Dominic smiled at the clerk and nodded his head. He pulled the tickets out of the ticket packet and examined them: Swiss International Airlines to New York with a connection on Continental Airlines making two stops, one in Houston and one more in Albuquerque, where they would have to change planes for the final segment on a small turboprop to Roswell. “There’s going to be plenty of time to catch up on sleep,” he said to Tonita and turned to the clerk. “Grazie.” He smiled at her.
The clerk smiled at him again and gestured to a door behind the desk. Dominic pulled the door open, gave Tonita a nod, and stepped into a back office. It was crowded with the usual office equipment: a printer, fax machine, two copiers, telephones, a coat rack, coffee maker, and another door.
The clerk, still smiling, looked at the door in the back of the office and then to Dominic.
He stepped to the door, squeezing between the copier and the fax machine, pushed opened the door, and stepped into a long dimly lit hallway. “Grazie,” he said, waiving to the clerk.
She nodded, turned, and returned to the front office, closing the door on Tonita and Dominic.
“Come on.” Dominic held out a hand to Tonita.
She took it, letting her fingers linger as they slid along his skin.
He glanced sideways at her and smiled, as he folded his fingers between hers.
They walked down the long corridor that ran parallel to the hundreds of people waiting at the security checkpoint. After a flight of stairs that took them up, they came upon a doorway marked on their side of the hallway with the word...Gates. They exited through the door into the boarding area.
A Swiss International ticketing agent, blond, blue-eyed, thin and pretty, was standing just outside the door. Her smile and polite composure never waning as she said, “Welcome, please follow me.” Then escorted Dominic and Tonita to the jet-way.
Dominic handed the little “Swiss Miss” agent the tickets.
She sent the tickets flying through the ticket validator, retrieved them from the other end, and handed the boarding passes to Dominic. “Padre di molti ringraziamenti.”
“Thank you,” Dominic said, and added. “Grazie.”
Tonita followed as they walked down the jet-way to the aircraft door. Stepping in, Tonita turned to the right heading into the coach section of the plane.
“Tonita?”
She stopped and turned back to Dominic.
“This way,” Dominic said, gesturing with his head.
Tonita looked at him puzzled. Then her expression softened and she rolled her eyes. She smacked him on the back and followed Dominic into first class.
FORTY TWO
THE JESUIT CONTINUED to circle the hard backed wood chair in the center of the room as he had for been for the many hours previous. He moved without speaking, simply circling, eyes planted firmly on the chair and its occupant.
The Novice sat in the chair, silent, still. He pressed his back against the carved ornate wood of the chair back, allowing the relief of Christ’s crucifixion to dig into his skin. He had failed the Jesuit and his church. The self-inflicted pain was a reminder to him of that failure.
The Jesuit kept circling, as though he were a caged animal in a zoo exhibit. Circling. Circling.
The Novice wanted to speak, but dared not. He kept his eyes straight ahead, catching sight of the Jesuit only when he came around from the back of the chair. Like the hands of a clock in a counter-clockwise motion, the Jesuit circled. Circled. And The Novice watched.
He had been so close to the Key and the slut. He could have killed them both. It would have been so easy and so poignant to do so there. They would have died in the same flat as the Cardinal. A Cardinal, a priest and a slut. A trinity of death. He almost smirked at the thought, but caught himself. He had underestimated the cunningness of the Key. His mind had been clouded. Confusion had set in and he could not focus his thoughts. It must have been that the Key had come knowing that, he thought, and took advantage of it. He would have to be more careful or simply act more quickly in the future. He would not allow the Key to have the upper hand again.
Their next meeting would be their last.
When he came to, at the bottom of the stairs, his head throbbed and his body was torn and bruised. It ached. Still, he came willingly to the Jesuit to confess his failure and to receive his punishment for that failure. He expected to be punished. His failure demanded it. His body and muscles as hard as the wood of the chair that he pressed himself into. It tingled with anticipation of the punishment. And again he had to repress a smirk and an engorged cock.
The Novice concentrated on his muscles working from his heel up to his calf, then on to his groin. Willing, demanding each set of muscles to relax. To become numb to the pain or excitement. His muscles responded, blocking the nerve receptors from processing the pain and sending that energy to the brain. Soon his entire body was relaxed, despite the hours he had been sitting upright and ridged in the chair. His thoughts came back to the room and the Jesuit. He listened, waiting for the counter clockwise walk of The Jesuit to pass in front of his face, as he had for hours. The Jesuit’s steady pace, ticked off the moments, then hours. But now there was no movement. The Novice turned his head slightly and listened. His senses heightened. He heard only the air that seeped in under and around the uneven seal between the door and the doorjamb. No other movement, no other sounds...not even that of man breathing.
The Jesuit was no longer in the room.
FORTY THREE
THE OFFICE WAS LIKE that of any high ranking political figure in Washington, D.C.: sleek, dark polished wood, thick heavy drapery, big white crown and base moldings and a fireplace, complete with an ivory marble surround and pillars. Gilt framed pictures of the Senator standing, sitting, or laughing, and the ubiquitous handshaking with U.S. Presidents and leaders from around the globe, hung in specific locations around the office. Precise thought and consideration had gone into the exact location of each of the pictures. A person entering the office would view the most powerful, or the current politically correct, picture first at the apex, followed by those of less important celebrities, politicians, and business leaders, fanned out around the office. The office was a study in picture geography. The thought and design strategy had taken the art out of picture hanging and replaced it with science. Like most sciences, the science of picture hanging had an unexplained glitch. Out of place among the gilded frames, paintings, and photographs, and hung in the most prominent location just above the fireplace, was a large Crucifix.
The Senator replaced the telephone handset onto the receiver. He took hold of his cane and pushed himself up and out of the high-backed, leather desk chair. Despite his age and the cane, his step was lively and sure-footed as he made his way to the door of his inner office. He opened the door slightly and peered through the narrow opening. “My car, Michelle,” the Senator said to his sixty-something receptionist.
“Right away, Senator,” the Beverly Hills plastic surgery enhanced, pretty woman said, as she pressed a button on the console.
The Senator headed out of his office, closing the door behind him and locking it. He pocketed the key and walked through the reception area then out into the public hallway of the building. He walked carefully along the smooth, marble tiled floor of the hallway to the elevator. He touched the heat-activated button located on a panel between the two golden doors of the elevator bank. Just a touch of a fingertip and the button lit up, confirming that the elevator had been called. He smiled, grinned really, at the little button, recalling the moment of that little device’s creation.
They were working on the command console for the experimental equipment panel and needed a switch or toggle that would turn on and off the components of the command module. The console was coming together, except that a toggle switched proved to be too dangerous to use, as it could easily be knocked by an errant elbow or head during the experiment, and disaster could result. A small cover had been placed over the toggle switches to prevent an
accidental change in the position of the toggle. But the cover itself proved to be a problem. In the end there were just too many toggles and too many covers to fit on the console and to be operated by the pilot.
A dial that turned clockwise assembled with dials that turned counter clockwise was too complicated. If the pilot or co-pilot was blacking out, or semi-conscious, or injured and had to react instantaneously, remembering which direction a dial needed to be turned would be deadly. The same problem existed for a button that had to be depressed or left in the up position. There were far too many opportunities for disaster.
The group of scientists from Germany, who had volunteered to work with the United States’ War Department on the project, were an inventive group of men and proved their worth in short order. The heat sensitive, touch control device that summoned the elevator was the direct descendant of their imaginations.
A softly chiming “ding–ding” alerted the Senator to the elevator’s arrival. The doors slid open and he stepped in. He leaned forward to touch another heat-activated button on the panel inside the elevator, as the doors began to slide closed.
“Senator. Senator. Wait.” A young male aid shouted, as he came sprinting down the hall toward the elevator.
The Senator extended his cane breaking, the invisible beam sensor, stopping the elevator doors from closing.
“Senator. This just came in for you. I thought you may need it,” The young man gasped.
“Thank you Mister Trembowitz” The Senator said, taking the page from the panting teenager.
“Sean sir. I’m too young to be a mister.”
“You’re never too young to accept respect Mister Trembowtz,” The Senator said as he unfolded the page and read; Confirmed arrival, JFK. The Senator folded the paper back up and handed it to Sean. “Shred that.”
“Yes, sir,” Sean said, taking the folded paper from the Senator’s hand. He slid it into the pocket of his pants. “I’ll see to it right away, Senator.” He stepped away from the elevator doorway allowing them to begin to close. “Have a nice day, Senator Scott.” And the doors slid closed.
FORTY FOUR
THE FLIGHT HAD BEEN, thankfully, uneventful, Dominic thought. He felt rested, but anxious. “At least we’re in the states,” he said to Tonita, as they exited the aircraft.
“Thank you for flying with us.” The words came from a perky little flight attendant with a plastic smile molded securely onto her face and a name tag that read Carly, pinned to her navy blue uniform.
“You too,” Tonita said back, mimicking the smile.
Dominic glared at Tonita.
“What?”
“You thanked the flight attendant for flying with us? What do you think? The airline gives them a choice?”
“Dominic?” Tonita raised one eyebrow. “Shut up.”
He knew that was coming.
They headed down the jet-way, joining in with the rest of the passengers that formed the human river moving downstream.
John F. Kennedy airport is a good fifteen miles distance from midtown Manhattan. But even here on Jamaica Bay, on the edge of the city of New York, the uplift in energy was noticeable. People moved faster, talked faster, ate faster, lived faster. Dominic could not help but feel the urge to join that current of energy, and his step quickened.
“Dom? Slow down. We’ve been sitting for five hours.” Tonita raised her voice to be heard over the ambient noise of the airport. “I need to stretch.”
The human river of passengers turned to the right, following the commands of both the signs and the Immigration Agents, and headed down a set of stairs. Then they followed along a cold sterile marble hallway, devoid of any atmosphere, and one that could only have been designed by a government architect practicing the minimalist gray-green color scheme.
Dominic took hold of Tonita’s elbow, yanked her from the flow of human bodies and walked to the left. A narrow hallway, just off of the main hall, led them to an area that was clearly marked with signs, stating in several different languages that the area was off limits. Dominic looked behind him. He saw that no one else was around and proceeded to push on the bar of door that warned, in big red letters: Doorway Alarmed. No Passengers Permitted. Alarm Will Sound. The mechanism clicked, as the horizontal bar was completely depressed, releasing the latch on the door. Dominic pushed on the door. It swung open. No alarm. “That was tricky,” Tonita said, as the door closed behind them.
“You forget. I’m a Vatican diplomat,” Dominic said, as he turned the corner and walked right into two heavily armed soldiers.
FORTY FIVE
“FATHER RENZI?”
“Yes,” Dominic said, clearly flustered. “I’m Dominic Renzi.”
“Come with us.”
Tonita and Dominic glanced quickly at one another.
“Move forward,” one of the soldiers urged, then added, “Please.”
There was the clicking sound of metal on metal as the two soldiers swung the MP5 automatic weapons onto their shoulders and took up position behind Tonita and Dominic. “Proceed straight ahead,” the same soldier ordered.
“This gets better all the time,” Tonita smirked as she spoke.
“Tonita?” Dominic raised an eyebrow. “Hush up!”
Tonita and Dominic, with the two soldiers closely behind them, continued on course following the unpainted cement walls and floor of the hallway. Dominic noted that the hall remained quite straight with only an occasional bend or curve, no sharp corners. Instead of the hard edged ninety degree corners found in most corridors, this had none.
“No one can hide in here,” Dominic said.
“Why would they?”
“No corners.” Dominic kept his voice to a whisper, and ignored her question as he continued. “Nowhere to hide.”
“Where are they taking us?”
“I’m not sure. I’ve never been down this far. The couple of times that I’ve been here, I exited through the first door and then up the stairs. Just where we met our friends here.”
“Why were you even here?”
“Vatican Diplomat. I told you.”
“Yeah, you did. But I didn’t believe you.”
“Should have.” Dominic winked at her. “I’ve never had a problem with the Secret Service before. There’s never been anyone inside the hall.”
“And you know that they’re Secret Service because...?” Tonita glanced at Dominic.
“Because they’re carrying MP5’s and they’re letting us talk.”
“MP5’s?”
“The weapon over their shoulders. You know...that big gun!”
“I would have called it a rifle.”
“But then you didn’t serve in the military.”
“And you did?” Tonita kept step with Dominic, edging a bit closer. Her arm brushed his.
“I did.”
Tonita stopped. One of the soldiers almost smacked right into the back of her.
“Keep walking,” he grumbled.
She turned to the soldier, “Sorry,” and then back to Dominic, “My, my, the secrets you have.”
“It’s not a secret. It just never came up.”
“If we weren’t being escorted down this hall to...I don’t know where, and we were alone, we’d be having a long discussion right now. You should be thankful we’re under arrest.” She turned forward, refusing to look at him.
Dominic turned his head and shouted over his shoulder, “Thanks, guys.”
Having walked past the usual doors that he and other Vatican officials used to expedite their travel by circumventing security and customs and now in a section of the hallway that he was completely unfamiliar with, his attempts at remaining calm were only succeeding on the exterior. Internally his stomach was churning.
The foursome turned round a bend in the hallway that extended for another fifty feet, then ended abruptly, coming to a dead end with no exit in sight.
Tonita must have sensed Dominic’s uneasiness and let her hand brush his. She glanced at him.
“No door.”
“I see that,” he said, whispering back.
Their pace slowed as the end of the hall grew closer.
Dominic expected an order to stop them at any moment. Yet none came. And having received no orders from the Secret Service agents behind them to stop, they continued.
Now, ten yards from the end of the hallway, they kept walking.
Five yards. Still no order.
Tonita couldn’t take it any longer. “Guys? There’s a wall here.” She stopped and turned around facing the soldiers. “We can’t exactly walk through walls.”
“Tonita?” Dominic pulled on her shoulder.
“Well, what? She pulled away from Dominic staring into at the agents. “What are they going to do? Shoot us?”
“No,” Dominic said.
Tonita turned back to Dominic. “Then are you going to walk through that wall...” She didn’t need to finish.
The wall had slid open.
FORTY SIX
THE NOVICE REMAINED steadfastly seated in the hard-backed, carved wooden chair. He had not moved. Hours upon hours passed after he had discovered that The Jesuit had left him there, alone. Hours spent seated in pain.
The Jesuit had imposed the worst punishment upon the Novice that there could be. That was no punishment at all. He had left the Novice to wallow in his own self-pity and regrets. He had allowed the Novice to sit undisturbed, lost to his thoughts and doubts.
Without guidance from the Jesuit, the Novice had turned to self-mutilation as his punishment for his failure and to redeem his sins. Tears slid down the Novice’s face as he silently repented his failure to God. He never let his thoughts deviate from his failure. “Forgive me,” his voice dry and rough repeated the words aloud, begging God to hear him. He pressed the muscles of his back and shoulders deeper into the carved crucifix on the chair back. The pain was intense and the wooden carving left a deep impression into his muscles. He grunted as he pushed down as hard as he possibly could onto the armrests of the chair, forcing his back into the carved wood, so much so that it touched bone. He cried out in pain. Blood began to form in droplets around the edges of the impression in his back.
The Third Hour Page 16
