Sin walked by him toward the stage. Good, it’s time. Samuel pointed his head toward the rail to the left. If they made it over, he guessed the drop was about ten to fifteen feet down to the water. He looked at his mother, heartbroken, but her attention, along with everybody else in the stadium, was on Father Tolbert, who had broken loose from the wooden plank, and was now slashing a knife back and forth at anybody who tried to get close to him.
Two men grabbed Father Tolbert, but he kicked and stabbed them, sending both of them to the ground. The crazed priest reached down for a thick necked man, whose face Samuel remembered, but whose name he couldn’t recall, and stabbed him in the chest several times, to the horror of Samuel and the now panicked crowd.
“Father Sin, get him!” cried Cardinal Polletto, looking frightened.
Father Sin pulled a knife from under his robe, but Father Tolbert didn’t notice. His eyes were fixed on the cardinal, as he spit and cursed.
“Stop him!” Cardinal Polletto screamed.
Father Tolbert rushed the cardinal, who put his forearms in front of his face and screamed as Father Tolbert sunk the knife into his stomach.
All of the adults around them, including Sister Bravo, rushed forward, leaving the boys alone.
Samuel eased over to Eduardo and Felipe, removed the rope from his wrists, and helped his brothers do the same. The boys ripped the tape from their mouths, then stared in awe at the heap of children writhing at their feet.
Samuel saw Cardinal Polletto stumble over to a large wooden handle and look over at him.
“Let’s go!” shouted Samuel.
Cardinal Polletto pulled the lever. The deck collapsed, and seconds later, Samuel was underwater fighting for air, as the children who were lying on the deck kicked and squirmed all around him.
Samuel couldn’t breathe. His chest ached. He felt dizzy and weak.
The longer he fought, the faster his strength abandoned him. He felt himself losing consciousness, as tiny hands and feet clawed at his face.
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R obert watched in horror as the deck Samuel stood on collapsed.
Samuel, his brothers, and all of the bound and gagged children stacked behind them, crashed into the dark lake.
Robert picked up speed. “Thorne, I’m going in after Samuel!” He looked toward his partner, who didn’t answer, and saw her deep in hand-to-hand combat with two men.
Bam! Somebody hit Robert hard around the neck, knocking him head over heels to the floor. He dropped his guns, but adrenaline pumping, immediately sprang to his feet. A burly, thick-necked man stripped off his robe in front of him, revealing a white collar, black shirt and pants. Father Sin!
Robert chopped the behemoth’s throat, kicked him hard in the head, and brought his foot down hard on the inside of the priest’s knee, busting the kneecap, breaking his leg. The priest hit the deck hard. Robert looked over at Thorne. Both men she was fighting were down on the ground, still, lifeless. Behind her, Father Kong, Detective Reynolds, and the others rushed onto the scene. A woman tackled Thorne to the ground and punched her in the face.
Samuel! Robert turned, ran to the end of the deck, stripped off the robe and dove into the wet blackness.
Robert felt kicks and bumps as he entered the water. Small hands grabbed at his face and body. He reached for them, pulling the small bundles to the surface. Each time he reached the surface, which was crowded with kicking and struggling children, he found himself holding a child other than Samuel. Frantic, he untied the child, ripped the tape from their mouths, then went down for another, each time bringing up a child other than his godson.
He looked up at the stadium. Father Kong and several of his people dove in the lake to help. Robert went back under. As his eyes adjusted to the blackness, he could make out the mostly lifeless forms of children.
His lungs burned. He felt a surge of anxiety. No, please don’t let him die!
Most of the bodies Robert swam through had stopped moving. He grabbed them in pairs and pulled them to the surface, crashing into others on his way up. Each time, his heart sank. It’s not Samuel.
Lake water mixed with the tears in Robert’s eyes. He saw Father Kong and the others pulling children to the shore, as more of the members of Il Martello di Dio jumped in to assist. Robert dove down again and again. Each time he came up holding another dead child, his heart sank a little lower, and his soul emptied a little more.
“Samuel! Samuel!” he screamed.
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F ighting through kicking feet and butting heads, Samuel fought his way to the surface, t
hrew up a stomach full of lake water, and sucked in air that felt like piercing needles in his lungs. Some of the children that were tied to the deck had slipped out of their ropes and were clawing for anything they could hang onto, including Samuel.
Several times, panicked children pulled him under, almost causing him to drown, but each time Samuel punched his way free and clawed back to the surface, amongst terrified screams, wet fleshy mounds, some dead, others wiggling desperately.
He finally gathered himself and swam away from the crowd towards Trevignano, just as he and his brothers planned. Along the way, he searched the faces of dying, drowning children, knowing he would see Eduardo or Felipe. We can’t die. You’re my only family now, and without you, I’d rather be dead.
Samuel swam clear of the crowd, but could still hear splashing and crying. Mixed in the noise, he thought he heard someone call his name, but ignored it. Arm tired, legs weak, Samuel moved slowly across the lake, his energy almost gone. He ripped off the heavy robe, but it only helped a little, and he struggled to keep going.
“Samuel! Samuel!” he heard a weak voice call.
Samuel turned. Felipe, with Eduardo at his side, swam up to him, both crying with joy. The three floated in the water, hugging and kissing each other on the cheek.
“We made it,” said Eduardo, holding Samuel tight.
Samuel felt a surge of energy. “Yes. Now let’s get to shore. We can make it the rest of the way.”
The three boys swam hard toward the shore. Samuel’s body throbbed with pain, but he didn’t care. He kicked and pulled at the water even harder, with Felipe and Eduardo on each side.
Thirty minutes later, Samuel saw the dark outline of Trevignano and its hillside cottages. He smiled, then laughed. We made it!
Samuel and his brothers lumbered out of the lake, fell down in the sand, and threw up lake water and bile. Samuel felt the muscles in his legs knot up, and his stomach cramp. Felipe and Eduardo cried out in pain. Samuel relaxed. The pain continued, but his mind floated elsewhere. He’d lost everything and everyone he ever cared about.
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