“Even after he saved the country?”
“There’s no doubt the American people want change. No matter what he did to protect our democracy, he’s still blamed for the attack.”
“You’re probably right.”
“Probably?”
“All right, Mr. Bigshot.” Emily punched him in the chest and then leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. “I love you, Giacomo.”
“I love you too, Em.”
* * *
Giacomo kissed his wife, turned off the lamp on the end table, and fell asleep. An hour later when he awoke, his spirit was troubled. His mind and body were conflicted with an unknown anxiety. A heaviness enveloped him. It was a struggle to move as he mustered the strength to plod his way to the small living room.
Is life taking its toll on me or is something more going on? Giacomo wondered as he sat in a maroon upholstered chair by the window. His hands covered his face. He rested his elbows on his bare thighs. He felt a buzzing sensation in his head. Am I fainting? A vision replaced the rambled confusion of his mind.
Two Earths. In one, the land was scorched, the oceans boiled, and volcanoes erupted in flames. Dark black ash spewed into the sky. The second Earth was in decay, but as the planet revolved, a rebirth occurred until the land turned lush green with oceans of turquoise blue. The surreal voice once again invaded his thoughts. “Every choice, every decision molds a pathway of peace or destruction. Sacrifice of self will give life.”
Another vision came into his mind. Three men, their faces clouded by a haze: two in white robes, one with a frayed and discolored red hem, and the other with a black collar. Each held an Earth in the palm of his hand. The third in sackcloth. Giacomo strained to see who they were.
The man in tattered robes began to squeeze the planet. As his grip strengthened, his fingers morphed into vices. The screams of humanity erupted. In slow motion, the malformed sphere dripped blood, the life force splattered on the floor. The man in sackcloth appeared with a mop and cleaned the stained ground.
Giacomo’s inner gaze turned to the man with the black collar and the planet he held. The vision grew three-dimensional; he saw the stars, the planet’s place in the universe. The lights of the nations sparkled, and then one country after another grew dark. The man in sackcloth took the sphere. It was heavy; he struggled to embrace it. He fell to his knees, careful not to let it drop, the cities illuminated with a flicker. The man in frayed robes glowered with fierce, seething rage. In his wrath, he squashed the orb into nonexistence. Then he moved to antagonize the man in sackcloth who was writhing with the heaviness of the new earth.
The collared man, his eyes full of fury, struck the aggressor. He grew, towering over the other two men. He reached down, picked up the assailant by his neck, and threw him into a dark chasm. The man’s excruciating groans traveled throughout creation. The black-collared man closed the abyss and began to shrink. His robe became a dazzling white. He took the remaining Earth.
Once more, Giacomo heard his name spoken. The three men stood in front of him, but he couldn’t discern who was who. He was filled with fear, then anger, and finally peace as a new image formed—a meadow, a distant tree overshadowing a field of bright green grass. Its leaves changed color to the orange and red hues of fall. A young boy sat nestled between two overgrown oak roots that stretched to the horizon. Knees to his chest, he gazed out over the meadow. Another young boy—his twin—approached. He whispered in his brother’s ear, and together they climbed the tree and sat on one of the thick, sturdy branches. They waved to Giacomo, who returned the gesture and moved toward the boys. But he heard the wind howl, and the bottom of his coat fluttered behind him. The three men reappeared, standing behind the tree. He tried to run, but the force against him was unyielding. The two boys vanished. He was alone—empty and bereft.
Chapter 62
Giacomo awoke in an empty bed. He couldn’t remember how he got there. The light of the morning seeped through the curtains. A remnant of his vision nagged his subconsciousness—three men he knew but couldn’t recall . . .
“Good morning,” Emily said.
“Morning. You’re up early.”
“Early? It’s ten thirty.”
“Wow, guess I was tired.”
Giacomo sat on the edge of the bed and rubbed his face. Emily sat next to him, placing her hand on his thigh.
“Giacomo, you were talking in your sleep.”
“What did I say?”
“No idea. Some mumbo jumbo.”
“I had a weird dream.”
“About what?”
Giacomo’s cell phone rang. He picked it up from the night table and rolled his eyes.
“Morning, Mr. President.”
Emily turned away as she mouthed the words “Be nice.” Giacomo nodded as he walked to a chair in the corner of the living room.
“I’m sorry, Mr. President, what did you say?”
“Giacomo, I wanted to offer my condolences for Alessio.”
“Thank you, Mr. President.”
“I hope you don’t mind me asking—were you able to find any information? I’d like to end my presidency with answers.”
“Nothing yet, I’m sorry to say.” Giacomo felt an overwhelming compassion for the man. “What’s on your mind, Arthur?”
“Your father—who was he?”
“I don’t understand the question, sir.”
“Was he a messenger from God?”
“Dad had a gift. He always questioned the origin. For him, the gift was a burden. A messenger from God? No idea.”
“His letters?”
Oh boy, here we go. “Sir?”
“His letters. If we find them, can they help us?”
“Providing there are more.”
“Any way of finding out?”
“No.”
“The second journal . . . any idea what he wrote?”
“No idea, sir. I can tell you whatever he jotted down is important.”
“Important enough to kill the ambassador, Tom’s cousin, and almost Rio?”
“Strong possibility, Arthur. There’s more to the story than that.”
“The prophecy?”
“Exactly.”
“Well, General, tomorrow Tom will be elected, and I can finally sleep.”
“Mr. President, the vote could swing your way.”
“We don’t need your father for this one. The American people will cast me out; I will lose by a landslide.
“I’m sorry, sir.”
“Don’t be, Giacomo. This is for the good of the people. Besides, I’m still commander in chief for a couple of months.” Waldron chuckled.
“True, sir.”
“I spoke with Tom this morning. We’d like to have a video conference call with you on Thursday. With the election over, he wants to amp up the investigation to find his cousin’s murderer.”
Chapter 63
The Day after the Election
The American people rose from their beds to a new day filled with hope. The polls closed, the ballots were counted. As Waldron had predicted, Thomas Maro was chosen president of the United States. The populace had swarmed the polling stations. Eighty-three percent of the eligible voters made their choice. The power of the American people reached the depths of the nation’s capital. In national races, all but three incumbents lost the election. President Arthur Waldron was on top of that list.
A newscaster spoke of how the failed policies of the Waldron administration coupled with the president’s lack of congressional support had destroyed the nation. The propaganda machine was running at full force. A continuous montage of video clips flashed across the airwaves, cataloging the failures of the government. They never mentioned that Waldron had saved the country. The media labeled him a loser, a failure to the citizens. Giacomo was disgusted by the r
hetoric and silenced the television. What happened to America? Hate embodied the people. Rio is right—time to move to Italy.
Giacomo left the Vatican administrative building to go visit his sister. He walked through the gardens and admired the hedges trimmed to perfection. Two Swiss Guards dressed in black suits followed him. He shook his head. I need to tell Andrew that this security detail has gotta go. Giacomo faced the two men.
“Gentlemen, I’m only going to visit my sister.”
“We have orders.”
Giacomo shrugged. I should run—see if they can keep up with me. He laughed aloud as a picture developed in his mind of the two chasing him. The door to the papal apartment building opened.
“Cardinal Angeloni,” Giacomo said.
“Cardinal Angeloni—really?”
“Well, I don’t want to be disrespectful in front of my bodyguards. Might give the wrong impression.”
“Oh, I understand. You don’t like it, do you?”
“No, I don’t. Come on, Andrew. No one will attack me here.”
The cardinal dismissed the men. “Are you happy now?”
“Yes.”
“How’s Sergio?”
“I don’t know. I called him but had to leave a message.”
“Very sad. Our world is changing and changing fast, Giacomo.”
“More than we realize. We’ve become a society of judgment with no respect for one another.”
“I agree with you on that one.”
“It’s our own fault; our culture allowed it. Where are you off to?”
“A meeting with the Russian Orthodoxy.”
“Reunification?”
“Yeah.”
“Sounds like fun. You up for dinner later?”
“Yeah, sounds good. Call me.”
Giacomo headed down the hall and opened the door to a staircase. He climbed to his sister’s fifth-story room, avoiding the elevator in favor of some exercise. As he trotted past the third-floor landing, he paused at a window that overlooked the gardens. Leaning on the sill, he observed Sergio and Andrew speaking to one another. Sergio’s head bowed low as Andrew blessed him. The cardinal comforted his friend. Giacomo’s eyes tracked the men as they walked to the Vatican City executive offices, stopped, and turned. Another person joined them. Giacomo squinted. A priest . . .
“Who’s that?” he said aloud.
Giacomo resumed his ascent. The priest seemed familiar. Was it the beard? Maybe it was Rio’s doctor. His spirit became troubled, but before he could sort his thoughts, he approached the door to Rio’s room and heard his mother scream.
Chapter 64
Giacomo rushed into the room. His mother and Emily were at Rio’s bedside.
“Rio spoke!”
A nurse entered and began to examine Rio.
“What did she say, Mom?”
“Her eyes opened . . . she said ‘Mom.” Tears welled in Victoria’s eyes. “And that was it.”
“That’s good news.”
“Why didn’t she stay awake?”
Giacomo shrugged as the nurse adjusted the IV drip. Rio trembled; her body shook and bounced. Her limbs thrashed as a seizure overtook her. A team of medical personnel hurried into the room. The nurse escorted the family to the hallway where Giacomo comforted his mother.
“What’s going on, Giacomo?”
Giacomo glanced at Emily. Frightened for his sister, his heart pounded as anxiety swept his mind. It lasted only a moment. He swallowed.
“She’ll be fine, Mom. Right, Em?” His eyebrows raised.
“Yes, she will.”
A tall, lanky doctor with wavy brown hair exited Rio’s room.
“How’s my sister?”
“Resting.”
The door opened as an aide pushed Rio’s bed toward the elevator doors.
“Where are you taking her?” Victoria asked.
“For a CAT scan.”
“Why?”
“To make sure she has no brain damage.”
Victoria began to sob. Giacomo placed his arm around her.
“Is my sister still in a coma?”
“Yes. Is your sister a fighter?”
“Nothing stops her.”
* * *
Rio lay unconscious on the gurney as the machine scanned her brain. Three men gathered around the monitor to analyze the images that emerged.
“No damage?”
“There appears to be some type of abnormality that is not consistent with the kind of injury she sustained.” The physician scrutinized the picture. “Hmm . . . nothing mentioned in the medical record. I’ll ask the family.”
“That won’t be necessary. I will talk to them. You can leave now, Doctor. We can manage from here.”
The lanky man left the room. The other two men pulled the patient out from underneath the CAT scan device. Adinolfi extracted a syringe and an ampoule filled with a yellow liquid from his pocket. He inserted the needle into the vial and withdrew the fluid.
“What will that do?”
“Move things along.”
Adinolfi plunged the syringe. The drug traveled through the intravenous tube into Rio’s arm.
Her eyes opened. Adinolfi recognized the shock on her face as she struggled to move, but she said nothing—the paralytic drug kept her mute.
“Not time for you to wake up just yet,” Adinolfi said.
Rio forced words past her dry lips. “Screw . . . you . . . bastard.”
The doctor patted her forehead. “Yes, yes, my dear. You’ll thank me later. Go to sleep.”
With his fingers, he closed Rio’s eyelids as she slipped back into the induced coma.
Chapter 65
Giacomo awoke as the door to Rio’s room opened.
“Giacomo . . . Giacomo . . .”
He leaned forward and rubbed his face. “Hey, Sergio. What are you doing here?” He noted the time. “Almost nine.” Giacomo had spent the night in a chair at his sister’s bedside after receiving a call that her body temperature had risen to an abnormal high of 105 degrees. When he arrived, Rio had had a seizure. Not wanting to leave her alone or disturb his mother, he spent the night with his twin.
“How’s she doing?”
“Better. She’s trying to wake up. Rio’s a fighter.”
“That she is.”
“How are you?” Giacomo stretched.
“I’ve been better. I’ve been going through Alessio’s computer, and I found a file you should know about . . .”
“Yeah, what is it?”
“A video of the interrogation.”
“He told us it was destroyed.”
“Guess not. The video feed had a thirty-second delay.”
“Really?”
“You need to see this.” Sergio held up a thumb drive. “Just before to the explosion, the prisoner mentions a name.”
“What question was he asked?”
“‘Who has the journal?’”
* * *
Twenty minutes later, Sergio and Giacomo were in their office at the Vatican executive building. Sergio queued the video. He forwarded it to the point where the prisoner said, “The traitor in the United States—Richardson. That won’t stop us . . . it will soon be in the hands of . . .”
Sergio paused the video as the explosion ripped through the room. Giacomo sat stunned.
“The vice president? Holy shit. I can’t believe it.” His voice turned to anger. “Why didn’t Alessio share this with us?” Out of respect for Sergio, he controlled his irritation. Alessio was dead; no point taking it out on his father.
Sergio lowered his head.
“I’m sorry, my friend.” Giacomo placed his hand on Sergio’s shoulder. “I’m sure Alessio had a reason.”
“According to the prisoner, the journ
al wasn’t in his possession for long.”
“Should I mention it to President Waldron?”
“You should.”
“Problem is no evidence. But, Sergio, are you sure you’re ready to come back to work?”
“Yes, I need to be working.”
“Let’s start with phone and email records. Maybe Richardson spoke to one of the prisoners. I have a conference call with Arthur in seven hours. Can we have the info by then?”
“I’ll try. I’m going to our office.”
“Be back here by four.” Giacomo pushed a button on his cell phone.
Sergio got to the door. “Giacomo . . .”
“Yeah.” He put his hand up and said into the cell phone, “Sorry to wake you, Jason—hold on one sec. Yeah, Sergio?”
“We’ll talk later.”
Giacomo nodded and continued his conversation. “Sorry, Jason. There’s a problem.”
His next call was to his father-in-law, Arnaud.
Chapter 66
Giacomo sat at the conference table perusing Jason’s email on his cell phone. It was 4:00 p.m. in Vatican City—11:00 a.m. in Washington, DC. His right hand twirled the hair behind his earlobe as he read. The vice president’s emails and telephone were clean. The colonel had dispatched a new Secret Service BOET detail to the VP’s residence to do clandestine work. Why would Richardson want the journal? If he doesn’t have it, who does? And why?
“Giacomo, coffee?”
“Hey, Sergio! I didn’t hear you come in. Sure.”
Sergio looked unkempt and had a three-day-old beard. Deep, dark circles enhanced the grief in his eyes.
“Sergio . . .” The concern on Giacomo’s face asked the question.
“I never imagined I would bury a child. My heart breaks. I’m at fault.”
“Nonsense, Sergio. A lunatic shot Alessio.”
“Yeah, you’re right about that.”
“Any luck in finding the killer?”
Sergio’s gaze shifted out of focus, and his eyes watered as he stared into the distance.
“What can I do for you, my friend?”
The Third Trumpet Page 19
