The Third Trumpet

by Anthony R. DiVerniero

  Giacomo questioned, Is it plausible or a coincidence? Is it possible a group of fanatics are out to kill the wealthy? Maybe it’s time to go back to the States, sell my business, retire, and move here. With everything going on in the world, what matters in life? I’m going to be a father. I need to protect my family.

  Giacomo grew warmer as he ran. He and Emily had planned a leisurely day. The mountain town with its orange roofs glistened above him. He gazed up at his house, and Emily waved to him from the portico. Beside her, another person stood. I wonder who that is? The individual’s face was obscured by a holm oak tree.

  Before he could question further, he was distracted by a flash of light as the road he ran on erupted into rubble. His military instincts took over. He reached for his gun—it wasn’t there. He was under attack.

  He heard the hum of an engine. A drone glided overhead. The pilotless aircraft maneuvered straight up, avoiding the ledge of rock. It made a loop and a diving turn toward him. He leaped over the stone wall. He zigzagged as he tried to avoid the gunfire. The drone pivoted on its left wing for another strafing run.

  Giacomo took cover behind an olive tree. He had only seconds before the remote-controlled vehicle would take aim once again. The predator wouldn’t be happy until its prey was destroyed.

  The propeller wailed as lethal projectiles discharged from the machine. This time a bullet grazed his leg as he dove behind another tree. The hair on the back of his neck stiffened. No doubt now—someone wanted him dead. But who? And why? The thoughts of fatherhood escaped him as the act of survival took over. He could return to the church. No—too far away. Giacomo analyzed the situation. The adrenaline kicked in as he inspected the injured leg. Just a scratch. He ripped his orange shirt off and placed it on top of a bush. The trick worked; the drone’s guns destroyed the piece of cloth.

  A car horn and a siren began to blare. Tires screeched to a halt, and dust from the road flew into the air. Doors swung open as gunshots reverberated into the sky. A familiar voice shouted his name. The drone exploded above him. Giacomo covered his head with his arms to protect himself from the falling debris.

  Chapter 55

  The Italian police assisted Giacomo into his house. Emily met him at the doorway.

  “Thank God Alessio was here, Giacomo! You’d be dead if his men hadn’t shot down that drone.”

  Alessio? Giacomo hobbled to the kitchen as Emily pulled a chair from underneath the table. A paramedic elevated his right leg. “Just a scratch,” Giacomo said. He couldn’t help but notice the concern on his wife’s face. “Em, it’s no big deal.”

  Emily said nothing as she left the room.

  Alessio arrived a few minutes later. “Are you all right, my friend?”

  “Friend? I’m surprised you’re here. Not to be rude, but why are you here?”

  “I have information for you.”

  The paramedics finished dressing the wound. Alessio gave the men a tilt of his head, and they left to position themselves outside the residence. Emily returned, carrying a tray of bottled water, a plate of lemons, and two glasses. She leaned against the black marble counter.

  Giacomo locked eyes with Alessio. “I apologize. You were only following orders. Thank you for today.”

  “You’re welcome. We identified the murdered man.”

  “Murdered man?”

  “The guy who was following you in Rome.”

  “Oh yeah. So much going on I forgot. Who was he?”

  “A Benedictine monk by the name of Brother Marco.”

  “A monk?”

  “Yes. We don’t have much information other than he was stationed in Grosseto. He was from the religious community of Monte Cassino.”

  “How the hell is he a part of this?”

  Alessio shrugged.

  “Monte Cassino? Sounds familiar. Grosseto . . . my father used to go there.”

  “A beautiful city. You should go—take a holiday.”

  “Yeah, sure. Does your government still think those fanatics are behind the attack?”

  “Yes. I’m sorry.”

  Giacomo quelled his anger. “Come on, Alessio—with what happened today?”

  The AISI man poured water into a glass, reached for a lemon, and squeezed. Four seeds plopped into the water.

  “Giacomo, I have no choice.” He cleared his throat. “In light of the recent events, I can offer you protection. You’re going to be a father. Maybe the time has come for you to retire.”

  “Yeah, twins. How about that?”

  “Just like you and Rio.”

  “Well, not really. We’re not identical. Our boys will be a matched set.”

  “Boys? I hope they resemble your wife and not you.” Alessio chuckled.

  “Very funny. Did you hear from your father?”

  “Last I knew, they were in Venice. Giacomo, you two should go back to the States.”

  Giacomo gazed over at Emily. The worry on her face could not be ignored.

  “I’m on presidential orders—gotta stay. We’ll go back to the Vatican. We’re safe there.”

  “I’ll arrange for a helicopter.”

  “Thanks.”

  Alessio grabbed his phone as he moved to the terrace. Giacomo took Emily’s hand and whispered, “I don’t trust him.”

  “Giacomo, he saved your life. He’s your friend.”

  “Why does he want me to go back to the States? Why did he come here?”

  “If he hadn’t, our sons would be fatherless.”

  “I understand. Still, this doesn’t seem right. Alessio knows more than—”

  Alessio returned to the kitchen. “The helicopter is on its way.”

  * * *

  Two hours later, Giacomo, Emily, Alessio, and members of the AISI watched as a chopper landed. Giacomo’s attention was drawn to the sky where another chopper hovered nearby. A crew member exited to hold the door open for the passengers.

  “You’ll be safe, my friends.”

  Distracted, Giacomo asked, “You’re not coming with us?”

  “No. The defense minister needs me in Genoa.”

  “Kind of far for a helicopter, isn’t it?”

  Emily interrupted the conversation by embracing Alessio and giving him a kiss on each cheek. “Thank you for saving my husband’s life.”

  Alessio lowered his head. “Take care of those twins.”

  Giacomo held out his hand. “Thanks, Alessio. We’ll be in touch.”

  The couple climbed in and fastened their seat belts. The captain steered the aircraft toward Vatican City. Giacomo said nothing on the trip. He tried to pinpoint what bothered him, but he couldn’t.

  The pilot pitched up the nose of the helicopter to slow the descent, touching down with a thud. As the rotor blades came to a stop, the copilot exited the vehicle and held out his hand to help Emily off. Giacomo jumped. A member of the Swiss Guard carried their bags to a waiting car.

  “Appreciate the ride.”

  “You’re welcome, senor.”

  Giacomo hesitated and then approached the captain. “I forget—where’s the other helicopter going?”

  “Monte Cassino.”

  “Right.”

  Alessio had lied.

  Chapter 56

  The monastery of Monte Cassino sat atop a rocky seventeen-hundred-foot mountain overlooking the Italian village of Cassino. Located eighty miles southeast of Rome, the religious community was the home of Benedict of Nursia, known as the patron saint of Europe and the author of the Benedictine Rule. He founded the abbey in 529, and his tomb in the cathedral was a destination for thousands of tourists every year. The friary had a unique history: razed to its foundation and rebuilt several times, it had originally been the site of a temple to Apollo, the god of prophecy, art, and healing.

  Alessio sat in the rear seat of th
e black Mercedes. He pondered his summons to the isolated community, a consequence of his insolent behavior at the Vatican. The director gazed at the countryside as he tried to overcome the creeping nausea brought on by his automobile traveling the circuitous route up the mountain. The driver stopped the car by the side entrance to the priory. Agitated in so many ways, Alessio slammed the door as he exited the car.

  His steps echoed in the stone staircase as he climbed to the third floor. Alessio typed a seven-digit code into the security lock. The latch clicked open. He pulled on the oak door and entered the hallway. On either side were a series of rooms or cells—the bedrooms of the resident monks. For the last ten years, only the leaders of the organization—Alessio among them—had occupied the secluded area. He traipsed to the end of the hall. Drawing in a deep breath, he knocked on the entrance of the corner room.

  “Pronto.”

  Alessio entered the chamber. The walls were constructed of white stone blocks. A wooden shelf held an assortment of religious books. A single bed was positioned under a window in the far-right corner. Opposite, a bearded priest knelt in front of a picture of St. Benedict. The man turned. He pushed himself up off the floor, stood to face Alessio, and plucked his suspenders. He scratched his scraggly beard.

  “Why am I here?”

  “Communications have to be in person. We can’t take the chance that our enemies are listening in on our cell phone conversations. And no one should see you arguing with me in Vatican City.”

  “I’m sorry.” Alessio’s eyes were cast down. “What you’re doing is wrong. We have the information about who shot down the airplane, so I had to lie to Giacomo.”

  “He’ll recover. We need you for another project.”

  “I’ve got my hands full with Giacomo and his sister.”

  “Rio will soon recover.”

  “She’d better. What you did to her was wrong. You’re a doctor. You’re supposed to save lives.”

  “She’s not dead.”

  “The drone attack on Giacomo—was that us?”

  “You saved his life, didn’t you?”

  “True, but it doesn’t answer the question. What about Brother Marco—did we kill him?”

  “He betrayed us. No one must stand in our way. We’ll use all the resources necessary to carry out the mission of our society. Did you succeed in convincing DeLaurentis to go back to the States?”

  “No.”

  The priest walked to the corner of the room. He pushed aside a tapestry of a dove with the words “Spiritu Sanctus” written underneath the symbolic bird. Behind the cloth was a safe embedded in the stone.

  “This is where the original prophecy used to be kept until the year 1054—when the church split in two.”

  The priest whistled as he dialed the combination. The tumblers locked in place, and he pulled on the handle. Inside was a tattered brown sheet of parchment encased in a glass frame. He took the document and carried it to Alessio.

  “This is a portion of the prophecy,” he said.

  “What happened to the rest of it?”

  “Destroyed when the abbey was demolished in World War II.”

  “So, if this is the prophecy, what does DeLaurentis have?”

  “The original. The traitorous monk Frascati absconded with it in 1054.”

  “How did Giacomo get it?”

  “From what we understand, he doesn’t know he has the damn thing. His father had the original.”

  Alessio admired the hand-scripted words. This was the first time he’d seen the prophecy. He read it aloud. “‘From the ancient village will arise a family from an orphaned child. Saved by the light from the murderers who wished to destroy the favor of God. His kin who will foresee future events, whose voice will go unheeded in the New World. The light shall surround him and his heirs. The two from the family of Laurentis will pave the way for the Savior’s return. The third trumpet shall . . . ’” A section of the paper was torn, the words interrupted. Alessio read the last line. “‘His heirs the Gemini will unite the two . . .’”

  “You see the words ‘third trumpet’?”

  “Yes.”

  “Paolo wrote a letter where he mentions the third trumpet.”

  “Because of that, you believe Paolo had the original?”

  “Yes. We are missing pieces of the prophecy, and he is leaving hints for his children to find it.”

  “Through a letter?”

  “Yes.”

  “My father received one from Paolo.”

  “The one the helicopter pilots had?”

  “Yes. How did you . . .”

  “The eyes and ears of our society cross all borders. We believe Paolo’s journals are a small portion of his writings.”

  “So, everything he wrote is true. He knew the future.”

  “Yes, he did.”

  “The letters?”

  “They exist. Within them are clues to where the prophecy is hidden and much more. Your failure to convince Giacomo to return to his home thwarts our mission. The Gemini or the twins are the keys to the last attempt to help save humanity. Rio is no longer an issue. Her mind’s been successfully altered.”

  “So, you want Giacomo dead?”

  “On the contrary, we want him alive and in the States to lead us to his father’s writings. Then we will dispatch him.”

  “Well, that’s not going to happen if his president wants him to stay here.”

  “We’re working on that.”

  Alessio reread the words. Questions raced through his uneasy mind. It says, “the favor of God”—if this is true, why would they want to thwart Giacomo and Rio?

  “Why stop him?”

  “Because knowing the future is wrong. Our existence must take its natural course.”

  “That doesn’t make any sense. You’re altering the natural course.”

  “No, we are not.” His voice grew angry. “God gave us the gift as scientists and doctors to help humanity. Paolo DeLaurentis wasn’t a gift from God. His children will not be the ones who bring the kindness of God upon humanity! It will be His church—our society.” The priest calmed.

  Alessio said, “Well, I hate to ruin your plan—Giacomo’s wife is expecting twins.”

  The man sat in a chair. “Good for them.”

  “What if you’re wrong and the prophecy pertains to their twins and not Giacomo and Rio?”

  “An interesting theory but impossible. The signs are present now. The unification of the church, the natural disasters, nation against nation. The earth is experiencing the pangs of labor as the beast exits the darkness into the light of the world. Soon the Antichrist will take his position. We’re too late. It has begun.”

  “You believe you can stop it?”

  “No, no, my son. Once we have the writings and the original prophecy, we will bring upon the world the blessings of God.”

  “This is wrong. I don’t believe the spirit is—”

  “We are not to question the workings of the spirit . . . especially you.”

  Father Alphonso Adinolfi, physician and priest, took back the glass-encased parchment. He tilted his head toward the ceiling as he returned the prophecy to the safe. When he turned back to Alessio, his hand held a gun with a silencer attached. The priest aimed it at Alessio, pulled the trigger, and shot him between the eyes. “Spiritu Sanctus, my son.”

  The door opened as four monks appeared with a stretcher.

  “Take him to the cryogenic chamber.”

  “Yes, Doctor.”

  A fifth man entered the room. His shoulders trembled as if holding back sobs. Adinolfi placed his arms around him. “I’m sorry, Sergio.”

  Chapter 57

  Giacomo and Emily had dinner with his mother and John. Afterward, they left Vatican City with their bodyguards close behind them. Giacomo reached for Emily
’s hand as the couple walked along the Tiber River. The late summer night cooled. Twilight merged with darkness, and the evening stars shimmered as a half moon rose over the Seven Hills of Rome.

  “Does the leg still hurt?” Emily asked.

  “No. Well . . . maybe a little.”

  Giacomo had a slight limp. A week had passed since the drone attack. He avoided the conversation with Emily about the assault on his life. He found himself in a quandary. He needed her close so he could watch over her and protect her and the babies. But was he putting them all in jeopardy by having them near? The question lingered within him.

  “Giacomo, we need to talk.” Emily spoke to him in French.

  “Oui.”

  “I don’t know how much more I can take. I should go stay with Dad in Paris until this blows over.”

  A lump grew in his throat. Emily’s words melted his heart.

  “Why? You told me we should be together.”

  “I know, but I can’t watch my husband risk his life, and I am tired of the turmoil.”

  Giacomo didn’t reply, his mind filled with rationalization. She was right. What could he say to ease her fear?

  Em tugged on his hand.

  Giacomo faced her. “We’re husband and wife till death do us part.” The words no sooner left his mouth than he realized the mistake. “I mean—”

  Emily put her index finger to his lips. “Shush. That’s the issue. I don’t want to be a widow.”

  “Emily, you’re being foolish. I’m not going anywhere . . .”

  “Giacomo, stop talking.”

  “I guess I’m not known for my oratory prowess.”

  “You’re the one who wanted me to go to Corsica, then to Ottati, so I would be safe. So, what the hell is the difference if I go to Paris?”

  Giacomo kept silent for a moment. “I know, I know, and you’re right. But we’re protected here at the Vatican. The Swiss Guards are equivalent to our SEAL teams back home. Give it a chance, Em. Please.”