Veil - 02 - The Hammer of God

by Reginald Cook

  “All these years,” he stammered, “you told me I had no relatives, no family.”

  “It was for the best at the time,” said Cardinal Polletto. “The circumstances surrounding my sister’s death were tenuous at best. I didn’t have a choice if I wanted to keep you safe.”

  “But, you’ve lied to me all these years.”

  “For the greater good, Father, a good you’ll soon witness for yourself.”

  “How could you look at me all these years, knowing what I’ve gone through, what I’ve become, and not say anything?”

  “And where do you think you’d be right now? Certainly not here, a priest working at the Vatican,” said Cardinal Polletto.

  “I’d have a family! A life, a normal childhood!” screamed Father Tolbert.

  “Calm yourself,” the cardinal said, forcefully. “There would’ve been no normal childhood for you.”

  Father Tolbert broke down and cried. “I don’t understand.” He wiped the tears from his eyes. “What about my father?” Cardinal Polletto stared at Father Tolbert, angry, seething, remembering the betrayal. “Your father’s dead.” Father Tolbert adjusted himself on the bed and leered at the cardinal with meanness and smoldering hate in his eyes. Something Cardinal Polletto had never seen in him.

  “Who was he?” demanded Father Tolbert.

  “A member of the Church hierarchy. A cardinal here in Rome.” Cardinal Polletto watched Father Tolbert’s surge of strength cave.

  “How did he die?”

  “Cancer,” the cardinal lied, with little emotion. “While you were an infant.”

  Father Tolbert’s head dropped. “Did he know about me?”

  “Yes, but he denied you were his. That’s why your mother, my sister, killed herself.” Father Tolbert’s head snapped up. “Yes,” the cardinal continued. “I tried to get him to take responsibility but he refused, so I stepped in and took care of you myself.” Father Tolbert slowly stood, confusion draping his already weathered face. “Why did you say those children are mine?” Cardinal Polletto stroked his chin, and considered just how much he should reveal. He decided to tell it all. “Because eleven years ago, during your back surgery, I gave the order to have your DNA harvested.” Father Tolbert collapsed back down to the bed and sat frozen in a shroud of disbelief. “The Order commissioned scientists from Germany, Japan and South Africa, to engineer the first cloned human being. We believe the process has yielded our leader, the true savior of the world.” Father Tolbert’s eyes watered. “And those children are the result?”

  “Yes,” said the cardinal, standing. “They’re triplets.”

  “But they’re only two of them.”

  As soon as he uttered the words, Cardinal Polletto saw illumination crush down on Father Tolbert. He walked over, sat down next to the priest and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Samuel is the third,” he said.

  Father Tolbert sprang to his feet. “No, that can’t be true!”

  “Please sit down,” Cardinal Polletto ordered.

  Father Tolbert, frothing at the mouth, crashed backwards against a chest-of-drawers, knocking everything on it to the floor.

  “Father, calm yourself and sit down,” Cardinal Polletto ordered.

  “Now!”

  Father Tolbert, eyes glassed over with confusion and horror, looked down, opened the top drawer and removed a revolver. He pointed it at Cardinal Polletto, who stood and slowly backed away. “It’s your fault!” he bellowed. “You did this!”

  “Put that gun down,” snapped Cardinal Polletto, pointing his long bony finger at the priest. “Soon, you’ll have everything you’ve ever wanted. Don’t fuck it up!”

  “I’ve done things! Terrible things!”

  “And God has forgiven you. Believe me, you’ll be rewarded for your struggles.”

  Father Tolbert’s eyes reddened, his face contorted with rage. He pulled back the hammer on the gun and straightened his aim at the cardinal. “Please forgive me,” he whispered.

  The door exploded into splinters as Father Ortega crashed inside.

  Father Tolbert closed his eyes and fired.

  35

  The morning air, crisp with the aroma of seawater, fish and algae, assaulted Samuel’s nostrils and coaxed him out of sleep. His body felt numb and tired. He’d spent most of the night tossing, turning and crying.

  Frustrated and despondent, he laid there sprawled out on his cot, staring at the water stained ceiling, wishing he were home.

  News that his father had been killed in a car crash left him devastated. The Chicago Sun Times given to him by Sister Bravo said his father was injured beyond recognition, and had to be officially identified using dental records. The article also stated that Samuel’s godfather, Robert Veil, and his Aunt Nikki, who were present at the scene, were unable to ID the drivers or get the license plate numbers of the vehicles. Beyond recognition. Samuel closed his eyes and conjured up his father’s image, unable to imagine not being able to recognize a man he loved and admired.

  Lethargic, his head spinning, Samuel rolled over and let his arm dangle over the side of the bed. No one knows I’m here. Nobody knows I’m in Rome. The sound of the sea splashing against the castle lulled Samuel him into a soothing twilight sleep, welcome after a fitful night of unrest.

  Four hours later, he awakened to find lunch waiting for him on the table, and the newspaper article gone. Fine with me, I was tired of looking at it anyway. He stood, stretched, massaged his thighs, and lumbered over to the chipped gray chair and let his body fall hard down on the aged wood. He sat there and stared at his food for five minutes. A tuna fish sandwich on his mother’s favorite, a croissant, a bowl of mixed fruit, and a welcome can of cola.

  Samuel bit into the sandwich, barely able to taste it, and then washed down the mass, now stuck in his throat, with a swallow of cola, the caffeine and sugar giving him a jolt strong enough to slowly entice him out of his funk. With each bite and swig, his thoughts became more lucid, and by the end of the meal he felt more like himself. When Father Clancy came in to retrieve the tray, Samuel asked and received another can of soda. This time he sipped it slowly, savoring the refreshing burn in his throat, relishing the speck of the familiar.

  Samuel looked around the room, which seemed to be closing in on him a little more each day. He went over to the window, leaned out, and sucked in air. The small square, his only entrée to the outside world, had lost its soothing effect, and the expansive green lawn of water only teased and prodded his desire to escape. He often imagined himself on a boat floating away, sailing all the way back to Chicago, where everyone would applaud his return. Even his father would be there, alive, the whole episode of his death a cruel joke.

  I have to get them to let me outside. As soon as that thought hit, Samuel knew his past escape attempts would make it near impossible, but he had to try or lose his mind. He knocked on the door for several minutes. Nobody answered. He knocked again, this time harder.

  Father Clancy snatched the door open. “Yes.”

  “I’d like to speak with Sister Bravo, please,” said Samuel, mustering his best sad, broken expression.

  “What do you want? I’ll tell her.”

  Samuel looked up, his eyes pleading. “It would be best if I spoke with her directly,” he continued, careful not to sound defiant or insulting.

  Father Clancy’s eyes narrowed. He glared at Samuel sideways, then slammed the door. For thirty minutes, Samuel dangled outside and gazed at his small portrait of the sea, then abruptly turned back inside when he heard approaching steps. A set of hard soled shoes stopped at the door.

  Sister Bravo stepped inside.

  “You wanted to see me. Well, I’m here. What is it?” she asked.

  Samuel ambled over, head down, and stopped just short of the nun.

  “I, I’m, I need some air,” he mumbled, not looking up.

  “So, look out the window.”

  “I have been, but I need to get out and walk around.”

  “Not
a chance,” said Sister Bravo, laughing. “You’ll just try and run away again.”

  Although escape was the first thing on Samuel’s mind, tired and claustrophobic, he also wanted out of the damp, depressing cell, to walk around with the sun on his face. “I’m sorry,” he pleaded. “It won’t happen again, I promise. I just want to go outside, that’s all. Please, I feel like I’m going crazy.”

  Sister Bravo smirked. “Well, go crazy then. I don’t care.” She turned to leave.

  Samuel dove at her feet and held on tight. “Please, I’m sorry! I promise I’ll do what you say! My father’s dead! I’m all alone! Don’t leave me!”

  Sister Bravo shook him off. Samuel slid back into a corner, hugging himself, shaking. Sister Bravo just stared, suspicious and scowling.

  Samuel dropped his head and cried. He heard the door close and looked up. She was gone. He continued to snivel and cry for a half hour then laid down on the cot, not sure his act was having the desired effect. The door opened, and Sister Bravo entered with Father Clancy in tow.

  Samuel sat up. The nun and priest glared.

  “One hour a day, two on Sundays,” Sister Bravo finally said. “But this time, you run, you die. I swear it.” Samuel crawled off the bed, ran over and hugged Sister Bravo, clinging to her like a cub, eyes squeezed together tight. “I won’t run,” he lied, sniffling, knowing he was going to give it one last try.

  36

  Robert, Thorne and Sister Isabella observed Torre Astura castle from a heavily wooded area two hundred and fifty yards away. Late in the evening, a light mist eased across the water around the castle, and a crisp breeze rattled the trees and brush.

  Robert, on his stomach between the two women, adjusted his binoculars and closely examined the castle structure and the area around it. Torre Astura was a much smaller version of the medieval edifices Robert toured in other European cities and towns, including the magnificent German castles along the Rhine. Although the sandstone building he now scanned up and down, was no less an unapproachable fortress. A tall tower, about five stories high, stood like a giant in the middle of the castle, with no windows facing the woods.

  Robert counted five small windows along the front of the castle, which was two and a half stories high, with one large wooden door at the entrance. A large courtyard, about fifty square yards, sat in front of the building, all separated by a narrow stone bridge about fifteen hundred feet long.

  In front of the courtyard, a much smaller two story stone building sat in between the woods and the castle, fifty yards away. A dirt road, the only entrance and exit by land, ran along the woods and curved toward the castle. On the left side of the road was a small reef of jagged rocks and open water; on the other side high grass and brush.

  “We know several of The Order’s people are holed up inside,” whispered Sister Isabella. “But there’s been no sign of Samuel at all.”

  “They’re keeping him deep undercover,” said Robert. “But it’s so secluded out here, you’d think they’d at least let him out for air.”

  “Or maybe he’s not here at all,” said Thorne.

  Robert didn’t answer. He wanted very much to believe Samuel was only two hundred fifty yards away, and dismissed any other notion or thought. His heart quickened when he saw the castle front door swing open.

  Two priests walked outside and lit up cigarettes. After a few moments, a nun, with one of the most alluring faces Robert had ever seen, joined the two and lit up a smoke of her own. Robert examined each face, watching as they talked and laughed, offering no hint of the evil Cardinal Maximilian spoke of. Instead, they seemed quite normal, a trio like those he’d observed a thousand times in more than a few places around the world. However, Robert didn’t dismiss the cardinal’s words of warning. He’d seen childlike pleading turn on a dime, becoming dark and lecherous, menacing and deadly. If they truly held Samuel in the fortress, he’d treat them like the worst criminals he’d ever known, and if needed, he’d kill every one of them.

  “I’m going to move a little closer,” said Thorne. “See if there’s another way inside.”

  “I’ll go with you,” shot Robert.

  “No,” said Thorne gently. “Wait here and see if you can spot Samuel. You have a better angle and view from here.” Sister Isabella agreed. Robert gritted his teeth and stared his partner in the eye. “Alright,” he finally conceded, “I’ll continue to look from here.”

  Thorne blew him a kiss.

  The three of them were draped head to toe in army camouflage fatigues that mixed in with the greenery, beige dirt and foliage around the castle. The mist just off the lake had grown thick and was almost on shore. Soon, their visibility would be next to nothing, and they’d be done for the night.

  Thorne slithered toward the bush, moving herself forward on her elbows and knees. Robert monitored her movement, while Sister Isabella kept an eye on the three clerics still smoking and in deep conversation.

  Just as Thorne hit the bushes, Robert heard the low rev of multiple car engines coming their way. He looked toward Thorne, who now faced him. She signaled that she heard it too and disappeared into the tall grass.

  Robert and Sister Isabella followed suit, and backed further into the dense woods until they were sure it was impossible to see them from the road. The car engines grew louder. Soon, a dark green Audi, and a black, late modeled Mercedes zoomed by and headed toward the castle.

  Robert and Sister Isabella resumed their position. There was no sign of Thorne.

  The cars drove across the bridge and stopped directly in front of the castle. Four men exited the Audi toting machine guns. An old man, accompanied by a beautiful woman who reminded Robert of Sophia Loren in her heyday, stepped out of the Mercedes and hugged the priests and nun like they were old friends. A single flash of light coming from the brush caught Robert’s attention. He honed in on it with his binoculars, got the thumbs up from Thorne, and turned his attention back to the castle.

  Robert watched as the old man and nun did most of the talking. The sun was almost down, and the mist had finally reached shore. Like eerie long fingers, it wrapped around the castle, seeped into the grass, and floated across the courtyard like in a Dracula movie. The old man kissed the nun, who turned and hugged the Sophia Loren lookalike, then they both climbed back in the Mercedes and drove off. This time, Robert and Sister Isabella didn’t back up as far, wanting to get a look inside the car.

  The Mercedes drove by them at a much slower pace. The nun and priests went back inside the castle.

  “I recognized the old man and his daughter,” said Sister Isabella.

  “Rinaldo and Dianora Calabrese, they’re mafia.” Robert watched as two of the four men they left behind took up positions in front of the castle. The other two slid back inside the Audi.

  “I’m going out there with Thorne,” said Robert.

  “It’s not safe to move right now. They have extra eyes. You might be seen,” said Sister Isabella.

  Robert ignored her and quickly crawled toward the grass. Just as he reached it, he ran into Thorne, who was on her way back.

  “Where the hell do you think you’re going?” she asked.

  “It’s getting dark,” he whispered. “I want one last look.” Thorne rolled her eyes and kept moving. Aided by the wind and mist, Robert continued through the grass, stopping just a few feet from the dirt road. The front door of the castle opened. The two armed guards carefully panned their eyes across the area. The two priests came back outside, but neither were laughing or talking as they had been earlier.

  The nun followed them outside. Robert’s eyes focused. She was holding the hand of a little boy. Samuel!

  Robert’s first instinct was to charge out blazing, but a cooler head prevailed. If I miss, they might kill him. He wondered if Thorne and Sister Isabella could see the activity that was taking place. The sun was now completely set, and the entire area blanketed in fog. The nun placed Samuel in the backseat of the Audi, and the priests slid in on each side o
f him.

  The nun went back inside the castle as the car drove across the courtyard and parked halfway. As quickly as he could without being seen, Robert crawled toward them, staying low, grateful for the extra protection provided by the thickening fog. He stopped five feet from the edge of the grass, raised his head slightly, and saw Samuel, his face dreary and sad, walking around the courtyard, his hands in a blue windbreaker that didn’t look like it was enough to keep him warm.

  Robert wanted to cry out, reach out, but the two gunmen stuck close to Samuel’s side, watching his every move. The two priests watched him closely too, but stayed next to the car and smoked.

  The area was now completely dark. Robert moved in for a closer look, stopping just at the edge of the brush. One of the priests turned on the Audi’s headlights, which sent him scrambling backwards. Samuel continued to pace back and forth, kicking rocks, stretching, but not doing much more.

  “It’s time to go back inside,” one of the priests bellowed.

  “But she said I could have an hour,” pleaded Samuel.

  So, he’s out for an hour at a time. Good information.

  “Okay, but we’re going back inside in ten minutes,” the priest added, impatiently.

  Samuel said thank you and continued to walk the courtyard. Robert removed a small penlight from his jacket, and waited for an opening to signal Samuel.

  “Time’s up,” the priest said, exactly ten minutes later. “Let’s head back.”

  For a second, the two guards looked toward the car. Robert thought he saw Samuel look in his direction, so he flashed the light on and off one time. But as he did, Samuel looked away, and a sinking feeling hit Robert’s gut. He missed, but at least he knew his godson was okay, and where he was being held.

  “I’ll be back, Samuel,” he whispered. “Sit tight.” The two priests got back inside the car, one in the backseat, one behind the wheel, and drove back to the castle.