The Vatican's Last Secret

by Francis Joseph Smith

  Father Gento knew Miguel to be genuine. As far as Maria Celnoleni, he only knew she was the new power broker; the new Vatican Bank president. He never trusted anyone associated with the Bank. But many years before he was ordered to, if needed, assist them in any way he could. No questions asked.

  Father Gento patted him on the back. “I know my son, I know. Now, what shall we do about this pig on the floor?”

  FIVE MINUTES WAS ENOUGH time assumed the van’s driver as he exited the van. He looked around him as he placed his own 9mm in his coverall pocket. He bounded up the steps before cautiously opening the church door, peering inside. Satisfied, he proceeds in. A loud cheer from the Piazza covered the noise of the door closing. About 25 meters to his left he saw two men speaking in hushed tones. He didn’t think they noticed him enter. He withdrew his weapon and cautiously walked towards them. He looked from left-to-right as he pushed forward. Where the hell was his partner?

  FATHER GENTO LOOKED to the crucifix behind the altar and pointed for Miguel to follow his gaze. “He has all of the answers my friend. He can lead you in the right direction.”

  “Father, I need to hide somewhere,” pleaded Miguel. “I need to get out of Rome. I’m being set up for something Maria did. Or maybe the people she works for.

  Father Gento looked confused as he stared at Miguel for a moment. “Who are the people she works for?”

  Miguel was about to answer when he noticed the man he had first knocked out was stirring on the floor. Miguel hastily lunged for the man’s weapon, picking it up in time to now notice the second man approaching up the center aisle of the church, his weapon pointed at him. Father Gento shouted for Miguel to shoot.

  THE MAN MOVING up the center aisle saw the priest pointing at him, not knowing if he had a weapon due to the low light of the candle-lit church, he fired first. The loud crack of his weapon echoed throughout the acoustically detailed church, the priest falling to the floor in response.

  Miguel swiftly dove for cover behind the closest pew, which just happened to be next to the man he had originally knocked out. The man now eyed him, obviously looking for an opportunity to capitalize on any mistake. Miguel pointed the 9mm at the man. “Don’t move or say anything or you will be the first to die.” Miguel then looked to his friend, Father Gento, as he lay dying on the floor beside them. “Stay alive, Father,” he said softly.

  The man moving up the center aisle cautiously approached to where he last saw Miguel dive for cover. “Miguel,” he said aloud. “We can do this the easy way or the hard way. Your choice. The easy way is you release my co-worker and I kill you. The hard way is I kill both you and your priest friend.”

  Miguel angrily eyed the man laying beside him, the man smiling back at Miguel as if he knew something. Miguel shook his head as he pointed the 9mm at the man on the floor.

  “You don’t have the guts,” spat the man. “That’s why you are the patsy for this operation. The fall guy. You think this is all an accident? You were set up. You will be blamed for what the Vatican Bank president is covering up.”

  Miguel’s mind raced as he looked back at his friend, Father Gento, as he lay dying, then back to the man. In that instant Miguel realized what he had to do. He returned the man’s smile before shooting him in the forehead.

  The loud crack reverberated through the church. The man moving up the center aisle dove for cover thinking the shot was intended for him.

  Miguel waited several seconds to gather his thoughts. “Your co-worker is dead,” Miguel yelled boldly. “Want to renegotiate?”

  The man in the center aisle laughed aloud as he shook his head. “One of us is leaving this church alive. And I plan on it being me.” He was informed that Miguel would be a pushover, that he’d as soon squeal than put up any resistance. Well, that was some bad info. He checked the status of his gun. Better to charge Miguel. Catch him off guard. The man needed a distraction. He settled on six Euro coins from his pocket. He slowly raised his head before tossing the coins behind the last position of Miguel. The coins banged off the pews and marble floor scattering in all directions. He then took advantage of the noise to rush up the center aisle.

  Miguel heard the coins bounce behind him and, in a panic, stood up to shoot where the noise emanated from. As he did the man in the center aisle had a clean target as he smiled his gun ready to discharge.

  The church door opens unexpectedly, Antoinette Collini of the Italian State Police burst through the door. She instantly recognized the man in the center aisle as one of the ambulance attendants who stole Licio’s body. He was definitely one of them, the same bastard who called her a ‘bambolina’. “Freeze,” she yelled as loud as she could, her voice trembling a bit, followed quickly by, “State Police.”

  The man turned to see Antoinette with her weapon pointed at him. He smiled in recognition, slowly lowering his weapon. “Bambolina,” he said intimidatingly. It was do or die now. He swiftly raised his weapon in order to fire.

  Antoinette was quicker. Two shots sprang out from her weapon. The man fell instantly to the floor, dead. Behind him Miguel tossed his weapon aside and raised his hands. “Don’t’ shoot! Please don’t shoot! They were trying to kill me!” he said aloud.

  She had no intention of shooting Miguel. After Licio was killed, she sought permission to scour the city to look for her suspects. She wanted revenge. Informants she maintained in the criminal element informed her that her thugs might be operating in the Piazza Santa Maria area. She arrived no more than five minutes earlier and was lucky enough to see the driver exit the work van in front of the church. She noted that it was an unusual time for a work van to be in the Piazza. Then she heard the radio call about shoots fired in the Church of Santa Maria.

  Antoinette checked the man’s pulse. He was definitely dead. She moved to the second man, then the priest. Each was dead. As she looked up, she could sense Miguel was on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

  “They said they were sent by my boss at the Vatican bank, to kill me,” he mumbled.

  Antoinette’s interest deepened. “Let me get this straight. The Vatican wants you dead?”

  “Yes!”he replied. “They set me up. That’s why they were going to kill me. They wanted me dead so I couldn’t defend myself.”

  Antoinette put her hands up in mock surrender. “Okay. Okay. Slow down. Why would the Vatican want you dead?”

  Well, maybe not the Vatican but Maria Celnoleni, the Vatican Bank president. She wants me dead for something I saw today at the bank.”

  Maria Celnoleni? But she was the same person Licio said to deliver the finger drive to. That was it. Antoinette had her break in the case.

  CHAPTER 54

  MYERS ESTATE, CHICAGO, IL

  PULLING EVERY FAVOR owed, employing every contact she could muster, Nora managed to garner an interview with Myers. It was a coup for the newspaper. And the fact that she was a genius at political corruption cases only solidified her standing.

  As she approached the Myers Estate, Nora was able to view some of its opulence in the form of its antique wrought iron fencing; standing10 feet tall and from the looks of it, surrounding the entire 15-acre estate. As she continued on the road that ran parallel to the estate, Nora also noticed the security cameras and infrared sensors that were mounted on top of the fence every 50 feet. Nora wondered silently if it was it designed to keep people in or out? Nora turned off the main road and drove up to an ornate iron front gate, the gate wide-open.

  “Halt,” said the burly guard in a Russian guttural accent, him dressed in black from head-to-toe, an M-4 slung low over his large chest. “ID, please.” Nora smiled as she handed over her press card, the picture on it taken a few years earlier. To her right she noticed another guard smoking a cigarette, bearing the same weapon. Either Myers is paranoid or he values his privacy, thought Nora, turning back to the guard scrutinizing her ID.

  “Yes, Nora,” said the guard, matching her card against a list on his Apple Touch before handing it back to her, a s
mile spreading across his face. “Mr. Myers is expecting you. Please proceed up the driveway to the main house.” He then muttered something that sounded unflattering in Russian to the other guard before waving her through.

  Nora drove past the wrought iron gate entrance and up the right hand side of the circular driveway. To her left, in the center of the grounds, were a series of symmetrical flower beds arranged in patterns with garden blooms with a progression of colors with daffodils, hyacinths, tulips, lush perennials, and chrysanthemums.

  Nora laughed aloud at the formal gardens. She couldn’t even keep a Fern alive.

  At the top of the driveway, she looked on in awe at the stately two-story house that came into view. Its 50-foot tall white porticos unmistakably copied from the White House stood majestically announcing its entrance.

  Looks like he’s already living in the White House, Nora mumbled to herself.

  Driving under an empty porte-cochere, marbled steps to her right, a servant appeared out of nowhere to assist her from her car, opening the door of her out-of-place 4-door Chevy Cruz. Another servant stood at the top of the steps, waiting to escort her. She couldn’t help but feel as if royalty. A quick look back to her car dashed the dream.

  “Good morning, madam,” said the servant at the top of the steps in greeting, his English accent crisp and clear. His hand tailored pinstriped suit, impeccable, matching his slicked back hair. Looking and sounding as he just stepped off a movie back lot for an old English film. “I am Nigel Givens, Mr. Myers Executive Assistant. If you would kindly follow me, I will escort you to where he is anxiously awaiting your arrival.”

  Nora looked benignly at the man, smiling inward as she nodded and allowed him to lead the way. For some reason, she felt oddly confident.

  The houses exterior hid what real surprises lay beyond as she was led into a central courtyard, a terra cotta tiled space illuminated by an open ceiling covered in a retractable glass dome. She stopped for a moment to view nearly all of the windows, doors and balconies facing the interior courtyard, in a style of what could only be described as traditional Moroccan.

  “Pardon me,” she said to the assistant. “But this can’t be for real?” Her hand swept the interior. “It looks like something out of a movie set.”

  The assistant smiled before allowing a slight laugh to escape. But he was used to such gawkers and their first impression of his employers’ eccentricities. “Yes, Miss. When Mr. Myers returned from Northern Africa last year he was full of ideas. What you are now seeing is the recently refurbished structure; the first was obviously gutted except for the façade. The new dwelling offers over 10,000 square feet of space, incorporating detailed original architecture and design details from a Sheik’s home in Fez, Morocco.” He points to the two rows of carved columns with tiling that flanked the courtyard. “Beautiful, are they not? Look at the carved wood transoms, and the stained-glass windows.” He indicates for her to walk up a narrow flight of steps.

  “It’s absolutely stunning,” she replied truthfully, “in a way I can’t seem to describe.”

  The assistant nodded in understanding. “I must admit, it has an effect on you. Either you love it or you hate it — nothing in between.”

  “It’s as if time stopped about five centuries ago.”

  The assistant turned to face her, nodding. “That is exactly what Mr. Myers was hoping to capture. With that mindset, I think the two of you will get along famously.” He led Nora down the second story of the courtyard before he withdrew a pocket watch from an inside pocket of his suit coat. “We are right on schedule,” he said as he led her to yet another set of steps, this one circular and leading to the roof terrace where it overlooked the fountains and gardens of the estate. In the corner of the terrace sat James Myers at a wrought iron table, working feverishly on his laptop.

  The assistant nodded to her and pointed over to Mr. Myers. “I hope you enjoyed the abbreviated tour, Miss. You must return another time for a more in-depth one. Now, if you will please be seated to his right-hand side. He is deaf in his left ear. I will leave you to your work.”

  Nora approached James Myers. As she did, she noticed the expensive cut of his suit, Italian silk, probably finely tailored just for him, custom-made shoes, his coiffed hair, the silk tie about his neck. Very GQ.

  He heard her approach, standing, his hand out-stretched. “Good morning, Miss Robinson,” he said, eyeing her appreciatively. “I have been anxiously awaiting your arrival.” He motioned to the seat opposite him. “Please sit down. May I get you some breakfast? Possibly something to drink?”

  Nora smiled graciously. “No, thank-you, I’ve just eaten.”

  Nora couldn’t put her finger on why she felt both scared and comfortable around the man. But that wouldn’t change anything. Her editor was opposed to her coming to the mansion. She could still hear his words resonating in her mind. For God sake, it’s his home turf.

  “So, what is your opinion of my home?” He said earnestly. “Not many people get to see the inside. They just see the traditional outside and think it’s the ho-hum, typical interior.”

  “Absolutely beautiful,” she replied honestly. “I can’t believe how you kept the traditional façade and then had a Moroccan interior woven to fit. It’s as if a tornado tore off the rest of your house and gently placed it here.”

  Myers laughed at her analogy. “That’s exactly what the planning commissioner said after he took his final walkthrough. He thought I was nuts to have spent $3 million.” Myers closed his laptop. “Well you didn’t drive all this way to take a tour. You evidently have some questions,” he points to her notepad and digital recorder she had discreetly placed on the table.

  “You caught me,” she replied lightheartedly. “I didn’t turn it on yet so don’t shoot me.”

  “I could never find it in my heart to shoot such a lovely creature,” he fired back with a grin. “But my bodyguard on the other hand…….,” pointing to the opposite corner of the patio, the bodyguard eyeing her every move. “Now, he would take offense.” He laughed, revealing a handsome set of white teeth.

  She hadn’t noticed the slight built man, his suit coat closed tight about him, possibly concealing an Uzi.

  “I can see he makes you uneasy,” Myers half turns in his chair, dismissing the bodyguard with a slight wave. “No need having, Nora Robinson, the world famous reporter feel uneasy. The last thing I want you reporting is that I held a gun to your head.”

  “Please call me Nora,” she said. “And he doesn’t make me feel uneasy. It’s just that he looks so familiar. For a moment, I thought we possibly met somewhere, maybe in the Middle East.”

  Myers smiled once again, noting her power of recollection. “Could be,” he replied. “He’s ex-Mossad; I understand he worked on the Prime Ministers security detail for two months. I was impressed with his skills during one of my visits to the area and made him an offer he couldn’t refuse.”

  Nora nodded. “There you go,” she said, not one to forget a face. “If you don’t mind me asking,” she continued. “Do you have only one bodyguard or a fleet of them? I know all about the death threats. Hell, half of Chicago knows.”

  It was his turn to look a bit uncomfortable. “You must understand. I would prefer not to answer such a question for my securities sake. With that said, I have one request before we begin. Or, one slight demand.” He pushed aside his laptop in front of him, folding his arms confidently on his chest. “I want to have final say on the draft before it goes to press.”

  Nora was about to protest but Myers quickly cut her off with a wave of his hand.

  “This is final; no discussion. No review of the draft, no interview.”

  Nora looked at him with unabashed curiosity. “I guess you leave me with no choice,” She replied, deep down having expected as much. She turned slightly in her chair to see the bodyguard had now departed. “Okay, agreed. You get first crack on the article, right after my Editor.”

  He gave her a stern stare. “M
y dear this is no joke. You have a choice. Leave now, or, we do it my way. What you see in my house, what you have heard or will hear, you will not relay to anyone, without my permission.”

  His words hung in the air for the moment before she responded. “Look, I want the interview. I will do whatever it takes. The whole world knows you don’t normally grant interviews. So, once again, I agree.” She felt like a little girl whose father was setting boundaries.

  He grinned. “Aren’t you a little curious, Nora, with all of the obstacles I’m placing in your path?”

  She nodded. “Yes, I am. But I’m sure over the course of this interview your rationale will present itself. May I start recording?” Nora held up her digital recorder.

  It was Myers turn to nod. “Again, I’ll agree only if you provide me with the original tapes before the story is published?”

  “Yes,” Nora smiled. It was a forced, uneasy smile, frightened but not embarrassed. “But, of course,” she said as she opened her portfolio, choosing to only withdraw copies of the Nazi documents, not wanting to disclose the leaked memo’s existence just yet. “I would like to start our interview with some documents from over 70 years ago.” She slid the copies across the table for him to read.

  Myers nodded. “I like antiques,” he said a bit apprehensively. “Funny, isn’t it. Something seventy years old in the United States is considered an antique, but relatively new in Europe or the rest of the world.” His facial expression changed upon reading the documents contents. Myers head snapped left and right, as if looking for something. Then he looked back at Nora, his face contorted into shock and disbelief. This could not be happening to him. Next came the outraged denial of the facts he could see before him, and then, finally, fear. Nora had seen it before and realized how pleasurable it was to behold when she knew someone to be guilty. After scarcely a minute, Myers was feeling himself again. He eased back confidently in his chair, folding one leg over the other. He casually looked at the documents once more, nodding after viewing each, before laying them in front of him. “Yes, they are very interesting,” he said. “Not worth much in the antiquities world, maybe a few dollars if you find the right person. But with this aside, please feel free to start with your line of questioning anytime you please. Fire away.”