Clarke went on. “As you know, the cardinal is talented. His ability to protect his thoughts is formidable to be sure. Still, there is something he is doing beyond that and beyond his thefts from the bank. I don’t know what it is, but I know it will not benefit us. My belief is he is setting himself up to supplant you. That, to my mind, makes him dangerous.” Clarke sat back, took a deep breath and closed his eyes.
The passage way was closed in, the atmosphere thick and laid like a blanket on thoughts, feelings and conversation.
After five minutes, the Consul said, “His Eminence is clever to be sure, John. He knows I could easily pierce any defense he can put up. He also knows I cannot and will not do that without exposing us all. His largest obstacle now is that he does not know who I am.
“For all his cleverness though, he has left himself badly exposed. He allowed Soski to live. We made use of that by making sure he gave Blessing the book.
“Blessing,” the Consul said. His eyebrows knitted together in thought. “He lacks the cardinal’s experience and viciousness. However, having absorbed the book’s teachings, Blessing is far more powerful than either he or Luciano knows.” Again the passage filled with ominous thoughts.
“What of the cardinal?” Clarke thought.
“We will continue with the plan only slightly modified; we will accelerate the timeline,” the older man said.
A moment passed, then another. “And the pope?” Clarke thought.
The Consul responded, “This would be an ideal time and with Blessing’s help, he could be the catalyst for a new inquisition. A perfect distraction actually that would serve our cause. Still, if not this pope, perhaps the next one.
“One pope is much like another?” Clarke thought and smiled.
“Exactly.”
***
The Gregorian University was quiet. Early evening had deposited an inky darkness and the air was heavy and still. A dim light shined from the second floor corner office of Fr. Marek Soski. The room was still, but the atmosphere was filled with thoughts.
“Do you think Manning knows more than he is saying?” Julian thought. “What are you getting from him?”
“My experience with Vatican politics tell me he does know more, but my readings of him show him as confused as we are. We have not had a great deal of contact over the years, but my feeling is there is much more wrong about the cardinal today than when I met him. Perhaps the embezzlements have changed him. It would be understandable. The fact is, I don’t know,” the priest speculated.
Julian laced his fingers on top of his head, leaned back and looked at the coved ceiling. Fr. Soski steepled his fingers, set them against his lips, and thought to Julian, “What do you think we should do next, my friend?”
“Marek, I would like to answer, but I have a problem,” Julian acknowledged. “I don’t care. I don’t care what happens to Manning. I don’t care what happens to the Vatican or its bank. I don’t care about Luciano or Sokolov. I don’t care about the Group or their agenda. I want Ailís back and I want to get her back home to Ireland.” Julian’s mental tone was somber, but carried conviction bordering on anger.
“And you, Julian? You have left yourself out of all of this.”
“Again, I don’t care. Her safety is all that is important. She is innocent in all of this. Whatever price must be paid will be paid,” Julian responded with his thoughts as he sought out the pale eyes of his friend.
“If I said I didn’t understand, or that you should not be so hasty or selfish, I would be lying and you would know it instantly. I am not a good liar for one thing and it isn’t the truth for another,” Soski said.
“Marek.” Julian stopped and considered for a moment. “There are others of us in Italy, perhaps some even in Rome. Isn’t there some way we could…?”
“A paranormal army? Is that what you are suggesting, Julian? Really?”
“I’m up for whatever it takes. I’ve got to find her and I feel I’m running out of time. If anything happens to her, the sacking of Rome will look like a picnic.”
“I understand your frustration, but the answer to your question is, no. There are others of course, but they are not here and we are. Right now, our priorities are not their priorities. It is you and me, my friend. We are all there is and we are enough.” The priest’s smile was small and sad, and offered a glimpse of a darkening future.
***
“Eminence,” Fr. Soski said. “What we can say is there is no one currently in the bank who is providing assistance to anyone outside. We have found quite a number of people who are stealing office supplies, but no more.”
Julian added, “Administration is assembling a list of names of those on vacation and leave, or who have recently resigned, been dismissed or reassigned. We will work our way through it.” Julian’s heart wasn’t in it and the cardinal and Soski could feel it.
The cardinal looked older, more beaten than stressed, more anxious than frustrated. “I thank you for your efforts, gentlemen.”
Soski tilted his head as though he was listening to something or for something. Julian sat back in his chair, closed his eyes and let his chin rest on his chest. When he raised his head, his eyes were heavy lidded. Deep furrows formed at the corners of his eyes and across his forehead.
Something was wrong, off somehow. It shimmered into existence then was gone, but it had been there. Something powerful and dark and Julian knew it.
Manning sighed deeply and said, “I am off to a briefing. Please keep me advised of your progress.” The interview was over.
In the hallway, Soski looked at Julian and shook his head. Julian acknowledged and they both proceeded down the marble stairs and into the polluted Roman air.
“You felt it, of course,” Fr. Soski thought and Julian replied with his own thought.
“Oh yes. Now if I only knew what it was. A dark power of some sort. It came into existence quickly, then was gone. It didn’t last long enough to track it to a source. However, residual energy was thick in the air.”
“This is moving beyond me, Julian,” the priest thought. “I need to talk with some people. In fact I have much to discuss with them.”
***
Julian awoke to a melancholy day in Rome with a tantalizing hint at bright sunshine later. He showered, shaved and sat at his desk before dressing. He ran his thumb down the scar on his cheek. He looked drab and tired. The mirror mocked him, scolded him. He had accomplished very little beyond discovering far more questions than answers. He had not done enough even though he was doing all he could.
Julian’s mouth turned into a hard, tight line. “It changes today,” he said to himself.
He reached out for the Jesuit Book. His hand hovered over it and he could feel the power contained inside. Julian let his hand rest on the book and again he said, “It changes today. Good or bad, it changes today.”
Chapter Eighteen
Bogdan Sokolov let his chin drop to his chest as he pinched the bridge of his nose. His head jerked up as he heard Julian say, “Time’s up.”
Julian was sitting on the other side of Sokolov’s desk. A place where five seconds before, there had been a distinct lack of Julians.
“Sokolov. Your twenty-four hours have passed and at your request, I granted you another day.”
Sokolov’s mouth twisted into a nasty snarl. “Blessing, I will kill you now.”
“Okay,” Julian said and his face was placid and pleasant. “Do you have a fire extinguisher nearby?’
“What?” Sokolov spat. He opened a desk drawer and fire erupted out, licking at the edge of his desk. The Russian managed to get the drawer closed and, open-mouthed and enraged, looked at Julian.
To Sokolov, nothing about what this American did or said aligned with anything in human experience. There was nothing the Russian could do which Julian wouldn’t counter simultaneously. Intimidation and bribery were jokes. There were no surprises possible. Speed meant nothing. Animal cunning was worthless. Raw force and brutality
wouldn’t work and that combination had been his go-to solution for most of his life.
“Produce the doctor,” Julian said. His gray eyes captured and held Sokolov’s attention. The eyes were unflinching and remorseless and deadly.
The Russian took a breath and held it. He exhaled noisily and said, “Blessing, I will do as you say, but I want something from you. It isn’t much, but if you do it, you get your woman back today, yes?” Sokolov said and tried to look sincere.
“What is it you want?” Julian’s response was measured, the words emotionless, and his look never left the Russian’s face.
“I want you to introduce me to this Luciano. You know him, no? I think I can do business with him. He is with the bank and I need someone inside. Start at top, no?” Sokolov tried to resist the unseen force that was pushing him back in his chair.
“Sokolov, you are without doubt the stupidest man I know. You have taken being dim-witted to new lows. The Russian mafia is hard up for leadership if you are still alive and walking around.” Julian squinted at the big man who was struggling to get out of his chair.
“I just want to make sure you understand. If I take you to see Cardinal Luciano, he will kill you. If you think dealing with me is bad, you’ll think I was your guardian angel compared to Luciano. Take my word for it, you don’t want to meet with the cardinal,” Julian concluded.
Breathless from trying to free himself, Sokolov reiterated, “Introduce me to this priest and as soon as my business is done with him, I will make one call and your woman goes free.”
Julian tried again to read the big Russian. The man was a bag of hatred, anger and bile. Beyond that, Julian couldn’t tell if Sokolov was lying or not. Still, Julian had a suspicion, a feeling too strong to ignore, but upon which he could not act without corroboration. He knew how to get that corroboration.
“You know, Sokolov, let me make you a deal. I will introduce you to his Eminence. At the conclusion of the interview, we will walk out, you will make the call and you will have her put on the phone so I can talk with the doctor. If you do not do these things – I want you to pay special attention to this part – you will burst into flames. I will not hesitate and there will be no further negotiations. Am I making myself clear?” Julian asked.
“Fuck you!” Sokolov shouted as he continued to struggle to free himself. Julian shook his head and looked resigned and sighed. A high bright flame erupted from the center of the Russian’s desk blotter. Julian tossed a bored look at the man. Sokolov recoiled from the heat. Julian moved his hand and the fire moved closer to the Russian.
“Done. That is deal. Cardinal first, then your woman.” The fire disappeared as quickly as it appeared leaving only a large scorch mark and a furious Sokolov whose eyebrows had been singed off.
“Shall we go?” Julian said to Sokolov. “You can drive.” Julian released the mobster.
***
Fr. Soski sat in his office. His head was resting on the back of his chair and his eyes were closed. The priest was feeling the thoughts of his teacher, another Jesuit living in retirement.
“Ronaldo. As always, I appreciate your help. Our time is short. I must find Mr. Blessing and…”
“Marek,” the teacher interrupted. Soski paused and had a feeling of foreboding. It was difficult to hide anything from his teacher, his friend, his confessor. This was such a time.
“I can not help you with Mr. Blessing.” The man’s voice turned hard. “Marek, it is your time that is short and you have made it so. It is the path you are intent on traveling. I am asking you not to do this thing you are planning. Mr. Blessing’s path is his own. That is true of all of us. You, however, have embarked on the wrong course. It is one of your own design and it will end badly. Revenge is never true or right or wise.
“I will confess, I cannot see into this business and I cannot see the future, but I can feel the steps which will lead to a bad end for you, your friend, and others,” Ronaldo concluded.
“Thank you for all you have done for me old friend. I have always appreciated your wisdom. Those times I have not followed your advice, I have regretted it. Unfortunately, in this instance, I have no choice. It must end here, it must end now,” Fr. Soski thought and then continued. “About that other matter?”
Knowing his advice would be ignored, Ronaldo sighed and answered his student’s question. The response was detailed and missed nothing. It spoke of how much can be found when you find nothing. The older man finished and the air was thick with thoughts.
“You are sure of that?” Fr. Soski thought.
“Marek, I have been at this a long time, since before you were born. I tell you only what I felt. That was not a simple matter. Everything was obscured. At first, I was clearly seeing the man you told me about, then nothing. He simply winked out of existence.
“It was just a flicker,” the teacher continued. “It was the briefest of moments. The man was there then he was not and then he was there again. I would like to tell you more, but there is no more to tell.”
He was a man of late old age and he sat on a sofa in his office. His eyes were closed and he could feel all of his student’s confusion, frustration and ever-present physical pain. The man saw through Soski’s milky gray eyes, eyes once alive with mischief and promise and what he saw left him sick at heart.
“My friend,” the teacher thought, “you have spoken to me of Mr. Blessing and spoken often and with much affection. I know of him of course. I know his mentor, Mrs. Bragonier and his teacher, Mrs. Hagan,” the teacher said. If this ends badly, I need to know the Jesuit Book is safe. Another thing, in the event…”
“Ronaldo,” Father Soski interrupted. “The book is safe. It will be delivered to you if,” the priest paused, “if Julian has no need of its use. To answer your other question, yes, please notify Mrs. Bragonier whatever the outcome. She will know what to do.
“Thank you, Ronaldo, addio. You have been a good friend to me,” the priest said and tried to keep the tears away from his thoughts.
“Marek, the phrase is, ‘ci rivedremo,’ because assuredly, we will meet again,” the teacher thought and, for the moment, was able to keep the heartache from his mind.
The connection was gone. Fr. Soski squeezed his eyes shut and a tear coursed his scared cheek. He said only one word.
“Manning.”
The telephone on his desk jarred Fr. Soski. “Yes,” he answered and paused. “Do not send him up. Bring him up and do it as quickly as possible, please.” He hung up and concentrated on his closed office door and awaited Fr. Dominic Giglio.
***
Did you hear me Fr. Soski?” the terrified priest asked.
Fr. Dominic had opened with the words, ‘It wasn’t my fault. I stumbled on it all by accident.’ The young priest had been nearly hysterical. At that moment, Fr. Soski had begun matching the young priest’s thoughts to his words. They matched. This was not subterfuge.
“I did, Fr. Dominic, and I thank you. Now go. Find a place where there are a lot of people. Get in amongst them and do not think about the cardinal. Do not think about me. Do not think about you. If possible, do not think about anything,” Fr. Soski whispered and his guest had to lean forward to hear him.
“Your thoughts will lead his Eminence to you.” Soski’s indulgent smile froze Fr. Dominic to the core. The priest with the milky gray eyes said emphatically, “And he will kill you.”
***
“I have anticipated this, but are any of us ever ready?” Fr. Soski said to himself and dread chilled his soul. He hung his head. The priest closed his eyes and thought, “The moment of the ending was dictated long ago. Now we close the chapter, but the book is not done, only my part in it.”
He stood, took a calming breath, gathered his hat and overcoat and left the office.
***
“Notify the Cardinal Secretary of State that I wish to have Cardinal Luciano taken into custody to await the pleasure of His Holiness.”
The young priest who received this mes
sage had been in Rome for a month. He stood paralyzed at Cardinal Manning’s words.
“Is it deaf you are, father?” the cardinal asked in his best jovial Irish English. Cardinal Manning smiled.
“Uh, no Eminence. I will call the Secretariat immediately.”
“Son, no, no, that isn’t the Vatican way. Take yourself off to the Secretariat and see the Secretary of State. Simple. Speak with no one else. His is the oldest office in the Curia. One does not flip out one’s iPhone and discuss such a thing. Do not worry; he will contact the Inspector General of the Corpo della Gendarmeria. From there we need worry no more.”
That said, worry cut deeply into the priest’s forehead. “Eminence, what if the Cardinal Secretary won’t see me?”
“Won’t see you is it? He is waiting for you now. Telephones do have their uses.” The cardinal’s smile, pleasant enough, never reached his green eyes.
The priest bowed slightly and left with a message that would change the complexion of the Vatican, the lives of thousands and the Catholic Church irrevocably. The young priest-messenger had no way of knowing his coming actions would change the world. He hadn’t been in Rome long enough.
***
The Basilica of St. Peter cast long late afternoon shadows across Cardinal Luciano's residence. The air was thick with humidity, incense and foreboding. Hushed footsteps on thickly carpeted stairs and whispered conversations preceded Julian, Sokolov and their guide as they approached the cardinal's office door.
"Come," the cardinal said, a moment before a young priest knocked.
"Eminence…"
"Yes, I know. Show them in,” Cardinal Luciano said casually. “Do you know where Fr. Dominic is? No matter, tell him I will have need of him tomorrow.”
“Yes, Eminence.” The priest hadn’t seen Fr. Dominic all day. And he never would again.
Julian and Sokolov entered the cardinal’s darkening office. The cardinal motioned his guests to chairs in front of the cold fireplace and he smiled an ingratiating but wintry smile.
Sokolov, a career criminal, scanned the room as he entered making note of doors, windows and anything he might use as a weapon should this cardinal prove to be a problem.
Echoes Through the Vatican: A Paranormal Mystery (The Echoes Quartet Book 2) Page 19
