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

by K. Francis Ryan

  “Well then, you should hope these changes disappeared quickly enough, no?” The cardinal picked up his book again and began to read.

  Fr. Dominic bowed, turned and left. It wasn’t until he was a fair distance from the cardinal’s study that the young priest puffed out his cheeks and let out a breath.

  Antonio, Cardinal Archbishop Luciano, looked up from his book and suppressed a contented smile. It was, he had always thought, easy to smile at the expense of others.

  ***

  “Gentlemen, come in. Please take a seat.” Cardinal Manning stood up from his desk as Julian and Fr. Soski entered.

  The priest bowed his head in deference to rank. Without preamble, Julian said, “Eminence, your message sounded urgent.”

  “Urgent is it? Although, the Holy Father sees this as an urgent matter to be addressed quickly, I see it as nothing short of a catastrophe that will cause the bank to collapse if not repaired now. I am asking, begging for your assistance.” The cardinal’s features were distorted by nervous tension and nearly palpable anxiety.

  Manning pressed the intercom and said, “Send him in.”

  A perfectly nondescript young priest entered the office and the cardinal motioned for him to approach.

  Look out any window, at any time in Vatican City and you could find scores of priests who looked just like this one. Slender, tall, young, wearing a black cassock. A minute out of his presence and that would be the only description possible.

  Julian examined the newcomer with care. There was something about this one. The way he stood, the way he walked – there was something ultimately ordinary, while being out of the ordinary, about this priest.

  Soski glanced up at the young priest, then looked away without another thought.

  “Edward, my boy, tell these gentlemen everything that is known about our difficulty,” the cardinal said as he sat.

  Soski looked at Cardinal Manning, while Julian looked at the floor, closing his eyes.

  Fr. Edward Millburn drew a deep breath, adopted a pleasant expression, and began.

  For just short of an hour, the priest recited a litany of loss and the methods employed to cause it. At the conclusion of his narration, he nodded to the cardinal and stood in a respectful silence.

  “Thank you Edward,” the cardinal said. The young priest bowed his head slightly and left three men sitting in silence, alone with their own thoughts.

  “You see the problem, gentlemen. We have a mole, a leak, a quisling and I need that man found and quickly,” the cardinal said, his voice low and his intensity palpable.

  “I’ve heard enough. Shall, we?” Fr. Soski thought.

  Julian nodded his head in agreement, then addressed the cardinal. “Eminence, we will need access to every inch of the bank at all times of the day and night and we will need to interview every person working here.”

  “You have whatever you need. Present yourselves to the guard at the door. From there the bank is yours. God speed your efforts. I need not tell you I need this handled quickly and quietly.

  “Julian,” the cardinal continued, “I’ve not forgotten about the doctor. I’ve leaned on everyone in the police and have engaged the Vatican’s gendarmerie to make discreet inquiries. Neither you, or the doctor, is ever far from my thoughts or prayers.”

  The cardinal’s guests stood, said their goodbyes and left the cardinal and the Vatican bank.

  “Fr. Edward is the leak, of course,” Julian thought, “and the cardinal knows it, at least suspects it.”

  “Yes, but the priest isn’t alone. That presentation was memorized from first to last so the youngster wouldn’t give anything away. He was on autopilot with almost no thoughts of his own. Someone knew we would be present today,” Fr. Soski thought.

  “Sadly, that’s what I think too,” Julian replied. “I suppose we should start interviewing people.”

  “There won’t be much of an interview needed. A handshake and a brief word will eliminate nearly everyone and highlight anyone we need to have a serious talk with,” Fr. Soski thought.

  “Marek, a question if you don’t mind.”

  Soski raised his eyebrows.

  “Why are we both here? You could do what he needs or I could. Both of us will only speed the process marginally.”

  His face set in concentration, Soski thought, “That, my friend, is the real question. We are both here to witness something together or to keep one of us from being elsewhere.”

  ***

  “Come in, Dominic,” Cardinal Luciano said and continued to look into the fire crackling in his office fireplace.

  The priest rushed in. “Eminence, our source has just advised that the Russian, Sokolov, is soliciting at the bank. He is looking for an accomplice within the bank. When I say soliciting, I mean he is trying to blackmail or otherwise force,” Fr. Dominic started.

  “The man is unreasonably transparent. I suppose if he presented himself at the door of the Vatican Bank with a brass band, it would be somewhat less subtle than what he is doing now. He is starting to wear on me. Anything else, Dominic?”

  “No, Eminence.”

  “Then you may go. I will not have need of you until tomorrow morning.” Cardinal Luciano concluded the interview.

  Fr. Dominic bowed and left the office never having dreaded a night off more. “What happens tomorrow morning?” He would ruminate on that for the remainder of the evening. By the morning thoughts would have turned to anxiety would have developed into full-blown dread. Terror wouldn’t be far behind.

  ***

  “Good morning, Marek ,” Julian said as he entered the priest’s office. In profile, Fr. Soski looked drawn and even more pale and his eyes looked distressingly weary. “What is it? What’s wrong?” Deep lines on his forehead telegraphed Julian’s concern.

  Fr. Soski swiveled his desk chair around slowly. He said nothing at first. Julian could feel it, nearly see it.

  “Do I need to say the words, Julian?”

  “Yes, Marek . I want to hear what happened. I don’t want to feel your words, I want to hear them.”

  “Fr. Edward Millburn, our presenter at the Vatican Bank, is dead. It is believed he died of a cerebral hemorrhage while at the opera last night.” With his mind, the priest pushed a copy of la Repubblica across his desk to Julian. The newspaper was turned to page twenty, below the fold and following a restaurant review. Scant tribute for a member of the clergy.

  Julian slowly, painfully teased the meaning out of the Italian language paper.

  He took a deep breath, and then another, as Fr. Soski watched the emotions move across his friend’s face.

  “Luciano was present.” Julian’s statement was flat.

  “I’m sure he was. Opening night of La Bohème? He wouldn’t miss it. Odd though that a simple priest would have tickets to a sold out opening night performance, no?” Marek asked.

  Julian nodded his head.

  “The cardinal wants to get your attention,” the priest said without emotion. “And possibly to send a message to others.” Fr. Soski said and paused before continuing.

  “Don’t do it, my friend. It will only bring you pain. Don’t look back.” The priest could see it was too late.

  Julian’s eyes were heavy and his face twisted in sympathetic agony as he watched Fr. Edward place his hands to his head, stand up in a crowed opera house and die. He watched it twice in his mind, before the images faded.

  “The cardinal has my attention,” Julian said.

  ***

  “Eminence, Fr. Edward Millburn? He’s dead? I saw him just last night,” Fr. Dominic said.

  “So I understand, Dominic,” Cardinal Luciano replied with a pleasant look on his face.

  “But Eminence, I don’t understand.” Fr. Dominic’s face reflected his inability to process his shock and his sinking despair. “Eminence, Edward and I were at seminary together. I recruited him for you. He was ecstatic about going to see La Bohème last night. He couldn’t believe his luck in getting tickets.
He can’t be dead.”

  Luciano looked quizzical. “Recruited him for me, Dominic? Whatever for? As for La Bohème, it was inspired. I saw Fr. Millburn and thought of inviting him to my box. He seemed in some distress, so I thought better of it. As for your understanding, he was alive and now he is not.”

  “But,” the priest was panicked, stunned, his thoughts tossed on a dark and violent sea. “Eminence, did you…”

  “Did I what, Dominic?” The cardinal’s voice held an edge that begged to cut. “I’ve done you the courtesy of telling you myself.”

  With his chin on his chest, Fr. Dominic attempted to collect himself. As tears brimmed his eyes, he stood erect, squared his shoulders, inclined his head to his employer and said, “It is very kind of you to tell me, Eminence. Will that be all?” He tried to smile, but the sadness in his eyes killed that in its infancy.

  “It is all for now, Dominic,” the cardinal said eying his assistant, looking inside the man, judging his capacity for betrayal.

  The priest again bowed slightly and turned to leave. The door opened as he approached and he stopped when he felt the cardinal’s words.

  “Dominic, do not tempt me again,” the cardinal thought.

  The priest drew a deep breath and left the office. Sometimes, self-preservation is its own reward.

  The cardinal waved his hand slowly and the large office door closed silently. Luciano shrugged with a smirk and calculated the number of days Fr. Dominic Giglio had left to live.

  ***

  The guard at the front door of the Vatican Bank said, “Cardinal Manning asked that I send you both to him when you arrived.”

  “Well, we have certainly arrived,” Julian said.

  A priest hurried to the security station. “This way, gentlemen,” and the trek to the cardinal’s office began. As they passed the teller’s windows, each employee looked at the two visitors, then looked away quickly.

  “I suppose everyone knows who we are and why we are here,” Julian thought.

  “Who we are, no. They don’t want to think about such things lest they call down the evil eye. Why we are here, most assuredly,” Fr. Soski answered.

  Their escort knocked lightly, the cardinal called out, and the doors were opened. Again, Cardinal Manning was ensconced behind his desk. There was no welcoming smile. He indicated chairs for his guests.

  “The news about Fr. Edward is tragic. Tragic. I’ve been up much of the night, but I have come to no conclusions. Have you?” the cardinal asked.

  Julian looked to his companion. Fr. Soski inclined his head and Julian began, “Eminence, a tragedy, yes. We should have anticipated it or something like it. That the priest was murdered, there is little doubt. In less doubt is Cardinal Luciano’s involvement. Having served his purpose, Fr. Edward was discarded.”

  “It is the cardinal’s usual practice and method, Eminence,” Soski added.

  “You have proof?” the cardinal asked.

  Soski began, “There is no proof to be had, Eminence. This is a crime for which no fingerprints will be found. There will be no smoking gun, as they say. He had the motive and opportunity, but only we will ever know he had the means and that he exercised it.”

  “You believe Fr. Edward was complicit then? He is, or rather was, our traitor?” the cardinal asked. “Then we are done and I can report it as such.”

  “In a qualified way, we agree,” Julian said. “We believe he was involved up to his neck. We believe he was working from the inside, obscuring the embezzlement. However, he was not alone and we are far from done,” Julian said.

  The cardinal let out a noisy breath and let his chin fall to his chest. He drummed his fingers on the desk in his anxiety and frustration.”

  “Eminence,” Fr. Soski began. “I can only imagine the pressure you are under. With respect, Eminence, although concluding this matter quickly by settling blame on Fr. Edward, we would not be concluding it well. Should the bank name the culprit and continue to incur losses…” He left the sentence in midair.

  Without looking up, the cardinal nodded and said, “I understand perfectly. Gentlemen, please continue with your task and I will continue with mine and may God have mercy on us all.”

  Julian and his friend walked down the marble corridor toward the bank lobby.

  “Can you answer a question for me, Julian?” Fr. Soski thought. Julian shot his companion a sidelong glance and shook his head.

  “What is wrong with all of this? I realize the cardinal is under pressure, but there is something amiss here. His reactions, his thoughts, his emotions are not wrong, they are just not right.

  “I have had the same feeling. He is easy to read and doesn’t appear to be protecting his thoughts in the least. I am getting a signature and it is the same each time I meet with him. Still, I agree with you. I don’t know how to put it into words,” Julian concluded. Deep lines creased his forehead and his eyes were fixed in concentration.

  “We are none of us what we appear to be, Julian. In any case, how should we continue our investigation?” Soski asked.

  “Marek, of plans, I have none,” Julian answered.

  They continued down the hallway in silence.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “There they are. You pick them up and bring them in. I’ve got a few things to do. I’ll meet you at the station after you have questioned them,” Inspector Belladonna Saviano said to her assistant.

  “Oh, Bella, there are so many things wrong with that. First, you say that as if it is a perfectly normal thing to say. Second, what do you want to talk to them about? Third, none of that is going to happen. Ever!” her assistant answered. “You want me – me – to load the Ghost and that idiot wizard in this car? The wizard, I can handle, but the Ghost? No one tries that and is ever the same. Being an inspector has shaken your brain loose, Il mio amore.”

  “I don’t know what I want to question them about. I know they have been up to something. I want to know what they are being called to the Vatican Bank for. There has to be a reason and it can’t be good.” The inspector tapped her lips with her index finger and came to a conclusion.

  “Alright Enrico, do not be a big baby about this. Two men. Toss in back of car. Drive to station. Question. Probably release. And I’ll meet up with you after. Simple, no?”

  “No,” her assistant said.

  “I could order you,” his inspector suggested.

  “You could order me to fly, but that isn’t going to happen either.”

  “You are a very difficult man, Enrico. Justice will not be served today and it will all be your fault.” His partner was miffed.

  “Well, speaking of serving, today Barnardi’s has done justice to that Tuscan roasted vegetable ravioli you like,” Enrico tempted.

  “With the mushroom sage chicken?” said the inspector warming to the subject.

  “My cousin can arrange that.”

  “Well, alright. I deserve it if only for enduring your meanness. Today justice will be served after all,” the inspector said.

  ***

  Julian sat in his room at the House of Joy. He sat with his eyes closed at the mirrored dressing-table-turned desk. He opened his eyes and tried to look into his reflection in the mirror. It would be nice to see the future, he thought, but he was making the future as each present moment passed.

  What he saw instead was disturbing. Deep circles rimmed his eyes. The scar on his cheek, once red and angry after a beating he endured in Ireland, was turning into a fine line. It highlighted the planes of his face. It was a reminder to him that some things are important enough to fight for.

  It was his own eyes he noticed most. Gone was the mischief that hid behind them not so long ago. Now they were all business. He shook his head and his face creased in concentration as he considered his situation and options.

  He found himself defused. With all the balls in the air, finding Ailís was getting lost.

  His mouth turned hard while his eyes took on a grim cast. ‘But what of the rest
?’ he asked himself.

  ‘Cardinal Luciano, the Vatican Bank, Cardinal Manning, the Russian, they all take up space, but do they matter?’ he asked himself. He closed his eyes again, his shouldered slumped with fatigue.

  ‘Find Ailís and get the hell out of here. That’s an answer,’ he thought, but knew as the thought passed it was not a solution, only an outcome. ‘This will come down to the Russian or the cardinal. I will trade my life for hers, regardless. I will never hesitate and they know it.

  ‘Luciano wants me to kill the Pope, but why does he need me? He could do it with ease.’

  “Doesn’t matter. If he has Ailís, he can have what he wants from me, unless that isn’t what he wants,” he said aloud and then continued to himself. “But what if Sokolov has her? What then? I couldn’t read anything from him but hatred and bile. The only thing I can trust with him is that his word means nothing except when it comes to wanting me dead.

  “What about the bank? The lives of depositors and the Church itself are at stake. If the bank continues to hemorrhage money, it could easily collapse, wiping out the savings of hundreds of thousands of people – parishioners, the clergy, churches, hospitals, schools, orphanages, retreat houses and retirement homes. All gone overnight.

  “Then there are the institutions, pension plans and hedge funds,” he reflected and the worry ran throughout his body, weighing him down, dulling his wits. If unchecked, it could leave him without the wherewithal to act when action was called for. He knew it would be called for and he had a dim, but ominous feeling it would be soon.

  “Come in signorina.” The proprietress’ knock was halted with her knuckles inches from the door. She drew back, made the sign of the horns, crossed herself and entered.

  “Here is your book, wizard.” She handed Julian the Jesuit Book and turned to leave.

  Earlier, Julian and Fr. Soski asked her to hide the book for safekeeping. For safety sake, Julian told the old woman the Ghost had done something special to the book to make sure no one opened it. And lived.

  A small, forgivable, but fun lie.