by James Quinn
He looked at his watch. Almost 2pm. Time to meet.
“Stay close to me until we are inside,” he said. “Then find a spot where you can see me from across the room and where I can see you. Okay?”
Katy nodded and they moved off towards the wide-open doors of the Pantheon. Once inside, Jack Grant decided that the largest unsupported dome structure in Italy was without a doubt a thing of beauty and technical magnificence and every time he visited he was in awe of it.
Inside the Pantheon there was a mix of the faithful, the tourist trade and, now that he was here, the odd old, retired spy. He whispered for Katy to sit on one of the marble benches at the far end of the structure. “But keep away from the main doors,” he warned. It was harder for her to be seen and even harder for her to be snatched from deep inside the building.
He went and sat at the agreed upon seat at the western end of the dome and he waited. His eyes flicked between his daughter, who sat admiring the architecture and casting a creative eye over the frescos, and the rest of the crowd in here. He took a deep breath and calmed himself. He had done as much as he could for the moment. Now his fate was, temporarily, in other's hands.
He didn't have to wait long. A thin, bony hand rested on his shoulder and he turned and looked into the weather-beaten face of Father Mario Frazzano. The Diavalo Sacerdote – the Devil Priest.
“You look well, my friend, the years have been kind to you,” said Father Mario. He set himself down next to Grant, his walking cane resting in the crook of his arm.
Grant nodded. “I have managed well, Father. Thank you. And thank you for coming out to meet with me.”
Father Mario waved it away as though it was a non issue. “I rarely get to get out as much these days, so having the opportunity to assist an old friend and colleague – well, I see it as a blessing.”
During the Second World War, a much younger Mario Frazzano had been the scourge of the Germans that had invaded his beloved Italy. Recruited as an agent of the British MI6, Frazzano had organised resistance, conducted assassinations of Nazi officers, and sabotaged supply lines that had made the Germans' heads spin. By day, he was a faithful man of the cloth; by night, he and his war-band slaughtered and killed the invaders. It had earned him the nickname Diavalo Sacerdote and within the wartime offices of MI6 he had become the stuff of legend.
After the war, Father Mario had returned to the priesthood, his duty done to his country and to God, but he still remained a deniable asset of the British Secret Intelligence Service.
Jack Grant and Father Mario had first met in the 1960s when Grant and another SIS operative had been on an undercover mission in Rome. The Devil Priest had provided a safe house for an undercover agent that Gorilla Grant and his SIS partner, Nicole, had been trying to protect. The mission had gone badly, resulting in the death of Nicole at the hands of a rogue assassin. But at least they had saved the agent. It still hurt him to think about the death of Nicole. It was a scar that burned him constantly.
Since that time, and whenever he was in Rome, Jack Grant would always make a pilgrimage to see Father Mario Frazzano and also to lay a small English rose at the spot where Nicole had been murdered. The last time that he had been here was almost eight years ago. So much had happened in that time.
“How can I be of assistance?” asked Father Mario. His voice was hushed in tone, as if he was talking and listening in the confessional.
Grant sighed and looked his old friend in the eye. “The shooting today at the Via Di S. Eufemia, did you hear about it? We were involved. We were targeted. We escaped. That's all I know.”
The old Priest cocked his head and frowned. “You are back in your old profession again? You have not retired?”
Grant shook his head. “No, that is not true. I have not lived that life for many years. I have retired.”
Father Mario nodded sagely. “Then old enemies? They are a curse in our profession. Their memories can go back many, many years.”
“That is what I fear,” said Grant. “But this time my daughter was with me. I think they were trying to take her so as to get to me.”
Father Mario ground the point of his cane into the stone floor. “Then we must get you out of here – pronto! Tell me what you need, my friend.”
“I need a place of sanctuary. We need to get off the street. We are vulnerable. We need a place to hide and time to regroup. We need protection. Maybe then we can piece together what is going on and how to stop it.”
The old assassin smiled a wry smile. “I imagined as much. Do not worry. I have everything in place. You will be in our safe house within the hour.”
Grant reached out and grasped the older man's hand in affection. “Thank you, Father. I don't want to put you in danger, but I had no one else that I could trust.”
“My friend, I am sixty-nine years of age and I have killed much evil in my time. I am not afraid and I do not fear death. Now come, collect your beautiful daughter. I have arranged transport. Let us go quickly.”
The transport was waiting across the road that led out of the Piazza. It was an old VW Camper van that had two tough-looking bodyguards inside it. Father Mario said that they were Franco and Luca and that they were there for everyone's protection.
Once they had climbed in the back, the VW sped off in the usual Italian manic manner. The blinds were pulled down in the back of the camper van, making it a subdued and stifling environment. No one spoke, the only sound being the revving of engines and the occasional blast of the horn for other vehicles to get out of the way.
Jack Grant looked over at the old priest who sat in repose, his eyes closed and breathing deeply. Then he glanced over at Katy. They locked eyes, he smiled and she returned the response.
Hang in there, kid, he thought. Not much longer now.
The rest of the journey was a series of bumps and turns and of being swung left and right as Luca threw the VW around the roads and out to the edge of the city.
“We thought it best to get you out of the city,” said Father Mario, who had woken up. “It is a place where we can control the environment better, at least for now.”
Ten minutes later, the van slid to a halt and Mario and Luca were out of the vehicle, weapons drawn, but discreetly held low. The doors slid open and the three occupants quickly disembarked, up a flight of stairs and into a two-storey villa. Before he entered into the cool of the reception area, Grant turned around to see Mario and Luca closing and locking the gates to the driveway.
The outside world was held at bay. For now, they were safe.
Chapter Four
“Mario and Luca are good boys, honourable men. I knew both of their fathers during the war. The boys will keep us safe,” said Father Mario and he showed them to their rooms inside the villa.
The rooms were comfortably furnished, simple but functional. As safe houses went, Jack Grant had stayed in far worse.
“The villa belongs to a friend of mine who has retired back to Sicily; he owes me a service. We can stay here for as long as you need it,” explained the priest. “I will be downstairs. I will stay with you tonight. For now, rest. Come down after you have slept and we will talk some more.”
They had food, a fresh change of clothes and, most of all, security. For now, they were away from the danger of the streets and it gave them time to think through their next move.
“Grazie, Father Mario,” Katy said, touching him gently on the arm.
“Prego, my child. Now sleep, you must be exhausted. I will arrange some food for later. Not only is Luca a master of the Lupara, he is also an excellent cook!”
Jack Grant retired to his room and lay on the bed. He was exhausted – after all, it had been an unusual and highly stressful afternoon – but sleep was the furthest thing from his mind. The thoughts were coming thick and fast, so much so that he struggled to keep up with them.
He gazed at the last of the day's sun that filtered in through the slatted blinds and tried to calm his mind. He needed to focus and analy
se, and to do that he needed to calm himself. So he breathed, slowed down his breathing and focused.
The facts: a targeted attack on his family in Rome. Minimum of a five-man attack team, maybe more. A kidnap, or so it seemed, rather than a direct hit, otherwise there were plenty of opportunities for them both to be dead. The blond – the leader of the team – speaking German to him and knowing his old work-name? And the threat… what had he said? Something about the time of reckoning is here?
That sounded personal rather than professional. God knows, he had taken enough lives in his time, usually on the orders of governments and powerful people, but this… the venom with which the blond assassin had spat at him through the shattered windscreen… Yes, that reeked of a personal grudge. But from whom, and why?
And the blond himself. He was familiar; there was something about the eyes… the way he moved.
He was going around in circles and he could speculate and theorise indefinitely. But to work out exactly what he was up against and if they had a better than average chance of surviving this, he would need better information. And to do that, he needed access to people who were still active in this game, people who knew the operators and the fickle nature of the espionage world. He needed to talk to the people who had once employed both the old priest and himself at one time or another.
He needed to talk to the British Secret Intelligence Service; SIS.
That night, after they had all dined on a hearty meal of beef stifado, Father Mario had taken Jack Grant aside so that they could talk in the study in private. Katy had been exhausted and had gone straight to bed, while the bodyguards, Mario and Luca, had began their night-time shift of over-watch.
In the study, the old priest had poured then each a glass of grappa and sat opposite Grant in the leather fireside chair. “So, my friend, let us see if we can solve this mystery that you are involved in.”
Grant spoke for half an hour, uninterrupted, pausing every now and again to clarify a point. When he was finished, the priest had only two questions.
“I must ask you again, Jack, have you truly left that life behind? Please, I must know,” asked Father Mario.
Grant nodded. “Father, you have my word. I have not been that way for many years.”
The priest nodded in acceptance. “Very well. I agree with you, this attack sounds personal rather than professional. But for now let us leave that to one side. What is it that you want to do?”
Grant thought for a moment. “I think I need better information. I don't think going to the Carabineri would solve the problem, at least not until we know who is attacking us. For now, I need better information. Do you still have contacts with SIS?”
Father Mario sipped at his grappa and pondered. Finally he spoke, slowly, cautiously. “I still have the occasional dealing with our British friends. One never truly steps off the wheel; perhaps 'just takes a pause from time to time' is a more apt phrase.”
Grant said that he agreed. His life, up until this point in time, had been a constant of being a tool to be used by intelligence services in some way or another.
Father Mario continued. “But yes, I still have contacts with SIS Rome Station. They have a good man in charge at the moment – a man of respect. I think you would like him. He is a friend that we can reach out to. I will arrange for you to meet him.”
“Thank you, Father,” said Grant, relieved and thankful at last for some action.
“And you are sure there is nothing else that you can remember, nothing else that could help clarify what is going on?” said Father Mario.
Grant looked down at his hands. He had a suspicion, a nagging thought in the back of his mind; maybe not even a nagging thought? Maybe it was even a bit of wishful thinking. But it was something that he didn't wish to share with the priest just yet, even if he was a good friend.
But once again, Grant kept on coming back to the blond assassin. There was something so, so familiar about him; the way he moved, the look of him, the aggression in his actions. He had rolled it around in his head and now he could no longer hide what his deepest, darkest fears had been telling him. He struggled with the logic; the how and the why. But deep in his gut, he knew the truth. He knew what he had to do. He wasn't looking forward to it. It had been his greatest fear for almost three decades… something that had been his family's secret. Their curse and his shame and he had kept it hidden from his life and his daughter.
But now, ghosts from the past had risen and were rearing their heads and the first person that he had to share it with was Katy. And that was a conversation that he was definitely not looking forward to. So he did the only thing that he could; he lied to the priest who was his friend.
“Father Mario – I honestly can't think of anything.”
Katy was sitting in the kitchen at the table; she was wrapped in a blanket to keep herself warm from the chill of the room. Five minutes earlier, she had made them each a cup of coffee; both were ignored and both were going cold.
Jack Grant pushed the door open and sat down on the chair. He took a breath and said, “We need to talk. I don't want you to speak for a moment. I have something that I should have told you a long time ago… something that I thought I'd never have to deal with again. I thought it was the past and that it would remain there. It's about my old life.”
“Your job? For the government? You were an advisor, weren't you? But that was years ago. You retired.”
“I know, I know. I left that life behind a long time ago.”
“So how is this connected? I don't understand.” She looked at him, confused. “Dad, dad… you're scaring me. What is it? Is it connected to what happened?”
“Maybe. I have to tell you about who I was. My past. My job. I think this is all connected. Katy, sometimes these things have their roots in the far past. Sometimes they come back and resurface when you are least expecting them. I think this is one of those times,” he said.
Katy took a breath, absorbed what her father was telling her. Finally, she nodded. “Okay. Tell me what this is about. We can't deal with it if we don't know the facts.”
He agreed. But part of him was still conflicted over the possibility that more information might put her in more danger. However, hiding information from her might have the same effect. It was a wash.
“Okay. These are things I kept hidden from you. I did it to protect you. But now I don't think I have any choice but to tell you the whole story,” he said.
“Dad! Just tell me! Please…”
He stared at her for a moment, deciding whether or not to continue. Really, he didn't have a choice.
“It's a long tale and you will have to hear some difficult things. It starts back in the Fifties, when I was in the Army. It was a different time. The Cold War was just hotting up,” he said.
“Okay…” She sounded unconvinced. This wasn't her dad. He had just been a security advisor to the government. What was he talking about? Then he looked at her in that serious way of his and she knew he wasn't kidding. This was real.
“Here's what I want you to do,” he said. “I have to go out soon. I have to meet with a man from the Embassy, someone who can make things clearer about why we were targeted. Once I've spoken to him I'll come back and tell you everything; the past, the now, the future. Everything.”
“But I don't want you to go! I don't want you to leave me,” she said desperately.
“I'll be back in no time.”
“I don't understand! Why can't we just go to the police? What aren't you telling me?” she insisted.
Too much, he thought. I'm not telling you too much – partly because I don't have all the answers and partly because what I do know would scare you half to death. “It's not that simple,” was all he said, as if that explained anything.
“Then explain it to me, because at the minute all I know is that I'm hiding in my own city, with my father, and we have kidnappers or killers after us. So please… simplify it for me!”
My God – that anger she
got from him and that stubbornness she definitely got from her mother. Anyway, how could he explain a lifetime of hiding in the shadows, first as a spy, then as a freelance assassin? He tried a different tack. When she was like this, there was nothing that he could do to dissuade her.
“I can't give you answers that I don't have yet. But I will, I promise, as soon as I've spoken to this contact of Father Mario's. I'll be fine. I move better on my own and you'll be safe here with Father Mario and the boys.” He reached out and held her hand. The contact visibly calmed her and he thought that he had been able to reassure her… at least for now.
“Two hours?” she said.
He nodded. “Two and a half, tops. I promise. Then we talk. Talk about everything.”
“Just come back, Dad… I'm scared,” she said, her voice shaking.
He reached over and they hugged.
“I'll always come back for you. Always.”
Chapter Five
Jack Grant steered the Maserati sports car into the parking bay outside the Hotel Jadin De Russie on the Via Del Babuino. The two-seater Maserati Ghibli, in racing green, was a car grand in style and class and would have looked out of place anywhere else, attracting all kinds of unwanted attention. But here in Rome it was as standard as a black cab in London. It was another 'perk' of the villa and Father Mario's friend from Sicily.
The drive from the villa was, in many ways, a welcome relief. It allowed him, for a little while, to be free and to be able to think. The power of the car had pleased him and, with the usual anti-surveillance measures in place, it had allowed him to be exhilarated by speed on the quiet roads before he had hit the congestion of the city.
