Veil - 02 - The Hammer of God

by Reginald Cook

  Old men hawked fresh fish and meat, the most beautiful vegetables Samuel had ever seen, and oranges so orange, and apples so green and red, they didn’t seem real. One of the old men smiled at him and handed him a large orange, which Samuel thankfully peeled and inhaled in record time. Near the end of the marketplace, he passed a small newsstand filled with magazines and newspapers, all written in Italian.

  He picked up a paper. Next to the word Citta, which he quickly figured out to mean city, was the word Fascati.

  Samuel pointed to the word. “Fas-ca-ti, city,” he said to the crusty, bushy bearded man drilling a hole in Samuel’s head with a harsh glare.

  “Si,” the man hissed. “Fascati.”

  Samuel’s smile was not returned. The old man’s eyes narrowed and gave the universal mandate, b uy or move on. Samuel had no idea how far he was from Rome and The American Embassy, but an idea surfaced in his mind, t he police. He looked around for a police officer to plead his case. If nothing else, he’d get a trip to the police station, where someone would figure out what to do with a distraught ten year old kidnapped American boy.

  “Samuel,” a female voice called out. Samuel froze, his eyes darting back and forth, looking for a lane to run through. “Samuel, it’s me, Dianora.”

  He turned around and saw the beautiful woman who caused his boyhood to tingle back at Luciano’s apartment. She was behind the wheel of a tiny, beat up red car, with an old man in the passenger seat.

  Dianora waved him over. He hesitated. He’d been chased, slapped and beaten, and wasn’t about to get more of the same. What choice do I have? I have nowhere else to go.

  He inched toward the car, his head on a swivel, scanning the area for any sign of Father Sin or Sister Bravo. When he reached the car, Dianora’s smile and the old man’s basset hound eyes put him at ease.

  “What are you doing down here alone?” Dianora asked.

  Samuel wasn’t sure how much he should tell and decided to feel them out. “Is this your father?” he asked, forcing a smile.

  “Such a smart boy,” the old man said, sitting up to get a better look at Samuel. He had crooked yellow teeth, and a brown cap pulled down over his forehead.

  “Yes,” said Dianora, “this is my father, Rinaldo.”

  “Hello, little one,” said Rinaldo, stretching his boney hand out toward Samuel.

  Samuel shook his hand, the gentle grandfatherly grip making him more comfortable and at ease.

  “Where’s Luciano?” asked Dianora, her face full and bright.

  “He’s back at the apartment,” said Samuel. “I’m going to the American Embassy in Rome.”

  Dianora and her father gave each other curious looks.

  “And how do you propose to get there?” asked Rinaldo. “Surely you don’t plan to walk 30km.”

  Samuel, not adept at the metric system, had no idea how far 30km was, but it sounded far. Dianora smiled, her father nodded. “Get in,” she said, “we’ll take you there.”

  The old man opened his door and pulled down his seat. Samuel, exhausted, climbed in back and the car sputtered to full speed, barely missing a tourist or two as they sped out of the small town. Samuel looked back and watched Fascati fade away, all the time thinking of Luciano.

  The old man turned toward him. “You are an American,” he said, his English surprisingly clear.

  “Yes,” answered Samuel. He stopped and thought about his next words. He didn’t know who to trust, but felt he didn’t have a choice. He told them everything, just as he had told Luciano, except he added the confrontation back at his Italian friend’s apartment.

  Dianora and Rinaldo launched into a splattering of Italian, both their faces red, eyes welled-up with tears.

  “Don’t worry, we’ll get you there,” said Dianora, glancing back at him, water pooling in her hypnotic eyes. “We’ll do what we can.”

  “Don’t you have a friend who works at the Embassy?” asked Rinaldo. “The young American who fancies you.”

  “Yes,” said Dianora. “Charles Rainge. He’s a teacher there at the American School.”

  “Good,” said her father. “Call and have him meet us there.” Dianora rifled through her purse, almost veering off the road several times, and eventually came up with her cell phone.

  While she talked to Charles Rainge, Rinaldo looked back at Samuel and wiped his eyes. “I’m sorry for you,” he said. “I know what it’s like to be taken from home. When I was a boy, not much older than you, both my parents were killed by bandits. They left me for dead, but I survived.

  It will do my heart good to see you get home.”

  “It’s arranged,” said Dianora, hanging up the phone. “I didn’t give him details, but he’s going to meet us there just the same. He said for us to park in the lot across the street. He’ll be waiting. You better stay low on the floor,” she told Samuel. “Whoever’s looking for you will surely be close to the Embassy and stationed around Rome.” Samuel slid down to the floor, excited to be so close to getting home.

  He closed his eyes and saw his parents’ faces, smiling, welcoming him home. He saw himself jumping up into his godfather’s arms and hugging his Aunt Nikki. Forty-five minutes later, the bumping stopped and the car came to a halt.

  “We’re here,” said Dianora, exasperation in her voice. “But I don’t see Charles.”

  “Patience, my child, patience,” said Rinaldo.

  Samuel eased up and peeked out the window. Across the street, he saw a white, three-story building surrounded by a black metal fence.

  Burgundy shutters hung next to each window, and he saw a sight that made his heart pound with excitement, two U.S. Marines at the gate, and a sign that read U.S. EMBASSY. He sat back down on the floor and smiled so hard he felt his face stretch.

  “There he is,” said Dianora. “I’ll go wave him over.” She leaned over the front seat and gave Samuel a hug and kiss. She smelled sweet and her breasts felt like pillows. Samuel wasn’t sure he wanted to let go, but he did, and Dianora got out of the car.

  “Here,” said the old man, handing Samuel a bar of chocolate.

  “Remember me.”

  Samuel took the candy, his eyes watery. “I will,” he said, “forever.”

  “Ah, here we go,” said the old man, stepping outside and folding back the seat.

  Samuel sat up, but a hard punch in the chest sent him back to the floor. He felt the tight grip of a heavy hand around his neck. Father Sin stared down at him and pressed the tip of a gun to Samuel’s head.

  “One word, just one,” Father Sin growled, snatching him out of the car.

  Samuel glared at Dianora and Rinaldo, the old man’s grandfatherly countenance replaced with a sinister smile. Dianora nonchalantly watched over the area as she puffed on a cigarette. Sister Bravo opened the back door to the Mercedes, looking genuinely relieved to see him.

  “Get in,” she ordered. “Now!”

  Samuel stopped at the door and stared hard at Rinaldo.

  “Remember me,” the old man said fiendishly.

  Samuel stared hard at the old man. “I will,” he said, through gritted teeth. He jumped inside the car, grabbed the handle and slammed the door. Sister Bravo and the others stood, mouths open.

  Samuel flailed about in the backseat, then stopped, exhausted, and listened intently to the conversation outside.

  “Inform the cardinal that we put the boy back in your hands,” said Rinaldo. “He’ll be pleased.”

  “Thank you for your assistance,” gushed Sister Bravo. “I’m sure you’ll be amply rewarded.”

  “What about Luciano?” asked Dianora.

  “He’s in the trunk,” answered Father Sin, cold and matter-of-factly.

  “He is no more.”

  24

  Robert and Thorne sat outside the Napier’s house in silence, and had barely spoken a word since leaving Cardinal Maximilian and the rest of Il Martello di Dio back at the warehouse. The sun had set, and soon the entire area was blanketed in darkness.
Hidden from view in the shadows, Robert and Thorne continued to wait.

  “Are we going inside?” Thorne finally asked.

  “No,” answered Robert, his blood still boiling. “Let’s just sit here and wait. There are too many ears inside. I want to talk to Donovan alone.”

  Thorne rolled down her window halfway, leaned her seat back and closed her eyes. Robert, still off kilter from the cardinal’s revelations, rubbed his neck, trying to ease the tension, without much success.

  Samuel’s kidnapping stabbed at him, but the notion that his godson, his son as far as he was concerned, was a clone, the Anti-Christ no less, was more than he could accept. He had every intention of, not only getting Samuel back, but getting to the bottom of the madness that ripped away at his insides.

  Cardinal Maximilian offered to assist any effort they put forth in Rome, a favor Robert planned to accept as soon as he finished with Donovan. He wanted to verify whether or nor Samuel was a creation of science. After that, he and Thorne would go to Rome, find Samuel and bring him back to Chicago, or lose their lives trying.

  A midnight blue Cadillac rolled down the driveway, made a right and eased down the street. Robert saw Donovan behind the wheel, alone.

  “He’s on the move,” said Robert, pulling out and following, careful not to follow too close. Donovan had been out of the game for a while, but was still sharper than most pedestrians.

  Thorne cracked open her eyes. “Let me know when he stops,” she said, crossing her arms and shutting her eyes again.

  Ten minutes later, Donovan pulled into the parking lot of a Dominick’s Supermarket, parked and went inside the store.

  Thorne snapped up and raised her seat. “Let’s go,”

  “No,” said Robert. “We’ll catch him on the way out.” Thorne rested back, her eyes roving the near empty lot. Robert kept his eyes riveted on the market’s front entrance. Twenty minutes later, Donovan reappeared and spotted them as he left the market. They both exited and met him at his car.

  “I thought I told you I didn’t want to see you,” said Donovan, perturbed.

  “Listen, we need to talk, not later, but now,” said Robert, struggling to keep his temper in check. “We have a few questions, and then we’ll leave.”

  Donovan brushed by Robert and opened the trunk. “I’m not answering any of your questions. Please, just leave.” Robert saw Thorne’s face twist, and pulled her back. He grabbed Donovan by the shoulder and spun him around, his own anger simmering just below the surface.

  “Dammit, Donovan, we know! We know who Samuel is, what he is, so stop playing games!” snapped Robert.

  Donovan snatched away from Robert’s grip. “I don’t know what you’re talking about! Just stay out of it, Robert! You’re going to get him killed!”

  “By who?” snapped Thorne. “Who’ll kill him because we know?” Donovan, veins crossing his forehead, eyes wide, began to shake as though he were having a stroke. “I can’t,” he cried.

  Robert relaxed and motioned for Thorne to do the same. “We know Samuel’s a clone,” he said.

  Donovan’s eyes filled with tears. His body stopped shaking, and he relaxed up against the car and sobbed.

  Robert put a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “It’s okay, we understand.”

  “I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you,” said Donovan. “The boys at Langley thought it might put Samuel at greater risk if the world found out. Can you imagine?”

  Thorne found a tissue in her jacket pocket and handed it to Donovan.

  “You know we wouldn’t do anything to hurt Samuel,” she said. “We love him as much as you do.”

  “I know,” answered Donovan, gathering himself. “But put yourself in my shoes. What would you do?”

  Robert took a deep breath. “Then its true?”

  “Yes,” said Donovan. “Samuel’s the world’s first human clone.” Robert steadied himself. “How? Why?”

  “First, tell me how you found out,” said Donovan.

  Robert pondered. He had given an oath to Cardinal Maximilian that he’d keep Il Martello di Dio a secret, an important promise if he expected help in finding Samuel. He put a hand on each of Donovan’s shoulders.

  “If I could, my friend, I’d tell you, but that’s not possible right now. I gave my assurance to someone who can help find Samuel, so you’ll have to trust me.”

  Donovan stared into Robert’s eyes, then looked over at Thorne.

  “We’ve known each other for a long time. I trust you.” Robert smiled. “Tell us how you came to get Samuel from the CIA.” Donovan looked down at his feet, then back up at them. “Ten years ago, the CIA contacted me and asked if I’d be interested in adopting a baby, a boy. Of course I asked a lot of questions, but was told very little.

  They said Samuel was healthy and normal, but that it was important they keep him in a regular family setting. They told me he’d develop abnormal intelligence as he got older, and when he turned eighteen they’d come take him away.”

  “And none of this struck you as odd?” asked Robert.

  “Of course it did,” said Donovan. “But we’re talking about the CIA, strange goes with the lay of the land. Besides, Alison and I had been trying to have a child since we married, and the doctors said we probably wouldn’t be able to. So she was an easy sale on the idea.”

  “She knew the government was involved?” asked Thorne.

  “No, I just told her I had a line on a baby boy and she took it from there. It all looked legit as far as she was concerned.” Robert stroked his chin. “And they didn’t give you anymore detail than that?”

  “They monitored Samuel’s progress in school, met with me every other month and asked simple questions, nothing deep, and I’m sure we were being monitored.”

  “When did they tell you he was a clone?” asked Thorne.

  “Just about a year ago,” said Donovan. “They stepped up their visits, asked more questions, and followed us around from time to time. I asked them what the hell was going on. They said Samuel might be in danger.”

  “Did they say from who?” asked Robert.

  “No, but they told me they might have to take Samuel away, which floored me. He’s our son now, and I just can’t imagine not having him in our lives. Not to mention how it would devastate Alison.” Neither can I, thought Robert, looking over at Thorne. He knew she was thinking the same thing.

  “I wanted to tell you,” said Donovan. “But Langley said no. I argued that you two would do the best job of keeping Samuel safe, but they wouldn’t budge. In fact, they were more than angry when I chose you as godparents.”

  Robert paced back and forth. “How much does Alison know?”

  “Nothing, that was part of the bargain, she’s completely in the dark.” A car screeched into the parking lot. All three of them reached for their weapons, but the car parked and a group of teenagers jumped out, obviously high, laughing and carousing, stumbling their way inside the store.

  Donovan looked around the parking lot. Robert and Thorne followed his lead. “We better go. We’ve already taken a big chance talking here,” he said.

  “You’re right, but I watched carefully,” said Robert. “We weren’t tailed, but let’s go anyway. We’ll follow you back to the house.” They got in their cars and Robert trailed Donovan’s Cadillac, lying back far enough to spy out anyone who might be following.

  “What’d you make of it?’ asked Thorne, checking her shotgun.

  “I think it’s just what Cardinal Maximilian told us. The Order thinks Samuel’s the Anti-Christ, and is going to do who knows what to him.

  We’ve got to get to Rome and find him as soon as possible.”

  “Good. How much should I tell Nelson?”

  “As much as you feel is necessary,” he told her. “I’ll leave it up to you.”

  A black SUV passed Robert and slid in-between them and Donovan.

  Robert checked his mirror and tried to pass on the left, but the SUV

  swerved to block him.
“It’s a trap,” he barked, and swerved to the other side, but was blocked again. He looked up ahead. Donovan must’ve seen the commotion, because he sped through the intersection.

  It happened fast. Two mega ton tow trucks slammed into each side of the Cadillac, backed up and rammed it several more times. The SUV

  slammed on its brakes and Robert swerved off the road to avoid it. The tow trucks made a last slam into the already demolished car and sped off, the SUV not far behind. Robert floored the gas pedal and screeched up next to the rubble. Donovan was nowhere in sight. Robert and Thorne jumped out and examined the wreckage.

  “Donovan! Donovan!” screamed Robert, pulling on the metal where the driver side door used to be.

  Thorne checked the other side, screaming their friend’s name at the top of her lungs. Robert dialed 911 on his secure cell phone, rattled off their location, hung up, and managed to pry the mangled wreckage loose enough to see inside. Donovan, his body twisted and covered with blood, looked lifeless. Robert stretched his hand inside and pressed his fingers to Donovan’s blood drenched neck. Stunned, he looked up at Thorne.

  “He’s dead.’

  25

  “I’m glad to hear you have Samuel back in your hands,” Cardinal Polletto told Sister Bravo, the phone pressed to his ear. “Give Rinaldo and Dianora my best, and see that they get one hundred thousand dollars for their troubles.”

  “There was a casualty,” Sister Bravo informed him. “A body is in need of disposal. It couldn’t be helped.” Cardinal Polletto pondered for a moment. “Give them one hundred fifty thousand instead, and tell them to make sure the body is never found.” Sister Bravo gave her assurances. Cardinal Polletto hung up without a goodbye, relieved.

  Samuel was back in their custody, faster than he had expected, but he wasn’t really surprised. Rinaldo did a lot of work for him in the past, and the old man always prided himself on having the tightest network of ears on the street. Barely a fart happened in Rome and he didn’t get wind of it right away.

  Cardinal Polletto poured himself a small brandy, downed it, then stared up at his bedroom door on the second floor, and smiled. The phone rang.