Max glanced at the large bandage on Kevin’s right hand. “Let me guess: You fell off a ladder?”
“You know better,” Kevin replied with a smile.
“Yes, I heard about the melee at the hospital. And how’s Sister Mary Catherine?” he asked.
“She’ll be fine. And there’s a small army guarding her now. I doubt they’ll try again.”
“Maybe one of the beers I brought will help the pain,” Max said as he made his way to the refrigerator. “Want one?”
Kevin shook his head. “Too early for me.”
The phone buzzed. The return call from Katie. Kevin was relieved.
“Your message sounded strange, Kevin,” Katie said. “Sorry I didn’t get back to you right away. I replaced my old phone.”
“Look, Katie. This guy Maggio has a past. We’re looking into it, but I’d stay away in the meantime.”
“Kevin, you’re talking about my largest and most profitable client!”
And frequent dinner companion, Kevin thought, but decided wisely to keep his mouth shut.
“Trust me on this, Katie. Make some excuse if you need to but do not under any circumstances travel with him. I’m still looking into it. Now, promise me. OK?”
Exasperated, Katie agreed. Kevin promised he’d get back to her soon. He rang off and turned his attention back to the action on the screen.
The television scene skipped to a shot of the doors of the Sistine Chapel. The last of the cardinals entered, and each took his place behind two long facing tables covered with gold cloth. The marshal at the door then shouted ceremoniously, “Extra Omnes!” which meant “Everyone out!”
When it was verified that no one but scarlet-robed cardinals were in the chapel, the doors were clanged shut and locked by three clerics.
“Now the fun begins,” Max said.
“What happens next?”
“Well, there’s not supposed to be any lobbying or politicking for the job, but inevitably it occurs. Cliques are formed, speeches made. Then they vote. As you’ve no doubt heard, the three favorites are Cardinal Marini of Genoa, the deputy secretary of state, Cardinal Serrano of Venice, and Cardinal Silvano, who’s old even by papal standards.”
“I remember meeting Marini and Serrano in the pope’s office.”
“Yes, both are powerful,” Max said. “What’re you thinking, Kevin?”
“I was just thinking about MC, Sister Mary Catherine. You know, Max, she’s a fascinating young lady.”
“Yes … so? Where are you going with this?” Max asked, his brow furrowed.
“Relax,” Kevin said. “I mean she reminds me of a gorgeous college prom queen in search of world peace. But she got off on the wrong track.”
“Yeah, with an insidious group that wants to take over the Church. She doesn’t get much sympathy from me.”
“I’m concerned about some of the things she told me.”
“And you trust her?”
“I do. I heard her confession and gave her absolution. Afterward, she implied Opus Mundi killed the pope because they want to take over the Church.”
“That’s not hard to believe. I wonder if they’ve endorsed a candidate in the College of Cardinals?”
“That’s what I was getting at.”
Kevin and Max went into the kitchen and made some sandwiches on fresh baguettes. They listened to various experts prattling on the TV about the likely successors to the departed Pope Quintus II. Suddenly, the picture flipped to the roof of the Sistine Chapel and the small chimney, where the papal smoke would discharge. The cameras turned to a crowded St. Peter’s Square, where voices rose in a clamor of anticipation. Then the scene switched back to the roof and the chimney.
Finally, smoke puffed out of the chimney into the cloudless sky.
Black smoke.
The conclave hadn’t agreed on a candidate for pope.
The crowd exhaled and the sounds and murmurs of heavy disappointment swept over the Square. The pundits did their usual analysis, nothing more enlightening than that a new pope hadn’t been elected.
Max and Kevin ate their sandwiches quietly, watching television. The coverage switched to “Breaking News” from the Middle East. CNN’s Anderson Cooper was on-screen, in front of a colorful map in the background. Cooper announced that Iran had retaliated against Israel by launching a barrage of missiles at Tel Aviv. The experts’ best guess: these were non-nuclear weapons.
Simultaneously, Hezbollah launched several hundred missiles across the southern border of Lebanon at Israel. Anderson Cooper opined that a new, and far more dangerous, Middle East war was imminent.
Kevin thought about how this conflict could become nuclear in an instant and turn into a Biblical apocalypse. Was that what Opus Mundi wanted?
Kevin put the sandwich down. “MC reminded me that a Middle East war was one of Opus Mundi’s important agenda items.”
“Did she say why?”
“No. She’s too junior to know much.”
A new image flashed on the TV screen. The smokestack on top of the Sistine Chapel was again in full display. The cameras panned the crowd in the Square. All eyes were looking up.
Finally, a stream of smoke.
Once again, black.
Chapter Thirty-One
Rome, Italy
With little difficulty, Kevin managed to resume his routine of saying Mass each morning. As he was easing back into his spiritual habits, it was giving him comfort and strength. He was spending the better part of his days talking to Max in person, and on the phone to Toby, his CIA buddy. He also checked in on Sister Mary Catherine, keeping his eye on CNN for the latest Middle East developments.
Over the following week, international political developments overshadowed the deliberations in the Vatican. Kevin monitored them closely. The Middle East conflict continued to escalate and rage. Missiles were flying between Lebanon and Israel, and occasionally between Iran and Israel. On their northern border, Israel invaded Lebanon.
The Hezbollah forces were waiting for them. Scurrying from house to house, the ragtag army set up mortars and anti-tank bazookas, fired shots, and disappeared. The Israelis countered with a barrage of fire, leveling buildings, homes, and anything that stood in the way. If Hezbollah wanted to play that way, the Israelis would stop at nothing to level their homes and kill their families. War was ugly. It was an ugly war.
The American president implored all parties to restrain their hostilities and to begin talking. It was no use. Casualties mounted—mostly in Lebanon—and the entire Middle East was in an uproar. What country would enter the war next? The entire world was watching and waiting.
Kevin, of course, was keeping a keen vigil on news at the Vatican. Two long weeks had passed since the conclave to elect a new pope had first convened. The eager crowds had seen nothing but black smoke.
At noon on the fifteenth day, the cardinal acting as Camerlengo announced a change: the 1996 rule instituted by John Paul II would now be invoked. The new pope would be elected by a simple majority of the conclave’s votes, rather than the traditional two-thirds majority. When this news was announced, once again the crowd filled St. Peter’s Square, knowing, with this voting rule change, that the announcement of a new pope certainly would come soon.
Kevin was spending time reviewing info he’d acquired about Opus Mundi and the secret of Fatima. In his eyes, it seemed certain Opus Mundi had in its possession the missing secret. They alone knew the message of the last two pages. What could they have found in those pages that’d invoke such desperate and extreme acts, including the assassination of a pope? What could there be in this document written by a young girl in 1917? The message had to be both frightening and credible. Scary indeed.
Returning to his daily Mass schedule was giving Kevin serenity and a renewed sense of duty to his Church. It felt good to meditate. He was feeling closer to God.
After Mass, Kevin knelt before the statue of the Virgin Mary and prayed for long spells. He developed a special relati
onship with Mary. His conversations with her were comforting. She spoke to him—not in words, of course—but in the way she directed his feelings, or chastised him for his wrongdoings. Whatever her message, Kevin heard it clearly. She was there for him, as he was for her.
It’d now been nearly three weeks since the conclave had first convened, and around St. Peter’s there was massive discontent and frustration.
That morning after Mass in St. Peter’s Chapel, Kevin strolled along the stone path, inhaling the scent of pine of early summer. The Vatican gardens were a peaceful refuge, a sanctuary removed from the deafening traffic. But the quiet was interrupted by a ring from his cell, a tune from the Grateful Dead.
“Hello, Toby.”
“Hi, buddy. I owe you some thanks.” Toby’s tone was sarcastic.
“Really?”
“So, it happens I’m in Rome, staying at a fine hotel down the street, thank you very much—arrived this morning—it’s all on Uncle Sam’s dime. Thanks, buddy.” Kevin detected something was wrong.
“Okay, where’s the punch line?”
“Tell you when I see you.”
“When is that?”
“How about right now?”
Kevin was as eager to hear what Toby had to say.
“Fine. Need directions?”
“Not really. Turn to your right.”
Kevin turned quickly to see his friend walking along the garden’s pebble path about one hundred yards away, phone to his ear, waving at him. Same old Toby. Same old CIA.
As he approached, Toby was grinning. He looked all of his forty-four years. The lines around his eyes had deepened.
Toby ran his fingers through his uncombed sandy hair. He was wearing a battle-worn brown sports jacket and casual slacks.
“Can’t believe you’re here,” said Kevin, slapping him on the back. “Good to see you, Toby.”
“Well, I’m surprised, too, if you want to know the truth.”
“My apartment is just around the corner,” Kevin said. “C’mon.”
“It’s nice here,” Toby said.
“And convenient,” added Kevin.
Kevin unlocked the door. They stepped into the apartment.
“Not bad,” Toby commented, looking around. “If this fulfills your Church vow of poverty, I can’t wait to see chastity.”
Kevin smiled. “When your expense account runs out, you can stay here, too,” Kevin said as they settled in the living room.
“Thanks.” Toby made himself comfortable reaching into his jacket pocket for some papers. “To begin, old buddy, let me tell you that the White House is one of the reasons I’m here—and I should add that’s how I got to fly business class, thank you.”
“The White House?”
“You’re the first one who tipped them off to the Israeli attack on Iran. Now it’s heating up again. They want to know what’s next—or at least, what your sources are telling you is next.”
“I don’t have any sources, Toby.” Kevin thought for a moment, then added, “Well, actually I have one, I guess.” Kevin trusted Toby and explained what had happened since they’d last spoken. The conversation that followed was mostly about Sister Mary Catherine and her role with Opus Mundi. Kevin omitted the part about the striptease.
“Can I talk to her?” Toby asked.
“No. She’ll only talk to me.”
“When do you see her next?”
“This afternoon. She’s low-level, Toby. I doubt she knows much.”
Toby grimaced. “Still, we’ll take anything at this point. The Israelis are trigger-happy and we don’t think we can control them. Unless some deal is worked out soon, we might be in a very hot war.”
“She’s been through a lot, Toby, so don’t get your hopes up. How long are you staying?”
“It’s up to me. If I’m finding out good intel, then I’ll stay a bit.”
“Great. You might be here for the announcement of a new pope. The rules changed, so we expect a proclamation any time now. It’s quite an event.”
“The announcement of a new pope here in Rome? That’s history. You have pull to get us good seats?”
“Like on the fifty-yard line? Not a stadium event, Toby.”
“Whatever you can do,” said Toby. “Sounds like it might be interesting.”
“You want something to drink or eat?” asked Kevin.
“Sure.”
“OK, I’ll be right back.” Kevin went into the kitchen and quickly returned with two Peroni beer bottles and a plate of cheese and crackers.
“Thanks, Kev,” said Toby, removing his jacket and throwing it over the back of the couch. “This jetlag has me all messed up. I’m starving.”
Both men grabbed some cheese and crackers and chugged some beer.
Kevin clicked the flat screen on. The breaking news coverage switched back and forth between the crowd in St. Peter’s Square and the White House, where negotiations so far were averting a major war in the Middle East.
Toby finished his beer and flipped through the papers he’d taken from his jacket pocket. “One more thing, Kevin,” he said. “Do you know a Jimmy Stein?”
Why would Toby ask about Jimmy Stein?
“Yeah, I know him. Well, sort of … I guess. Why are you asking?”
“He’s attracted the agency’s attention. We opened a monitor filing on you after your intel on the Israeli attack proved so accurate. It just means we keep an eye on anything and anyone you’re involved in who might be interesting. This guy Stein has been doing research about you. He also filed a Freedom of Information request about your court-martial.”
“Son of a bitch!” Kevin blurted.
“Who is he?”
“Katie’s new boyfriend. Why the hell would he be doing this?”
Toby shrugged. “Hold on. There’s more.” Kevin stared at the papers on his lap. “There’s something else Stein and your friend Katie have in common: That guy Maggio’s company United something is a client of both Stein’s investment firm and Katie’s law firm.”
“I don’t believe this! What do you make of it, Toby?”
“Beats me. His checking into you might mean he’s working for someone who wants some dirt on you.”
“Opus Mundi?”
Toby shrugged. “Or maybe he’s just a typically jealous dude who’s wanting to know more about the guy who’s had Katie’s affection all these years.”
“I’m a priest, remember?”
“Yeah? I knew you before you did the priest thing.”
Kevin was struggling to keep a lid on his fury. His head was racing with questions. Was this guy Stein using Katie to get at him for some reason? And should he tell her, or would she dismiss it coming from him as sour grapes? And what about this Maggio guy’s company? Whatever he told Katie, first he had to find out more about Jimmy Stein.
“Did you check Stein out, Toby?”
“Yeah. We found nothing unusual. But that doesn’t mean much. He could be working for somebody we don’t know.”
“Tax returns, employment? You guys have access to pretty much everything.”
“The FBI has that stuff and, yes, we checked. Like I told you—nothing.”
Kevin got up and put on his jacket. “I’m going to see Sister Mary Catherine. If you want, wait for me here.”
“Thanks. Hey, bud, remember the favor I asked you? It’s important, Kev.”
Kevin nodded as he opened the door. “I know. I’ll ask her to talk to you, but she’s fragile. And very upset. Don’t get your hopes up.”
“I know,” said Toby. “But try, will ya?”
“Sure, buddy.”
As soon as Kevin stepped out of his apartment he rang Katie at her office. They had a brief but tense conversation. Yes, she knew that Jimmy was acquainted with Maggio and his company, Consolidated Investors United. In fact, it was Jimmy who referred Katie when Maggio asked for a lawyer recommendation. He explained their personal relationship but Maggio didn’t seem to mind. No, she had no idea why Jim
my might have been checking up on Kevin.
The conversation ended inconclusively, which meant badly. Kevin tried to put it out of his mind as he headed to the hospital.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Rome, Italy
When Kevin entered the room, Sister Mary Catherine was standing at the foot of the bed in nothing but her sheer hospital gown. With a big smile, she held out her arms to greet him. “Hi, Kevin! Look at the progress I’ve made.”
Kevin dodged the hug. He knew trouble when he saw it.
“Nice to see you, MC. You look good—all refreshed, ready to go.”
“Thanks. Gosh, I wish I could get out of here. Can I just leave? Dinner, maybe?”
“No. Let’s sit and talk.”
MC puckered her lips and crawled back into bed. She definitely was not like any nun Kevin had ever encountered.
Kevin sat down beside her on the bed, making sure there was plenty of space between them. “Have you thought about our earlier conversations? Anything you can add that’d help us with Opus Mundi?”
“I’ve been thinking, Kevin. Stuff comes and goes.”
“I need some information about the connection with Israel.”
MC put her hand to her head. “All I know is they wanted to start a war. I don’t know why.”
Kevin knew that much. She wasn’t much help. “You’ll be discharged soon, MC, and I’m trying to keep you out of jail because you’re cooperating. I won’t press charges against you, so it might work. But we can’t forget that Opus Mundi already has made an attempt on your life. They might try again.”
“I don’t want to die, Kevin,” she said, fixating on the door as if someone might burst in at any moment.
“I’ve arranged security. You’ll be safe.”
“I don’t think I want to be a nun anymore. I’m realizing I’m not nun material.”
“Ya think?” Kevin asked. A new meaning for the word “understatement,” he thought.
“I know you’re making fun of me, Kevin. But I want to lead a good life and I got off to a bad start. I need your help, okay? As a mentor. Someone I can trust.”
The Secret of Fatima Page 18
