Toby kept his gun pointed at the other man, who held his hands on his head.
“Anybody else in here?” Kevin asked.
The men didn’t respond.
“Are you deaf?” Toby asked. “My partner asked you a question. You lie, you die.”
Both men shook their heads.
Aside from the small kitchenette and living area, there was an open door leading to a bedroom and bathroom. Creeping inside, Kevin found no sign of life in either. “All clear,” he yelled to Toby.
Kevin went into the bathroom and retrieved some iodine and bandages, then came back into the living area.
“This one’s bleeding pretty bad,” Toby said, motioning to the guy who’d been shot.
“Let me see your arm,” Kevin said. The man was about thirty. His thin, dark eyebrows connected in the middle of his face above a large, peaked nose. His bushy hair was dark as night and as greasy as car gears.
“What’s your name?” Kevin asked.
No reply.
“I’m not messing around,” Kevin said. He backhanded the man across the face. “You’re going to cooperate with us … or else. Now, what’s your name?”
The man’s eyes widened with surprise and fear. “My name’s Gianni … Who … Who are you?”
Kevin smirked. “You know who I am.”
Kevin ripped the sleeve from the man’s shirt. “You’re lucky, Gianni. The bullet went straight through.” Pouring iodine on the wound, he applied a bandage. Gianni winced.
“You’ll be playing bocce in no time.”
“We’re Italian TV salesmen,” Gianni said.
Toby laughed. “Couldn’t you pick something more glamorous?”
The other man, the one not wounded, put his hands down. He was stocky, a carrot top with a ruddy complexion. “Let’s not be kidding, Father Thrall. Yes, we know you. What do you want?”
“Well, well, well, you must be the infamous Roberto,” Kevin said, getting up from the floor, holding his pistol steady.
Roberto nodded. “I’d say it’s a pleasure to meet you, but I can’t quite find the words.”
“Have a seat, Roberto, we need to talk.”
Toby and Kevin grabbed a couple of dining chairs and shoved the two men into them. Then Toby retrieved the rope from his satchel and tied both men’s arms behind their backs, strapping them securely into the chairs. After he’d tied them up, Toby and Kevin pulled up chairs for themselves and sat down for a tête-à-tête.
“I know Roberto is a priest. How about you, Gianni?” Kevin asked as he pointed his gun at them.
“Gianni isn’t a priest,” Roberto said. “He’s a civilian. Works for our cause.”
“Opus Mundi, I presume,” said Kevin.
Roberto nodded.
“Guys, we can do this the easy way or the hard way. Your call. We want specific information. I can promise you’re going to give it to us,” Kevin said, “so why don’t you just save us all some time, tell us what we need to know.”
“We cannot and will not betray our faith,” Roberto said solemnly.
Toby clapped his hands. “I’m so impressed you’re a man of staunch, unwavering faith,” he mocked. “We were in Iraq together.” He motioned to Kevin. “That’s right, and we ran a special unit that interrogated al Qaeda suspects. Once we’d start in on someone, we didn’t stop until we got what we wanted. In fact, we took great pleasure in our interrogations.”
Gianni was trying to mask the terror he was feeling, while Father Roberto stared blankly into the room. “Our faith will sustain us,” he said.
Kevin’s anger was peaking. He grabbed Father Roberto by his collar and jerked him up, chair and all. “Just one question, Roberto. Answer it, you live,” Kevin said through clenched teeth.
Roberto was visibly shaken. “What do you want?”
Releasing his grip, Kevin stepped back. Roberto’s chair fell back to the floor.
Toby kept his eyes on the two men. “Tell us where to find the two missing pages of the secret of Fatima.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Roberto said, looking down at the floor.
“I’m calling for reinforcements,” said Kevin.
Nodding, Toby kept his gun on the men while Kevin pulled his cell from his pocket and called Max.
“Bring MC and c’mon up,” Kevin said.
“Are you sure you want to do that?” asked Toby.
“Yeah,” Kevin replied. “I’ll uncover what these guys know one way or the other.”
Minutes later, a knock on the door. MC and Max entered the room. “What’s going on?” asked Max, looking at the two men tied to the wooden chairs.
“Oh, my!” said MC, gasping.
Roberto stared at her, trying to make the connection. “Sister?” he asked incredulously.
MC nodded, shifting her eyes.
Kevin said, “Max, you don’t know these guys, right?”
Max shook his head. “No.”
“MC, you know them, right? What do you know?”
MC hesitated self-consciously, shuffling her feet back and forth. “I know Father Roberto. Not the other one.”
“You will die in hell!” Roberto screamed.
Kevin said, “MC, does he have the info I want?”
MC was unhinged, terrified—of Opus Mundi, of Kevin, of being in this situation, of the whole scene. After a few seconds, she closed her eyes, and nodded affirmatively. There was no way out. She began sobbing.
Kevin approached Roberto and stuck his gun in his face. “Last chance. Tell me where you hid the secret of Fatima.”
Roberto spit in Kevin’s face.
Kevin didn’t react. Wiping his face, he turned to Toby. “Strip him to his shorts. Max, run the water in the tub.”
“No!” Max shouted.
“Hell! Max, take MC and get out of here. Wait in the car. Now!” Toby ordered.
“I’ve read about waterboarding, Kevin,” Max continued in a whining and accusatory tone. “You’re a priest! How could you?”
“Get the hell out!” Kevin said. “Now!” He opened the door and shoved them both toward it. Max took MC’s hand, and they scampered out. Kevin closed the door and locked it behind them.
“I’ll run the water in the tub,” Kevin said while Toby stripped off Roberto’s clothes. “Let’s see how brave this soldier of God really is.”
Chapter Forty-One
Seville, Spain
Kevin knew well just how insidious waterboarding was. All the Congressional investigations, liberal protests, and religious admonitions aside, it was torture, pure and simple. And it usually got the needed results. It’d been used by the CIA, authorized by the Department of Justice.
Waterboarding is about placing a prisoner on a board, his hands and body tied down until he’s immobile. The face is covered with a cloth, then water is washed over it. Gradually it soaks through, blocking the airflow through the nose and the mouth. When he can’t breathe, it feels to him like he’s drowning. Panicked, he twists and flails about, struggling to suck in air. Sometimes, in trying to breathe, hysterically gasping for air and escape, victims break arms or legs.
Toby filled the tub in the bathroom with hot water. Trained and experienced practitioners like Toby knew how to do waterboarding, making sure there’d be no escape. Each session of the process lasts for only thirty seconds. Then the cloth is removed and the prisoner is permitted a few gulps of air before it’s placed again over his mouth. Few victims last more than a few minutes. The sensation of drowning and loss of air creates such panic, urgency, and desperation that prisoners will do anything to stop it.
With his hands and feet tied, Roberto was forced by Kevin into the bathroom. Roberto had no idea what was in store for him, that is, until he saw the ironing board.
“What … what are you doing?” Roberto screamed.
Ignoring him, Toby propped up the ironing board and measured it against Roberto’s back.
“Looks like a good fit,” Toby said. He tied the i
roning board to Roberto’s back.
Roberto began weeping.
With the board attached, both men lifted Roberto, placing him on the board in the tub. Kevin lowered a cloth over his face.
Toby said, “Remember that tough al Qaeda guy we worked over? That son of a bitch also said he’d never ever betray Allah before he gave us the info.”
“Oh I remember,” Kevin replied. “That bastard drowned right away, but not before blurting out a few gems.”
“Nobody’s perfect.” Toby shrugged his shoulders. “OK. Let’s get started with this guy.”
Father Roberto pleaded, “Please, don’t do this!” Then, he prayed, “God, help me, please!” Then he screamed, “God will punish you for this!”
Toby said, “Me, I don’t believe in God.” Adjusting the showerhead so the water would hit Roberto’s face at the right angle, he turned on the faucet.
When the water began accumulating in his throat, Roberto gurgled, flailing wildly on the ironing board, screaming. His debut initiation to waterboarding torture lasted less than thirty seconds.
“Stop!” Roberto pleaded, imploringly.
“Ready to talk?” Toby asked.
Roberto nodded.
Kevin turned off the faucet while Toby untied Roberto, who gagged, squirmed, and twisted in the tub like a fish flapping out of water.
Let the interrogation begin.
“Spill it,” Kevin said. “Or go back under.”
“What you’re looking for is in the Cathedral of Seville,” Roberto said. “The tomb of Christopher Columbus.”
Bingo! The moment of truth was upon them. Toby and Kevin exchanged mutually gratified looks that said, Well, that didn’t take too long.
Roberto cried, “What now?”
Toby spoke. “Here’s the way it’s gonna go. We’re going to leave you and your buddy Gianni tied up here in the apartment. We’ll be back in a couple of days. If you’ve lied, well, I don’t even want to tell you what’ll be next.”
Kevin added, “If you’ve told the truth, we’ll give you some food and water. Then we’ll tie you up again, until we’re ready to call the police to come get you. Understand?”
Roberto nodded.
“Oh, and don’t worry about visiting friends. There’s a note tacked on the door explaining how you’ve left Seville, that no one’s home right now.”
Before gagging them, Kevin offered water to the men. Gianni drank, but Roberto declined.
“C’mon, let’s go,” said Toby. “I doubt Roberto will be thirsty anytime soon.”
Chapter Forty-Two
Seville, Spain
News of the pope’s peace conference was trending nonstop from the Vatican all over the Internet. Within hours, the Associated Press and news reporters from around the world were dispatched to Rome. The following day, His Holiness, Linus II, would hold a press conference at two p.m. The talk of the town was about the pontiff being joined by world leaders.
Stock and bond market analysts held their breath.
Watching the news unfolding on the TV in his suite at the Alfonso XIII Hotel in Seville, Kevin was hoping these developments would herald the success of the new pope’s ingenious diplomatic coup d’état.
“Toby, c’mon in here and watch this,” Kevin said.
For three days, His Holiness had hosted a conference of foreign ministers from Iran, Israel, and the United States. Observers from the European Union and other nations were also on hand. The occasion marked the first time in history that diplomats from Iran and Israel had ever spoken, much less assembled together around a peace conference table.
News correspondents reminded viewers that the event recalled the famed Vietnam Peace Conference hosted by Henry Kissinger and Le Duc Tho in Paris in 1973. Several predicted the pope might earn a Nobel Peace Prize as had Henry Kissinger after the Vietnam War.
At two p.m., Kevin, Max, and Toby were still glued to the TV. Because of their success with Roberto the previous evening, the duo, Kevin and Toby, were encouraged about finding the secret’s hiding place.
MC sat in the corner of the room, clearly discombobulated. Because she’d ratted out Roberto, identifying him as the priest she’d known in Opus Mundi, she knew about his having been tortured last night. When Kevin and Toby had joined her and Max in the van, Toby and Kevin hadn’t said much about it. But she knew about waterboarding. It upset her. And it upset Max. Both were subdued the entire day.
The Vatican press conference was being held inside the Apostolic Palace. Security was exceptionally tight. Because of the assassination of the pope by poisoning, Vatican security was taking extra precautions. In the future, there’d be fewer occasions where the pontiff would be set up as a living target to over a million people.
At two p.m., the Vatican chamberlain stepped onto a podium and addressed the diplomatic corps assigned to the Vatican, news correspondents from around the world, and senior officials of the Italian government.
The chamberlain, dressed in a dark suit with a long silver chain around his neck, introduced His Holiness, Linus II.
The audience rose. The pope was wearing the house dress, a white silk cassock with a matching shoulder cape. The white zucchetto, exclusive to the pope, capped his head. A gold pectoral cross hung from his neck.
Kevin thought Porter looked splendidly papal.
The pope smiled at the audience, turning his head from side to side.
“Good looking guy,” Toby commented.
His Holiness took his place at the middle lectern and waved to his right and left. Two men, on cue, walked to the middle of the room. The pope was joined at the lectern on his right by Itzak Reuben, the prime minister of Israel, and on his left by Amir Esfahani, the new president of Iran. The crowd erupted in a spontaneous round of applause.
“Looks like he pulled it off,” Toby said.
Kevin nodded. “It answers the question of whose side he’s on. Opus Mundi isn’t going to like this.”
The pontiff began by welcoming his guests. He spoke in Italian, which was both appreciated and approved of by the media. As he stood tall and handsome at the lectern, his white silk vestments shimmered on the wide screen TVs around the room.
“I’m pleased to announce that an agreement has been reached between the leaders of Israel and Iran. You’ll hear from the leaders shortly. Iran will renounce all previous statements on Israel’s right to exist. The Israeli armed forces will stand down and delegations from both sides will meet with a mutual goal to establish diplomatic communications.”
Left unsaid by the pontiff was the fact that the two countries weren’t yet ready for the full embrace; there’d be no immediate exchange of ambassadors. But a defrost was a beginning. Inspectors would be allowed to visit any and all nuclear sites in Iran.
“I am grateful to the parties for the good faith exhibited by all sides over the past few days,” the pope continued, “and I thank Our Lord for His Divine Intervention. We have many faiths represented here. The God of all was present, and we join together in offering our gratitude.”
The pontiff looked to his right and introduced the prime minister of Israel, who was approaching the lectern. As the Israeli leader thanked the pope for his efforts at mediating the crisis, chaos erupted in the crowd. The television cameras remained focused on the three principals behind the lecterns, but they all stopped talking. Instead, they looked out into the audience with surprised and fearful looks.
A priest in the audience, about ten rows back, jumped to his feet and started yelling unintelligibly at the men on the podium. The crowd froze and turned to see who was causing the commotion. At that point, the priest removed a pistol from his cassock and pointed it straight ahead. Screams pieced the air. As the assembled press corps and dignitaries jostled away from the gunman, chairs were knocked over. A shot rang out. The screams resumed at a higher pitch.
Security men leapt onto the podium, throwing their bodies over the leaders.
“My God!” Max said, leaning forward.
“Good God Almighty!” said Toby. “They’re trying to assassinate the pope!”
MC stared at the TV with shock all over her face.
The pope remained standing, immobile, and was shoved to the side by his security guard. But he insisted on staying where he was. Standing. The leaders of Iran and Israel lay covered on the ground, shielded by their security guards, while a group of unidentified men, guns drawn, shoved through the crowd.
The camera captured a close-up of the shooter, a young priest with dark hair and a tan, oval face, dressed in a black cassock. He continued to shout in Italian, his pistol waving wildly in the air, when one of the security guards, waiting for a clear target, shot him in the chest. The crowd fled from his area, stampeding the doors.
Max made the Sign of the Cross and cried out, “I hope His Holiness is safe.”
The cameras focused on the stage, where the two visiting leaders had already been escorted backstage. At the lectern, His Holiness, Pope Linus II, remained standing, flanked by two Vatican policemen.
The gunman lay immobile and was presumed dead. Now with some degree of calm restored, the TV commentators re-emerged from hiding, trying to make sense of what had just happened. All were thankful that no one besides the shooter had been harmed. The leaders of Israel and Iran were safe and secured in undisclosed locations. The only one standing, still exposed, was the pope.
Commentators marveled at the pope’s courage, his sang froid, as the anchor for France One Television put it.
“An awesome display of courage,” added the BBC.
“The Jews have a word for a guy like that,” Toby said to no one in particular. “A mensch. This pope rocks.”
MC hadn’t said a word. She was still staring blankly at the screen, as if she’d seen a ghost.
“Mary Catherine?” Kevin called out, as he suddenly noticed her white face and blank eyes.
She didn’t respond.
“MARY CATHERINE!” Kevin shouted.
MC jumped.
The Secret of Fatima Page 23
