“Hmph!” said Mather. “That’s fine. Well, I have things to attend to.” Flustered, Mather busily gathered up an eclectic assortment of gewgaws from his desk.
When Mather was gone, Monsignor Massimo Drotti removed a leather attaché from his briefcase and held it on his lap. “Kevin … may I call you Kevin?”
“Of course.”
“I don’t want to be overly dramatic. I’m not sure where to begin. I guess it’ll be in the middle.”
“I’m all ears, monsignor.”
“Thank you. First, I know Massimo is a bit of a mouthful. Please call me ‘Max’. If you agree to what I’m about to ask of you, we’ll be spending some time together.”
Kevin said nothing. Maybe his reserve would have an effect, would draw out this seriously bottled-up dude. An old CIA trick.
“The directives and information I’m about to share with you come directly from the church’s highest source. If you assume that’d be His Holiness, you’d not be wrong. I say this not to get the drums rolling, but to emphasize both the urgency and the importance of our mission. In short, we’re facing an immediate crisis which threatens the very core of our Catholic Church.”
“That’s unquestionably dramatic,” Kevin exclaimed dryly.
“It’s true, I’m afraid. You’ve been the subject of the most detailed and extensive investigation ever undertaken by the Church. I’m happy to report it was the right thing to do: you’ve been cleared. You’re being reassigned to the Vatican. This’ll mean dropping what you’re doing here and coming to Rome immediately. Of course, you’ll be held to our strict rules of confidentiality far more stringent than those in the military and the CIA.”
“I was never a direct employee of the CIA,” Kevin said.
Max looked down at his notes and continued, “Yes, I see that. You were officially employed by a paramilitary group called ‘Grey Associates’ assigned to the CIA under contract, correct?”
Kevin nodded. “Correct.”
“Then—” began Max.
“Excuse me, Max. What if I were to turn down this assignment?” Kevin’s head was reeling.
“Not an option, Kevin.”
Kevin couldn’t argue. Not now, anyway. “What else can you tell me?”
The monsignor stroked his chin. For a moment, he was contemplative as he looked out at the barren street. Pink buds and young leaves hinted of the coming of spring. On the horizon, clusters of smoky storm clouds were congregating.
“We believe there’s a serious threat to the leadership of the Church. It’s coming from within. I’m afraid that’s all I’ll disclose now.”
“And how was I so lucky to get tapped for this special—ah, dangerous—assignment?”
“You came recommended by a highly-placed source—His Eminence, Cardinal John Porter,” Drotti said.
“When I was studying in Rome, Porter was a bishop, and my mentor.” Kevin nodded. He didn’t add that Porter also happened to be his savior. After his snafu in the army had gone public, if it hadn’t been for Porter, he might have been defrocked as a priest.
“Then you know he’s now a cardinal. He runs the Instituto per le Opere Religiosi, the Vatican Bank. He’s a powerful man and His Holiness has great confidence in him and his judgment. Besides his vote for you, our investigation into your military background also confirmed you’re precisely the person we need.”
Kevin cleared his throat. “You thoroughly checked my background?”
“If you’re asking if we’re aware of your army court martial, the answer is yes, of course.” Drotti glanced at his notes. “According to the Code of Canon Law, Canon 1040, paragraph 4, a person who has committed voluntary homicide is considered ‘irregular’ regarding receiving Holy Orders.” Drotti looked up and smiled. “The Holy See has granted you a dispensation.”
A shrill bell rang out through the halls. Terrified, the monsignor jumped at the sound as if a gun had just gone off. Kevin thought to himself the bell’s timing must be a sign from heaven. He was ready to get going.
Kevin rose. His body language spelled closure. “Well, if there’s nothing more to discuss, I’ve got a class to teach, Max. Where do we go from here?”
“First, forget about the class, Kevin. Go home, start packing. Our plane leaves Dulles at seven p.m.” Monsignor Drotti handed Kevin a single sheet of paper, confirmation of his reservation on United Flight 966 to Rome.
A chill was slithering down Kevin’s spine. What to do? What to do? Fight it or play along? Was God behind it? And what about the boys?
“I’ll need time. I’ve got to take care of obligations,” Kevin said firmly.
“I’ll see you at Dulles Airport. No later than six p.m.” Drotti smiled faintly. “You wouldn’t want to disappoint His Holiness.”
It wasn’t delivered as a question. Of course he wouldn’t want to disappoint His Holiness. What should have been a question came off as more of an order. Before Kevin could say another word, Monsignor Max was leaving Mather’s office.
Kevin stood still for a moment, clenching his jaw, watching the storm clouds converge higher in the sky. Sighing deeply, he left Mather’s office. Tentatively, he headed to his classroom to bid farewell to his kids. He knew this wouldn’t be easy for them. Or for him. But he also realized, for the moment, he hadn’t a choice, especially if he wanted to keep his good standing in the Church. And with God.
After Kevin told the players, DeShaun, a bright junior on the team, stood up and walked to the front of the room to hug Kevin. “We’re going to miss you, Padre. No one else here to kick our asses when we need it.” He was speaking for the team.
Kevin smiled. “Hey, I’ll keep score; if any of you mess up while I’m gone, when I’m back I’ll kick your asses twice as hard.”
“How long you gonna be gone?” asked another student.
“Don’t know for sure,” Kevin answered. “But I’ll be back. You guys remember what I told you. Heads high, two hours of homework every night, and stand tall.”
After a few more hugs and high fives, Kevin left, his heart heavy. Dammit! I love these kids.
Kevin didn’t bother saying goodbye to Headmaster Mather. He wasn’t in the mood to pretend he was happy about leaving. When it came to these kids, they were a different story.
Before packing, Kevin took out his checkbook and a spiral notebook, scribbled a note, ripped out the page, then wrote out a check and stuffed them both in an envelope addressed to Mather. The note was brief. “Here’s for the uniforms.”
And then through the fog in his brain, he thought of his final remaining conundrum. Katie. She was an entirely different story.
Chapter Three
Washington, D.C.
The next thing Kevin did was call Katie. They’d planned a while ago on having dinner in Georgetown that very night. He opened the conversation by apologizing for having to break their date.
“Rome?” Katie asked. “They’re sending you to Rome?”
“That’s right.”
“And you don’t know why? I mean—crazy thought—but, did you ask why?”
Hearing this, Kevin burst out laughing. Katie was completely serious. It all was happening so quickly he hadn’t digested the weighty reality of it and the unintended implications. Nothing else to do but LOL—laugh out loud.
“What’s so funny?” Now Katie was annoyed.
“Nothing, Katie. I wasn’t laughing at you.”
“Okay, you think I’m being bossy and aggressive, the kind of girl you—”
“No, Katie. I’m laughing about Katie being Katie.”
By this time, Katie was miffed. He was pushing her buttons, not taking her seriously. Everything else in his life was deadly serious—except her.
“Sorry, Kevin,” she said. “I’m an attorney, you know. That’s what I do. It comes naturally. I know, I know—I sound like my Bosnian mother.”
Oops. Kevin had ruffled her feathers. Katie was the product of a combative Croatian father and a willful, dominant Bosnian moth
er. The combination had produced the relentlessly inquisitive, chirpy Katie.
“I’ll take you to the airport, okay?” Katie said.
“Sure, that’d be great.”
As he hoisted his suitcase from the depths of the closet, Kevin reminded himself that theirs was, by any measure, an unusual friendship. She, a high-powered attorney; he, a Catholic priest. She, so much in and of this world; he, more often in the next. What a bizarre combination! People raised eyebrows and … well, probably with good reason.
Kevin often thought about how they’d met. Both had been undergraduate students at Georgetown University in Washington. Kevin had been newly initiated to the Jesuit way of life, the teachings of St. Ignatius Loyola, and the Jesuits’ special way of defending their teachings. Reading the theologians, he’d felt, for the first time in his life, connected. Empowered.
Given his early indifference to the church and its teachings, Kevin’s gradual connection later in college to the Jesuit mystique surprised him. Kevin’s parents, devout Catholics, had dragged him to Mass on Sunday. They’d enrolled him in a Catholic high school. But at that time nothing theological was sticking. It wasn’t so much that he disbelieved, as he deemed the stuff of religion just plain dull and impractical. That is, until he matriculated at Georgetown and discovered for himself the lot of scintillating philosophers and theologians.
Only a Jesuit institution of higher learning offers an assortment of esoteric courses, in epistemology, ontology, and logic. It’s all about wild gossamer journeys into abstract spheres. There, in one of these lofty philosophy classes, Kevin first set eyes on Katie. A beauty by any discerning eye, her auburn hair flowed to her shoulders, framing a sculpted face. Kevin always thought that if Katie’s face were plastered on the cover of a girly magazine, it’d sell a zillion copies. It was a face to sink a zillion hearts. Yet it wasn’t her looks alone driving Kevin toward her.
On campus, in classes, Katie had become famous for her aggressive questions. At every chance imaginable in philosophy and religion classes, Katie would take upon herself to challenge time-honored Catholic teachings. Kevin often revisited an early incident. It was pure Katie.
The professor in the class, a middle-aged Irish Jesuit, already had covered the concept of the Holy Trinity. The Holy Trinity should be thought of as one: the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, and they should be thought of as equal to one another.
Hearing this, Katie shot her hand up immediately. “So Father, if the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit are equal, we must assume they look the same, right? If I were to accost them, how would I tell them apart?”
Audible muffled hoots filled the room, but the earnest student asking the question wasn’t amused. She was dead serious.
The professor laughed. “Ah, my dear Katie,” the priest said in a lilting Irish brogue. “I often wonder if the Good Lord sent you to me as punishment for some long-forgotten transgressions in the old country … so be it.” The priest made an exaggerated sign of the cross while the class again erupted in laughter.
Katie would have the final word. “I meant no disrespect, Father,” Katie said, smiling. “Aren’t the Jesuits known for having all the answers?”
“Indeed, Katie. It’s a legend we’ve worked hard to propagate.” Lowering his head in a moment of reflection, the priest continued. “With respect to the Trinity, they’re equal but also separate and different. Were you to accost them, as you suggest, you’d relate differently to each. That’s how you’d know them apart.”
After class, having heard this amusing vignette, Kevin made a point of introducing himself and suggesting they go for a cup of coffee. They chatted for a while about school, Washington, friends. Wanting to know more about her, Kevin started asking questions about her childhood and her interests. At first elusive, it didn’t take long before they were comfortable with each other. Soon she was opening up.
“My parents were born in what was then Yugoslavia,” she said. “After Tito died, the country fell apart and broke down into sectarian conflicts. I was a kid. My older brother and I were frightened and my mom wanted us to get out of there.”
“Did your family move to the U.S.?” Kevin asked.
Katie’s expression saddened. “I wish they had,” she said. After a moment she looked up. “Have you ever heard of a town called Vukovar, Kevin?”
Kevin thought for a moment and shook his head. “Don’t think so.”
“It’s a town in Croatia. That criminal Milosevic invaded it in 1991. His army should have won the battle in a few hours. Instead, the townies wanted to fight. My dad was one of their leaders. Against all odds, they held the town for a long time against the much larger Serbian Army.”
Kevin wanted to ask the gruesome details of what had happened, but hesitated. Katie read his mind.
“They were massacred, Kevin. All of them. Massacred. Then they were buried in mass graves. Oh, there’s an impressive memorial in the town.” She sounded more angry than sad.
“I’m sorry, Katie. I don’t know what else to say.”
“Well, all my life it’s been an issue for me. At that time, in the town, my dad was a hero. But the price was too high; it cost me a father. Never have I forgiven him for that.” She turned to face Kevin and smiled. “How the hell did you get me to talk about something I hate talking about? You are devious, Mr. Thrall.”
“Not me, Katie. You want to talk about it. And it’s good for you. Helps with the pain,” Kevin said, smiling back. There was something about this hot-headed rabble-rouser diva that was getting to him.
They got to talking about their dreams for the future. Katie expressed interest in law school. Kevin said his post-graduation plans already were in place and spoken for: he was enrolled in ROTC. After college, military service.
And it seemed they both weren’t far off from what transpired. As the years unfolded, Katie enrolled at Georgetown Law. Kevin, a freshly minted U.S. Army second lieutenant, went first to Ft. Benning, Georgia, for infantry training; then to Airborne and Ranger School, then a combat unit in Iraq. Kevin’s army stint, however, ended badly. Understandably, after that, he wouldn’t revisit it often.
Before graduating, Kevin and Katie had become more than friends. It started one evening when Kevin invited Katie to dinner at his place in upper Georgetown, offering to cook for her. Apologetically, he explained his apartment was small, a studio. Katie was charmed and undeterred, teasing that she’d go anywhere to have a smooth cowboy cook for her.
True, his efficiency apartment was barely big enough for one person, let alone two. But it was cozy. He was cooking his specialty, shrimp scampi with linguini. Well, not so much a specialty; it was the only dish he cooked with any confidence. Wanting everything to be just right, Kevin picked up a couple bottles of Chianti. As his pièce de résistance, he’d stopped by the Catania Bakery for a tiramisu, Katie’s favorite. When they’d gone out for Italian, she’d always ordered it. To add to the deliciously smoky ambiance, he lit a couple of candles on his wobbly card table.
When she walked through the door, he’d known it’d be a special evening. She looked radiant. As she turned her head, her shoulder-length hair would tumble over her oval brown eyes and full lips. On that night, instead of her loose-fitting student garb, Katie had opted for a black knit dress accentuating her curves, showing off endlessly long legs.
“Oh, this is nice,” Katie cooed. She’d not been to his apartment, though on a few occasions she’d invited herself. She flung her small black Kate Spade backpack on a chair.
“Would you care for the VIP tour?” Kevin joked, brandishing his hands in the air.
Kevin’s stomach was in somersaults. He was jittery. This was just Katie. No big deal. They were the best of friends.
“If you’d like me to get lost while you’re cooking, I brought homework,” Katie said, pointing at the backpack.
“Uh, not what I had in mind,” he said.
“Me neither.” She beamed. “But I stirred things up in Catholic Theology cl
ass today.”
“Really? Big surprise,” Kevin said, smiling.
“No, this is serious. We were analyzing The Lord’s Prayer. It’s the one that Jesus himself wrote, right?”
Kevin wasn’t sure where she was going with this one, but on this evening, wrestling around God-riddles wasn’t what he’d hoped for.
“OK,” Katie continued, looking up through the ceiling as if to the heaven beyond. “I have a real problem with the line: ‘Lead us not into temptation.’”
“And that would be …?”
“Why must we implore God not to lead us into temptation? Is He so mean-spirited that unless we call him on it, he’ll say: ‘Oh there’s Kevin down there. Let’s throw some temptation his way, see how he handles it?”’
Kevin laughed. “You might have a point, Katie. An idiotic one, but a point.”
“Don’t patronize me, Kevin. Assuming Jesus wrote this, what the hell did he have in mind? The prayer says: ‘Lead us not into temptation.’ So writing it, was Jesus saying, ‘Father, please stop hurdling these bolts of temptation before us mortals. We’re pathetic and can’t handle it.’”
“Katie, let’s cover this another evening or maybe leave it to the theologians to worry about. I’m only an occasional cook, don’t want to burn dinner.”
Katie grimaced good-humoredly, then reached for the girly backpack.
“I brought you something,” she said, hiding her hands behind her back. Her arm swished around with a flourish. “Here!” she said coyly.
Kevin accepted the small box from her, wrapped and topped with a bow with a wide grosgrain sun-yellow ribbon.
“Open it.”
Carefully Kevin unwrapped the package, peeking inside as he did. He smiled broadly. “A Mickey Mouse watch? Ha!” The watch had a gold frame, a black leather band, and Mickey’s gloved hands pointing to the hours and minutes.
“Turn it over,” Katie said, smiling.
Kevin did as she asked, wondering what’d possessed her. He turned it over. On the back there was a personalized inscription. “Don’t Take Yourself Too Seriously. Love, Katie.”
The Secret of Fatima Page 2
