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

by K. Francis Ryan

  “I’m glad you made that distinction. This is Rome and what people know and what they are willing to share are very different things. No, this is interesting because my friend asked for a meeting in Piazza di Campo dei Fiori.”

  They entered the piazza and Fr. Soski pointed. “That is why it is interesting.”

  Julian and his companion were standing in front of the statue of Giordano Bruno.

  “Nice. This fella is a bit dark for me, but nice statue. So?”

  The priest considered before saying, “He may be feeling a bit dark because this fine gentleman here, Giordano Bruno, is being burned at the stake. The Church took a dim view of heretics at one time.

  “The Inquisition was especially put out with those who, after weeks of torture, refused to come to their senses. ‘Their senses’ being the inquisitor’s senses. People can be so obstinate sometimes.” The priest chuckled again. “The inscription says, ‘To Bruno, from the generation he foresaw, here, where the pyre burned.’ You can be sure that is appropriate to the occasion.

  “It is Rome my friend,” the priest continued. “Everything has significance. Nothing is ever what it seems. Our meeting is with a man who is able to uniquely blend subtlety and theater and do it well.

  “We are currently standing on what was, in the distant past, Rome’s execution grounds. He did not pick this place because it was convenient. It is out of our way and his, but more importantly, it is out of the way.” The priest stressed ‘the’ and then began to cough.

  “He is examining us from the window of that bar over there. Don’t look. You won’t see him.

  “He’ll be along when he feels it is safe. Although this piazza is a Mecca for pub crawlers, it is practically deserted this time of day,” the priest said and then continued in a voice drenched in seriousness.

  “Julian, we must take this man seriously. Do not try to read him. He is not one of us, but he has a level of self-awareness and a knowledge of people that would make you think he is.

  “He will tell us what he will tell us and he will leave. Do not ask questions, just listen to every word and watch every movement, every gesture. Everything about this man is important.” The hacking cough began again and the priest wiped his mouth. Blood came away on the handkerchief.

  A very tall, lean man in his mid fifties entered the square from the bar nearest the statue. He locked eyes with the priest then turned and walked toward a restaurant. There was no hurry in his stride. He wore an impeccable black suit and gray silk tie. His beard was going a dignified white.

  The man knocked once and entered La Restorante Carbonara. He left the door ajar.

  “Ah, we are not alone,” Fr. Soski said. “We have an audience.”

  “I can feel something, but can’t locate him. A policeman I think,” Julian responded.

  “Right,” the priest said, “there.” A flowerpot from a second floor window crashed to the cobblestones and the plainclothes policeman jumped. He was at the far end of the square near a bar that was just starting to fill up. All the patrons turned to look at the man.

  Marek and Julian entered La Restorante Carbonara a short time later and sat at a table. The man they followed was nowhere in sight.

  “Just wait,” Fr. Soski said. “He will be along shortly or he won’t. If we hear the back door slam, we will be leaving immediately and should be ready to counter any threat we encounter.” The priest’s eyes were unblinking. Julian nodded once, took a breath and held it.

  The moments ticked by in the restaurant’s dark stillness. The kitchen doors opened and the man entered, smiled broadly, crossed to their table and embraced Fr. Soski as Julian stood.

  “Marek, why is it you never visit anymore? Mamma asks for you often,” the man chuckled. “What am I to do with you? Look at you. Thin as a strand of linguini. You don’t eat enough.”

  “Ricardo, the smell of your mamma’s food makes me fat. You know I can’t resist,” the priest laughed and began to cough again. The bearded man’s eyes tightened and he lost his smile as he concentrated on Fr. Soski. The coughing spell passed and the man turned to Julian.

  “Please call me Ricardo, Mr. Blessing. I must warn you, too much association with the good father here will be the ruin of you.” The man smiled his introduction, but the undercurrent of what was just said wasn’t missed by Julian.

  “It is a pleasure to meet you, Ricardo. No Mr. Blessing here. Please, call me Julian,” he said.

  “Pleasure? It is nothing of the kind. I will prove to you it is never a pleasure to meet me, Julian.”

  “Wine, Ricardo?” Fr. Soski asked. They all agreed and the priest nodded to an old waiter standing respectfully against the far wall of the restaurant. He was a man who saw nothing, heard nothing, knew nothing and had done so all his life.

  The wine arrived, was uncorked and poured. “Salute,” Fr. Soski said and they all sipped their wine in silence.

  Julian gathered impressions of the man, but went no further. Relaxed was the only word Julian could find that would fit. This was a man who would be comfortable in any boardroom in the world or behind the counter at any deli or in any Swiss bank. He was a man infinitely comfortable with who and what he was. “Now, who and what are you,” Julian thought and Fr. Soski tried to hide his smile.

  “Ricardo, what brings a busy man like you to us today?” the priest said in a whisper as his voice began to tire.

  “Oh, Marek, no time for small talk? It is not the Roman way, you know. Still, as you say, I am busy and being seen in your company is not good for my spotless reputation,” the man said and smiled easily.

  The smile faded and his brown eyes grew tight as he turned his gaze to Julian and made a careful study of his face. Ricardo began slowly. “Julian, I have been asked to extend to you an invitation. There are,” he paused, “people who would like to meet and talk with you.

  “The subject of the discussion is unknown to me of course. Doubtless you know or can guess the essence if not the substance of it all. Perhaps they have news of home for you. I am simply a humble messenger. It would not be unreasonable, however, to surmise these people are,” he paused again, “influential and a request to meet is a grave honor. You must be terribly important to receive such an invitation.

  “I feel sure you will give their request very serious and very careful consideration. They did ask me to pass along something I find most curious. They want me to assure you that they will ensure your safety. That said, this is Rome and assurances are easy to come by. We are each responsible for ourselves, no?” Ricardo continued.

  “It doesn’t just apply to you. We all live in a dangerous world, wouldn’t you agree? Sadly, often times we are unable to protect ourselves and we must place our trust,” again he paused, “elsewhere.” Ricardo turned and looked at Fr. Soski.

  The man sat back and smiled. Slightly. He laid an envelope on the table.

  Julian nodded slightly. He pocketed the envelope and all three men sipped their wine and said nothing.

  ***

  Julian and Marek stepped back into the sunlight of the piazza a short time after the messenger had departed. The priest had put on his sunglasses and hat inside and Julian was forced to squint into the brightness. Office workers were just filtering into the square and Julian could detect nothing untoward among the score of signatures. The policeman was gone.

  “Well, I thought that went rather well,” Fr. Soski thought and Julian turned to face his friend.

  “What went well? What happened? Far more than I know, of course. So tell me, Mr. Rome, what is all this about, I mean aside from the super villains and their invitation?”

  “First of all, the messenger was, how shall I say this, the night time mayor of Rome. Although the title may sound comical, the man is not. Let me assure you, he is one of the most influential and trusted men in the country. His eyes and ears are everywhere. By the way, I have asked him, and can assure you, he is working on finding the doctor for you.

  “He was asked to act as m
essenger because he is well known for his discretion and absolute trustworthiness. Also, your invitation calls for safe conduct. Involving Ricardo is a guarantee. No one would dare go back on that. Your hosts know that and they know you now know it, too.

  “Still, he only accepted to act as messenger because I am involved and the sender wants you to understand exactly how important the message is. Hiring such a messenger does not come without its political price. A very, very high price. It is a price they are willing to pay.

  “You have been summoned to sit before an inquisition and you had better pray to your god because he is the only one who can keep you from being burned at the stake. Not now, of course, but later when your safe conduct has expired. You really must pay more attention, Julian. How are you ever to become a Roman? I despair for you sometimes,” Soski said.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Parked in front of the House of Joy sat a purposefully nondescript car that could be only identified as an undercover police car. Julian felt the inspector’s presence well before he saw the car.

  “Hi guys.” Julian put on his best effervescent self. He felt far from bubbly.

  Enrico Marino reached for the door handle intent on punishing Julian Blessing. The big man snorted, “’Guys.’ Did you hear him? That’s it. I need to hurt him so he doesn’t do that anymore.” The inspector touched her partner’s sleeve and shook her head.

  “Blessing, Blessing, Blessing – what exactly am I going to do with you? Aside from this morning’s meeting with Sokolov and the secret meeting you are coming from, what else is on the agenda for today? While I am dying to know, Enrico is dying to beat you, so there is that,” the inspector said and arched an eyebrow that rivaled her curled lip.

  “Secret meeting? My friend and I went for a walk. You know, kinda sightseeing. Anyway we stopped in a place and had a glass of wine, then we continued our stroll. Nothing secret about that, right?”

  The sergeant reached for the door handle again. “In a minute, Enrico. I promise,” the inspector said.

  “Wizard, Popes ask politely for meetings with Ricardo Covi, but he meets with someone like you,” she threw the word ‘you’ at Julian, “for drinks at some out of the way restaurant that doesn’t even serve cannoli, I might add.

  “Tell me, wizard, how is this possible? That he would meet with the Ghost, doesn’t surprise me. That he would waste his time with you is beyond me. So tell me Blessing, and do not tell me you don’t know what I’m talking about. Believe me, you will beg to tell me if I let Enrico out of the car.” Her lip curled further than Julian thought lips could curl.

  “Was that who that was? Marek and I ran into a guy. He said his name was Ricardo and I figured he was just some guy. I thought he might own a clothing store. He had on a great suit. Never figured him for, you know, somebody. Go figure.”

  Julian took his hands out of his pockets and let them hang loosely at his sides. He relaxed his shoulders and looked at the ground so the inspector wouldn’t see his eyes as they hooded over.

  “Sorry,” the inspector said as she removed her hand from her partner’s sleeve. “I tried to help you.” Enrico opened the car door and one foot hit the street.

  Julian’s look was penetrating, but not unkind. He said, “Me too. Sorry, that is.” He stepped out of time and vanished. He reappeared inside the House of Joy, looked out his window and watched as the inspector covered her face with her palm then started beating the dashboard.

  The inspector’s partner scanned the surrounding area. “Me too,” Julian whispered again. “I wish you could help.”

  ***

  The envelope contained an address and time. Julian checked the paper again as he faced a building that could not look less like the lair of a group of super villains. Few structures in the Centro Storico qualified. Old Rome was not a place that allowed such things. Walled and gated, a two story brick home accented with bright yellow shutters smiled sedately behind a boxwood hedge. Lavender trees flanked the house, ivy clung to the wall in places, and irises with purple and yellow blooms filled the flowerbeds.

  Julian rang the bell beside the gate and waited for the speaker to come alive. There was a muffled click and the gate opened slightly. Julian closed the gate behind him and proceeded up a brick walkway that led to the front door.

  A heavy set, older man with gray hair and a dark suit opened the door and bowed slightly as he gestured for Julian to step into a room off the foyer.

  The room was light with a large window looking onto a garden. The walls were cream colored with built in bookshelves, filled to overflowing, on every wall. Framed, delicate woodcuts and etchings elbowed for space.

  The furniture was a diverse collection whose only connective theme was comfort.

  Watching him from a large red sectional sat Antonio Cardinal Luciano.

  “Well, aren’t I surprised,” Julian said.

  “Be assured, no more than I,” the cardinal said and Julian believed him.

  The cardinal’s thoughts were protected as usual, but his emotions were not. The man was a jumble of conflicting feelings trying to sort themselves out. Julian sat, closed his eyes, and cleared his mind. He smiled. The cardinal didn’t know why he was here and didn’t know what part Julian had to play in all of this. Julian smirked. He felt the cardinal’s emotions at a fundamental level and he enjoyed the man’s discomfort.

  Still, something sat heavy and out of place in the house, a presence, a sense, a force he could not identify.

  A young man appeared in the doorway. His English was clear, but carried a heavy Italian accent. “Mr. Blessing, your Eminence, if you would follow me? Coffee is being served on the terrace.”

  The cardinal’s eyes narrowed and he boiled with rage at the breech of etiquette. To address a layman before a cardinal was unheard of in his world. In unmistakable terms, he was being told he was not in his world now.

  Again, Julian smiled and thought to himself, “So, pride’s your weakness. I’ll bet it’s not the only one. Not as invincible as you thought, eh?”

  Julian was quick to head for the door, leaving the cardinal to bring up the rear.

  French doors opened onto a shaded terrace. A herringbone pattern of aged bricks laid a carpet under a collection of wicker and wrought iron furniture covered with forest green cushions. Across an expanse of lawn, a private forest of varying shades of green and gold unfolded at the end of the terrace. A coffee and tea service waited next to magnificent porcelain coffee and teacups on a nearby buffet table. Cream and sugar anticipated use in silver containers.

  “Gentlemen, please, help yourselves and join us.” The voice was as relaxed as its owner.

  Julian was feeling better by the minute. That ‘gentlemen’ was another slap at the cardinal. It was followed promptly by no intention of serving him as protocol dictated.

  Four men sat easily in the comfortable wrought iron chairs. To Julian they looked like a foursome of CEO’s fresh from the golf course.

  The undercurrent of power, strength, authority and cunning wasn’t lost on him. His senses went to a higher state of alert and his defenses were strengthened. Still, reading these men individually was impossible. They sat behind an impenetrable barrier, but seemed relaxed, nearly carefree in attitude and posture.

  “So glad you could join us this afternoon.” It was an American accent and belonged to a man in his late sixties with silver hair, heavy build and an overly large smile. He didn’t offer a hand for Julian to shake so he sat and waited for the inquisition to begin.

  “I’m sure you were busy and am so sorry more notice couldn’t be given to you,” the man said.

  He continued, “Cardinal, you know everyone, but let me make introductions for you, Mr. Blessing.”

  ‘Cardinal’ – another slap. Julian considered and thought whatever Luciano did had landed him in the deep end of the shit pool.

  “May I present Mr. Clarke, Monsieur Colbert and Señor Rodriguez. Me? I’m Tan. Bob Tan. Gentlemen, this is, of course, Mr. Bles
sing.” The man spread his arms and his smile was contagious. Julian decided that although the man was CEO material now, he started on a used car lot somewhere early on.

  “Mind if I call you Julian?” the man asked politely. The other three men looked on smiling and expectant.

  Definitely a car lot, “Of course, Bob. Julian is just fine.”

  “No sense beating around the bush here, Julian. You’re a busy man and we realize that. Hell, we’re all busy. See what the world has become? Nobody has time anymore.”

  So far nothing was being said, but a lot of words were being used to say it.

  “Julian, we’ve got a problem. Couple of problems really. You’ve got yourself one too. Not enough time and too many problems, eh? Anyway, we were thinking we could help each other.” The man stopped and waited. Julian had seen this before, had practiced it himself – the next one who talks loses.

  “Right,” Tan continued. “We are not men of insubstantial means or clout. Your doctor friend has gone missing and we are prepared to put everything we have behind finding her for ya.”

  “I would appreciate that, Bob,” Julian said and waited for the other shoe to drop. He expected it would land hard and hoped it wouldn’t be on him.

  “No problem. If she is to be found, we’ll find her,” Bob said and beamed.

  “You’re a business guy like the four of us.” Another slap at the cardinal who seethed.

  “You understand give and take. Sure, we’ll help you all we can, but we’ve got some problems only you can help with.” The man was a volcano of ersatz enthusiasm and a lake of simulated sincerity.

  “It’s like this with us. We are businessmen so it is all about profit and loss. You understand. I’m not tellin’ you anything you don’t already know.

  “Keeping that in mind though, all of mankind is our business. As people progress, our business progresses. Society starts going backwards and, well, you know the rest. Unhappy shareholders.

  “We’ve found that you guys, you and the cardinal here and the others like you, are on the same side as us. Still, you’re disorganized. Each of you operates independently. You try to do good and succeed most times. Still, your efforts are uncoordinated.