Echoes Through the Vatican: A Paranormal Mystery (The Echoes Quartet Book 2)

by K. Francis Ryan

  Julian consumed and was consumed by the book. As each point came into focus, it wasn’t imprinted on his memory. The principle fused with his mind, his soul.

  Each reading seemed to shine a light on a different aspect of metaphysical study. Some areas he had investigated, experimented with and dismissed when his experiments failed. Now he could see the reasons for his failures. His errors in thinking stood out in stark relief once seen in the light of the Jesuit Book.

  With each reading, a new talent would appear. He wielded none with precision. In Ireland, he managed to nearly set his room on fire by mistake at one point. But talents he worked with previously now came to him easily, naturally and far more potently.

  Without looking up from his book he said, “Come in, Inspector.”

  Belladonna Saviano pushed the door to Julian’s room open and let her eyes adjust to the dim light. “Joselina tells me you cracked under her intense interrogation. She says you confessed to being a stregone, a sorcerer, a wizard, whatever. She did say you aren’t much of a wizard in her opinion.”

  Julian turned from his book and answered, “She wanted me to turn plaster into gold. I refused and it left her despondent. For someone who runs the House of Joy, she doesn’t seem especially joyful. But how can I help you, Inspector?”

  The inspector sat on Julian’s bed and he turned in his desk chair and waited. The more he concentrated, the more he could feel her emotions. Her thoughts eluded him, or came to him half formed, but he knew she was frustrated and trying to cover it with light conversation.

  “Inspector, did you have any luck following the car that was following me from the Gregorian University?” Julian asked.

  “I don’t know what you are talking about. Were you at the Gregorian? I thought we agreed you would stay here. Why should I think you would listen to me though – you haven’t so far,” she said.

  Julian closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them, he felt he had gone into a kind of auto pilot state. He had no reason to say what he was about to say or to know what he could not know. His voice was hushed and his cadence slow. The inspector had to strain to hear him.

  “I am sorry your investigation has stalled. Your superiors are unhappy with you because of it. They don’t know how hard you are working. They also don’t know you are making progress. Slow progress, but progress all the same.

  “The Russian, Sokolov – you have drawn together a number of threads and you are very near learning what sets his organization apart from dozens of money laundering operations in Italy.”

  Julian took a deep breath and returned to himself. He smiled and said, “Why don’t you tell me about that? Perhaps you know more than you think.”

  Inspector Saviano remained still for a full minute, then another, before she said, “I am of two minds, stregone. Part of me says I should use what you know and what you can do. Another part of me thinks I should arrest you for some fabricated violation of the law just to keep you out of my way. I feel sure you can tell the future. Is that not one of your magic tricks, wizard? Please, tell me what I am going to do with you?”

  Julian smiled. “Inspector, you are as stubborn as signorina Joselina. I am not a wizard. I do not do magic. I do not foretell the future. I do not read minds and I do not turn plaster into gold.

  “I am just a tourist. True, there are some unpleasant things swirling about me right now, but for the most part, I am simply a…”

  “Yes, yes, you are a tourist,” the inspector said. “You are a tourist who can cripple people without moving a muscle, a tourist who can terrify lifetime criminals. You know things you can’t and you do things you shouldn’t be able to.

  She warmed to her topic. “You are a tourist who feels free to defy orders from the police. Russian gangsters try to kidnap you, your lady friend has already been kidnapped, you make late night visits to high ranking Vatican bank officials, you dine with other high ranking Vatican bank officials. You’ve been visiting the Gregorian and have met with the Ghost.

  “The list just keeps growing, but I will stop now only because I am about to become angry and when I become angry, even wizards need to hide.”

  “Before we move along with Sokolov, you mentioned ‘the Ghost?’” Julian asked.

  “Fr. Soski is called the Ghost. Wizards and ghosts – at one time, my life held such promise.” The inspector looked despondent.

  “Inspector, please, it is important. Tell me what you know of Soski.”

  “Are you blind? Have you not seen him? Madonna, you’re merely frightening. That man invented terrifying.

  “What, why are you looking at me like that? Oh, alright, but if you tell him I told you I will carry out every threat I have ever made against you. Hai capito?”

  “Yes, I understand. This stays between you and me, but I must know all of it,” Julian said and the inspector believed him and began her story.

  “The Ghost worked for Luciano. He was the cardinal’s right hand man. That is all that is known. It is all anyone knows for certain, anyway. He worked for the cardinal and now he doesn’t. What he did, no one knows. What happened, no one knows.

  “The back street whispers give more detail, but it is impossible to say, with certainty, what is truth and what is fiction. After distilling it all, what I will tell you is the most plausible version,” the inspector said.

  “It is said the cardinal wanted something Soski had. He would not give it up. An altercation of some sort followed. I stress ‘some sort’, wizard, but don’t think I’ve forgotten about you and your tricks, so we can surmise what kind of altercation, no?” The inspector looked at Julian pointedly.

  “Soski crawled away nearly dead, but the cardinal didn’t get off lightly. You noticed Luciano’s limp? He didn’t get that from too much dancing.

  “Months later, I was promoted to inspector. My partner in the Finance unit became curious about the nature of this whole business.

  “He suspected money was involved somehow. He made very discreet enquiries. Forty-eight hours later he was directing traffic far away from the Vatican.

  “I didn’t know him in his days with the cardinal, but they say Soski was handsome, charismatic, a genius and sexy, too. He was away from Rome for over a year. I met him briefly not long after his return. The man was a ruin in the same way the coliseum is a ruin. His eyes were dead, his skin unnaturally pale and he had burn scars on his face and hands. His hair had turned dull silver and he could hardly speak.

  “He seldom goes out of the Gregorian and when he does, he is bundled up like he’s going to the Alps,” the inspector said and looked disturbed.

  “And?” Julian prompted.

  “I said he seldom goes out. The fact is, no one has ever seen him go anywhere. He is one place and a moment later he is gone only to appear elsewhere. And so he is called the Ghost. I think that part is told only to frighten the children, but I have seen his eyes. I tell you stregone, I looked into those eyes and terror touched my soul.”

  They were silent for a while, each a prisoner of their thoughts.

  “Sokolov?” Julian looked expectant and less cheerful than he appeared.

  The inspector closed her eyes and she let out a long breath. “He is attempting to get a man inside the Vatican Bank.

  “I don’t know how far along he is with that project and I don’t know what is being planned. I know, since it is Sokolov, it is about money laundering. His plan obviously involves the Vatican Bank, so hundreds of millions of euros are involved.

  “My superiors and the state’s prosecutors listened to me and they have read my reports. Their conclusion is I know exactly nothing because I can prove nothing.” The inspector let out another long sigh that ended with a grunt of pure frustration.

  “Inspector, let’s go find some proof, shall we?” Julian said as though that was a reasonable thing to say.

  Chapter Eight

  Cardinal Luciano’s assistant, Fr. Dominic Giglio, entered the cardinal’s study and stood in a respectful sil
ence. The cardinal smiled and invited his assistant to sit down.

  The day started in bright sunlight, but had devolved into an afternoon dark with threatening rain. The cardinal closed the portfolio on his desk and pushed back to listen to his assistant’s report.

  “Dominic,” the cardinal said. “You really must do something to protect your thoughts. You are the definition of transparent. You have good news for me on a number of fronts, so tell me of them.”

  “Your Eminence is of course correct. I am transparent and I do have encouraging news stemming from many sources,” Fr. Giglio said.

  The priest continued. “As a trial run, the companies in Switzerland have successfully transferred a sum of money to your joint stock corporation in Florence in exchange for goods that the Swiss know will never be delivered.

  “Our man at the Florentine bank made a few adjustments and the money appeared as a credit to your archdiocesan special account at the Vatican Bank. A number of intervening transactions occurred, but are of little consequence.

  “The total time the funds were in your corporation was under eight seconds. That was important for the purposes of the test, but it doesn’t really matter since none of your accounts can be traced back to you.”

  The young priest continued. “As you know, your Eminence’s archdiocesan special account exists to fund the building of the orphanage. There is, of course, no orphanage. The contractor for the building project requires a substantial deposit, so this afternoon’s credit will be transferred to the contractor in,” Fr. Dominic stopped and looked at his wristwatch, “in approximately twenty three minutes.

  “Your Eminence is, indirectly of course, the general contractor, although that, too, would be impossible to prove. Checks will be drawn up tomorrow to pay for labor and material being supplied by eleven wholly fictitious companies, all of which we control.”

  Fr. Dominic continued. “In turn, those companies…”

  “Dominic?” the cardinal interrupted.

  “Yes, Eminence?”

  “Dominic, the details of these various operations are inconsequential for my purposes,” the cardinal said. “Your report, please, without the chapter and verse this time.”

  “I am sorry, Eminence. Please forgive me. The Vatican Bank credited your account for,” the young priest consulted a file folder, “seven hundred fifty-three thousand euros today,” the priest said.

  “There, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” the cardinal said. “What other news do you have for me?”

  Fr. Dominic Giglio looked through another folder and scanned a piece of paper before he began. “Mr. Blessing has been extremely active, but is no nearer his goal than when he started. He has two police officers helping him, but they have yet to develop a lead on Dr. Dwyer’s location.”

  “Good,” the cardinal said. “Let’s hope it stays that way for awhile. Having Mr. Blessing unfocused suits my purpose right now.”

  “Eminence, Mr. Blessing has, however, met with two people who are worrying to me,” Fr. Dominic said. “He had a rather long lunch with his Eminence Cardinal Manning. The following day, Mr. Blessing spent time at the Pontifical Gregorian University,” the priest said.

  “So, he has been to see my old assistant, Marek Soski,” the cardinal said. “I wouldn’t worry myself with Fr. Soski if I were you. Although formidable at one time, he is a spent force today. I am afraid our last encounter, before he left my service, left him a bit worse for wear.

  “Still, Blessing in the company of one of my brother cardinals from the Vatican Bank, that I find interesting in the extreme.

  “You’ve done well, Dominic. Again, I wouldn’t worry about Soski. He isn’t likely to want his old job back. You have filled his shoes rather well,” Cardinal Luciano said.

  Fr. Dominic Giglio shivered when he saw the cardinal smile.

  ***

  An inconspicuous door led from the House of Joy to the private garden. On the discreet door was a discreet sign, neatly lettered and bearing a delicate decorative border. The sign was in Italian and signed by the proprietress of Casa Felicità . Julian was able to work out the somewhat less than discreet meaning - “ENTER AND DIE.”

  Joselina was unhappy. Julian had spotted the garden and asked to rent it. The madam felt Julian had taken unfair advantage of her.

  “Mamma,” one of Joselina’s working daughters said as she tried to bring comfort to her employer, “what did the Americano do that would cause you to give up your beautiful little garden?”

  “Il mio bambina, you are a good daughter to ask after your old mother’s heartache. The man is not a man at all. He is a devil – maybe even The Devil. One or the other. I’m not sure yet.” Joselina made the sign of the cross, then made the sign of the horns and pointed them in Julian’s general direction.

  “But Mamma, what has he done? Tell me, how did he make this happen? Throwing you out of your own garden wasn’t nice.”

  “Daughter, I tell you the man nearly crushed me with the pressure he applied. He used the worst, filthiest, most underhanded thing ever used in the history of filthy, underhanded things! At first, I believed my Belladonna when she said that…that.... that creature was a wizard. She told me to beware or he would do some of his wizard shit. But I tell you, he is no wizard.

  “Would that God and all His saints would send me a mere wizard. No, God wants me to suffer, so He sends me a devil, for only a devil would do such a thing.” Joselina dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief, then made the sign of the horns again just to be on the safe side.

  “But Momma, tell me what he did! What could be so bad that it would upset you so and cause you to give up your precious garden!”

  “I named a stupidly high price, he doubled it and paid in cash and in advance.”

  “The bastard!” the girl hissed.

  “All devils are bastards! I learned that the hard way from Fr. Alfonso who comes to see Adelina on Thursday afternoons between two and two fifteen – stingy bastard won’t even pay for a half hour and he never pays for overtime AND he wants a clergy discount! The world is full of bastards!” Joselina said.

  “Momma, the Americano is a bastard, a devil and a wizard! Why do you allow him under your roof?”

  The proprietress closed her eyes tightly. She opened them and said, “ARE YOU DEAF, YOU STUPID COW? HE PAYS IN CASH! IN ADVANCE!” Joselina’s voice spoke of heartache. And avarice.

  ***

  Julian stood in his rented garden. He held the Jesuit Book in one hand and stared at the discreet door. He could feel Joselina and one of her employees on the other side of the door. He couldn’t feel their thoughts, but he could feel the emotions behind them. He extended his right hand toward the door and focused. The heavy oak door began to shudder, then groan, with the force he applied.

  He heard the two women let loose a string of profanity and prayers as they retreated deeper into the house. In the world of metaphysics, physically extending his hand was a useless motion. It did help him focus though. He had practiced without the gesture, but the brickwork within a meter around the door on every side had paid the price. Besides, he felt it gave him a wizardly air and that caused him to smile.

  He sat down on a bench in the shade of an ancient olive tree, rested his back against its gnarled trunk, and returned to his studies.

  ***

  Inspector Belladonna Saviano sat under a similar olive tree in a park near the headquarters of the Guardia di Finanza. She had just received a one-hour dressing down by her colonel. Her lack of progress regarding the Russian money laundering operation was glaring. The State’s prosecutor’s office was asking the colonel questions. The colonel was now asking the inspector the same questions. She had no answer beyond, ‘Progress is being made slowly. We can afford no mistakes.’

  Before ordering her out of his office, the colonel suggested Belladonna might not be cut out for the Organized Crime Investigation Group. “Perhaps,” he said, “your talents might be better put to use in data processing.”


  Belladonna sat beneath her tree and pulled grass out by the handfuls.

  “Bella,” her assistant greeted her as he sat down on the grass.

  “Ah, Enrico, they have been talking to you too. I can tell because you are smiling.”

  “That bastardo Leonardi from Internal Affairs brought me in for questioning. Imagine that. Me. What has the world turned into, Bella?” Enrico asked.

  “It has turned into shit from where I am sitting. What did he want and what did you tell him?”

  “That fool asked me if I enjoyed taking bribes from the Russians. I told him I did not, but I enjoyed his mother last night – twice. He went away unhappy,” Enrico said with a smirk.

  “Enrico, the world is filled with unhappiness and now you have added to it by upsetting that merda Leonardi. Did you really do his mother?” Belladonna asked.

  “Mi Bella, you know you are the only woman for me.”

  “You are sweet Enrico. Was she any good?”

  “Non cattivo.” Enrico shrugged.

  “Non cattivo – not bad. You are a pig,” Belladonna said not unkindly.

  Enrico Marino, Asst. Cappo with the Guardia di Finanza, shrugged.

  ***

  “Terrance, Il Convivio de Troiani is, I believe, the perfect place for a meal. I am surprised you were able to get us in,” Cardinal Luciano said, unable to read his brother cardinal beyond the superficial. This was a concern to him, but he had greater concerns right then.

  “I’ve known the Troiani brothers for, well, I won’t mention the number of years. They occasionally feel they need to extend me a small courtesy. I must say though, Angelo has outdone himself this time. The oxtail with celeriac is really superb they say. The wine list is rather extensive, but also rather expensive. I hope you don’t mind the house wine,” Cardinal Manning said smiling, knowing Luciano would mind very much.

  Sitting in the old section of Rome, the restaurant had taken up residence in an ancient Renaissance palace. It was known for its elegant rooms, beautiful tableware, uncompromising service and absolute discretion. The menu was a mixture of the old and new of Roman cuisine.