The Thieves of Heaven
Page 39
He stepped quietly into the room expecting to find Mary still and deep in a coma. She was awake, lying in wait as if she knew he was coming. If her frail appearance shocked him, he gave no sign. His eyes filled with tears of relief at the sight of her. Without a word, he took her in his arms and held her forever. They reveled in the miracle that each was still alive. “Sorry I’m late,” he murmured, stroking her cheek.
“You made it back,” she answered softly. “That’s all that matters.”
“I’m taking you home.”
Mary smiled, not moving from her husband’s embrace.
“I was thinking maybe…we could head out to the Cape for a week, stay at the Ship’s Bell Inn, make love in the dunes,” Michael whispered, his head buried in her shoulder.
“Mmmm. Eat Portuguese soup, fresh lobster.” Mary’s heart was swelling.
“Run on the beach, splash in the waves. The sun warm on our backs…” Michael cradled her as the morning rays of sun washed through the window, lighting his beloved’s face.
Chapter 40
To everyone’s surprise, Paul Busch survived. The German doctors told him he was very lucky not to have been killed by his heart attack and advised him to cut back on the red meat and cholesterol. They stitched up his shoulder and set his two fingers. Any questions about the origins of his wounds were silenced by the five thousand euros Simon gave them. Busch was well enough to fly home five days later and walk off the plane into Jeannie’s arms. She hugged him for ten minutes before finally chewing half his ass off for the worry he had caused her.
He sat on the chair in Captain Delia’s office while his boss stood over him and chewed off the other half of his ass. “And you’re telling me that you’re withdrawing the parole violation?” Delia thundered.
“The guy’s wife was dying, he did some honest work to try and save her,” Busch answered.
“Then why such a big deal before?” Delia was pacing. “Putting him on house arrest?”
“I overreacted; he’s a good friend; I thought he was taking advantage. That changed when I learned all of the circumstances. He didn’t break a single U.S. law except a minor parole infraction for leaving the state. I couldn’t live with myself if I had the guy thrown in jail for a little thing like that. Could you?”
“No more making friends with the parolees, Paul. I mean it.” Delia took off his jacket, hung it on the back of his chair, and sat down heavily. He looked at Busch’s bandaged fingers. “Care to explain that?”
“Kids, car door, my fingers and an unbelievable amount of pain.”
Delia smiled. “You’re really falling apart. Word around here is you were having some heart trouble. At the rate you’re going, do you figure you’ll last the year?”
“I’m fine. Too much red meat. Jeannie’s pressing me to leave, though.”
“And how do you feel about that?”
“Thought about being a cliché and opening a bar. I don’t know. I don’t think I could bear not seeing your cheerful face every day.” Busch got to his feet and opened the door.
But Delia stopped him. “Have you seen Thal?”
“Thal?” Busch turned back.
“Yeah, Thal. You remember. Internal Affairs. You’re under investigation.”
“He could be dead, for all I care.”
“Hey, we don’t kid around with stuff like that.”
“If I see him, I’ll let you know.” Calmly, Busch walked out of the captain’s office.
Chapter 41
The living quarters are located in the easterly section of the Vatican Palace with a host of windows overlooking St. Peter’s Square. Unseen by the world, it has always been a place of solitude for the Pope, a place where the leader of the Catholic Church can have a vague sense of living a normal life. The library contained five thousand volumes within its mahogany shelves. It was his private room where he could absorb the books, magazines, and newspapers of the current earthly world while keeping with the ancient traditions of his spiritual calling. Three large televisions sat in a corner picking up news-feeds from around the globe. A man who mastered eight languages, the Pope was at home in any country and enjoyed viewing the news that shaped human opinion.
Simon was seated in the crimson receiving room, eyes cast down. The sofas and chairs were of crushed red velvet, accented in gold borders, transporting one back to the days of the Renaissance, when this place had been the very heart of the political world as well as the spiritual one. Simon’s black cassock and white collar contrasted sharply with the richly colored decor. His vestments always made him uncomfortable, as if he didn’t deserve to wear them; though the traditional priest’s clothing did have a calming effect upon him. It was as if he absorbed the spiritual intentions of the material. His hands in his lap, he solemnly held the wooden key box, carved by a carpenter two thousand years ago. He lifted the lid, admiring the keys one last time.
An inner door opened. “His Holiness will see you now, Father,” a short bald man said in Italian. Archbishop Baptiste, the Pope’s personal secretary, was dressed in the traditional purple vestments of a man of his office.
“Thank you, your Eminence.” Simon genuflected. “Did you tell His Holiness of my request?” In Simon’s mind there was only one true safe place for the keys: in the possession of the most heavily protected man in the world.
“Our Holy Father found it amusing,” the cardinal replied. “He has never worn a key-ring before.”
They entered the inner sanctum where the Pope humbly awaited.
Chapter 42
The leaves were in their last days of full greenery, change was just around the corner. The colors would all too soon be transformed into a mosaic of scarlet and gold as they have been since time could remember. The flowers that he planted last month were still in full bloom, they were her favorite: marguerite daisies. Michael knelt at a simple headstone, the winds of September blowing over him, and read the words for the thousandth time.
Mary St. Pierre
God’s gift to Michael
Michael’s gift to God
They had three weeks, uninterrupted. Mary had rallied. Her smile bright, her green eyes clear and radiant. They spent the time doing absolutely nothing. They disconnected the phone, the TV, and the computer. All food and essentials were delivered to the house. Life was talking, eating, and laughing, taking comfort in the presence of the other. Their love was not expressed through words, but looks and deeds. There is a comfort to a great love that only those that truly know it feel. It is warm and secure, free of anger and jealousy. It is euphoric beyond drugs and renders one immune to life’s cruelty.
And then without warning, without pain, she died.
In her sleep, her husband at her side.
Michael lay there next to her for hours, holding her hand in his as he silently wept.
Chapter 43
Michael sat at his desk, his bank statement in front of him. The account in the Cayman Islands held two hundred and seventy-six thousand dollars. But it was all for naught. Mary was gone; all of his efforts, all of the risks a waste. All he really wanted was the money to save her and that had led him down a path that had left the question of Mary’s eternal life unanswered. Simon had assured him things were put to right. But he didn’t know.
And the money. It came from Finster. It was tainted and evil, bounty money to undermine God and the Church. It had brought only suffering.
Hawk barked, startling Michael, and as the dog charged out of the room, the doorbell rang. Michael tucked the bank statement in his back pocket and walked out of his den. He opened the door. Standing before him was a tall woman of indeterminate age.
“Mr. St. Pierre?” the woman asked in an accent that Michael couldn’t place.
Michael studied her. She could have been in her late thirties or a well-preserved fifty.
“I’m so terribly sorry about your wife.” She handed Michael an ornate envelope. “The Vatican sends its deepest condolences and prayers in your time of mournin
g.”
Michael averted his eyes, he really didn’t know where he stood with the Church, after all the chaos he had caused them.
The woman smiled, seeming to sense his shame. “Mr. St. Pierre, please understand, the Church comprehends the trappings of temptation. But, more importantly, the Church always believes in forgiveness.”
Michael looked at the card. “Are you a nun?”
She smiled and let out a small laugh. “No. My name is Genevieve. Simon is an old friend of mine. I run an orphanage in Italy and I’m in town seeking donations.”
Michael remained silent, looking at the Vatican envelope.
She smiled. “Not from you, of course. I am attending a fundraiser here in the city. Simon asked me to check on you, to see how you were doing.”
“I’m fine,” he told her. But they both knew it was a lie.
“If there is anything I can do…” She reached out her hand. “Everyone deals with grief in their own way. Sometimes, those who have been there can help.”
He took her offered hand; it was soft and unexpectedly delicate. For a moment, he felt comfort from this woman’s presence. He wasn’t sure if it was her gentle way or the fact that she ran an orphanage that had touched him. Though he was adopted as a baby and raised by loving parents, he’d always felt a kindred spirit with those who were orphaned. They were the ones who were truly alone in the world. And this was a woman who cared for those forgotten children, helping them to realize that they were not alone, bringing the power of love into their world.
Michael tucked his hand in his back pocket, feeling the bank statement, and he thought: Maybe some good could come from this. He knew what he would do with the money.
But that wouldn’t bring him peace, no one could truly bring Michael peace. Not this woman, not Simon, not Busch, not even the Church, no matter how mighty it was. For none of them could answer the question that still haunted his dreams. He didn’t know if Mary was at peace. Had she truly found the Heaven of her prayers?
Chapter 44
It was late into the night. Michael was curled in Mary’s favorite den chair, Hawk snoring at his feet, CJ nestled in his lap. He was beyond exhausted, falling at last into a desperately needed deep sleep. He had volunteered to help Busch coach his son’s football team. The season was a few weeks old and they had won the day’s game 18–12. Still undefeated.
Michael was hoping for a routine, something that would give his life structure, help fill the void. Work and kids’ football. That was all he could come up with for the moment. It was a start.
Although the silver and gold keys had been returned and he had borne witness to sights he could never explain, he still carried his doubts. They haunted his days and his dreams. It was the what-if that gnawed at his heart.
The question of a hereafter.
And he desperately needed an answer: the ramblings of his mind had torn him apart the last several weeks; he couldn’t imagine what would happen with the passing of years.
He had been out cold nine hours, hadn’t moved a muscle, it was the longest he had slept in months. Ever so quietly, Mary stepped into the room, her hair once again a glorious mane. Her skin like alabaster, her green eyes filled with light. She stood there looking down at Michael, smiling at his sleeping form. She sat at the desk and quietly opened the drawer; her hand vanished inside, searching for something. She pulled it out. She stood at the bookshelf, absorbing the memories in the pictures before her, her eyes glowing as the happiness washed over her.
She placed it on the wall—the nail was still there—fiddling with it before finally stepping back, admiring the completeness that filled the void that had too long been there.
The simple crucifix hung there in all its cheap tackiness, in all its meaning.
She returned to Michael’s side and, bending, gently kissed him.
His eyes slowly opened as if he knew she would be there and for an instant they shared a warm, intimate smile until the first rays of the morning sun filtered into the room and she dissolved into the shafts of light.
Michael stretched his body fully awake; CJ skittered off onto the couch. He stood and walked to the wall.
He straightened the cross and smiled……for he knew she was at peace.
His question had been answered with a miracle.
Chapter 45
In the heart of the Black Forest, in a region frequented by few, there is an area closely guarded within the confines of a once-abandoned monastery. Five Swiss Guard on permanent assignment from the Vatican man the watch. Mixed in with the monks, brothers, and priests, these soldiers are not obligated to wear their traditional outfits of blue, maroon, and yellow. They guard a five-hundred-year-old statue. Or, more precisely, they safeguard the tomb below it.
It is the only place in the world where the Swiss Guard are stationed outside the Vatican.
About the Author
Richard Doetsch is currently the President of WRMC, Inc., a commercial real estate management and investment firm based in Greenwich, Connecticut.
THE THIEVES OF HEAVEN
A Dell Book / May 2006
Published by Bantam Dell
A Division of Random House, Inc.
New York, New York
All rights reserved
Copyright © 2006 by Richard Doetsch
Title page art from a photograph by Nick Jones
* * *
Dell is a registered trademark of Random House, Inc. and the colophon is a trademark of Random House, Inc.
* * *
eISBN-13: 978-0-440-33602-0
eISBN-10: 0-440-33602-3
www.bantamdell.com
v1.0
Table of Contents
Cover Page
Title Page
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Nighttime NYC
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
About the Author
Copyright Page
Table of Contents
Cover Page
Title Page
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Nighttime NYC
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28<
br />
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
About the Author
Copyright Page