The Scorpion's Tale

by Wayne Block

  With lumberjack hands, Bebe lit a candle at the station of Saint Joseph for his dead parents. He then proceeded to the front pew and knelt in prayer. A priest approached and sat next to him, remaining silent until Bebe had crossed himself and sat back in the pew. Bebe moved closer to the priest and embraced him. The priest patted him on his huge shoulder.

  “How are you, Bebe?”

  Bebe shrugged. “Not so good. How about you, Joey?”

  Bebe’s brother Joseph was the eldest of five children. He had recently been appointed by the Pope to Saint Patrick’s, which significantly elevated his standing in the clergy. He had always been particularly close to his youngest brother, whose emotional scars of the past made Bebe a child in his brother’s eyes, even though Father Joe was fully aware of Bebe’s chosen profession.

  “I’m fine, Bebe. Have you done your weekly confession?” The priest constantly worried that his baby brother would die with a mortal sin stained upon his soul. He made Bebe promise to receive the sacraments weekly to increase his chance of dying sanctified grace.

  “No, I haven’t.”

  “Bebe, you promised.”

  “I don’t want confession today. I just wanna talk.”

  “What’s troubling you?”

  Bebe stretched his neck from side to side and sank further into the pew. “Tonight I had dinner with Alberto and Nick. Steven Capresi joined us.”

  “I’m so saddened by his tragedy. I always liked Steven. He was very good to you.” He paused, adding, “If you see him again, please send my condolences.”

  Bebe nodded. “I’m worried about him.”

  “Why?”

  “Steven is going after his wife’s killer. Alberto sent him to Chicago to visit Charlie P., as a lead to some guy named the Scorpion. He’s leaving tomorrow.”

  “The Scorpion?” Father Joe repeated.

  “Yeah. The Scorpion’s the pro who murdered Steven’s family. Even Alberto fears him. But, he allows Steven to try and find him. He’s even bankrolling his search. It’s wrong, but I’d never disagree with my boss.”

  “How certain is Alberto that the Scorpion is the killer?”

  “Alberto is positive.”

  Father Joe rubbed his chin, deep in thought. “You did well to tell me Bebe. I too, am worried. I will pray for Steven. That’s all we can do. Do not worry about this any longer. It was never in your hands. It is, and will always be, in God’s.”

  Bebe grasped his brother’s hand and kissed his ring finger. “Thank you, Joey. I feel better getting this off my chest.”

  The men stood and embraced. “Don’t forget dinner next Friday,” Father Joe said.

  Bebe smiled. “I won’t.”

  Father Joe watched his little brother exit the cathedral. He then walked briskly to his office, locked the door and unlocked an ornate metal box decorated in silver and gold with the inscription ‘CPH’. He withdrew a phone he had never used before.

  Father Joe dialed the long distance number, which was answered on the first ring.

  “Father, may I have your name and code number?” asked a man speaking in Latin, who was cross-referencing the name assigned to the priest’s phone.

  “Father Joseph Muleta, CPH 473,” Father Joe responded, also in Latin.

  “Please proceed. We are on a secure line.”

  “I just spoke with my brother who mentioned the Scorpion.”

  There was a heavy silence at the other end of the line. “What about the Scorpion?” the man asked.

  “My brother confirmed that the Scorpion recently killed the wife and daughter of one of his friends. He told me that his friend has a concrete lead to the Scorpion and intends to kill him.”

  “I see. And what is the name of your brother’s friend?”

  “Steven Capresi.”

  “C…a….p….r….e….s….i?”

  “Correct.”

  “Is there any other information?”

  “Steven is flying to Chicago to meet a Carlo Pontedor who has information regarding the Scorpion’s whereabouts.”

  “P…o…n…t…e…d…o…r?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you know when Capresi is leaving for Chicago?”

  “Tomorrow.”

  “Thank you very much, Father. As stated in your vows, discuss this with no one. Especially your brother. We will take it from here.”

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  A few hours after Father Joe’s transatlantic call, Alessandra Morretti was on a Vatican Learjet from Rome to Chicago along with her team, consisting of her twin sister Valentina and their close friends Bianca Palmari and Paola Lunesa. Alessandra was operating on the few pieces of information given to her: the names of Carlo Pontedor and Steven Capresi, and the possibility of an imminent meeting between the two somewhere in Chicago, pertaining to the Scorpion. Armed with advanced hardware that rivaled Air force One, the team had amassed a dossier on both men, complete with photographs. They also had Capresi’s confirmed reservation at the Chicago Hilton. Capresi’s corresponding flight itinerary from New York to Chicago indicated that her team would have less than one hour to set up an electronic surveillance net before he checked into his room. The team had discovered that Mr. Pontedor had already reserved a particular room for Capresi and they were able to reserve the adjacent rooms. Within five minutes of checking in, they entered his room, placing listening devices throughout the room, including the phones.

  Alessandra settled into the lobby of the hotel, and within the hour made visual contact with the man who matched the photograph she held in her hand. She watched Steven Capresi enter the bar and was signaled by Bianca, who had seen Pontedor enter the hotel a few minutes earlier. Pontedor had given the concierge an envelope for Capresi and left. Alessandra watched Capresi retrieve the envelope from the concierge and read its contents. She watched Capresi throw the paper away but miss the trashcan. She waited until he was out of sight, and then intentionally missed the trashcan in throwing a Kleenex. Alessandra bent down, discreetly scooped up the letter, and walked out of sight.

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  Gibson’s Steakhouse was almost empty when Alessandra arrived, although she was a few minutes early for her 8:15 reservation. While the maître’d escorted a couple to their table, Alessandra casually glanced down at the seating chart, noting the name ‘Charlie P’. She casually glanced toward the back of the restaurant and saw a well-dressed older man with platinum hair seated across from a younger, dark-haired man with his back toward her. Glancing down again, she found the alias she had given for her reservation. Her table was on the other side of the restaurant. The maitre’d returned to seat her.

  “Good evening. Do you have a reservation?”

  “Yes. Evans, for one.”

  “Ms. Evans, kindly follow me.”

  As he grabbed a menu, she caught his attention.

  “I was wondering whether you had an open table at the far side of the restaurant?” she asked, as she placed a twenty in his hand.

  He nodded. “Very well, Ms. Evans. Please follow me.”

  This time she followed him directly past the table where Capresi and Pontedor were seated. As she passed, she deliberately tripped and grasped the edge of the table to steady herself, catching Steven Capresi’s eye as he moved to help her. Their eyes met and held.

  “Excuse me. That was so clumsy of me.”

  “Are you alright?” Steven asked.

  “Yes,” she replied, looking embarrassed. “Thank you. I’m sorry for interrupting your dinner.”

  “It was no problem at all,” Steven said. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  She nodded, proceeding to her table where she ordered a glass of Merlot and a Garbage Salad. She connected earphones to a fake I-Pod and tested the volume on the bug she had just attached to the underside of Capresi’s table. When her dinner arrived, she casually withdrew a magazine and settled in to slowly eat her salad, sip her wine, and listen to the conversation between the two men. Two hours later, Alessandra
had intimate knowledge of both of them. Her heart ached for Steven Capresi now that she realized his wife had been nine months pregnant, and that his two-year-old daughter had also been slain by this madman she was tracking. She felt uncomfortable using this unfortunate soul to complete her assignment.

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  Back in her hotel room, Alessandra had accidently fallen asleep with her earphones on. She was abruptly awakened by the sound of Capresi’s room telephone. She peered at her watch: 3:30 a.m. It was another conversation between Capresi and Pontedor. This one caused a chill to run down her spine. Alessandra felt guilt slowly replace her initial uneasiness in using him as bait. She could no longer think of him as “Capresi,” but only as Steven. After the two men concluded their conversation, she listened to Steven’s weary voice as he called the airlines and made flight arrangements the next day to Vegas. She followed suit and made her own flight arrangements. Alessandra Morretti and her team would arrive in Las Vegas well in advance of Steven Capresi.

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  Alessandra sat on a bench, and from a comfortable distance, watched Steven walk around the shops at the Venetian Hotel. He was constantly looking around, as if he sensed her. Although Steven was very good looking and probably only a few years older than she, Alessandra thought he looked worn. Watching him, she sensed the anguish in his soul. After confirming Steven Capresi’s hotel suite, it had only taken a few minutes for her team to gain access to the room. It was just long enough to install the same surveillance net as in Chicago.

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  After a rushed room service breakfast, the group decided that only three would go to Red Rock. Alessandra was to remain in her room manning the communications center and keeping track of Capresi and her colleagues. Valentina’s group reached the Turtle Peak summit hours prior to Billy Veeksburn’s anticipated arrival, faced with the task of setting up a more difficult surveillance. The conversations would be electronically sent to Alessandra, who would forward them to Vatican headquarters for analysis.

  After setting up their equipment on the summit, Valentina decided it was time to test the transmitter and have a little fun torturing her sister.

  “Hey Sis, is it killing you to be stuck in that dreary hotel room while I can practically reach out and touch God’s face in this cloudless, perfectly blue sky?”

  Alessandra smiled, but wasn’t going to be baited. “No Val, I’m happy for you. Just a little bored on this end.”

  Valentina wasn’t satisfied: “The weather is perfect and I can see for miles. I can even see Las Vegas from here. It just pains me to think of you all cooped up. Such a missed opportunity.”

  “I’m not going there, Val. You win today.”

  “You’re no fun!”

  Both women laughed.

  Over the next hour, Alessandra listened in as her sister struck up conversations with everyone who reached the summit. Eventually, her sister said the name “Veeksburn”. She laughed as she listened to Valentina flirt shamelessly with him, inviting him to walk them back to the trailhead and join them for dinner. Alessandra watched a computer screen of a detailed map of the canyon, with one moving blip and two stationary blips created from the individual GPS monitors inside the necklaces the women all wore.

  A little while later, Valentina confirmed that Capresi had passed by and advised Alessandra they were training the equipment on the far side of the summit where their target had disappeared to join Veeksburn. Soon, Alessandra heard the voices of Capresi and Veeksburn as clearly as if they were in the room with her. She listened to Capresi’s emotional conversation describing the losses in his life: his father, his wife, his children, and finally, God. The team learned that Capresi’s next stop would be Roatan to meet a Pablo Munoz, who would direct Capresi to a man named Joaquin Ordonez.

  Valentina reported back to Alessandra that Capresi had left the summit. “We’re going to wait for Veeksburn to get him drunk and pump him for more information. We’ll keep everything on.”

  “Okay. I’m not going anywhere. I’m lying on my comfortable bed, with extra fluffy pillows, in my super cold, air-conditioned room, hanging onto every word.”

  “You princess! It’s probably a hundred degrees out here and the Chardonnay is hot!”

  Alessandra reclined on the bed to read her book, satisfied that she had gotten the better end of the bargain by remaining at the hotel. She could hear the occasional outbursts of laughter from the girls and the clicking of their wine glasses, and she wished she was with them on the summit. Fifteen minutes later, she heard a male voice with a southern accent.

  “Who’s that?” she whispered, knowing that Valentina would still have her earpiece in.

  “Shhhh,” Valentina replied. “It’s some goofball.”

  Alessandra heard the man introduce himself but didn’t catch the name. She heard pieces of the conversation and realized the listening device was not directed at him, but still trained toward Veeksburn. She knew by Val’s tone that she was becoming irritated. Suddenly, Alessandra distinctly heard the stranger switch to Italian. One of the girls muttered a reply in their native language. A few seconds later, there was a series of clicking noises. Then silence.

  “Valentina? Valentina? What’s happening?”

  There was no reply.

  “Val, answer me. What’s going on?”

  There was no sound. Alessandra’s initial concern was alleviated as the three blips representing her partners moved together toward Veeksburn’s position on the computer screen. At that moment, she lost her satellite connection. When the signal returned, almost two hours later, the GPS indicated that the three were leaving the trail. She panicked as she saw they were heading away from Las Vegas, toward Reno. She desperately called her sister’s cell phone and tried texting but there was no response. She fared no better in reaching Paola and Bianca. Tentatively, she contacted her colleagues in Rome. A male voice answered.

  “Alessandra, we’ve been following the relay transmission from you in real time and we are aware of the urgency.”

  “Enrico, I’ve got to follow them.”

  “No. Listen to me. You know how much I care about Valentina and the team. Stay where you are and let us enhance the recording. What is taking place is too indefinite for me to allow you to jump into the dark.”

  “What about Capresi?”

  “Forget about him for the time being. We have two names to go on. Stay in your room no matter how long it takes for me to get back to you.”

  “But…”

  “No. You have to listen, Sister. I speak on behalf of the Pope. I need you where you are.” With that, he terminated the call, not knowing how long Alessandra would maintain her vow of obedience.

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  Alessandra closed her eyes at 9:00 a.m. Minutes later, she awoke to the call she had been dreading. Her director informed her of Valentina’s martyrdom and explained the enhanced conversation between the man whom they believed to be the Scorpion and her sister, and the discovery of the bodies that morning. He also told her that she must depart the city immediately and destroy her necklace. He explained that her sister’s, Bianca’s and Paola’s necklaces were found on the altar of a church in Nevada confirming that the Scorpion knew of the Vatican’s involvement, and that he had inside information of the tracking devices.

  Alessandra listened but did not respond. Tears streamed down her face and into her quivering mouth. Her director, head bowed, handled his phone across an ornate desk.

  “Alessandra my child, pray with me for Valentina, Bianca, and Paola, who are now God’s angels.”

  Together they said the Lord’s Prayer four thousand miles apart. At the end of the prayer, the Pope said soothingly: “Now it’s time to come home.”

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  Alessandra and her director were escorted to the entrance of the Pope’s private chapel, by the newly elected Pope’s Aiutente De Camera. They both were shocked as the doors opened and they were permitt
ed inside. It was well known by all Vatican personnel that the Chapel was meant for the Pope’s private morning mass and spiritual reflection, done in the strictest privacy with only the Pope’s personal assistant and a small contingent of Swiss Nuns of the Congregation Of The Holy Cross Of Metzingen in attendance. Today they were given an honor few in the history of the Church had ever received. Upon entering, the Pope was kneeling before the altar, his back to them in a ritual pre-mass prayer.

  Sensing the presence of Alessandra, the Pope stood, turned, and addressed the congregation, all the while looking only at the broken and grieving child he had spoken to on the phone a few days earlier.

  “As you see, behind me are two magnificent Michelangelo frescoes, ‘The Conversion of Paul’ and ‘The Crucifixion of St. Peter.’ I say they are magnificent, not for the genius strokes of a master painter, but for the story each tells. For today, study the face of Saint Peter looking back toward us as he is being nailed upside down to the cross. These are not glances between paintings of Saint Peter to Saint Paul for strength but Saint Peter’s unwavering eyes pouring into each of your souls stating, truer than any words, that martyrdom can still be the fate of those who follow Jesus and his true message, even twenty-one centuries later.”

  Alessandra’s eyes, riveted on the Pope, teared with a combination of sadness and joy. The Pope then turned his back to continue the mass and, out of the small congregation’s view, wiped a tear from his own eye. When mass ended, Father Giancaro, the Pope’s personal assistant, bade all but the Director to leave. After the Chapel emptied, the Pope approached the director who fell to his knees, ignoring his Eminence’s protestation.