The Secret of Fatima

by Tanous, Peter J;

  In turn, Katie noticed the watch on Kevin’s wrist, the Mickey Mouse watch she’d given him. She pointed to it. “You’re still wearing that?” she asked.

  “Given to me by someone special,” Kevin replied.

  “Do you remember the message on the back of it?” Katie asked playfully.

  “‘Don’t take yourself too seriously,’” Kevin said. “That admonition hasn’t always been easy.”

  After they’d ordered from an oversized souvenir menu, Kevin asked, “How was Brussels?”

  Katie fidgeted with her phone, answering while reading a text message. “Oh, not bad. I did three depositions, got asked out to dinner twice—declined—and walked around the Grand Place. I’m working for an interesting new client. Worldwide trading company and my firm is racking up the fees!” Finishing with her text message, she felt Kevin put his hand on her phone.

  Katie looked up. “Sorry! That’s it. I promise, no more.”

  “It’s our time, okay? It’s rare enough these days,” Kevin said.

  “So tell me about your Mission Impossible assignment.”

  “Not going well,” Kevin responded. “Even though I’m sworn to secrecy, I decided I want to tell you what I’m doing here.”

  “Telling me sacred secrets, Kevin? Like old times.”

  Old times? She still had a way of getting to him. Kevin struggled every day with thinking about old times with Katie. Why couldn’t he banish them completely, stop thinking about them? God could be cruel sometimes. Lead us not into temptation.

  Kevin looked at Katie and resisted the temptation to reach for her hand. “For the first time the Church is allowing married Catholics to use birth control.”

  “Is that such a bad thing?” asked Katie. She wanted to reach out and touch him.

  “Look, Catholics mostly ignore that rule anyway, but the conservative wing of the Church is not going to take this well.”

  Katie shrugged. “Why is that so important?”

  “Our problem is that there’s a lunatic branch of the Church that doesn’t tolerate liberal changes like this, and it could put them over the top.”

  “So what’ll they do? Post a nasty message on Facebook? Picket the Vatican?”

  “It’s more serious. This wacky group has threatened life of the pope.”

  “You’re not serious? And if you’re worried, then this is scary, Kevin. I’m worried about you.”

  Kevin smiled. “Thanks. I can take care of myself.”

  “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

  “I’ll be all right,” said Kevin. “I just wanted to let you know what’s going on.”

  A waiter hurried over with a plate balanced in each hand. Kevin’s ossobuco and Katie’s angel hair pasta had arrived.

  “Absolutely delicious,” said Kevin as he dove into the ossobuco, an Italian dish of braised veal shanks with a zesty gremolata of parsley, lemon, and garlic.

  Hungry, they ate without talking and finished quickly. When the waiter approached again, they were thinking about dessert. But his smile was gone; he was frowning.

  “Padre,” the man blurted in Italian. “There is a man next door—he’s my neighbor—and he is ill. Can you help?”

  “Of course,” said Kevin.

  Kevin translated for Katie what he’d said and rose from the table.

  “I’m going with you,” she said. Katie threw her napkin on the table and leapt up.

  They followed the waiter out of the restaurant, crossed the street, and started climbing the rickety stairs of a rundown two-story building to the second floor. The waiter led the way.

  In an open doorway to an apartment, an elderly woman, wearing a knee-length flowery dress and a cloth headpiece, stood waiting. “Oh, please come,” she begged. “The doctor will be here soon.”

  The bedroom was dimly lit. Several elderly people with sad faces surrounded a bed where a gaunt man lay under the covers. His face was scrunched up, and his eyes were closed. Clearly he was in pain.

  “He’s dying,” the woman whimpered.

  Kevin asked for some water and prepared to administer Last Rites.

  Pointing at Kevin’s black suit and turned collar, one of the mourners mumbled something. The woman who’d let them in turned to Kevin and said, “Oh, Father, the man isn’t Catholic. He’s Jewish. This is his family. I am their friend.”

  Kevin nodded to the family members around the bed. “What’s his name?” he asked.

  “Jacob,” an elderly woman replied. “I’m his wife.”

  In the semi-darkness Kevin moved to the head of the bed. He stood by the old man who was now opening his teary eyes. Raising his right hand, Kevin placed it over the man’s head and began to chant:

  “Ma she bayrach avoteinu, Avraham, Yitzak, v’Yaakov, Moshe, Aharon, David, u ’Shlomo, hu yivarech v’rapayethaholeh Jacob. Ha kadosh baruch hu, yimaleh rachamim alav lehachalemo u ’larapoto u’ hachazeko …”

  At the sound of Hebrew the man’s eyes lit up. The family members sighed and bowed their heads.

  Katie looked completely bewildered. One of the relatives, sensing she didn’t understand what was going on, accosted her and spoke in English. “My dear, the priest is conferring the Jewish blessing on the sick. Let me try to translate … May he who blessed our fathers, Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, Moses, Aaron, David—and others—may he bless and heal the sick person, Jacob.”

  The woman added, “How wonderful that this man of God knows Jewish traditions! Bless him!”

  Kevin continued the ritual he’d learned so well while studying Hebrew. He prayed God would hear him in the language of the Old Testament.

  Jacob’s eyes now gazed into Kevin’s while continuing to chant. “… ulhachayoto v’yishlachlom’ hayra rifuah shlaymah minhashanayim leyrmach avarav ushesa gidav betoch sh’ar choley …”

  As Kevin finished the prayer, the man reached over and took his hand. Kevin kissed the old man’s forehead.

  Just then a middle-aged bearded man in a black suit arrived and immediately began tending to the patient. He examined the old man, exchanging a few words and preparing an injection. After the shot had been administered, the doctor rose and called for an ambulance.

  When Katie and Kevin prepared to leave, the family members came forward offering their thanks. The doctor broke through, grabbing Kevin’s arm. “You’re indeed a man of God, Father,” he said softly. “Please accept my gratitude.”

  Kevin and Katie walked down the stairs and followed the waiter back to the restaurant. There was still time for dessert. Katie grinned. “You’re just full of surprises. You know Hebrew? You never told me.”

  Kevin returned her smile. “The seminary is six years. I learned as much as possible about other religions. I’m particularly fascinated by Judaism. After all, it was Christ’s religion.”

  Back at the restaurant, the waiter appeared with a tray of tiramisu, chocolate mousse, and semifreddo. “With our compliments, Padre. Grazie.”

  Katie looked at Kevin again, this time seriously. “I was about to tell you something before we were called away,” she said.

  Kevin smiled, pointing. “I’m sure you noticed the tiramisu on the tray. I remember it’s your favorite dessert, Katie. Go ahead. Have a piece. Tell me what’s on your mind later.”

  “No, I don’t feel like it. Honestly.”

  “Well, it must be something really important.” Kevin motioned for the bill. “I’ll walk you back to your hotel.”

  The bill settled, they strolled leisurely under the full moon, its silver light casting a warm glow over the cobblestone street.

  “I’ve been trying to tell you this for a while,” Katie said, “and, as a bit of a preface to what I’m going to say … I still love you. I want you to know that.”

  Her words were like a stiletto cutting its way to Kevin’s heart. He wanted to tell her that he loved her, too. But he couldn’t.

  Kevin took her hand, squeezed it, then let it go.

  Katie didn’t expect him
to respond. She continued, “I’ve been seeing someone in Washington.”

  His jaw dropped. Now the stiletto felt real. After he took a deep breath, he opened his mouth to speak. Nothing came out.

  “He works for an investment company,” Katie went on. They walked slowly and she avoided his eyes. “We’ve been going out for a couple of months. I met him at church. I thought you’d like that.”

  “Well, if he’s Catholic, at least that’s something,” Kevin said, trying to lighten the mood.

  “As a matter of fact, he’s Jewish. He comes to our church because he’s interested in Catholicism, as well as other religions, too. He’s kind of like you.”

  Kevin shook his head. “You’re full of surprises, Katie.”

  Katie smiled awkwardly. “I’ll bet his Hebrew isn’t as good as yours, though.”

  “Why haven’t you mentioned this until now?”

  “There’s been a major development, Kevin.” She paused for a moment. “Well, he’s asked me to marry him.”

  Kevin didn’t want to ask the next question.

  “And you said?”

  “Kevin, you know I would’ve married you, don’t you? I’ve told Jimmy about you. That’s his name, Jimmy Stein. He knows about us. Under different circumstances, he may not have been the man of choice, but I do love him. Kevin, I want a family,” she said with a faint sob.

  They stopped walking. She turned to Kevin. “I said yes.”

  Kevin was struggling for control of his emotions. “I don’t know what to say,” he whispered. “I know I let you down. A family, Katie? I thought you can’t have children.”

  “That’s true, Kevin. We’ll adopt. I’ve been speaking to Father O’Hara at Holy Trinity. He was close to my mom. He told me about a number of orphans in Bosnia and Herzegovina, part of the former Yugoslavia, where my mother’s family came from. These are children who need parents.”

  “Oh my God!” Kevin said. He looked at her. Could she see his utter despair, the sadness in him?

  Katie could see it, felt sorry for him and close to him. But it would be different between them now.

  “Katie, does it make sense for me to consider renouncing my vows?”

  “Stop it, Kevin. Please. Every time this comes up, you become tentative and insecure. Every major decision in life has consequences. You sacrificed us, Kevin, and now, following you, I am, in turn, sacrificing you, and us.”

  Kevin looked at her again, his eyes pleading, but his look wouldn’t betray the heartbreak inside him. Instead, he said, “Have you set a date? I need to find a tux that fits.”

  “Not yet. But with Father O’Hara’s help we’re already working on the adoption.”

  “I guess your mom must be proud you chose a child from her homeland,” Kevin said.

  Katie smiled in acknowledgment. “We’ve found the baby’s mother. A lovely seventeen-year-old Bosnian farm girl. Wouldn’t consider aborting, but she has no means to care for the infant. I’ve signed all the papers.”

  Kevin closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, but this is a lot for me to take in.” Without thinking, he grabbed her hand and held onto it tightly.

  She pulled her hand away. “Sure, Kev, it’s soooo hard on you,” she said, her voice dripping with caustic sarcasm. “You really don’t get it. You have no idea how painful it’s been for me sitting back waiting for you. To be with you, to love you, but not be able to really love you. My life has been passing by while I hang around like an idle schoolgirl, waiting for you to pay your penance, or whatever the hell it is that you’re doing in the priesthood, and come back to me. But that’s not going to happen. And I have finally gotten that through my thick, legal-laden skull. Maybe someday you’ll come to your senses and want that life with me. By then it’ll be too late, Kevin. My decision to marry Jimmy, to start a family, is irreversible. Final. I’ve stopped waiting for you.”

  “Katie—”

  “I want to be a wife and a mother, Kevin. Strange, huh? I want a husband and a baby so badly I wake at night thinking I hear him crying for me. And that baby needs me more than you do. More than you ever did.” As she turned toward her hotel, Katie was shaken. “I have to go.”

  “Okay,” Kevin said, keeping pace with her. He desperately wanted to comfort her. Deep down, he’d known this day would come, but knowing hadn’t made him any more prepared for it. He hadn’t realized she could break his heart. He’d thought he was tougher than that, that his heart was unbreakable.

  It was going to be a sleepless night.

  “I’ll come see you tomorrow. We can talk.”

  “You know what, Kev?” The anguish on Katie’s face was exacerbating Kevin’s own. “Don’t.”

  With enough self-loathing to last a lifetime, Kevin watched Katie walk, by herself, along the cobblestone street and disappear into the vapors of the night.

  “I love you, Katie.” His voice was a whisper.

  Turning towards the Vatican, Kevin bent down to tie his shoe. He wanted to be sure the man who’d trailed them earlier wasn’t now following Katie. With a sigh of relief, Kevin walked on.

  Chapter Ten

  Rome, Italy

  After years of working in cloak-and-dagger services, Kevin had acquired a sixth sense of when danger lurked. It was not easy to describe; it was a sort of acquired skill.

  As Kevin entered his apartment, that sixth sense was percolating. There was somebody in the room. Kevin killed the lights and crouched low, heading toward the cabinet where he stored the pistols. Quietly, he reached inside the cabinet, grabbed one of them, and peered through the semi-darkness. No one in the living room. He tiptoed to the bedroom door, and heard a rustle inside. Kicking the door open, he pointed the gun in front of him. “If you move, you die!”

  A slight but powerful body smashed into him. The glint of a knife caught Kevin’s eyes as he grabbed the intruder by the throat. The guy thrashed his arms wildly through the air, stabbing Kevin where he could. Kevin smashed his gun into the man’s mouth and watched him crumple to the floor, knife in hand.

  His adrenaline pumping, Kevin wanted to end this once and for all with a single shot to the guy’s head. Instead, pointing the gun straight at the man, he turned on the light.

  Curled in a ball on the floor, the perpetrator was covering his eyes. In Italian, Kevin ordered him to get up, slowly, and put his hands over his head.

  The man did as he was instructed.

  Kevin’s fury gave way to surprise and shock. His assailant wasn’t the professional pit bull he’d thought. Rather, he was a skinny youth in jeans and a blue short sleeved shirt. A kid.

  “How old are you?” Kevin blurted out in Italian.

  “Eighteen,” the youth answered in English. “My Italian is not so good.”

  Kevin couldn’t identify his accent right away. Middle East, perhaps?

  Blood was trailing down from an open gash on the boy’s head and nose.

  Keeping his gun pointed at the kid’s head, Kevin said, “Start talking and you’d better tell me everything, young man.”

  “I … I did not mean to harm you.”

  “Well, you could have gotten yourself killed,” said Kevin. “Hold on a sec, and don’t move.” Kevin retrieved his first aid kit from the closet, opened it and took out some bandages and iodine.

  He laid the gun down and applied iodine to the boy’s head. Then he taped bandages on the gash to stop the bleeding. As he inhaled big gulps of air, the teenager’s entire body shook.

  “Thank you,” the young man said, bracing for what might come next.

  “What’s your name and where are you from?” asked Kevin.

  “My name is Ali Recip. I … I … am from Turkey. I’m sorry …”

  “What are you doing here, Ali?” Kevin asked.

  Ali had fear and confusion in his eyes. Something didn’t fit. The kid didn’t seem like a teenage punk who’d do things like this.

  “I was hired to break into your apartment, sir.” He slowly reached into h
is pocket and removed a thumb drive, which he held up for Kevin to see. “I was supposed to find your computer and download info to this drive.”

  “Why?” asked Kevin.

  “Because I was a good student at computer school.”

  “Who hired you?” Kevin asked, trying to put the pieces together.

  “I … please sir, I cannot say. My family …” The boy’s lower lip was trembling.

  “Take your time.” Kevin was giving him a few moments to compose himself.

  “I am being forced to do things I do not want to do,” Ali said. “But my family is poor and they are paying me good money. My father has no work. My sisters …” His voice trailed off.

  “Who do you work for?” Kevin asked more forcefully.

  “Sir, if I say, they will kill me …”

  “Tell me.”

  Trembling, Ali said, “His name is Carlos. I do not know his last name. He knows my uncle, from the time he was in jail.”

  “Why was your uncle in jail?”

  “He shot a pope. Mehmet Ali Agca.”

  “Agca’s your uncle?” Kevin made no attempt to conceal his surprise.

  “Yes.”

  “But why break into my apartment? What could I possibly have on my computer that would be of use to this guy?” As he was talking, he went to get a glass of orange juice from the kitchen and gave it to Ali, who gulped it down.

  “I heard them talking about you. They said you committed a crime in the U.S. Army and then it was covered up.”

  “And this so-called crime would be on my computer?”

  “Yes, they thought so.”

  “What else did they say?”

  “They plan to use this information against you.”

  “Listen to me, Ali. Think hard. What else do you know?”

  The boy sat silently for a minute, deep in thought. “They talked about an operation. Something to do with Iran. Please … that is all.”

  Looking at the kid, Kevin felt compassion for him. “Go back to where you came from. Tell them I came home before you could accomplish the job. You can tell them you fell on the way out and that’s how you got cut. Got it?”