Veil - 02 - The Hammer of God

by Reginald Cook

  “It’s done,” a gruff voice said on the other end.

  “Good,” the cardinal told Father Ortega. “Get back here as soon as it’s convenient.” Click. Another brandy, this one larger, and Cardinal Polletto felt himself fully relax. He turned out the light in his den and climbed the stairs to his room, the brandy taking more control, warmth blanketing his body.

  Inside his bedroom, a woman, the object of his desire for the past three years, lay naked on top of the covers. Her breasts showed very little sign of her forty plus years, all natural, which he examined himself many times.

  The cardinal sat down next to her. She tried to speak, but he placed a finger to her lips, and kissed her deeply. He placed a hand on her thigh and felt the dewy wetness that moistened her skin. She moaned at his touch, and his hardness pressed against his clothing, tight and firm. Her mouth, warm and soft like cotton, slid down to his ear lobe and gently sucked and kissed. This time he moaned.

  A heavy-handed knock on the door snapped them out of the momentary foray into carnal bliss.

  “Yes,” the cardinal said firmly.

  “It’s me,” said Father Ortega. “I just wanted you to know that I’m back.”

  “Good,” the cardinal answered. “I’ll speak with you later.” He heard Father Ortega’s bedroom door close and turned his attention back to his mistress.

  “I don’t think he likes me,” she said.

  “True,” said Cardinal Polletto, “but he doesn’t like anyone.” They laughed. He stood and peeled away his clothing. His body long, withered from the years, was still firm in the right place. He gently pushed her back and hovered over her body, kissing her breasts and stomach. She took his manhood in both hands, and stroked it like a fine antique, which made him purr. She knew exactly what he liked.

  “Now, be a good boy and give mommy what she wants,” she asked, sly and sultry.

  “I’m not ready,” he told her, more an order than an answer.

  She slapped him hard and fast across his face. “I said give to me now!”

  Rage swelled in the cardinal. “I recommend you not do that again,” he said, through gritted teeth.

  This time the slap cupped his ear, which popped at impact. Tears welled-up in his eyes. His bottom lip quivered.

  “Don’t make me ask again,” she sneered, in complete command.

  The cardinal struggled to regain control, his member harder, and opened his mouth to speak. This time, she dug her fingers into his back, and he plunged inside her, whimpering like a child.

  “That’s it,” she said, as he pumped. “Harder!” she ordered, digging her nails deeper into his back.

  “Ahhhh!” he cried out. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” His pleading and full surrender seemed only to egg her on. She cursed in his ear, calling him names born from the pit of hell. He bit his lip, about to cum. She sensed it and ordered him not to.

  “I can’t hold it!” he shouted.

  “I’ll beat your ass if you do,” she answered, slapping him again.

  The cardinal heard faint pounding. He couldn’t hold it and came hard, tears running down his cheeks, and snot running from his nose. She laughed, and on cue, both of them drenched in sweat, quaked in a simultaneous orgasm.

  The pounding grew louder.

  “Your Eminence,” called Father Ortega, “someone’s at the door.”

  “Who is it?” he gasped.

  “It’s Robert Veil and his partner.”

  Cardinal Polletto caught his breath. “You better get dressed,” he told Alison Napier, who already had half her clothes on.

  “I can’t let them find me here,” she said, panicked. “If Donovan gets wind, I…”

  The cardinal walked over and stared her in the eye. “Donovan is dead,” he told her.

  Alison swallowed hard. “How? When?”

  “Tonight,” he told her, “right before I came upstairs.” Alison’s hands shook as she tried to fasten the buttons on her blouse.

  He took both her hands.

  “We talked about this,” he said. “I told you it might be necessary.”

  “I know, but it’s still a shock. I thought you’d warn me before you killed him.”

  Cardinal Polletto wiped her eyes and kissed her forehead. “Does it really matter?” He smiled, stroking her cheek. “One day I’ll be Pope, and you’ll be Queen. Let’s keep our eyes on the goal, on us.” Alison stood up straight, renewed, buttoned her blouse and gathered her things. “What about Robert and Thorne?” The cardinal opened the bedroom door, still nude. “Tell Mr. Veil I’m unavailable,” he told Father Ortega, who didn’t seem the slightest bit startled by Cardinal Polletto in the buff. “Mrs. Napier’s car is in the garage in back, so we’re safe. Inform them that I’m in prayer, and that I’ll receive them in the morning.” The priest nodded and left. Cardinal Polletto closed the door.

  Alison checked her cell phone, which had been on silent. “They’ve been trying to reach me,” she said, frantic.

  He stroked her hair. “Don’t worry.” He took her phone and battered it on the dresser, breaking it in pieces. “Tell them you lost it. We’ll come up with the rest of the story.”

  Alison smiled, walked over and kissed him. “I love you.”

  “I love you too,” he lied. “We’ll be together forever.” Alison beamed

  Cardinal Polletto led her to the bed and they sat. “Now here’s what I want you to do.”

  26

  Robert and Thorne’s recollection of the accident, at least what they agreed to tell police, changed. The new version involved two vehicles, one a Ford Excursion, the other a two-ton Silverado. They decided that the authorities would only get in the way, and that finding Donovan’s killers was best left up to them. So they sent the police in another direction.

  “Both trucks hit Donavon simultaneously and left the scene in a hurry, with damage to their front ends,” Robert told them. “And no, we didn’t get a license plate number.”

  “The truck was red, the Excursion black,” Thorne added. “It happened so fast we didn’t get a look at the drivers.” The police eyed them with suspicion. Robert didn’t give a shit.

  The paramedics pronounced Donovan dead at the scene, an easy task. His body was so twisted and mangled, it looked more like butcher shop leftovers than human remains. When they pulled him out, every cop and paramedic winced.

  Robert laid the blame for his friend’s death at the feet of The Order, but didn’t rule out the CIA. Samuel, if not the Anti-Christ, was at a minimum the greatest scientific achievement in history, and worth a government treasury to anyone holding him. Robert didn’t care how he came into the world, he wanted him back. And the storm brewing in his gut said he’d do anything, kill anyone, and cross any line to bring him home.

  After the police finished with them at the scene, Robert and Thorne went by Cardinal Polletto’s home to question him. Robert had his suspicions about the cardinal after he had intentionally shuttled Father Tolbert out of town suspiciously, a hunch confirmed by Cardinal Maximilian. Now, they stood outside listening to Father Ortega feed them bullshit about why Cardinal Polletto couldn’t see them. Robert fumed as the rotund priest eased the door closed and turned off the overhead light.

  “We’ll see him later,” said Thorne. “He’s not going anywhere.” Robert barely heard his partner; seething because Cardinal Polletto had not seen them, and frustrated that they hadn’t been able to reach Alison at the house or on her cell phone. The FBI and police didn’t have a clue as to her whereabouts either. Robert imagined the worst. They decided to go to Alison’s house when a call came in from the police station.

  “We need you to come in and finish your statement,” said the detective. “Tonight.”

  “We’ve given you all we have,” Robert snapped.

  “Then we’ll have you picked up,” the detective told him, with a hint of it’s your ass not mine in his voice.

  Robert swung through the station, where he and Thorne spent an hour repeating their
story. Detective Reynolds showed up and sat in, easing the tension in the room.

  “They found Mrs. Napier,” Detective Reynolds told the other detective. “She’s at home. Apparently she lost her cell phone. They told her what happened. She’s devastated.” His eyes fell on Robert and Thorne, the true object of his announcement. Robert asked if there was anything else they could help with. “Not at this time, but don’t go far,” the detective said, stroking his chin. Robert and Thorne abruptly stood and headed for the door. “Yes, we’ll be in touch,” he added, a smile barely detectable.

  “You do that,” answered Thorne. “I’ll be waiting.” Her smile was obvious.

  The other detective’s head went back and forth on a swivel, confused.

  Robert sped through Chicago, ignoring the rules of the road. Twenty-five minutes later, he pounded on the Napier’s front door, which opened abruptly.

  “We’re here to see Alison Napier,” he told a crew cut wearing FBI agent with black bulldog eyes.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Veil, but as you can imagine, she’s pretty torn up, and doesn’t want to see anyone,” the agent told them.

  “We’re family,” snapped Thorne. “So move your ass back, before I do it for you.”

  Another agent, listening from across the room, stepped to the door.

  “Miss, he said no visitors. Now move off the steps and try again in the morning.”

  Robert pushed past the two, Thorne right behind him.

  The crew cut agent grabbed Robert, the other Thorne.

  “Stop!” ordered Agent Baxter, as two more agents rushed to the aid of their partners, both of whom were now flat on their backs staring up at the ceiling. Robert and Thorne braced themselves to give the next two agents more of the same.

  “I said enough!” Agent Baxter shouted again, walking up face-to-face with Robert.

  The front hallway filled up with additional agents and police officers, who rushed in from outside. Robert also spotted a few individuals he pegged as Intelligence Agents, posing as FBI. In back of the crowd a tall black man smiled. It was Agent Maxwell, who Robert had met during his impromptu meeting with Director Thompson. The CIA agent backed away from the crowd and disappeared.

  Angry, Agent Baxter pointed at Robert and Thorne. “In the den, now!”

  Robert, hot and frothing at the mouth, stomped toward the den.

  Thorne followed, looking back at the agents rubbing their jaws. She winked and blew them a kiss.

  “What the hell do you two think you’re doing, attacking federal agents? I could have you both thrown in jail!” Agent Baxter yelled.

  “Throw away,” sneered Robert. “We’re tired of fucking around with government bullshit on this case. We want to know what’s going on, or you can kiss our ass.”

  “You don’t have any authority here,” shot the agent.

  “Donovan Napier’s dead,” Thorne fired back. “That’s all the authority we need.”

  Agent Baxter took a few steps back, head down. When he looked up, his eyes were still red, but his face calm. “There’s not much I can tell you. I have my orders. I will say that this is the strangest kidnapping I’ve ever worked, and I’ve seen more than a few.” Robert relaxed. “How so?”

  Baxter took a deep breath. “First, we can’t find a motive. Usually, there’s a ransom demand of some kind.”

  “So, there hasn’t been a demand?” asked Thorne.

  “Not quite, but we did receive a note Fed Ex’d from a dead end address.”

  Robert sat down on one of the burgundy Rockefeller leather chairs and crossed his legs. “What did they ask for?”

  “Nothing,” answered Agent Baxter, a sullen look on his face. “They said we should stop looking for Samuel. That we’ll never see him again, and if we keep looking, it could cost the boy his life.”

  “Then obviously they took him for some other reason,” said Thorne.

  “Any ideas?”

  “You tell me,” said Agent Baxter. “I’m sure you spotted The Company boys and girls outside. I’d bet my house they know more than they’ve shared.”

  Robert and Thorne’s eyes met. “That’s not unusual,” said Thorne.

  “They’re not big on sharing.”

  Agent Baxter eyed them suspiciously, as if he were aware they knew more. “How about you two? Want to tell us your angle on this?”

  “We’re as baffled as you are,” said Robert, hesitant and shaken. His eyes dropped to the floor. “And now, Donavon’s death has added to the weight.”

  Agent Baxter sat down in the chair across from Robert. “That’s another thing. I talked to the police about the accident, and it just doesn’t jive. What’s going on?”

  “It’s just as we told them,” said Thorne. “A freak accident.”

  “But we know that kind of shit just doesn’t happen,” said Agent Baxter. “Together with the kidnapping, it adds up to something major and I know you know what. So, please spare me the bullshit. You and Donovan go way back in the CIA, we know that.” Robert stared Agent Baxter in the eyes, but could only see the faces of Donovan and Samuel. He wanted to tell Agent Baxter more, but again remembered his promise to Cardinal Maximilian.

  “It’s just as we said, nothing more or less,” said Robert.

  Exasperated, Agent Baxter leaned back in the chair and rubbed his eyes. “Okay,” he said. “But don’t expect help from me if you need it.

  The door’s closed until you decide to let us in on what you know.”

  “We still want to see Alison,” said Robert.

  “She doesn’t want to see anyone, and that’s final.” Robert opened his mouth to speak, but the door to the den opened.

  Alison, sullen, eyes red, walked inside, two agents behind her, tissue in her hand. Robert jumped to his feet and quickly moved to her side, and put an arm around her shoulder.

  “Alison, I’m so sorry. I really am.”

  Alison’s eyes welled up and she bit her bottom lip. “Thank you, Robert,” she finally eked out. “I know how close you two were.” Robert led Alison to the chair he’d been sitting in and knelt by her side. “Is there anything I can do? Anything? Just name it.” Alison forced a smile, and looked up at Agent Baxter. “Can you give us a few minutes? I’d like to talk to Robert and Thorne alone.” Agent Baxter, obviously not pleased, signaled for his men to leave.

  “Not a problem,” he told Alison, through a forced smile. “We’ll be outside if you need us.”

  Robert moved to the chair across from Alison. Thorne sat next to her on the arm of the chair.

  “You holding up okay, honey?” asked Thorne, rubbing Alison’s shoulder, stroking her hair.

  “Barely,” Alison whispered. “I can’t believe I’ve lost both of them.” She covered her face with both hands and cried.

  Robert’s eyes watered, his breath shortened, and his fists clenched tight. He looked up at his partner, who showed no emotion, only concern.

  “We’re here for you,” said Thorne. “And we’re doing everything we can to find Samuel.”

  Alison blew her nose. “What am I going to do? Without Donovan, I’m lost.” She broke back down and cried again. “First my baby, now my husband. Lord, please help me.”

  Throne knelt down and hugged Alison. Robert wanted to kill somebody for all the pain and loss, and knew before it was all over, he would.

  It took awhile for Alison to calm down. Robert paced the room while Thorne consoled her. When it seemed she’d gathered herself, Robert sat back down. “Alison, is there anything you can tell us that will help us find Samuel? Anything you’ve heard from the FBI, something Donovan may have shared?”

  Alison stared out the window. “We received a note saying we’d never see Samuel again,” she said, choking, coughing.

  Thorne went to get her a glass of water from a pitcher on the table.

  “Agent Baxter told us,” said Robert, walking over to comfort her.

  “Did he tell you the paper the note was written on came from Italy?” Robert
hesitated. “No, he didn’t mention that.” Alison glanced back at the den door, as though making sure no one was listening. “They said the paper blend was consistent with a type manufactured overseas, specifically in several factories outside Rome, but that doesn’t mean Samuel’s there. They said it could mean whoever took him somehow got paper made there.” She lowered her head and rubbed her forehead. “I don’t know what it means.” Robert looked over at Thorne. It means a trip to Rome. “Don’t worry,” he told her, “we’re in this with you. We’ll find Samuel. I promise.”

  Alison smiled. “I trust you, Robert. I know you will. So did Donovan, but for some reason he didn’t want you involved.” Robert considered telling her that Samuel was cloned, but thought better of it. “That’s all in the past now. Let’s move on from here.” Thorne returned with the glass of water. “We’ve got company,” she said, looking back toward the door. Cardinal Polletto and Father Ortega walked inside.

  “Alison, my child,” gushed the cardinal, “I rushed over as soon as I heard.” He hurried over to Alison and gave her an extended hug.

  Alison broke down again, this time harder, asking why she’d been hit with so heavy a burden, over and over again.

  The cardinal stroked her hair. “There, there, my child, don’t worry, God is with us. He’ll sustain you.”

  Robert seethed. He saw Thorne clench her fists. Father Ortega watched them closely. Robert thought he detected a faint smile on the thick-necked priest’s lips, which raised his temperature further.

  Cardinal Polletto walked over and put a hand on Robert’s shoulder.

  “I know Donovan was a very close friend of yours, Mr. Veil, and I understand the tragic loss of such friendship. Please accept my heartfelt condolences, and please know the Church is here for you.” With every inch in him, Robert suppressed his need to snap the cardinal’s neck. “Thank you, Your Eminence. Your concern is appreciated.”

  Cardinal Polletto looked over at Thorne, opened his mouth, but thought better of it, obviously reading the warning in her eyes.

  Alison stood. “Thank you all so much. This has been more than I can bear. It’s good to have friends who…” Her eyes rolled upward.