With his words, the doors of the chapel blew open, and a sudden wind entered the church. A break in the overcast sky let through a ray of sunlight that illuminated the two men.
Giacomo took a deep breath. His lungs filled with the clean air. He waited for his mother, John, and Rio.
“Giacomo.”
“Hi, Mom. Sorry for being so distant these last couple of days.”
“I understand, Giacomo.”
“Hi, John.” The two men shook hands.
Rio wiped the tears from her eyes. Giacomo wrapped his arms around his younger sister. “They’re in heaven—a much better place than here.”
“Giacomo, I’m so sorry. My . . . my heart hurts so much.”
“Mine does too, little sister. We need to move on and give their sacrifice meaning.”
Rio’s face filled with anger. “Meaning? You need to kill the people who did this. If you won’t, I will.”
Giacomo listened to his sister’s words. Will she ever recover? At one point in his life, he would have agreed with her—but not now.
“No, my little sister. God will exact justice. I know who did it. We’ll get them—and it will be soon.” His voice was strong with the purpose behind his words.
Chapter 109
Vatican City, January 6
Giacomo rounded a corner. The Church of San Pellegrino was to his right. Hesitant, he climbed the stone steps. The grieving man blessed himself with holy water. In reverence, he genuflected and entered the first pew.
Giacomo’s mind was weary. His heart ached. He closed his eyes and let go.
He was in Washington, DC, on the day of the inauguration; Emily absent. He was not far from Tom Maro as he said the oath of office. Outgoing President Richardson smiled; he smiled back. A commotion occurred, and people screamed. His eyes darted back and forth.
His mind whisked him to Paris. Eten Trivette sat behind the desk. The president of the EU on the phone grimaced as he listened. Trivette rubbed the back of his neck and then his right temple. Someone stood over him . . . Trivette’s appearance grew disfigured as a black shadow overcame him and evil overtook his soul.
Giacomo watched as Trivette’s ghostly face was replaced by images of men and women. He recognized them but could not put names to the people. His heart raced, and he felt full of anxiety and disgust. Paris occupied his mind’s eye as the City of Lights flashed with a blaze of blinding luminosity. In an instant, daytime was followed by complete blackness. Images of other cities and villages he recognized flashed through his mind and filled him with fear . . . the words “not what it seems” echoed in his being.
A calmness ensued as Emily, his father, Paolo, and Arnaud materialized before him. They smiled, touched, and hugged him. A sense of love, peace, and immense joy filled him. His mind was swept away in ecstasy.
Giacomo jumped off the pew, shouting, “Whoa, whoa!” His face felt radiant. He couldn’t contain the elation within him. His security detail—papal guards—rushed into the church. He stood in the aisle, his head raised to the ceiling, then turned to see the pope and ten cardinals.
Andrew approached him, the cardinals three steps behind. “Giacomo?”
“Andrew . . . how long have you been here?”
“Almost twenty minutes.”
“I didn’t hear you. I’m sorry.”
“Please, don’t be. What happened?”
“Andrew. I’m sorry, Your Holiness—the euphoria . . . the joy. I . . . I . . .”
Andrew placed his hand on his shoulder. “Giacomo, relax. For the last twenty minutes, you were surrounded by a globe of white light so bright we had to shield our eyes.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“What does it mean?”
Andrew discharged the cardinals. Four of the red-clothed men left the chapel, while the rest stayed and prayed.
“The bigger question is, what does it mean to you?”
The two men sat on the steps of the sanctuary, the altar behind them.
“I feel I’m loved—an immense love deep within me, and . . . I’m not sad. Emily is fine. There is nothing to worry about . . . everything is good.”
“The vision?”
The elation subsided as he tried to recall the disturbing image. “Hmm . . . the last eulogy.”
“Last eulogy?”
“Yep—my dad wrote me a note a long time ago. He said, ‘The last eulogy of humankind has begun.’ I wondered what he meant. I took it to be that we . . .” He contemplated for a moment. “The last eulogy is the final acclamation of God’s people. This is the time when we are given the last chance to right the wrongs before darkness falls upon us. The goodness and mercy of God will explode one final time. Then the evilness of humanity will be poured out into the streets. When that happens, God will take a back seat. Then, when all that was foretold comes to fruition, out of the depths of nowhere, with no warning, it will end. The victory will be His.”
“Giacomo, do you believe what you just said?”
He closed his eyes. “Yes, I do, Andrew. It’s imprinted on my heart. It will happen, and it will happen soon—sooner than you and I think.” He stood. “I have work to do.”
The two friends walked down the aisle together. The papal guards opened the doors as they emerged into the sunlight.
Chapter 110
Later that night, Adinolfi—both doctor and priest—navigated the corridor of the military hospital and stopped at the nurses’ station. The young woman spoke on her cell phone. The physician stroked his gray-and-white beard and whistled as he waited patiently for the girl to finish her conversation. A Typhoon fighter jet shook the building as it soared overhead.
“I’m sorry, Doctor. How may I help you?”
“The patient in room 840—file please.”
“Yes, Doctor.” She turned and went to a locked cabinet.
Without hesitation, the doctor reached inside his white jacket, pulled out a dart gun, and fired it at her. With a brief groan, the nurse fell to the floor.
Two people ran down the hall.
“Quickly, there is not much time, Brother. The airplane departs in an hour.
Adinolfi directed the three men to the security ward. He inputted the four-digit code, and the electric door swung open.
“The second room on the left. Be careful—we need to do this fast. Military guards will be making their rounds in thirty minutes. Spiritus Sanctus Vobis—the Holy Spirit is with you.”
“Yes, Father,” they replied in unison.
The two hurried to the room while Adinolfi guarded the doors. His right hand plucked at his red suspenders as he anxiously checked his watch. Five minutes passed. The men exited the room. Each held a newborn baby boy in his arms.
Epilogue
Upon Giacomo’s return to the United States, his father’s old pilot, Danny, a former Secret Service agent, drove him home. As they turned from Chapel Street to Alston, Giacomo said, “We have company.” Parked outside his house was a cadre of television cameras and news reporters.
“A couple of phone calls, and I can make them disappear.”
“No, need for that, Dan. Guess I’m not staying here tonight. Can you drop me off at the Omni?”
“No problem.”
They arrived at the hotel fifteen minutes later.
“Danny, I appreciate the ride. My dad always spoke highly of you.”
“No worries, Giacomo. I’m available if you need me.”
“Thanks.” He opened the car door and stepped out into the cold January day.
Danny opened the center console of the 1968 Pontiac Firebird Trans Am. “Giacomo.” In his hand, he held an envelope. “This is for you.”
Giacomo shook his head. “From my dad?”
“Yes.”
He took the envelope. “Thank you, Danny. I’m s
ure we’ll talk soon.”
Danny drove away in the antique car. Giacomo studied his father’s signature and the words “October 27, 1989, Grosseto, Italy” that were written across the envelope seal. As he waited in line to check into the hotel, he removed the page and was surprised to see it was torn:
Giacomo, my son, I know your heart aches. I don’t understand why but know you are loved. The sacrifice you endured will allow you to move forward. There is still more to do. Betrayal and deceit are in front of you. Then, my son, an extraordinary joy will fill your being. Giacomo, when Paris goes dark, when the two reunite, give them this message: the two brothers will fight for peace among the warmongers of the world. A picture is worth a thousand words. The principalities will now topple. The four horsemen have arrived—the angels’ trumpets blare. Do not bear arms; put your weapons down. For God’s justice will reign true, and those who heed this word will not falter from God’s grace. His justice cannot be stopped!
The key from Grosseto will open the pathway to the prophecy hidden in time. Open your heart and mind, for you are the third trumpet to sound.
Giacomo folded the piece of paper, placing it in his pants pocket. He shook his head as he approached the check-in counter. The woman recognized him. “How may I help you, Mr. DeLaurentis?”
* * *
Twenty minutes later, the 1968 Trans Am pulled into a three-story garage and parked next to a 1965 Cobra. The doors closed behind the vehicle. Danny exited the car and walked to a white wooden door. He tilted his head toward a camera while his eyes were scanned. The ex-Secret Service agent entered a ten-foot by four-foot hallway. Sensors examined his body for hidden cameras and recording devices. A humming motor activated the wall as the partition fell into the floor. Danny stepped forward and then waited for the structure to return to its position. Once he heard the final locking pin click into place, he took another step forward. Lights illuminated the two flights of stairs that he took down to the fireproof, bombproof steel vault. He slid his thumb on a fingerprint reader and punched in the combination with his other hand. The door swung open. He turned to his left, flipped on a light switch, and glanced at the rows of shelves. They contained the three thousand documents and more than fourteen hundred sealed envelopes that represented the writings and messages of Paolo DeLaurentis. Danny went to a computer that hung on a wall and typed in “Dropped Giacomo at Omni Hotel.” The machine directed him to a labeled shelf. He grabbed three envelopes. Placing them in the shredder, he watched as the machine chewed the written words. A printer began to type. Danny read the letter. Directed to another shelf, he pulled out two envelopes. The message read: “Mail on March 28, 2021.”
Danny grabbed his cell phone and hit a number on his speed dial.
“Hello, Danny.”
“We’re all set here until March.”
“Sounds good. We’ll talk soon.”
Danny left the bunker, changed into his work clothes, and went out to the garage to work on restoring his antique Bugatti motorcycle. He whispered to himself, “A couple of months off.”
The Third Trumpet Page 34
