by Rick Jones
Today, the call to collect the item had finally come.
The Craftsman stood back to admire his creation, a perfect facsimile of the one inside the Basilica di Santa Maria Maggiore in Rome, right down to its exact proportions. It was a masterful rendition of the old man’s skills which painstakingly took several hours a day to craft. But the time that had fatigued him and the effort that had sometimes tested his patience was well worth the final product, as he stood there admiring the piece. It was a first-class replica of the Sacra Culla, a gold-plated crucible that contained the pieces of Jesus’ crib and was located at the reliquary crypt before the main altar at the Basilica di Santa Maria Maggiore, which was about three miles from Vatican City. Under the directive of Pope Pius IX, it was constructed by Virginio Vespignani to contain the sacred relic of the Holy Crib. But the old man’s craftsmanship, he was sure, had rivaled Vespignani’s. Smiling with pride, the Craftsman nodded at his creation with approval and contacted the Syrian, who informed him that a courier would pick up the item immediately.
Under the glare of a single bulb, the crucible shined with a beautiful halo of light.
Chapter Thirty
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Vatican Intelligence
The Vatican
The Jesuit staff of Vatican Intelligence had received the prints and photos provided by Father Ferrano regarding the assassin in the morgue and had run them through facial recognition and the IAFIS, the Integrated Automated Fingerprint Identification System, which is used by the FBI as an identification and criminal history system, and through Interpol’s databases. So far, there was nothing solid as the information scrolled through all the classifications looking for a match. As the team scrambled looking for answers as to who the assassin was and where he came from, Fathers Auciello and Essex knew that patience had to be the true virtue here, if they were to gather anything at all. But as of right now they remained clueless with the hope that Father Ferrano, along with Kimball Hayden and the Vatican Knights, could open the case wide enough to provide some insight to the Opus Dei field office in London.
Onscreen, the data continued to scroll through databases containing millions of names.
Chapter Thirty-One
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Office of Opus Dei
London
The Office of Opus Dei was a nondescript building with no signage to explain its purpose. It was, however, located within a lavish area that was dedicated to high-end industry, and appeared to have been designed with respectable funding. Being a zealously conservative Roman Catholic order, Opus Dei—which was formerly known as the Prelature of the Holy Cross—had come into existence in 1928 with church approval in 1950, but only if the controversies that labeled them as ‘questionable’ disappeared. They didn’t, at least not completely. Nevertheless, Opus Dei was able to coexist amicably with the Vatican over the past eight decades.
The receptionist at the front desk was a pretty woman, early twenties, whose nameplate read: Lyn Askew. When Father Ferrano and Kimball entered the office, she greeted them with a smile that quickly faded the instant she noted their Roman
Catholic collars. “Hello,” she said, her practiced smile returning. “Is there something I can help you with?”
“I’d like to see Mr. Donavon, please,” answered Father Ferrero.
“Do you have an appointment?”
“No. But I assure you that the matter we come for is of the utmost urgency.”
“I’m afraid that Mr. Donavon’s quite busy right now. Perhaps you can come back—”
Kimball saw DONAVAN written on the door behind Askew. “Is that his office?” he asked, pointing to the door while rounding her desk.
“Excuse me, Father, but you can’t interrupt Mr. Donavon when he’s busy.”
“I’m not a priest,” Kimball told her evenly. Then he opened the door to Donavon’s office which was ornately decorated with top-shelf paintings, an elaborate baroque-style ceiling, and floor-to-ceiling drapes made of royal purple velour with gold fringes. Behind the lavishly styled desk sat Donavan, who appeared to be surprised by Kimball’s intrusion.
“Something I can help you with,” he saw the collar, “Father.”
“I’m not a priest,” said Kimball.
“But I am,” added Father Ferrano as he entered the room.
Lyn Askew was behind them trying to explain to Donavon that both gentlemen had entered on their own accord.
“It’s all right, Lyn,” he told her. “I’ll take care of it from here. Thank you.”
After she closed the door, Donavon asked, “Now, what can I do for you two gentlemen?”
“We’re here to ask you a few questions,” said Father Ferrano, who removed his wallet to show Donavon his credentials.
Leaning forward in his seat and narrowing his eyes, Donavon nodded and acknowledged the priest by saying, “Vatican Intelligence. But not the both of you.” He gave Kimball a quick once-over and noticed that he was piously dressed from the waist up, and military dressed from the waist down. “And a Vatican Knight,” he soon added. “So, this has to be big if the Vatican saw fit to send a member of its intelligence corps along with one of its elite commandos.” Then with a one-sided smile he sarcastically said, “I’m honored if you thought I was so dangerous.”
“You’re not,” said Kimball, who neared the desk. “All we ask is a moment of your time.”
“About what?”
“About certain killings throughout Europe ...And the recent attempt on the life of Robert Bowman at Conway Hall.”
“The writer?”
“That’s right,” said Kimball.
“And you think that I, or at least the members of Opus Dei, had something to do with it, is that it?”
“We had to start somewhere,” Kimball told him.
“And your investigation begins, obviously, at the doorstep of Opus Dei? Why would that be?”
Father Ferrano took a few steps forward while appearing calm and emotionally stunted, whereas Kimball remained keyed up and tense. Then from Father Ferrano, he said, “It begins with Opus Dei because it seems history has a habit of repeating itself. I’m talking about the theft of a certain book.”
Here, Donavon looked genuinely dumbfounded. “What book?”
“The Brimstone Diaries.”
The nonplussed look quickly faded, and Donavon nodded as he eased back into his seat. “I see,” he finally said. “And now the accusing finger points directly at us because you think Opus Dei is behind the theft and the killings. Talk about a rush to judgment.”
“The thought had crossed our minds,” the Vatican Knight stated.
“Yeah, well, I hate to burst your bubble, my friend, but Opus Dei had nothing to do with neither the theft nor the murders.”
Kimball moved to within a foot of the desk with his massive size, though menacing, got little reaction from Donavon, who continued to sit in his chair with his tented fingers bouncing off the point of his chin.
Then from Donavon: “You two walk into my office and expect to get an admission of guilt just like that? Seriously?”
“We are merely seeking a solution to the problem,” said Father Ferrano. “We need to stop the killings.”
The director of the Opus Dei field office appeared to mull this over before asking, “And Bowman, obviously, is part of the scared bloodline?”
“He is.”
“And the others? Those who were killed throughout Europe? Their names were gathered from the tome as well?”
“They were.”
Donavon paused a moment while continuing to bounce his fingertips against his chin in thought. Finally, he said: “Let’s get one thing clear. We have nothing to do with the theft of the Brimstone Diaries. The past thefts you alluded to was due to an ancestral organizational template to Opus Dei, the Prelature Order of the Cross. True, conservatism is still the primary philosophy of our organization. But this isn’t the Middle Ages, either. I wish the Vatican would unders
tand that we’ve evolved into an order based on civility, rather than old-time superstitions. Now, we may have our controversies, but the Vatican is certainly not without their own, either. We have a modest relationship with the church and wish to keep it that way. We don’t go around dressing up as knights who wear tunics with Maltese crosses on them and spread justice by the blade of the sword. We’re business people who wear suits and ties in the same manner that you wear your Roman Catholic collars.”
Kimball was getting a strong sense that Donavon was telling the truth, since he did not pick up any facial expressions or body English to indicate otherwise. The manner of Donavon’s tone, the expressive certainty behind the measure when he spoke, also lent validity that he was being candid.
Kimball turned to Father Ferrano, who was looking directly at Donavon. A moment later, the priest removed his cellphone from his pocket and opened the gallery app. As pictures loaded, Father Ferrano tapped the first digital photo, which expanded over the entire screen.
“May I show you a few photos?” he asked the field director.
Donavon didn’t say a word. He merely flexed his fingers in gesture that told Father Ferrano to hand over the cellphone, which the priest did. When Donavon saw the photo of a man lying supine on a morgue table, his face suddenly fell with an odd looseness to it. It was something Kimball had come to know as the look of recognition.
“You know him, don’t you?” asked the Vatican Knight.
Donavan continued to scroll through the photos without answering—saw the tattooed angel wings on the man’s back before handing the cellphone back.
“Yeah,” he stated softly. “I knew him. I’m assuming he’s the one who was involved in the killings?”
“He was most definitely involved with the assassination attempt on Bowman, and the murder of a woman in London who we now know belonged to the sacred bloodline.”
Donavon nodded as if he was in self-debate over topics within his mind, sometimes agreeing and disagreeing over different aspects of this self-conversation before saying, “His name’s Walton Gemini.”
“And what is he to Opus Dei?” asked Kimball.
“Nothing.”
“Then how do you know him?”
After a moment’s hesitation, Donavon said, “About a year ago he became a candidate to enter the order. He had all the hallmarks such as faith and conservatism, and he said all the right things. He was also sponsored by someone within the organization who vouched for him.”
“But?”
“During the months of processing we began to see the man under the skin. We also got a glimpse into his background that didn’t settle well with the principals, either.”
“Such as?”
“His father was a defrocked priest—a fire-and-brimstone type who thought that corporeal punishment was the proper means to evict any wickedness from the soul. We started to see that with Gemini over time.”
“To see what?” Kimball pressed.
“That he was a man with a brutal nature who believed that violence was the cure to cast off the demons of wickedness. Purity, he said, could only be made through war since the soul was the battleground between good and evil.” He turned to Kimball. “Over time we came to see that he was not a well-balanced person, but an extremist who’s conservative thinking was brought on by years of abuse rather than the teachings of love. Walton Gemini was not a man of sound mind, so we decided to terminate his processing into the organization. Within those months he did have access to our Archives. Perhaps it was then that he learned the histories of Opus Dei and the Prelature Order of the Cross, and the book you speak about. The Brimstone Diaries.”
“You know this for sure?” Kimball asked. “That he had access to the tome?”
Donavon shrugged. “Access, yes. Did he read the histories gathered within the Archives? That I don’t know. All I’m saying is that it was possible that Walton Gemini learned about the Brimstone Diaries from our library ...which may have triggered something inside him.”
“Maybe,” said Kimball. “And you said that this was about a year ago?”
Donavon nodded.
“After you terminated his processing into the organization, then what?”
Another shrug. “He simply disappeared. We never heard from him again.”
“Never?”
“No. Never.”
Kimball and Father Ferrano communicated a look to one another that became a symbiotic acknowledgement between them that didn’t have to be shared by words. They both believed that Donavon was telling the truth about Opus Dei not having anything to do with the theft or the killings.
Then from Father Ferrano: “Thank you, Mr. Donavon, for your time. The Vatican appreciates your cooperation in this matter.”
As they headed for the door, Donavon called after them. “There’s something else,” he said. “Something you need to know.”
They stopped and turned, the men waiting on Donavon.
“He has a twin brother who’s just like him, maybe worse. And by that, I mean he’s as tightly wound as his brother was, if not tighter. His name is Martin. The only difference between them is that Martin has a lateral scar along his face that pulled at the skin enough to reveal the pink tissue within his left eye. Outside of that, they appear the same. They’re both very large people who don’t share an ounce of compassion between them ...but a ton of madness.”
“Was he also in the process of becoming Opus Dei?” Father Ferrano asked him.
“We had entertained his application, but we never looked into it since he didn’t have a sponsor. Once his brother was terminated, so was Martin Gemini. I hope this helps.”
“It does, Mr. Donavon,” said the priest. “And thank you for your time. The Vatican truly appreciates the ongoing and cooperative nature of your organization.”
Donavon nodded his approval at this.
A moment later they left the director alone in his office.
Chapter Thirty-Two
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Rome, Italy
Two young boys prayed before their neon god of the red cross, each asking for forgiveness so that they wouldn’t have to endure the sting of the preacher’s whip. When they had exhausted themselves mentally, emotionally and physically, the boys embraced each other and sobbed inside this chapel, which was a locked closet. From beyond the door they could hear the preacher crying out to God to forgive the boys, for sin is a necessary tool of learning to distinguish the difference between right and wrong. “To sin, Lord, requires punishment as a tool of learning! To submit to Your rule defines goodness and virtue, which must be praised!”
Over the years the boys continued to pray to this red neon cross until it became the symbol of their salvation and temperance. To sin invited lashes from the whip, the self-flogging medicinal to their psyches. And as they grew the brothers became one, a unification that served God well.
Now that his brother was in the arms of his Savior, Martin Gemini was left to walk through this sinful world as the last of his kind—as a Soldier of Righteousness.
As he walked through the streets of Rome, Martin Gemini unknowingly drew stares from people due to his remarkable facial blemish. Unlike his twin brother Walton, Martin Gemini’s most outstanding feature was an old scar that ran laterally down his cheek to his top lip, with the scarring pulling down the corner of his lower eyelid enough to expose the glistening pink tissue within, which happened to add a Frankensteinian grotesqueness about him. It was also a constant reminder from his father who had laid open the skin with a lashing when he was a child, the strap parting the flesh to release the demons within. He even recalled the moment quite clearly when he kneeled before his neon God and bled freely from the wound with his brother by his side, the boys weeping as their father cried out to God. “Dear, Lord! I have opened a gateway from the sinner’s soul by parting the flesh! Cast out thy demon through this portal and send it to Hell!”
The words, though biting, still stung after all these
years, even with his father having been buried long ago.
“I will continue to fight, my Lord, though my brother stands by Your side. I will finish what we started.”
As he said this to no one in particular, he nevertheless drew the attention of those around him.
Chapter Thirty-Three
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London
After they left the Office of Opus Dei, it was Father Ferrano who proposed a question first from behind the wheel of the SUV. “Do you believe him?” he asked Kimball.
The Vatican Knight sighed through his nostrils. And then: “Yeah ...I do. I don’t think Opus Dei has anything to do with this at all. And I don’t believe that ISIS has a stake in this either, since the targeting and killing of individuals is not their method of operation.”
“I agree. And not only that, but Muslim belief is that Jesus was one of God’s greatest messengers. So that bolsters the belief that they had nothing to do with this.”
“So, we’re left with what?”
“The fanaticism of individuals.”
While returning to Vaughan House, Kimball received a message on his cellphone. In the message box was a communication from Vatican Intelligence.
They were able to retrace the assassin’s movement to a certain location, though it wasn’t precise. But it did narrow the field down to within one of four rowhouses in the area.
After Kimball relayed the addresses to Father Ferrano who then redirected the vehicle, he then contacted Isaiah. “I received a communiqué from Father Auciello stating that the assassin’s steps had been retraced to a possible residence. I need you and Jeremiah to meet Father Ferrano and me at the location, in case things go sour. Have Joshua stay behind to coordinate Bowman’s removal to the Vatican where we’ll need to keep him under surveillance twenty-four-seven.”
