Hunt for the Holy Grail

by Preston W Child

  Liam raised his brows. The speech was out of character for Anabia; he slipped away, with the noise as cover.

  He went in the direction that Diggs did. He saw the stairway and started down in; he walked into a man coming up the stairs.

  “Hello,” Liam said casually.

  Dietz pointed his gun at him. He motioned him to turn around. Then the stranger poked his back with the muzzle of the weapon.

  “Move slowly.”

  The voice caressed the back of his neck. Liam proceeded to piss himself.

  At that same moment, Dietz felt the sharp end of a gun on his neck too.

  “Let him go,” said Diggs.

  —

  11

  Paul Talbot could not believe his ears and his eyes.

  First, his secretary stormed into his office with the report that something was happening in the Vatican. Talbot ran down the hall into the situation room. There was real-time footage of the Vatican on the screen.

  Cop cars formed a cluster around the Basilica. Men in black robes were getting escorted out of the side of the church. Parishioners hung about the steps of the church.

  His secretary was beside him again.

  “What!?” he cried.

  “Director Hicks, sir,” said the hapless secretary. “He’s on line two. He requests to speak with you immediately.”

  Talbot felt the fight leave his shoulders. He asked the young man to patch the director to his office.

  Talbot hurried back to his office. He shut the door on himself.

  “Talbot here,” he said into the speaker.

  “Paul, what the hell is going on in Rome?”

  Talbot rubbed his jaw. He cursed silently at the fan on the ceiling and pumped his fist.

  “Apparently, there is a disturbance in the Basilica, but I can assure you it has nothing to do with us,” Talbot said, trying to sound as natural as possible.

  “Apparently? This is happening right now, Paul and there’s agency written all over it, even you can see that. I have an anonymous tip here and a bunch of files sent to me from Miami about some Order and the agency implicated in all this shit. Talbot?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Do you know what happens to you when you fall from high up?”

  “I um—”

  “You fall hard, Talbot, that’s what happens,” the director said. “You break something like what you have, and you can never put it back together. Get out of that fucking office and go down there, Paul!”

  “I’m on it, sir.”

  “Whatever this is, fix it now, and keep the body counts down!”

  The director hung up.

  But he called right back again.

  “I want a detailed report by the end of today.”

  Talbot stalked out of his office.

  —

  A ticklish situation presented itself.

  Dietz could kill Liam much faster than Diggs could shoot him. So, he gambled.

  “I have the Grail here,” he said.

  “The what?”

  That was all the distraction Diggs needed. He kicked the agent in the back of his knee, and Dietz's gun went off, just as Diggs predicted.

  Liam dropped to his knee and rolled away. Dietz attempted to reshoot Liam, but Diggs delivered a karate chop on Dietz’s throat; the agent dropped his gun and clutched at his throat, choking.

  Diggs threw a punch at the agent's groin. Dietz blocked him. Liam scrambled away on the floor; he aimed his gun at the fighting men. The two of them were fighting so hard that Liam could kill the wrong man if he fired his weapon.

  Dietz caught Diggs in a headlock and pushed him against the wall. He kicked Diggs in the diaphragm with his knee twice. Diggs pushed his elbow out. It connected with the other man’s knee, something cracked, and Dietz’s hold weakened.

  Diggs punched him in the kidney, so hard breath left Dietz's mouth in a pained gasp. Dietz went for a knife strapped to his ankle. Diggs pushed him away and jumped for his own gun that had fallen. Dietz saw his chance of survival disappear completely, and he cantered down the steps, disappearing.

  Diggs shot into the darkness.

  “Son of a bitch,” Liam said, badly shaken.

  —

  “I told you this was not the movies, Liam,” Anabia griped. “You could have gotten yourself killed.”

  Diggs stopped walking. “Shush, silence.”

  Miller stepped beside Diggs. “That’s Peter Williams,” he said.

  They heard voices coming from below them. They were standing in a hallway with arcs along the row of stone railings. Below them there was a large hall. Fire holders burned on the wall. In the middle of the hall was a raised platform.

  Peter was standing with what looked like a long knife over his head. Father Andre was on a concrete slab, his leg and hands were tied up, and he was squirming.

  Olivia was on the floor, her hands also tied behind her back, and gagged with a black cloth.

  Peter was chanting. His eyes were closed.

  “Latin,” Miller explained. “Some religious rite of sacrifice.”

  “Yeah, we have to stop him,” Liam said.

  There were two staircases, each on both ends of the hallway. Diggs split the team into two. Liam and Borodin would go forward, and Diggs, Miller, and Anabia would go down the nearest one, which would bring Diggs face-to-face with Peter.

  —

  Olivia prayed for a miracle.

  It felt like all she ever prayed for the past two days was a miracle. As she lay on her side, hot tears trickled down her face. She watched Peter Williams, or the man who claimed to be him, stand chanting around the wriggling body of the priest. The former cop, Steve, stood in the shadows to watch, elation on his narrow face.

  Peter was taking the priest’s word for it. It made sense that the priest was now the Grail. He could have drunk it, he thought. Perhaps he got thirsty on the move. If that was the case, he was going to drink the blood of the priest in sacrifice.

  Peter finished chanting and stood before the body of Father Andre. He raised the unusual-looking knife, rusty, most of it rotten.

  He raised the knife high above his body and was about to bring the sharp end down.

  Olivia prayed. She looked beyond Peter’s figure. On the balcony, she saw the white, warrior face of the former CIA agent, Lawrence Diggs.

  She saw the man come down a side stair, hidden from view by a pillar, gun extended.

  Diggs shouted, “Freeze!!”

  Peter Williams reacted. He saw the man, but he tried to go through with the sacrifice. Diggs shot him many times. Olivia saw Peter’s body buckle. His back bulged as the bullet passed through him. Blood sprayed, and he fell on his knees. The sword clanged to the floor.

  Olivia turned on the floor. She saw more members of the team. Miller was shooting at someone else who had been hiding behind a pillar.

  Steve.

  The former policeman tried to run and shoot as he did but met Miller and the others, blocking his exit at the head of the stairs.

  Someone came to her; they untied her hands at the back and pulled the cloth gagging her off.

  “Oh God, thank you,” she said and sucked air into her lungs. She closed her eyes and just lay there on the hard floor.

  She wanted to go to sleep and wake up in her bed in Miami.

  —

  Peter's body was carried on a stretcher past her as they came out. It was good to breathe fresh air instead of the used up, ancient air underneath Rome.

  She was comforted by the presence of onlookers, the sound of the sirens the ambulance made.

  Olivia went to one of the ambulances where medics attended to the priest. Father Andre smiled when he saw her coming. The medics tried to stop him from sitting up, but he insisted.

  “Hey, Padre.” Olivia tried the Italian tongue.

  The cleric showed her the wound on his shoulder. “Look at this, I got my first stitch since I was born.”

  Olivia chuckled. “You have never be
en stitched before?”

  The priest shook his head.

  “I have several of those all over my body, Padre.”

  “Indeed, you are no stranger to trouble,” said Father Andre. “You are a brave woman. Thank you, Miss Newton.”

  “No, thank you.”

  A man in a tweed jacket was walking up to them from across the field.

  “Hey folks, how’re you holding up?” he said to the priest. “That should heal in no time.”

  He looked at Olivia with some hostility.

  Then back to the priest, he said, “There is a small matter about the Holy Grail, Father Andre. Where is it?”

  The priest closed his eyes and rested on his back.

  “Are you okay?” the man asked. “Sorry, my manners. I’m Paul Talbot, by the way, chief here in Rome.”

  Father Andre opened his eyes. He sat up again.

  “Why is everyone asking for something that doesn’t exist?”

  “We have it on good authority that it does, Padre. It was, in fact, stolen some weeks ago by a certain thief in Sicily. So—”

  “It was fake, no one has the Grail, the Grail is nothing. The Church only says it has it to fool everyone.”

  “Why would the Church want to fool anyone, huh? Tell me.” Talbot leaned close to the cleric. “Why don’t you let us end this whole debacle, level Padre.”

  Someone patted Talbot on the back.

  “Paul Talbot?”

  He turned around. “Who’s asking?”

  “Carl Brenner, head of the American Consulate. I have the authority to ask you to step aside from the priest. You are under arrest.”

  Two policemen handcuffed a confused Talbot and led him away. Olivia looked at the priest. He winked.

  Brenner looked at Olivia for a moment. “Olivia Newton?”

  She said yes.

  “The office of the United States Consulate in Rome would like to take care of your travel arrangements. You are one hell of a brave woman.”

  “I thank you very much.”

  “Our mutual friend, Tom Garcia, sends his greetings.”

  Olivia’s face lit up. She made a mental note to call Tom immediately when she had the time. Brenner looked at the imposing basilica.

  “I stopped going to church when I was ten,” he said. “Never could wrap my head around the Abraham, Isaac, and the goat caught in the shrub. And of course, the burning bush.”

  Olivia and Father Andre stared at the man.

  Brenner turned to the priest. “Is it true, what they say about the Holy Grail?”

  Father Andre rolled his eyes and mumbled, “Not again.”

  “Oh, never mind, I know, it’s all bullshit—don’t mind my French—although I wonder why y’all have to go through all this trouble for something as fictitious as the Holy Grail.”

  Brenner grinned, winked at the priest, and excused himself.

  —

  Dietz watched the crowd from under a tree.

  He stared with curious interest as the cops took Talbot away. He checked his instructions, they hadn’t changed. He still had to finish his assignment. He had time; he’d wait for the best opportunity.

  —

  That night, someone knocked on Olivia’s hotel door.

  “Brenner here, Miss Newton.”

  She opened the door to see the consul standing at the door with a brown envelope. Miller and Anabia Nassif were with him. Diggs was in the hallway, keeping guard.

  Olivia looked at her visitors quizzically.

  “Come on in,” she said.

  Miller and Anabia took their seats. The door opened again, and Liam Murphy walked in. “What’s wrong with Diggs?” he asked.

  Everyone turned to him. “What do you mean?” Miller asked him.

  “Does he ever relax?”

  Carl Brenner glanced at the envelope in his hand and said to Olivia, “Miss Newton, I have a package from Tom Garcia.”

  He gave Olivia the envelope.

  She opened it and saw that some of the contents were actual copies of her own articles about the secret lab in the Antarctic. Some of it had been published. And the ones still left unedited on her laptop.

  Tom Garcia had broken into her computer? But why?

  There were photos. Olivia recognized the one that was a police artist sketch of what looked like a half-man, half-animal. Another one was of the face of Peter Williams, likely gotten from the shots on TV. Olivia frowned. There was a photo of Admiral Huebner.

  “Oh, God…”

  She went back to the artist's impression. She took the picture of Admiral Huebner and placed it beside the photo of the monster. Her hands shook. She looks at Brenner, who hadn't taken his eyes off her face since.

  “When did you get this?”

  “He faxed them to me this morning,” said Brenner.

  “We need to find the priest, Frank.”

  Miller said, “He’s here.”

  The priest walked in. He nodded to everyone and perched on the sofa beside Miller.

  “Peter Williams was the Snake,” Father Andre said. “He was going to take over the Order. He was usurping the throne.”

  “The Half-face is in Miami,” said Olivia. “Ted Cooper said so, he told me.”

  “Who’s Ted Cooper?” asked Brenner.

  Miller answered, “He was a Templar, a good one.”

  Olivia looked at Father Andre. “We are not out of the woods yet, Padre. Can you come to America?”

  He nodded. “It will be like coming home.”

  —

  12

  Cardinal Emilio Bartolini saw the shit storm that was coming on the horizon. People always said that if you wanted something to be done, you did it yourself. He wasn’t going to wait around for the CIA to let him down again.

  Besides, the pope couldn’t hear what he had done. There was only one man who could bring the news to the papacy.

  Andrew Gilmore. Or better known as Father Andre.

  It was time to use what he knew to his own benefit. Working with the CIA, he had learned how to use leverage to one's advantage.

  With Talbot gone, Cardinal Emilio’s options were first narrowed, then they became non-existent. His best option was his ties in the Italian Mafia. It was a reprobate option, but a venal one that he needed.

  He locked the newly installed key in the mirror that led to the secret passage in his quarters.

  He went to the telephone by his bed. He considered calling Julio at the gate but recalled that the smiling imp was friendly with Andre.

  “Hello, Luigi, meet me at the Piazza Cavour, ten tonight.”

  Luigi would know what to do. Americans could not be trusted. He owed Emilio. Italians kept their word and paid their debts.

  —

  Miami greeted her with an August drizzle. It pattered on the windshield, running down the windows. Olivia drove with the team to a hotel in the Northwest area. It was not wise to go to her apartment. And worse still to call friends.

  Edward Byrne must have been worried. Olivia missed her cat. And her flat.

  She had a room to herself. She gave in and called Edward from her hotel, but he was not there apparently to answer his phone, so she left a message for him. She did not leave a number to call, though.

  Then she called Tom’s.

  “Olivia?” Betty crooned.

  “Hey, where’s Tom?”

  “He’s out somewhere in town doing police work, I guess.”

  “You should definitely come over, Olivia,” Betty said. “Come tell me all about Rome. Did you know Tom promised me a wedding in Italy? But you know what I got instead, right?”

  “At least you got something.”

  They both laughed. Olivia left a message for Tom to call her the moment he came in.

  She tried to catch a little sleep. But her cell phone woke her before dawn.

  “Olivia?”

  “Tom, what’s up?”

  “I’m sorry to call so early. I couldn’t wait,” Tom said. “You got the pac
kage I sent you through Brenner?”

  “Yes, Tom.”

  “Thank God for friends in high places, huh.”

  “Hallelujah.” Olivia stifled a yawn. “The team is here, Tom.”

  “What team?”

  “Never mind, I’ll meet you this morning—”

  “Make it noon. There’s a promise of more clouds, more rain early this morning. “I don’t wanna get wet. I got beat tonight.”

  Olivia got out of bed and went to the window. It was drizzling still.

  “How’s afternoon sound?”

  “I’ll pass it on to the team.”

  “What team are you talking about, Olivia?”

  “You’ll meet them.”

  —

  Gerald Dietz rented a Buick LeSabre when he could not find a bike. He preferred bikes. Dietz drove to Olivia’s apartment that night and found the place empty. Then he went over to Sheriff Tom Garcia’s place.

  The sheriff’s wife wore a pink nightdress and heavy mittens. There was something in the oven, he guessed. He waited a while in the street. The windows were up, and rain drummed on the top of the car. He waited three hours after the woman finished talking on the phone.

  Olivia was not going to come to the sheriff’s place. Where was she then?

  She checked his records. Olivia had a boyfriend, Edward Byrne, an artist. Nothing very tight enough. An aunty in Connecticut. Few attachments. She would make a brilliant field agent.

  Dietz was dozing off when Tom Garcia arrived in his Jeep. The rain had reduced to a drizzle. The sheriff was a big guy; he stayed awake for a long phone call.

  Olivia didn’t show up, neither did the priest.

  Wherever the woman was, the priest would be too.

  —

  In Rome, Cardinal Emilio arrived at the Piazza Cavour in a rented car. He did not leave the vehicle. A weasel of a man extracted himself from a park bench and walked to the car. The door opened, and he jumped in.

  Cardinal Emilio took a look at the man and said, “What is this, Luigi?”

  “What?”

  “You look like a gangster,” the Cardinal said. “You are just a boy, Luigi.”

  The boy took off his hat. He dusted his trench coat.

  Emilio sighed. He took a small thick envelope from his pocket and threw it on the boy's lap.