The Final Pontiff

by Neil Howarth

  Something stirred deep within him. He recognized it, something that maybe he feared most of all. He knew it was there. It had always been there. And one moment of doubt, one sign of weakness and a different self would take over, a different training regime would kick in. The beast that was hiding in his dreams would finally step into the light. And from that point, he wasn’t sure if there was any way back. Which was all the more reason he should follow the urge he was feeling right now, and run.

  Walter and Iggy were inside cooking dinner, promising a veal dish to die for. By the rich aroma making its way out of the kitchen, they could be right.

  Aldo had done his cyber digging and come back with the goods. Sister Eileen O’Monahan was living in a convent just outside Cork city, in southern Ireland. Had been for the last twenty years. There had been some initial discussion, well more of an argument. In the end, they had all agreed — well sort of.

  “Penny for them?” Frankie interrupted his flow of thought. She stood there, a glass of red wine in each hand. She handed him one.

  “Beautiful evening,” Fagan said as he took it.

  She gave a little smile. “Now Joseph, you know what happens when you tell me those little lies.”

  Fagan took a sip of his wine savoring the taste as it ran across his tongue. He looked at Frankie. She was still waiting for his answer. He gave a shrug. “My head tells me we should be taking that trip to New Zealand.”

  “And your heart?”

  “Let’s not go there. We can walk away from this now. Or should I say we run, as fast as we can and don’t look back.”

  “Until the next time they find us.” Frankie had that determined look in her eye again. “Maybe next time we will not be so lucky.”

  “We could be exposing ourselves and walking into a heap of trouble.”

  “Joseph, I want to go back to that life we had, in our house, with our garden, with all the perfect things we had. But Brennan has changed all that. If we are ever going to be rid of him, if we are ever going to get that life back, we need something that will set us free. This could be our chance. This could be Brennan’s dirty little secret. Sister Eileen could open the door to that.”

  “Maybe she’s already dead. If we found her, so can they.”

  “Not according to Walter. He called up asking after her health. It would appear she is old and frail but doing well. The fact is, we will not know the answers to any of this until we take a look. Until we go there and talk to her.”

  “I’m worried.” Fagan put his wine glass on the wooden rail and grasped her shoulders, looking deep into her eyes. “I’m worried about you. That’s what bothers me the most. These last two years have been something I never dreamed possible. Just being with you, having you there, every day, every night. That’s what I want. I know that beyond any doubt. There must be a place out there where we will be safe. Where we can just live our lives.”

  Frankie smiled. “It is not a place out there. It is in here.” She touched a finger to his chest.

  “I can’t believe I got you into all this. I knew that one day this would all catch up with me. If I had been an ordinary priest or just an ordinary man maybe things could have been different.”

  “Maybe then we would never have met.”

  “That could have been a good thing, for you.”

  Frankie smiled, it lit up her face. “I’ve told you before, you swept into my life, a dark, handsome stranger, and stole my heart.”

  “But who am I really. Back there at the farmhouse, I shot those men without a thought. Something inside me took over. It was pure instinct. It seems that’s what I’m good at — killing people.”

  “My sweet Joseph. You are a good man. That is what I love about you. We have all done things in our past lives that maybe we are not so proud of. It is what we do about them that matters. I have seen you out there, helping people, making a difference to their lives. I can see you care about it. You care about them. That is you, and that is the man I love. We will get through this, and one day we won’t have to hide anymore. Then you can be just who you really are.”

  Fagan looked into Frankie’s eyes. “I couldn’t handle it if anything happened to you.”

  Frankie gave him a half smile. “Then you had better stay close.” She suddenly lost the smile, and that determination was there again. “We both knew that something could happen to us at any time. Just like it did back in Opio. Like it could happen right here, or tomorrow or the day after that. We have to find a way to end this.”

  “Okay.” Fagan gave a shrug of resignation. “Let’s say I go along with that. But I have a condition.”

  Frankie lifted an inquiring eyebrow but didn’t say anything.

  “Let me have my way, just once. Let me propose a small compromise. You stay here with Walter and Iggy. I’ll go to Ireland, see if there is anything there. I’ll speak to this Sister Eileen, see what she can tell us. And then I’ll come back. If I get something, we can decide what to do next, blow the whistle on Brennan, let Walter tell the world, or just run.”

  “And who will look after you while you are doing all this?” Frankie asked.

  “I can take care of myself.”

  Frankie cocked her head, looking at him as if he could not be trusted out on his own.

  “Really?”

  13

  Cork, Ireland.

  Frankie, as usual, got her way and they landed in Cork in a light rain shortly before noon, after changing planes in Paris. They stopped at a shop in the terminal and Fagan bought two prepaid SIM cards with top-up cards, then headed over to the car rental counter where they hired a BMW 540i.

  “Unfortunately you won’t be able to get the most out of that little darling on our typical Irish roads,” the man behind the counter said as he handed over the documents and the keys. “And you should watch out for the Garda, that’s the police. They’re pretty keen on speeding, especially for high-end cars like this one.”

  Fagan realized it was a bit over the top, but he wanted to be in a position to call on some speed if they needed it. They headed out of the airport following the signs for Cork, but turned off to the west, skirting the edge of the city and picked up the N71 highway, heading southwest. The car purred like a dream, and it was an easy hour’s drive to their destination, the rain fell steadily as they drove. They passed through the small town of Bandon and carried on to the seaside town of Clonakilty.

  Fagan pulled into the side of the road as they entered the main street, and stopped the car. He looked across at Frankie. “There’s a cafe over there. I want you to wait for me there, while I go out to the convent.”

  “You seem to have it all worked out.”

  “Frankie, we discussed this on the plane.”

  “I seem to remember you telling me.”

  “Frankie, will you for just once, listen to me.”

  “What is this? Love, honor and obey?”

  “Frankie.”

  “Maybe it would be better if I go and you wait here,”

  “Frankie, we don’t know what’s out there or who could be waiting. You need to stay here. If anything happens to me, you have to get back to Walter and Iggy.”

  “If something happens out there and we need to leave fast, we need to be together.”

  “Have you not heard a word I’ve said.”

  She tilted her head and looked at him, a hint of a smile on her lips.

  Fagan shook his head and reached to the back seat for the paper bag he had got from the phone shop at the airport. When Walter had dropped them off that morning, he had produced two identical iPhones.

  ‘Take care of these little beauties,’ he had said. ‘I’ve tinkered with them a little. The GPS is disabled so no one can track you. If you want to use the map function, hit this icon, it will temporarily switch on the GPS, then switch it off again when you exit. Don’t leave it switched on for too long. Use prepaid SIM cards, ditch them on a regular basis. Before you do, hit this icon, it will wipe the SIM card before you
ditch it. It also has this handy feature, one of Aldo’s specials.’ He had tapped an icon, and a list appeared on the screen. ‘Wifi networks.’ Walter had cracked a wide grin. ‘It has a password cracker, it will search for any local networks and get you into any one you select. You might find it useful.’

  Fagan smiled at the thought of his friend. He removed the contents from the bag and busied himself, fitting the SIM cards to Walter’s special phones. He followed the instructions on each Top-Up card to put money on them.

  He handed one over to Frankie.

  She took it but said nothing.

  Fagan entered the number from the card inside the box, and Frankie’s phone rang. “Right, that’s my number. Keep your phone close and don’t use it for anything else but to call me.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Getting pissed at me is not going to help.”

  Frankie gave him a hard stare. “What are you going to say when you get there?”

  “I still have my old Vatican passport. It’s not actually valid, but they won’t know that. I thought I’d play the messenger from the Holy Father.”

  “Do you think they will believe you?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Have you looked at yourself in the mirror lately. You look more like that pirate, Captain Jack Sparrow, than Father Joseph Fagan.”

  Fagan ran his fingers through his beard. “Maybe I could get a shave and a haircut.”

  “Yes, and maybe we have all the time in the world.”

  “Frankie.” He raised his voice but then got it under control. He knew that if he got to shouting, he would only lose. “Listen to me.” He paused and took a deep breath. “We don’t know what’s out there.”

  Frankie put a hand on his arm. “That is why I am safer being closer to you.” She gave him a smile. “And besides, I have a better story than you. I am a long lost relative trying to look up an old aunt.”

  Fagan felt an inevitability of what was about to happen.

  “I had a little chat with Walter yesterday night.”

  “Last night,” Fagan said.

  “What?”

  “It’s last night, not yesterday night.”

  Frankie wagged a finger at him. “As you Americans say, that’s strike one.”

  Fagan knew he was just winding her up, because he also knew, as usual, she was getting her own way.

  “Anyway, he gave me some interesting background he had dug up on Sister Eileen. I have a story I have put together. I think it will work.”

  “You think?”

  “I used to do this for a living. Besides, it is better than you turning up at the door with an eye patch and a parrot on your shoulder.” The twinkle in her eye disappeared. “Trust me. This is the best way to do it.”

  Fagan gave a frustrated sigh and looked at his watch. It was just coming up to four o’clock. He had not adjusted it to the local time, so it was almost three. He looked at Frankie and shook his head. “Okay, but remember the plan.”

  Frankie raised a beautiful eyebrow.

  Fagan finally smiled. “In, out — run.”

  14

  Inchydoney Island, County Cork.

  The sign for Inchydoney appeared, and Fagan took a left turn, following the road along the inlet running out to the bay and the Atlantic beyond. The rain had stopped, and the tide was out, revealing a series of low mudflats with long seawater pools glimmering in the pale winter sun. The convent was out on Inchydoney Island though it was no longer an island. To the left, the bay gleamed in the pre-spring sunshine, but the land out to the right had all been reclaimed and was now a series of arable fields. The road met what had once been the island, and he caught a small sign for the convent. He turned left into a narrow driveway lined with trimmed miniature conifers bordering well-tended lawns.

  The main building, according to Walter’s research, had been an 18th-century mansion house owned by the local gentry, before the nuns’ order had taken it over in the mid 20th century. The house was set back among the trees with what looked like a more modern addition on the side. Fagan parked the car out front.

  “Let me take the lead,” Frankie said.

  “It seems I have no choice.”

  “You said it, not me.” She reached out and rang the bell. It echoed deep in the depths of the convent.

  Footsteps sounded, and the door opened revealing a young woman wearing a simple black dress and the white scapula and veil of a nun.

  “Hello,” Frankie said. “I was hoping you could help me. I’m looking for my Aunt, Sister Eileen O’Monahan. I was told she is staying here.”

  The nun seemed to study her with suspicion. “I’m sorry, who did you say you were?”

  “My name is Jaqueline Shah.” She held up a hand to indicate Fagan. “This is my boyfriend, Joe.”

  Fagan nodded at the nun. She still did not appear convinced.

  “We are on holiday in Europe. My mother, Rose O’Monahan before she was married, is her sister. She asked me to contact her. Would it be possible to see her?”

  The old nun seemed to study her as if uncertain what to say.

  Frankie continued to keep up the pressure. “I’ve come a long way to visit my Aunt, and I know my mother would be grateful.”

  The nun seemed to make up her mind. “Please, come in. I will speak to the Mother Superior.”

  She led them inside. The old manor house still retained its vaulted stone ceilings and marble pillars, but that was the height of its grandeur. The rest of it was simple and functional, decorated only with simple Christian artifacts, crosses, and icons. The nun led the way along a narrow passageway, at the far end was a large mullioned window with colored glass panes that cast a rainbow of sunlight into the gloom. Fagan followed behind a troubled look on his face. He knew the fragrance that hung like a fine mist in the air. Incense and rose water. It filled him with a disturbing familiarity.

  The nun led them along a corridor to a large oak door. There was a low wooden bench against the wall.

  “If you would take a seat for just a moment, I will speak to the Mother Superior.” She knocked on the door and entered, closing it behind her.

  Fagan sat down on the bench and looked at Frankie, but Frankie held a finger to her lips.

  The door opened, and the nun reappeared, but another stood behind her. She was much older and smaller than the first. She wore the same habit but also wore the more traditional white wimple enclosing her throat and head.

  “This is Sister Maureen, our Mother Superior.”

  Fagan and Frankie got to their feet, and the older nun stepped forward and held out a thin bony hand. “I believe you are a relative of Sister Eileen.”

  Frankie took her hand. “Yes, that is correct. I am Jacqueline Shah, this is my boyfriend, Joe.”

  When Fagan took her hand, it was cold and unwelcoming.

  “Sister Eileen is my mother’s sister. When I told her we were coming to Ireland on holiday, she asked me to contact Aunt Eileen. They have not been in touch for a very long time. My mother is not well. I think she feels this may be her last chance to reach out to her sister.”

  The Mother Superior seemed to ponder on that for a moment. “Please, won’t you come in and sit down. Sister Claire,” she said to the other nun. “Why don’t you bring our guests some tea.”

  She stepped into a small but neat and tidy office.

  “Please take a seat.”

  Her desk was a simple wooden table with neat stacks of paper carefully lined up on top. She moved around to the other side and sat down.

  She looked directly at Frankie, her face was grave.

  “I’m very sorry my dear, but I’m afraid I have some bad news. Unfortunately, you’re too late. Sister Eileen passed way last night.”

  Frankie sat, saying nothing.

  Fagan looked on, a myriad of thoughts tumbling through his head.

  The Mother superior sat patiently, giving Frankie time.

  Eventually, Frankie spoke. “Forgive me, that
was something of a shock. I did not know Aunt Eileen personally, but Mom told me about her. I know she will be very upset when I tell her.”

  “Where did you say you were from? You have a strange accent.”

  “I am French Canadian, from Montreal.”

  “I didn’t realize Sister Eileen had a sister. She never spoke of her, and I never saw any reference to her in her records.”

  Frankie went to speak, but the Mother Superior waved it away with a flick of her hand. “But that in itself is not unusual. Many enter our order wanting to leave their past behind them.” She paused. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to imply—”

  “That is okay.” Frankie shook her head. “My mother and Aunt Eileen were not close. Something I know that mom regretted as she got older. My mother was something of the black sheep of the family. I am sure when you look at me you can see I do not look very Irish.” Frankie gave a shrug. “My Father was French Algerian and a Muslim.”

  The Mother Superior’s smile appeared to lock in place.

  Frankie put her out of her misery. “But my mother insisted I was brought up a good Catholic.”

  The Mother Superior’s face seemed to relax in relief.

  “As I said. Mom and Aunt Eileen had drifted apart when they were young. She told me that Aunt Eileen had been here more than twenty years and never explained why she came.”

  “She had her reasons, and we never pry into the past of our sisters. But what is rather strange, is that in the whole twenty years that she lived here, she never had a single visitor. And now within twenty-four hours of her passing, she had two.”