Blinding Fear

by Roland, Bruce

Just sitting there Adelmo could sense the man had extreme confidence in himself. His facial expressions, body language, tone of voice and calm demeanor spoke of someone who liked and was nearly always in control

  “You haven’t told me your name yet,” Adelmo said not really knowing what else to say or do.

  “My apologies,” the man replied. “I’m being rude. I know this must be very strange and frightening to you. I’m Paul Scarlatti. But please, just call me Paul.” He reached into an inside coat pocket and pulled out a wallet which he flipped open to reveal some sort of official-looking ID badge with his photo on it. He couldn’t read it but as best Adelmo could tell the language was probably Italian.

  The man offered his hand to Adelmo, smiling every so slightly.

  Adelmo slowly took it and felt the physical strength and unmistakable confidence in the grip.

  “Alright,.....Paul. What’s this job all about? Why me?”

  Paul looked away for a moment, as if carefully considering what he had to say. “I represent an organization that for many, many years—centuries actually—has defended the Church and the faith that I know is such an important part of your life. We are in the midst.....”

  Adelmo cut him off. “How do you know that!?”

  “As I said, I talked to your boss. He told me about the shrine to our Blessed Virgin you erected in your room.” He paused for a moment. “It is very important to us that the man we hire have a powerful, unshakable faith in the Roman Catholic Church and The Virgin; a faith such as yours.”

  “And what does my faith have to do with this job of yours?”

  “Perhaps I should rephrase my terminology,” the man who called himself Paul continued. “What I am prepared to offer you is not so much a job as it is a mission on behalf of our holy church. A mission to strike a blow against those in this world who are determined to destroy it and everything for which it has stood for hundreds of years.” As he finished he intently stared at Adelmo, his battleship-grey eyes carefully watching him.

  He broke the man’s intense stare, picking up a french fry, now growing cold. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. ‘Mission’? What does that mean? What am I supposed to do?”

  “Drive this van,” Paul answered.

  Adelmo couldn’t help but laugh in disbelief. “Just how is my driving this van going to help you in this mighty, righteous cause of yours. And, by the way, how much are you going to pay me to ‘drive’?” He picked up the Coke for another sip.

  “Five thousand dollars.”

  Adelmo nearly choked on the drink. “Obviously there is more to this job or mission or whatever you want to call it than just driving! I think it’s time you tell me what you really want.”

  Paul steepled his fingers, paused for a few seconds, started to say something, stopped and finally seemed to achieve a course of explanation.

  “Over the centuries you may know that there have been, as best we know, ten of our Holy Church’s Popes who have been assassinated while in office.”

  Adelmo simply shrugged not having a clue; his historical knowledge of the church limited to what Father Jorge had imparted to him while he was in training as an altar boy—essentially nothing.

  Paul ignored the obvious, expected ignorance and continued. “The most recent was John Paul I who in 1978 after 33 days in office, was found dead. Over the years, speculation has it he was killed by one of his Cardinals. I won’t go into the political ‘whys’ or ‘hows’ other than to say that as a result Church leaders in Rome decided it must never happen again and set up an organization—the organization that I now lead—to ensure it. The security protocols put in place then helped save the life of John Paul II who was shot in 1981 by a crazed Bulgarian assassin hired by the Soviet KGB.”

  Paul paused, looking back to Adelmo after having stared into nothingness thru the bug-splattered windshield. “I know this is a lot to take in but are you beginning to understand?”

  Although he knew nothing of the events Paul had described, Adelmo felt a strange excitement slowly growing within his soul. “Are you saying there is another plot to kill our pope, Pope Francis, and you want me, and this van, to be part of your plan to stop it? How can I know all this to be true? Other than that badge—which could, of course, be false—what proof do you have of who you are and this so-called plot?”

  Paul nodded with a gentle laugh. “I can see that you are as perceptive and intelligent as I had hoped. Let me show you something that might help convince you.”

  He pulled an iPhone from a pocket inside his jacket. For a few moments he scrolled through various screens eventually finding what he was looking for. He showed Adelmo the screen.

  “This video was recorded, at very great risk by one of my agents, at a secret meeting of the conspirators who are plotting Pope Francis’ assassination. It took place in a computer lab in a building on the Harvard campus. They are using the computer to plan, organize and store the details of the plot. They are also using it to hack into the churches computers in Vatican City in Italy.”

  Adelmo interrupted him, confused and suspicious. “Why are they using this computer? Why don’t they just use a desktop or laptop or tablet or something else small?”

  “One of the conspirators works at the lab. He has 24-7 access and knows all other security details. The computer is much more powerful, sophisticated and secure from hacking than anything they could buy off-the-shelf. They feel this is the safest way to plan and carry out all the many details.”

  Adelmo shook his head. “If you know who these men are why don’t you just arrest them?”

  “Because we are not citizens of this country. We did approach American intelligence and law enforcement officials but they said they need more proof before they act. We don’t think there is enough time left. We believe they are very close to carrying out their plot.”

  Paul stopped for a moment then said, “Look, before you ask any more questions let me show you the video. It may help convince you” He pushed an activation key on the screen and turned it to show Adelmo.

  The jerky, occasionally out-of-focus image appeared to have been recorded from a hidden body camera and showed two men in a large, windowless room sitting at simple table. One of them was typing at a keyboard in front of a computer monitor whose screen was not visible. In the background Adelmo could see and hear what appeared to be a large computer.

  The on-screen man not typing started speaking. “How much time’ve we got?”

  The typist responded, “Not much. Francis’ travel plans have been completed. He leaves Italy for his tour of Asia in three weeks.”

  A voice that Adelmo guessed belonged to the person carrying the camera added, “Have you been able to find his exact itinerary details?”

  “Yeah. You can see them here,” the typist said. He pointed to the monitor.

  The camera’s view shifted around and the monitor’s screen could be seen although out of focus. The other man leaned forward as well to look more closely and scrutinized something on the screen for a few moments.

  “Just like you said. Looks like Jakarta, Indonesia is the best place. Security there is the weakest by far of any other city.”

  “Our people say they won’t have any trouble smuggling in the hardware we need,” the typist added. “We can bribe anybody we want.”

  Just then Adelmo could hear an audible noise like a door opening somewhere else in the room. Both men quickly turned to look in the same direction off screen and a moment later the video image went dark.

  “I don’t know what all this means,” Adelmo said, waving his hand at the iPhone. “And I still don’t know who you really are!”

  “Maybe this will help,” Paul said as he reached into his pocket again. He pulled out a quarter-inch thick stack of hundred dollar bills, handing it to Adelmo.

  The man knew that simply by holding it Adelmo was tacitly, and more importantly, psychologically accepting the proposition. “That’s a good-faith down payment—three thousand dollar
s. You get the other two once you complete training. If I wasn’t serious and honest about my offer would I carry that kind of money around with me?”

  Adelmo said nothing in response, He simply held the money in both hands, caressing it, somewhat awestruck, never having held or seen this much in cash before. When he came north from Guatemala he’d had slightly more than a thousand, all of which he’d saved over years of night-and-day, grinding labor. He carefully looked over the fresh new bills trying to make certain as best he could that they were real. He pulled one out and held it up to the light, scrutinizing it for the various U.S. Treasury authentication markers. He rubbed his three-day growth of beard, trying to take it all in; trying to determine whether this man and his cause were genuine

  After a minute he finally spoke without looking at Paul.

  “For the sake of my family and Our Blessed Virgin my answer must be yes. But I have one condition.” Now it was his turn to look at Paul with careful scrutiny.

  “What is that?”

  “That you pay me double—ten thousand!”

  Paul leaned back into his seat, thinking for a moment, this time frowning. He nodded several times as if crunching the numbers. “All right. I don’t like it but with all honesty I expected it.”

  “And I want another two thousand right now!” Adelmo added.

  Paul simply responded by reaching into his pocket and taking out another slightly smaller stack of bills and handing it to Adelmo. “I knew you’d be a shrewd bargainer.”

  Adelmo took it laughing out loud. “My mother and family will be happy!” This time it was he who reached out to Paul to shake hands. “Very, very happy!”

  Chapter 9

  Frank Whalen depressed the touch pad of his MacBook Pro and watched as the contents of the mysterious e-mail snapped into view. The page and the letter on it were unadorned and straight forward: no flashy graphics or layouts; no banners, pictures or color; no specialty fonts—simplicity itself.

  United States Department of Strategic Planning and Policy for Near-Earth and Other Space Objects

  Office of the Director

  Frank Whalen

  Colorado Springs, Colorado, USA

  He stopped reading for a moment, wondering again: how had this organization gotten his name and address? The CBAT was supposed to be highly confidential; its servers, protocols, encryption software, etc., the latest—supposedly hack-proof. After all, amateur astronomers were far beyond secretive when it came to comet discovery claims. They were loathe to tell their spouses, girlfriends or children—much less anyone else—for fear that “anyone else” might beat them to the punch when it came time for naming rights.

  ‘Just think,’ he mused, ‘“Whalen’s Comet!’”

  Then he noticed something else in the addressing of the letter: why “USA”? If the letter had come from Uncle Sam why add anything other than what the USPS would place on any letter or document for delivery in the U.S.? Another layer to the mystery. He continued reading.

  Because of the highly sensitive nature of this letter, you will have exactly 10 minutes in which to read it. At that time it will self-delete.

  Frank laughed out loud. “You’ve got to be kidding me! What is this? Some kind of script for the latest ‘Mission: Impossible’ movie!?”

  He shook his head in amazement then saw at the top of the screen a small timer counting down; now at 09:45.

  “Unbelievable!”

  He quickly began reading again.

  It has been brought to this Office’s attention that you have been telescopically surveying a certain portion of the celestial sphere—Approx. 15 thru 28 degrees declination, 53 thru 55 degrees right ascension—in an attempt to “discover” previously unknown planetary bodies such as asteroids or comets.

  We must now inform you, that pursuant to the terms of the “International Near-Earth Space Objects Convention and Treaty,” that portion of the celestial sphere has been declared “Top Secret-Most Sensitive” and is now “Closed.” You may not, under any circumstance, continue to view, survey or photograph anything within it, nor can you reveal or discuss the classified nature of this area or its contents with any other organization or individual, under penalty of law.

  The Treaty was recently negotiated and ratified by select representatives from 53 of the industrialized nations to ensure that celestial discoveries of planetary importance and impact were released within carefully prescribed limits and conditions. In effect this means private, commercial or governmental astronomers or other astro-physical scientists or technicians are forbidden to release anything to the public about discoveries in portions of the celestial sphere that have been “Closed” unless they have appropriate “Top Secret” security clearances.

  All signatory nations have agreed that within their own international boundaries they will strictly enforce the terms of the treaty and have subsequently codified them into country-specific laws, regulations and protocols as well as criminal penalties.

  Within the United States, individuals who fail to abide by these terms will face severe criminal sanctions as defined by several new laws. Because of the potential, immediate threat to national and international security there will be no further warnings to individuals who have received this letter.

  Failure to strictly follow the terms and conditions of this directive will result in immediate implementation of all appropriate legal penalties. Again, there will be no further warnings!

  Frank stopped long enough to try to come to grips with what he was reading. 53 nations agreeing the sun would rise in the East was as near to impossible as anything he could imagine. To think they could agree to a treaty of this complexity and delicacy was quite simply insane! And that the United States would subordinate its internal policies to such a treaty—ridiculous!

  This letter was in essence saying that many of the cornerstones of western jurisprudence were being abolished in his and other astronomers’ similar situations: due process, innocence until proven guilt, trial by jury, legal representation, presentation of evidence, fair, appropriately timed punishment, all done away with!

  Not a chance!

  He considered for a moment whether to just delete the letter but decided to see what else it contained.

  Because of the highly classified nature of the images you have recorded and attempted to release, special software within this e-mail has already uploaded them to a secure location, then deleted them from your hard-drive. In addition, selected portions of your e-mail and contact lists, as well as other appropriate documents have been deleted immediately after they were uploaded to this agencies offices for further examination; this to determine if anyone else within your sphere of professional or social contacts is aware of the images and has in turn attempted to share them with others.

  Finally, you may not reveal or discuss the existence of this e-mail, the existence of the directive it contains or any portion thereof, or the existence of the International Near-Earth Space Objects Convention and Treaty, with anyone else. To do so would be an additional violation of United States law and again subject to immediate and severe legal sanctions.

  Other software has also been downloaded to your computer to ensure your compliance with this directive. Violation of the terms stated above will result in your entire hard-drive being immediately erased.

  Additionally, all of your cell and landline calls will be monitored to ensure compliance.

  That was it. No closing, no signature, no nothing at the end. After another moments thought he came to the only obvious conclusion. The whole thing was a preposterous hoax! Had to be! All whoever sent the thing wanted was to “steal” his comet and then stop him from trying again. The portion of the letter that talked about uploading his images somewhere else, then deleting them, proved it.

  Ever since he had become involved in the amateur astronomical community he’d heard of other individuals’ occasionally ludicrous attempts to pilfer the cometary discoveries of their peers. Yes, this letter or directive
or whatever it was, went multiple steps beyond the craziest of any he’d heard about, but theft of his data was the only logical answer.

  He looked up to the top of the document at the precise moment the timer reached 0:00. Instantly the entire page disappeared. Quickly he jumped over in his hard drive to try to find the documents folder where he’d placed his star field images. The folder was missing and the hundreds of images it had contained.

  “No!” he groaned, slumping back in his chair, closing his eyes, massaging his temples, agonizing at the thought of the hundreds of hours he’d spent taking those pictures going down the drain.

  For the next fifteen minutes he performed various systems checks to see if the other applications and programs in his laptop were working. Everything else seemed to be in normal working order except for some holes in his e-mail contact list and astronomically related correspondence. Luckily, most of those things could be replaced or reworked without too much effort. He wouldn’t have to start from scratch with his sky search.

  For a moment he considered searching for any other software that might have been downloaded to monitor him in the future. After some careful consideration, however, he decided that portion of the letter, like the rest of it, was probably false and simply designed to further intimidate him and shut down new search efforts.

  But he was still conflicted. He was 100% sure the e-mail was a fake right up to the moment all his images of his comet disappeared. Now he wasn’t so sure—maybe 80%. Then there was the threat of his hard drive being erased. Maybe whoever had stolen his pictures could take out the hard drive. He also wondered about the monitoring of calls the letter mentioned. Just to be safe he decided to be very careful about who he talked to and what he said. He’d also try to avoid forums and chat rooms.

  Whoever it was had gone to great lengths to steal his stuff and then scare him off. But he could remember the celestial coordinates where Whalen’s Comet was located. There was no way they could find out he was using his telescope unless he told someone.